Costco in Cancún

Photograph courtesy of the author.

When we arrive at the Paradisus, I worry I have made the first of many mistakes. Has Costco failed us? A bland remix of Ed Sheeran wafts up from the swim-up bar in the central courtyard into the lobby. My parents do not drink. They do not like to swim. I worry that Ed Sheeran will follow us to our room.

I continue to worry. Three months ago, I called Ramona, a Costco Travel representative, and asked her a question. What is the most popular and well-reviewed of the all-inclusive vacations offered by Costco Travel? Mexico, she said. And then she qualified: Costco members have many different tastes, but most have unanimously enjoyed a stay at the Paradisus La Perla (Adults Only) in Riviera Maya, Mexico. Compared to other Latin American countries, Ramona said, many Americans reported that the Mexican resort felt “worth it.”

I was hesitant to join the crowds of U.S. Americans descending on the Caribbean, but Ramona maintained that Paradisus was the best option for my needs: parents who never vacation, mostly shop at Costco, and harbor a fundamental dislike of restaurants and an extremely low tolerance for what they determine is not worth their money.

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Doodle Nation: Notes on Distracted Drawing

Some doodles by George Washington. Page from Everybody’s Pixillated: A Book of Doodles by Russell M. Arundel, 1937. Photograph by Polly Dickson.

Doodling today is not what it was. Or is it? Google “doodle” and you’ll find the Google Doodle—what Google calls a “fun, surprising, and sometimes spontaneous” transformation of its logo by a team of dedicated Doodlers to commemorate significant, and not so significant, days: from the seventy-fifth anniversary of the publication of Anne Frank’s diary to “Chilaquiles day.” You will also find a long list of apps that take Doodle as their name, including the ubiquitous scheduling tool. This recasting of the word in the age of the internet takes us far from the freewheeling squiggles, squirls, and whirls decorating the margins of telephone books and notepads—which is, perhaps, what doodling once was, in some near-unimaginable bygone era, when we worked with pens and pencils on paper, and when our attention and our hands wandered in different ways.

“Doodling” describes an activity of spontaneous mark-making by an agent whose attention is at least partially directed on something else. It’s the doodle’s apparent spontaneity and whimsy, but also its complicated relationship to attention—that most anguished-over of modern commodities—that makes it ripe for exploitation by the marketing strategies of app-based companies. That is: the doodle is usefully positioned, around the edges of our work documents and our conscious thought, to help us think about how our minds wander and about what those forms of wandering might yield. In a self-styled “doodle revolution,” which she introduces in a TED Talk and a book, Sunni Brown, founder of a “visual thinking consultancy,” explicitly attempts to capitalize on doodling’s wayward energies. Brown praises the potential of doodling for the workplace, coining a technique that she calls “infodoodling” as a tool for honing the attention of workers and thus increasing their “Power, Performance, and Pleasure” (plus, presumably, productivity—and profit). The goal is to “unlock” the potential of “visual language” to realize the full potential of our brains and “to help [us] think” in different ways. Brown’s self-styled revolution sits within a broader trend toward rehabilitating the act of disinterested drawing, as a kind of salve to our frayed modern attention spans. The doodle-curious consumer will find online a baffling array of derivative self-help- and wellness-flavored “guides” to doodling, full of promises to help us “Discover [our] Inner Whimsy and Find Moments of Mindfulness,” as the Daily Doodle Journal has it, or to “enhance your creativity,” according to another notebook of the same name. Doodling, or: how to cash in on the mind at play.

The activity of distracted drawing was first named “doodling” at a very particular moment: in the 1936 Frank Capra film Mr. Deeds Goes to Town. To be clear, the word “doodle” already existed. It possibly derives from the German dudeltopf, meaning “simpleton,” cementing a strand of aimlessness or surplus value that persists in its current form. Before the twentieth century, it was used to refer to a “simple or foolish fellow.” It is in a courtroom scene toward the end of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town that the word was coined in its current meaning: distracted drawing. The film’s oddball protagonist Longfellow Deeds has been proclaimed insane by his relatives for, amongst other things, playing the tuba and giving away his inheritance money. In his defense, Deeds argues that he plays the tuba to help himself think, and points out that everybody is subject to such inane, or insane, distracted fiddlings (or in the idiom of the film, “everybody’s pixillated,” meaning something like “away with the pixies”). Not least pixillated of all is the court psychotherapist, Emile von Haller, who has been trying to make a case for Deeds as a manic depressive. It is the psychotherapist’s own doodle that Mr. Deeds triumphantly exposes in the film, calling von Haller a “doodler,” which, he explains, “is a word we made up back home to describe someone who makes foolish designs on paper while they’re thinking”:

From Mr. Deeds Goes to Town. Screenshot courtesy of Polly Dickson.

