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An early-summer, late-afternoon light was catching a porcelain figurine of the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus on the windowsill of Johnnie’s Italian Specialties, the twenty-eight-year-old family-owned restaurant in South Philly where, in May, I dialed up my personal hotspot, hoping to get tickets to the Taylor Swift concert taking place in the city later that night. My cheesesteak sub was dry and insufficiently cheesy and entirely beside the point—it was a formality, if a regionally appropriate one, meant to justify my seat at this funky restaurant as my sister and I refreshed four different ticket resale websites waiting for prices to drop. We were not two of the lucky 2.4 million who had gotten tickets to the Eras Tour when they’d gone on sale several months earlier, in a rollout so vexed and disorderly it caused an investigation by the U.S. Justice Department into antitrust violations by Ticketmaster and Live Nation.
At first, this didn’t bother me. I do not have the patience to wait in something called a virtual queue, and also I have a job. So I’d resigned myself to the fact that I would not be attending the Eras Tour, Swift’s 131-show survey of her ten studio albums—which I suppose we now call eras and not albums—and the logical, world-beating end point of her willful evolution from gee-whiz country darling to too-big-to-fail pop supernova. But then, in March, the Eras Tour commenced, and for several weeks thereafter my Twitter feed was overrun with clips from the show, which runs close to three and a half hours, includes forty-four songs, and is structured episodically as a Homeric celebration of Swift’s discography. It looked like the sort of thing I’d regret missing, the premise of a memory I could tell my kids or at least my friends’ kids about.
Nine days earlier, my sister had texted me to see if I’d be down to drive to Philadelphia from New York the day of the concert on a lark. “Idk how I feel about that,” I wrote back. “Is that a thing?” I am constitutionally risk averse, and the idea of driving there and failing to get tickets was less attractive than not having them at all. But Swift herself once said that nothing safe is worth the drive, and my sister had done her due diligence. On TikTok, she told me, a whisper network of unticketed Swifties were documenting their journeys to whichever city Swift was playing that night, scooping up the remaining tickets at 5 or 6 P.M., when scalpers realized they could not sell them for $2,500 a pop. Not unjustifiably, Swifties get a bad rap. They are defensive and belligerent, boastful about streaming numbers and record sales and tour profits, which is a function of Swift’s own valedictorian disposition. But they are also funny, resourceful, canny creatures of the internet whose parasocial hungers Swift not only treasures but responds to, like a benevolent monarch.
It was Swiftie plaintiffs who, in righteous indignation at price gouging and incompetence more generally, forced Ticketmaster executives to appear before the Senate Judiciary Committee earlier this year. (It was also Swifties who forced me to witness Amy Klobuchar interpolating the lyrics to “All Too Well” in a pandering screed against the ills of corporate consolidation.) Swifties make Twitter accounts, like @ErasTourResell, to sell available tickets at face value to real fans, thereby keeping them out of the hands of scalpers. “LA SWIFTIES ,” goes one tweet, which is best read in the voice of an auctioneer. “We have a seller …” When Swifties demanded additional tour dates in neglected cities, Swift, who had initially overlooked Singapore, responded with six of them. And on TikTok and other sites, they document and live stream the Eras Tour rigorously for absent fans, so much that I could find out, from an account called @ErasTourUpdates, that Swift changed her costume for the 1989 portion of the concert in Cincinnati—from a beaded lime green top and skirt to an identical set, but in fuchsia—thirty seconds after she appeared on stage.
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Péter Esterházy once wrote that Péter Zilahy is the white raven of Hungarian literature who can observe the world each time as if for the first time, always fresh and original. While it’s labeled a novel, The Last Window-Giraffe is essentially uncategorizable, a hippogriff of a creation fashioned from fragments of history, autobiography, and wild invention. How such a wealth of elements—from childhood memories to political atrocities to the poignant evocation of the correspondence between sexual awakening and the deaths of dictators—could be gathered and spun into such a coherent narrative is a kind of aesthetic miracle.
