Yesterday, I was standing in front of my desk, piled high with books I had checked out from the library or received for review, trying to decide what to read next. I shifted from foot to foot and gave myself a pep talk. “Pretend you are a normal reader. You’re just picking whatever book looks interesting. You can read whatever you want.”

-record scratch-

You’re probably wondering how I got here. Why am I not a normal reader? What does picking out something to read feel like such an intimidating task that I need to psych myself up and put myself in the right headspace? Well, we start with a kid who loves reading, and we end with an adult who has built their life around books to the extent that reading has become a minefield of expectations and guilt.

It all started with a book blog, which was supposed to just be fun. I was going to record everything I read and share it with people. But then I had a much better idea: I could create a book blog just for bi and lesbian books, since that’s what I wanted to read more of. I could talk about queer women books with people! How fun.

And when I started the blog, something miraculous happened: people started giving me free books. They were self-published ebooks sent from the author, but free books are free books! And well, if someone is going to write a sapphic book (still a rarity back then) and send it to me, the least I could do was read and review it. Besides, now I had a blog to maintain, which meant new content, which meant I needed to be reading more (bi and lesbian) books.

Podcasts have become an integral part of our everyday life. We listen to them while doing chores and carrying out errands, while driving or taking public transportation, and sometimes (though this is mostly dedicated to our very favorite podcasts) we simply sit and enjoy them without doing anything else. It’s been predicted that, by the end of this year, there will be 424 million podcast listeners worldwide. I don’t know about you, but to me, that’s truly a mind-boggling number.

I don’t want to say that podcasts have completely replaced the radio — they haven’t, and many podcast listeners also follow radio programs. They are, however, being chosen more and more, especially by younger generations who didn’t grow up with the radio. In addition to that, anyone with the means to access the internet and purchase some basic tools can now start their own podcast, and there are dozens of books teaching them how to do so. In a way, it’s been a great equalizer: who gets a platform to project their voice? A lot more people than before. According to Daniel Ruby from DemandSage, as of June 2022, there are over 2.4 million podcasts with over 66 million episodes between them.

I’m not sharing books about podcasting here. Rather, I’ve chosen eight books where podcasts and/or podcasters play a large narrative role. Some of them are fiction whereas others are memoirs, but they all have one thing in common: the art of putting a podcast together is integral to the story or characters/narrators. Shall we?

I do not like to be scared. Seeking out media that is designed to be scary — books, films, TV shows, or, I don’t know, music videos? — is something I will never understand or choose to do. I also do not like gore. I can handle some violence in my books, if it serves a purpose, and sometimes I can get behind body horror. But blood and guts is not my thing. Please keep your graphic descriptions of murder to yourself.

Given these two facts, it makes sense that I’ve spent my entire reading life avoiding horror, right?

Wrong.

Horror is a tricky, slippery genre. Until recently, I treated horror (the genre) as a synonym for scary (the adjective). I assumed all horror books were scary, or gory, or both. I’ve been challenging myself to read outside my comfort zone over the past five years, and so I’ve tried mysteries and the (occasional) thriller, all sorts of nonfiction I never thought I’d love, and lots of weird speculative fiction. All of these forays into new-to-me genres have enriched my reading life in countless ways. But horror remained firmly on the no-go list. Risking boredom, or confusion, or simply not vibing with a book is one thing. Risking not being able to sleep for a week in the house where I live alone is something else entirely. I felt justified in my decision to write off horror as a genre. I do not want to be scared. Therefore, I do not read horror. Simple.

I can’t remember why I decided to pick up Plain Bad Heroines by Emily Danforth. It’s queer, which, of course, made me want to read it. But it’s also categorized as horror. When you look it up on Goodreads, “horror” appears at the top of the genre list. Twice as many users have labeled it horror as have labeled it fiction or historical fiction. I was wary. I asked a book friend who reads a lot of horror how scary it was. “Not very,” she told me. I was still wary — a horror book! I had never read one! — but I decided to try it anyway.

Despite all the candles, tinsel, gifts, and pie, Americans consistently rate the holidays as the most stressful time of the year. That holiday stress may be compounded by family relationships — depending on what kind of family you have. With that in mind, I’ve pulled together a list of the best and worst fictional families to spend the holidays with, so we can all have a laugh before your least-favorite uncle begins his annual political tirade.

Hate the holidays? You’re not alone. This season has a way of magnifying family dysfunctions. Everyone’s trying to make the season magical, but let’s face it: many, many things about the holidays are mundane at best.

It might be tempting to say it’s best to avoid going home for the holidays, but that comes with its own unique stressors. Dealing with the hurt feelings and unhealed trauma that arise from — or lead to — severed family connections is difficult any day. It’s even worse when you’re surrounded by cozy visions of happy parents and kids opening presents in matching PJs, however.

If you aren’t going home for the holidays this year, please remember that you’re not alone. More than 25% of American adults are estranged from at least one close family member. Your feelings are valid, no matter what your reasons were for cutting ties, and I wish you nothing but the best in making your own holiday traditions.

From classic literature to comedy manga, here are the best and worst fictional families to spend the holidays with.

We know that books about books are popular with readers – and, by extension, so are books about book clubs. This particular category is about more than the power of books in a person’s life: it’s about their power to facilitate connection and community. Isn’t this largely why people join book clubs? We want to discover new books and gain knowledge, yes, but we also want to express ourselves in the company of other book lovers. Books about book clubs capture this desire and fulfill it.

Even knowing this, I was a little surprised by the abundance of books where book clubs play a main role. In many of the titles listed below, book clubs aren’t only settings: they’re catalysts, whether for plot advancement or for character growth. Granted, it may be a little self-centered (I mean, we don’t get to ‘Dante writing self-insert fan fiction where he’s praised by Virgil’ territory, but we are readers who enjoy reading about other readers). But it’s fascinating, too. It makes me wonder about this need to bond over this thing we love.

The books I listed here all delve into that need. They’re mostly fiction, but the appeal of book clubs (and their power) are very real.

From Top Gun: Maverick and Glass Onion to Everything Everywhere All at Once

November 4 – December 17, 2022

October 11 – December 17, 2022

In the new Winter issue of The Paris Review, Belinda McKeon interviews the writer Colm Tóibín, author of ten novels, two books of short stories, and several collections of essays and journalism. Tóibín also writes poetry—“When I was twelve,” he tells McKeon, “I started writing poems every day, every evening. Not only that but I followed poetry as somebody else of that age might follow sport”—and we are pleased to publish one of his recent poems here.

The Morris Minor cautiously took the turns
And, behind us, the Morris 1000, driven by my aunt,
Who never really learned to work a clutch.

I remember the bleakness, the sheer rise,
As though the incline had been
Cut precisely and then polished clean,

And also the whistle of the wind
As I grudgingly climbed Mount Leinster.
All of us, in fact, trudged most of the way up,

Marcus, Luke and Andy react to last night’s second semi-final, where Morocco threw the kitchen sink at France. But Antoine Griezmann is so adaptable he’s also probably a plumber now.

Elsewhere, the studio is split over how France and Argentina will match-up, we discuss whether the next England manager should be English, and we determine just what kind of dessert the third-fourth play-off is. 

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