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At the Five Hundred Ponies Sale

Photograph by Alyse Burnside.

I arrived in New Holland, Pennsylvania early, around 7 A .M., and drove down the main street, taking in the produce stands, machine repair shops, and country stores that bear Mennonite names: Yoder, Yoacum, Yost. Cattle graze in unpeopled fields, and in one, three Staffordshire Draft horses stood obediently, harnessed to a plow, as though posing for a painting.  

Lancaster County is home to many auctions, but the New Holland Sales Stables have been a mainstay of the Amish and Mennonite communities since 1920, and boast the largest horse auction this side of the Mississippi. The sale barn auctions more than 150 horses, ponies, mules, and donkeys beginning at 10 A.M. sharp every Monday, rain or shine, regardless of season, and even on holidays.

The barn opened at 8 A.M., so I made my way across the patchwork of Lancaster County’s small towns, through East Earl Township, Blue Ball, and Goodville, past a Christian playground manufacturer with replicas of Noah’s ark, a taxidermy shoppe called Nature’s Accent, Shaker furniture showrooms, saddleries, dozens of churches, and hand-painted signs advertising asparagus, tulips, watermelon, raw milk, whole milk, lemonade, onions, potatoes, homemade berry pies, salvation.

NEW HOLLAND SALES STABLES INC. was painted in faded red capital letters on the corrugated tin barn. The barn was made up of a large central building with a sale arena flanked by stadium bleachers, a concession stand, and an auctioneer’s booth located ringside. A line for the concession stand had formed at the entrance. “Get your hot dogs now, they’ll sell out by ten,” one woman said to her husband. A couple of old Amish men sat on a bench drinking coffee and spitting dip into empty cups or onto the dusty floor in front of them. One wore a thick denim chore jacket over a blue gingham shirt, muddy cowboy boots, and a white straw hat. This seemed to be the uniform—any place can attract regulars. His friend wore a lavender button-down under thick black suspenders. His floppy white hair hung past the brim of his cowboy hat, making it difficult to tell where his head hair stopped and his long white beard began.

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The Best Queer Books I’ve Read in 2024 So Far

The Best Queer Books I’ve Read in 2024 So Far

Next week, I’ll be sharing the results of the Our Queerest Shelves Halfway Check-In Survey, but today, I wanted to chat with you about my answers to the questions about my favourite new and backlist queer books I’ve read in 2024.

And while we’re at it, I’ll also answer some questions from the Halfway Check In Tag circulating on BookTube and BookTok, including how many books I’ve read so far this year, my favourite new author I’ve discovered this year, and my most anticipated 2024 release that comes out in the second half of the year. Let’s get into it!

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I’d love to hear your answers to any/all of these, so let’s chat in the comments!

If you’re reading this newsletter online and want new queer books and queer book news in your inbox, sign up for Our Queerest Shelves here.

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All the News Book Riot Covered This Week: July 13, 2024

All the News Book Riot Covered This Week: July 13, 2024

Whew, this was a busy one!

The New York Times has unveiled its list of the 100 best books of the 21st century so far.

A new Zora Neale Hurston novel is coming next year.

Books about disability are popular banning targets.

It’s officially (finally!) happening: the Uglies adaptation has a release date.

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Hot Summer. Cool Noir.

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Your YA Book Deals of the Day from Book Riot for July 13, 2024

Your YA Book Deals of the Day from Book Riot for July 13, 2024

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Book Riot’s Most Popular Stories of the Week

Book Riot’s Most Popular Stories of the Week

Start your weekend off right with the Book Riot highlight reel.

The Best Books of 2024 So Far

That’s right folks, we’re at the midway point of the year, which means it’s time to crown Book Riot’s Best Books of 2024 (so far)! Check out our favorite reads that were published between January 1st and June 30th of this year. We love them all and we hope you will too. Happy reading!