Zilahy uses the Hungarian alphabet to present a wonderful mix of historical facts, poetry, and visual images, an approach inspired by the time he spent in Belgrade in 1996, when citizens took to the streets to protest Slobodan Milošević’s electoral fraud. The Last Window-Giraffe evokes many memories of my own past in the former Yugoslavia. There’s a wizardry in Zilahy’s ability to shrink an entire historical epoch to human scale while at the same time elevating ordinary experience to mythic significance. This is intellectual alchemy of the highest order, executed with wit and compassion. Zilahy can murder a sacred cow and canonize an unknown victim of totalitarianism in a single sentence.
H is for:
három puszi = three kisses
háború = war
harag = anger
halál = death
hatalom = power
híradó = news bulletin
hazudnak = they’re lying
U is for:
ur = space
ur = blank
ur = nothingness
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Marcus and Luke return with fresh, breakfast-based developments around Harry Kane to Bayern Munich! Petty squabbling between Speller and Moore incoming, so be ready to pick your side...
We also don’t hold back on our thoughts over Jordan Henderson’s rumoured agreement to join Al-Ettifaq and we reflect on Dele’s hugely affecting interview with Gary Neville.
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This week’s book censorship news post begins with highlighting the results of the author survey on the financial impact they have experienced due to book bans. Because the results were lengthy, that was put into a separate post which is linked here and in the image below. Go dig into those, then come back to this week’s roundup of book censorship news.
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In early June, I distributed an author survey to gauge the impact of book bans on authors. The survey specifically sought to look at where or how school and library visit invitations have changed since 2021 — the first year this wave of book bans really caught fire. Are authors seeing their incomes decrease? Are they seeing fewer invites to speak to students out of fear of the content their books include? The results are in.
It is worth noting that this survey had 25 responses. This is significantly more than the agent survey earlier this year, though it is in no way able to represent the population of authors; it can’t even represent the population of authors writing the kinds of books being challenged, censored, and banned right now. The author survey reached an even bigger audience of potential respondents than the agent survey did, and both saw wide distribution through new and legacy industry channels. That said, this array of responses is likely indicative of trends happening more broadly and by those who are writing the kinds of books being targeted.
All survey takers were able to remain anonymous, so commentary will be without attribution. Chances are what was stated, though, represents common themes seen by both the other survey takers and the broader kid lit author world in the U.S. It is worth noting that open-ended questions yielded much smaller response pools, evident as you read through the results.
Because some of the questions were cut off in the graphics produced from the survey, I have duplicated them in full above the response.
Due to the length of this survey, note that this week’s book censorship news roundup is in a separate post. You can access it here, and you’ll also be linked to that post at the conclusion of this one.
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Summer is in full swing — in some parts dangerously so — and if you need a break from the heat/terrible air quality but want to feel connected to others, may I suggest a book club? All but one of the below book clubs are virtual and they offer the flexibility of participating as little or as much as you’d like, which is always a win-win. Plus, you can always just peruse this as a list to select your next read from and/or pile more books onto your to-be-read list.
This month we didn’t have multiple book clubs pick the same book, ending that fun streak, but one book club did pick the book chosen twice last month, this month! A sign of a perfect book club choice? Yes, yes it is! (Spoiler: it’s the bright yellow one!)
Once again we did have a month with great picks for all reading tastes! If you’re looking for nonfiction and memoir you have different options. There are two romance books, one for a Latine romance book club pick and one for a Jewish book club pick. A sci-fi that recently made waves on Twitter, just before Twitter really started imploding (talk about timing!). A contemporary that flips the romance genre question of “will they” into “should they,” along with a humorous contemporary summer read. Thriller fans have a book, literary fans have two options, and there’s a popular contemporary that reads like a literary thriller. Enjoy all the great choices!