The Bestselling Books of the Week, According to All the Lists

Today’s bestsellers including a couple of new titles, starting with All the Colors of the Dark by Chris Whitaker. This is a thriller set in 1975 Missouri, and it’s a Read with Jenna pick. The publisher describes it as a “missing person mystery, a serial killer thriller, a love story, a unique twist on each.”

The other new release is a nonfiction book by the hosts of the politics podcastPod Save America called Democracy or Else: How to Save America in 10 Easy Steps. This is an illustrated humorous guide to participating in U.S. democracy that promises to advise readers on how to “sav[e] American democracy just in time for the 2024 election and 2025 insurrection.”

📚 For another finger on the publishing pulse, check out the most-read books on Goodreads this week.

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Book Riot’s Deals of the Day for July 13, 2024

Book Riot’s Deals of the Day for July 13, 2024

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12 Book Club Picks for July

12 Book Club Picks for July

Friday at last! Look busy while you catch up on bookish news.

12 Book Club Picks for July, from Reese’s Book Club to Roxane Gay’s

This month there is a wide range of books selected offering a wonderful reading list, and certainly at least one book is a great fit for you. What have these 12 book clubs chosen this month? There’s an emotional YA novel set in California, a queer horror novel set in the ’90s, a sex therapist’s sexuality guide, a novel by an author who writes in a different genre each book, and a take-down-the-patriarchy reimagined fairy tale!

Books About Disability Are Popular Banning Targets

The data on book bans shows precisely the themes and topics that are being targeted and that have been targeted since early 2021 in this most recent wave of censorship. Among them are books by and about LGBTQ+ people, people of color, books that explore social and emotional learning, and books that explore sexuality and puberty. But there’s another segment of books targeted that has not been as deeply explored as the others–indeed, while PEN America’s data notes that books about health and wellbeing were the second most frequently banned in schools in the 2022-2023 school year, that category is so broad that it fails to specify that many of those books are about disability.

Related: libraries are under siege.

The Best Narrative Nonfiction for Your Summer Reading Pile

Have you ever read nonfiction that reads like a thriller or like the most immersive novel? That’s narrative nonfiction! Narrative nonfiction uses various craft elements to create a story, not merely a reporting of events. The prose is usually written in a compelling, descriptive literary style, while still preserving the facts of the story.

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Libraries Under Siege

Libraries Under Siege

My cats are simply fascinated with my laptop, and they’ve taken to marching all over my keyboard. I hope spell check is up to the challenge…

Libraries & Librarians

News Updates

PLA released its 2023 Public Library Technology Survey.

NYPL budget issues have made it difficult for branches to purchase in-demand books for their patrons.

Book Adaptations in the News

Netflix’s latest hit adaptations have also boosted book sales.

Emily Henry’s Funny Story is being adapted as a movie.

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A Book That Will Make You Laugh Out Loud and Cry Your Eyes Out

A Book That Will Make You Laugh Out Loud and Cry Your Eyes Out

Before I dive into this week’s book recommendation, allow me to get personal for a moment. There’s a reason I’m thinking about this book in July. July is my brother’s birthday month, and I’m missing him a lot this year. I read this book a few years after my brother died from leukemia, and I immediately felt a really deep, personal connection with a lot of the specifics of this story. I think a lot of people will.

This book is one of my all-time favorites for a reason. It hits at some really rough emotional truths that had me sobbing, but there were also moments of real humor, believe it or not. I can’t imagine how anyone wouldn’t love this one. If you haven’t read it, please do!

Transcendent Kingdom by Yaa Gyasi

It’s wild how different Yaa Gyasi’s novels are from each other, and yet they’re both so good. I feel like Gyasi’s Homegoing gets a lot of love, and rightfully so, but Transcendent Kingdom is one of my favorite books ever. This novel is an honest and heartbreaking examination of grief, loss, and how losing someone can tear a family (and individual people) apart. It’s a reflection of religion and its relationship to science, community, culture, the grieving process, and so much more. It’s a coming-of-age story. Basically, it’s everything.

This novel follows Gifty, a graduate student studying neuroscience at Stanford School of Medicine. Hoping to make sense of the world she lives in and the horrible things she’s experienced in her own life, Gifty is studying the science behind depression and addiction. Her brother died of a heroin overdose after a sports injury left him addicted to OxyContin. Since the death of her brother, Gifty’s mother has fallen into a deep depression, barely able to make it out of her bed. It’s difficult to find meaning in a world where so many terrible things happen all the time, and there is so much sadness, but Gifty is searching.

Even though Gifty is a science-minded person, she grew up in a faith-based home. Religion has always been a huge part of her family’s life. As Ghanaian immigrants living in the American South, Gifty’s family found a community in an evangelical church. Gifty has experienced firsthand both the warmth and alienation one can experience as part of a strict religious community. The church still feels like a significant part of her life, but neither the church nor science seems to provide all the answers.

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New Science Fiction and Fantasy This Week, July 12, 2024

New Science Fiction and Fantasy This Week, July 12, 2024

Happy Friday, shipmates! It’s Alex, and I’m coming at you with new releases. The number of new releases this week can only be fairly characterized as something between flabbergasting and downright upsetting. So many tough choices on what books to highlight. May you have lots of reading time this month to deal with the oncoming tide of pages.

Let’s make the world a better place together. Here are two places to start: Palestinian Children’s Relief Fund, which provides medical and humanitarian relief to children in the Middle East regardless of nationality, religion, or political affiliation; and Ernesto’s Sanctuary, a cat sanctuary and animal rescue in Syria that is near and dear to my heart.

Bookish Goods

TBR Scratch Off Bookmarks by HeyHelloBookish

I have a lot of love for little TBR prompts because my TBR is so ridiculously massive, and I tend to suffer from decision paralysis when I stare at it. Scratch-off cards are such a cute idea! $6

New Releases

All This & More by Peng Shepherd

What if you had a chance to change it all? Marsh, who just turned 45, meek and dissatisfied with her career, relationships, and family, gets that chance when she’s invited to participate in All This and More, a TV show that lets its contestants review their pasts and change their presents using quantum technology. Yet even as Marsh is redoing her life so it’ll be perfect this life, she’s plagued more and more by the realization that something is terribly wrong.

Toward Eternity by Anton Hur

Medicine has been revolutionized by a true cure for cancer: nanites, which not only eradicate cancer cells but replace all of the body’s cells entirely, making their owner immortal. With the world coming to terms with this, a literary researcher named Yonghun teaches AI to understand poetry and become a truly thinking machine. Society must grapple with the rapid changes regarding what is human and what is life when the AI is given an independent body and recipients of nanotherapy begin disappearing and reappearing at will.

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Sad People Who Smoke: On Mary Robison

ROBISON, HER DOG, AND, CLOCKWISE FROM BOTTOM LEFT, HER BROTHERS, LOUIS, TOMMY, MICHAEL, DONALD, AND ARTHUR, 1982. PHOTOGRAPH BY JEAN MOSS-WEINTRAUB, COURTESY OF MURRAY MOSS, FRANKLIN GETCHELL, AND ESQUIRE MAGAZINE.

Mary Robison is interviewed by Rebecca Bengal in the new Summer issue of The Paris Review.

I am reading Mary Robison and thinking about smoking. Specifically, I’m rereading Robison’s 1979 debut, Days, a collection of short stories about sad people who smoke. There’s Charlie Nunn, the retired teacher who smokes while supine on the rug, letting ash accumulate on his unshaven chin. There’s Guidry, the alcoholic who rests the day’s first cigarette on his sink’s soap caddy as he shaves. There’s Gail, the bride whose father strikes a match on his trouser fly to offer her a light. These characters don’t smoke because they’re sad; they smoke because it’s the seventies. Still, I’m tempted to read all the smoking as symptomatic of a condition that afflicts characters across Robison’s oeuvre: a near pathological refusal to consider any moment but the present one.

When I first read Robison, I was also a sad person who smoked. That was seventeen years ago. I was an M.F.A. student living in my first New York apartment, a sixth-floor junior one bedroom ($1,300 a month!) just south of 125th Street on Manhattan’s West Side. I’d take my Camel Lights onto the fire escape, which offered a view of the shimmering Hudson. Unlike the characters in Robison’s stories, whose default mode is passive resignation, I was romantic; sadness and smoking were aspects of the “young writer” persona I hoped to cultivate. I’m embarrassed to admit that I once defended my habit to a girlfriend by explaining that cigarettes were my friends before she was around and that they’d comfort me after our inevitable breakup. All this is not to say that I wasn’t sad, or that I didn’t love smoking, but that both were integral to my conception of self.