Rivermouth: A Chronicle of Language, Faith and Migration by Alejandra OlivaAbout the book club: Author Roxane Gay (Bad Feminist, Ayiti, The Banks) selects a monthly book with the goal of “Authentic and necessary perspectives from writers who fearlessly share their stories.” About the book: If you’re looking for a memoir talking about a current humanitarian crisis, this is absolutely your book club this month. |
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It’s summer time and you know what that means (for most of us anyway)? Heat! Heat in all of its forms. Sunburns, sitting by a campfire, lighting off fireworks. It’s tank top and flip-flop and stop at the gas station for an Icee season. It’s the smell of sunscreen on everything season. It’s road trips and beach days and outdoor concerts and begrudgingly working between all of the things you have planned. Especially in the areas where the winters are so dark and cold, the changing of the seasons is cause for celebration marked by breaking out the box fans and packing the winter coats into storage. Finally, we say. Finally. The warmth is here again.
But sometimes the summer isn’t so sunshine and rainbows. Sometimes the heat isn’t a welcome addition to the season, but instead, a sweltering, oppressive thing hanging over everything. Sometimes there’s no escape from the sun’s long-reaching rays no matter what you do. Sometimes you get sunburned despite the million layers of sunscreen. Sometimes the campfire becomes something far too out of control. Sometimes the heat becomes a thing of its own, festering inside someone until they snap.
So, in light of the season, stay cool and read these hot horror novels.
The Summer that Melted Everything by Tiffany McDanielSet in a small southern town in Ohio, Fielding is 13 when the devil arrives during a heatwave. Or, at least, that’s who he thinks the new boy Sal is, covered in bruises and looking disheveled. Fielding brings him home to stay with his family, but soon rumors of the devil spread across town and the tensions rise with the temperature. |
The Salt Line by Holly Goddard JonesAfter a species of tick starts spreading a fatal disease, humanity clusters behind the Salt Line where the Earth was scorched into a barrier. But that doesn’t stop some from leaving the safety zone for thrills or out of curiosity. When one group does just that and winds up diverted by a group of violent rebels, they’re held hostage in Ruby City, an outer-zone city on edge. |
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I’m back with another list of award-winning books you’ve probably never heard of! This time, we’re talking memoirs. Since I started making these lists, I’ve become fascinated by the whole culture surrounding literary awards and especially how we talk about those awards. There are some high-profile awards, like the National Book Awards, the Booker Prize, and the Pulitzer, where the winners and finalists of these mega prizes seem to get a lot of attention and recognition. But as soon as you start to dig a little deeper (and you can dig very deep — there are so many prizes!) it’s apparent that the vast majority of award-winning books don’t actually get that much recognition.
The books on this list have from 20 to 3,000 ratings on Goodreads, with most of them falling in the low hundreds. Three thousand may sound like a lot at first — but compare it to the number of ratings this year’s Pulitzer Prize winner, Demon Copperhead, has (132k) and suddenly it seems like a tiny number. All of which is simply to say: the world of book awards is vast and there is so much to it beyond the big awards that everyone’s heard of. There are so many great books out there that have been recognized by literary organizations, panels of authors, and critics, but that lots of readers have still never heard of.
So let’s fix it, one list at a time. These memoirs will take you from Nigeria to China to the UK. They’re about science, gender, immigration, illness, family legacies, and so much more.
Lives of Great Men by Chike Frankie Edozien (2017 Lambda Award for Gay Memoir/Biography)This is my favorite kind of queer memoir: it’s a collection of stories, both personal and community-oriented. Nigerian journalist Chike Frankie shares his own experiences as a gay man living in Lagos, but he travels throughout Nigeria, Africa, and the world, speaking with other queer Africans about their lives. He writes about the challenges LGBTQ+ Nigerians face, the devastating impacts of Western homophobia across Africa, and the many ways that queer Africans, both in their home countries and across the diaspora, are building vibrant, and joyful lives. |
None of the Above by Travis Alabanza (2023 Jhalak Prize)This is one of my favorite books of the year so far and I’m not going to stop shouting about it until everyone has read it! Alabanza is a trans writer and performer based in the UK. This memoir is structured around seven phrases — some deeply transphobic and painful, and some affirming — that have been spoken to them throughout their life. They use these phrases as jumping-off points to reflect on their life as a visibly femme and nonbinary person, the complicated intersections of gender and race, the power of queer performance and community, and so much more. |
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