Robison’s 2001 novel, Why Did I Ever, also became integral. On its surface, the story of Money Breton, a Hollywood script doctor and mother of adult children who takes Ritalin and drives around the American South, had little in common with either my life or the autobiographical first novel I was writing. But Money’s narration—pithy, sardonic, and unsentimental, but also stealthily poetic and fundamentally humane—struck a tonal balance I’d been struggling to achieve in my own work.

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The Ringo Starr of the Haiku Pantheon

If you attended school in the U.S. like I did, the first poem you wrote as a child was, more likely than not, some version of the Japanese haiku. As a grown-up, you may have gone on to read the haiku masters Matsuo Basho, Kobayashi Issa, and Yosa Buson—the Paul McCartney, John Lennon, and George Harrison of Edo-period Japan. But most Western readers have yet to twig on to Masaoka Shiki, the Ringo Starr of the haiku pantheon. Born more than two hundred years after Basho, this latecomer to the declining literary form launched a haiku revival in late-nineteenth-century Japan, writing haiku about modern subjects like baseball (“dandelions / the baseball rolled / through them”) and penning a memorable little essay titled “Haiku on Shit.” By the time of his death from tuberculosis at thirty-four, Shiki had written nearly twenty thousand verses and founded a new school of haiku poetry with its own literary magazine, Hototogisu, which continues to publish haiku today.

In the new Summer issue of The Paris Review, we present a series of ten never-before-published literary sketches by Shiki, composed from his sickbed, each one depicting a bowl of live carp. In one poem, Shiki zeroes in on “carp tails / moving in the bowl”; in another, we catch sight of “carp shoulders / brimming in the bowl”; and in another, we watch “carp blowing / bubbles” by the poet’s bedside. Only at the end of this Muybridgean study of animal motion does Shiki’s subject come to rest:

carp asleep
in the shallow bowl
water in spring

Reading the poet’s variations on a theme feels like scrolling through drafts of a translation in progress—only it’s reality itself that Shiki is translating into haiku form. Should the poem’s last word go to the seasons, the elements, or existence itself? And what’s the difference, if any, between a “large low bowl” and a “shallow bowl”? As Shiki observes in Abby Ryder-Huth’s prismatic translation, the poems “aren’t really ten haiku, just trying to put one thought ten ways.” Like Wallace Stevens’s blackbird, Shiki’s still life rarely stays still.

Elsewhere in our Summer issue, Daniel Mendelsohn visits Kalypso’s island in a passage from his new translation of The Odyssey; you’ll find yourself walking backward “with a clock hung from your heart” through a nightmarish incantation by the shamanistic Korean poet Kim Hyesoon, translated by Cindy Juyoung Ok; the Mexican poet and visual artist Diana Garza Islas introduces us, in a translation by Cal Paule, to a strange little place called “Engaland”; and the Palestinian poet Mosab Abu Toha meditates on another kind of still life:

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Five Mixed Metaphors for Translation

Drawing by Daisy Rockwell.

 

The Lego Metaphor, Part One

I once saw a Lego metaphor for translation. On some online forum somewhere.

I liked it, but it was slightly off, and then I forgot it.

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Cooking Peppermint Chiffon Pie with Flannery O’Connor

Photograph by Erica MacLean.

Flannery O’Connor’s favorite meal at the Sanford House restaurant in Milledgeville, Georgia, where she lunched regularly with her mother, was fried shrimp and peppermint chiffon pie. OConnor, after a diagnosis of lupus brought her home to Milledgeville in 1951, led a life in a farmhouse outside of town with her domineering mother, Regina, that bore some resemblance to a nun’s. Every morning started with Catholic Mass followed by cornflakes and a thermos of coffee in her spinster bedroom while she wrote for three hours. The writing time, she said, was her “filet mignon.” Otherwise it seems she found most pleasures, especially the physical kind, to be base. In her fiction an amorous girl goes up to the hayloft with a man and gets her wooden leg stolen in the story “Good Country People.” Two girls make themselves hot, bothered and ridiculous laughing over a nun’s claim that their bodies are “a temple of the Holy Ghost” in a story of that name. And yet somehow O’Connor’s lunch order—which captured my imagination when I read about it in Brad Gooch’s biography, Flannery—sounds paradoxically, well, pleasurable.

In the story “A Good Man is Hard to Find,” a young woman’s face is “as broad and innocent as a cabbage.” Photograph by Erica MacLean.

I talked to Gooch and to Dr. Amy Wright, whose grandfather lived down the street from the Sanford House restaurant during the era O’Connor used to dine there. (I’m working on a book called “The Writer’s Table,” which will explore what writers including O’Connor ate, so this is research.) Wright is the director of Georgias Old Capital Heritage Center, which oversees the building that formerly housed the restaurant, a white clapboard, plantation-style building with columns and a portico. Milledgeville was the capital of Georgia from 1804 to 1868, and Sanford House, back then, was located next to the Old Capital Building. (The restaurant was shuttered in 1966. The building that housed it still exists but has since been moved five blocks west to Hancock Street.) Wright recalled the food at Sanford House in the fifties to be “tasty but very plain” and said that as a child she was impressed that the restaurant served its vegetables in pastel-colored plastic bowls. The detail reminded me of one from O’Connor’s childhood: On a visit at age four to a relative in a convent, she was greatly impressed that the nuns served ice cream molded into the shape of calla lilies.

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Making of a Poem: Kim Hyesoon and Cindy Juyoung Ok on “Person Walking Backward”

For our series Making of a Poem, we’re asking poets and translators to dissect the poems they’ve published in our pages. Kim Hyesoon’s poem “Person Walking Backward,” translated by Cindy Juyoung Ok, appears in our new Summer issue, no. 248. Here, we asked Kim and Ok to reflect on their work.

1. Kim Hyesoon

How did this poem start for you? Was it with an image, an idea, a phrase, or something else?

This poem began during an interview. The poet who came to interview me asked, “What do you think about Korean poetry these days?” I answered, “I think Korean poetry these days is like a dog running on the highway.” There is a dog inside my poem. This dog living in “Person Walking Backward” is eternally digging through the “pile of garbage” of the present. The poem is a poem about time, two types of time. Continuous time and frozen time. The dog’s time and my life’s time. The poem’s time and my time. Dying’s time and living’s time. Each is the possibility of being to one another.

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The Nine Ways: On the Enneagram

Light through stained glass. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Licensed under CCO 2.0.

When I was a boy, the most obvious thing, in almost any situation, seemed to be something that wasn’t named. This unspoken thing usually had to do with desires or strong emotions that appeared to run under people’s words. In a stained glass window, the least striking element is often the very scene being depicted. People could have that quality when I was little, resembling stencils marbled with glowing hues. Where did their hidden longings end? Where did mine begin?

As I got older, I often lived like a cashier behind Plexiglas. I came to study people from a certain remove. That I had barely made my own wishes known, even to myself, became clear a few years before I turned forty, when, for the first time, I fell in love.

On an early date, the woman I fell for and I were joking about past lives. We sat at the counter of a breakfast place in Dallas, eating pancakes. She said she thought your previous life must relate to something you did a lot as a kid, because you were that much closer to the other side. I said I was probably a neurasthenic in a sanatorium in Europe writing thin volumes of philosophy. She said, “I think you were a dancer!” In fact, I love to dance, and as a child, danced all the time.

Around the time this relationship suddenly ended, my friend Sam told me about the theory of personality that is attached to the enneagram. If I had been introduced to this system seven or eight years earlier, I would have assumed it was stupid. Or if I hadn’t been so torn up and turned around, I might not have been desperate enough to take the enneagram seriously. What I found, however, was a deep and dynamic model, and one that spoke intimately to my intuition about what lurked beneath the surface.

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Rorschach

Rorschach plate that originally appeared in Psychodiagnostik by Hermann Rorschach (1921). Public domain.

Two monkeys with wings defecate suspending a ballerina whose skull is split. Her tutu reveals thighs from the fifties, toned. Their hands are on her poor wounded head; she has no feet. One of the monkeys, the one on the left, has a badly defined jawline. The woman has a perforated abdomen.

Two cartoon Polish men high-five. Their legs and their heads are red, to accentuate the fact that their heads are like socks. Their eyes are like their mouths, almost smiling at their mischief. They betray a body pact.

Two bald women with upturned noses, alien eyes, and prominent oval breasts. The separation between torso and hip through a knee and high heels propping up either two gardeners watering or two amphibians. On either side, fetuses in placenta or ghosts with their fingers to their lips, and with ribbons, evidently red, around their necks.

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