Chapter 3: 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is...'
Chapter 3: 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is...'
A catch up, some exciting new books and some outstanding recent reads.
So, here we are once again. I have no idea how these weeks fly by so quickly or how we’ve already reached the eighth month of the year. Still, I hope you’re all doing well and enjoying your days even if, like me, you feel as though they’re running away from you. I considered sliding back into your inboxes without mentioning the absence of recent newsletters because there is no reason anyone would’ve necessarily noticed my mini hiatus, but that didn’t sit quite right with me and, if the response to past letters is anything to go by, I think some of you would appreciate the honesty.
Recent weeks have been some of the most miserable I’ve experienced in a while. You know when you’re just at the end of your tether and everything tests your patience? That’s where I’ve been. For the most part, I consider it a perfectly reasonable and almost inevitable response to a very emotionally demanding several months but writing these letters and attempting to feign enthusiasm would’ve felt disingenuous. I also just didn’t want to. Additionally, I’ve come to realise that I need to be more generous with myself and lower some of my own expectations so I decided to give myself a little less to think about for a while (consider this a nudge if you could do with a reminder to do the same)
I am glad to be here again, though- maybe not quite my best but doing better, and I think that’s good enough.
If you’re wondering about the song, there’s always something playing in the background as I write these letters and I liked the idea of choosing a song to accompany each one. I don’t know about you but I tend to be really affected by whatever I’m listening to (film soundtracks do a number on me) and there’s something about Folding by Abimaro that is so perfectly melancholy while also being quite calming. If I need to wallow, it’s serves as a great soundtrack, if I’m in a good mood it doesn’t drag me down and if I need something playing that I won’t notice too much it’s great for that, too. It’s basically a moody all rounder and I like that.
“I urge you to please notice
when you are happy,
and exclaim or murmur
or think at some point,
“If this isn’t nice,
I don’t know what is.” - Kurt Vonnegut
This quote popped into my head a few weeks ago and I’ve been trying to keep it in mind quite a bit lately. I think that when happiness, and the lightness of being that comes with it, has become a bit of a distant feeling, it’s actually easier to notice those moments when you’re genuinely content- those ‘nice’ moments, and I’ve been trying to pay particularly close attention to what I’m doing, who I’m with, what I’m thinking when they occur so I thought I’d share some of those with you:
One
Solo cinema trips. I hadn’t done this in so long and, my word, I loved every minute. I booked mid-week, early afternoon showings so the cinema was nearly empty and it was just nice to hole myself away for a moment. If you’re curious, I’ve watched Good Luck to You, Leo Grande and, most recently, Joyride and I loved both.
Good Luck to You, Leo Grande was funny and endearing, Joyride was more sentimental but equally endearing and, either way, I’d highly recommend sitting in a dark room chuckling to yourself and/or holding back tears for an hour and a half. Have you seen either?
Two
Last of the 2022 Caine Prize! I attended the Caine Prize award ceremony at the V&A, which also happens to be my favourite museum, and it was so nice to connect with faces old and new. In case you missed it, Idza Luhumyo was this year’s winner with her story ‘Five Years Next Sunday’. Just being there reminded me how nice it is to just go somewhere, anywhere beautiful and inspiring and just see how it alters not only your mood but also your perception of the world and its possibilities.
(P.S. the new 2021-2022 Caine Prize anthology is now available, published by the wonderful Cassava Republic Press so go and get yours!)
Three
Making time for people. I don’t know about you but my natural inclination is to seek space whenever everything feels a bit much but that’s not always what’s best. I think it’s important to get the balance right- to say no when you need to say no- but also to say yes to that coffee, that lunch, that telephone call. People are important. Also, listening to other people’s stuff and escaping your own thoughts is absolutely necessary lest you drive yourself completely insane and/or become irritatingly self-absorbed.
Four
Second-hand book shopping. I have been having so much success with this lately, so many wonderfully intriguing titles added to my shelves. I love that you never know what you might find and it’s so satisfying when you strike gold. It’s also something I like to do completely unhurried. Just packed shelves, the musty smell of old books and, if you’re lucky, a few welcome surprises.
Five
Bodies of water. I don’t know if there’s an environment more calming to me than one with a body of water. A river, a stream, a lake, the sea… the lapping of the waves the rippling of the water. The other day, as I walked unnecessarily hurriedly past the river, I decided to just stop for a moment and ended up sitting there for a good hour. Sometimes I feel like I’m always moving faster than necessary, rushing for no real reason and I need to learn to just slow down and stop giving myself unwarranted stress. Your perfect environment might be different but I’d consider making time to be in it, wherever it is.
Six
Taking note of the things I want. The other day, inspired by my reading of Milk Teeth by Jessica Andrews (more on this one below), I asked a question on Instagram: ‘what do you want?’
The responses were, for the most part, seemingly attainable and quite simple but I have no doubt that they don’t necessarily seem that way to the people desiring them: rest, love, a coffee date, contentment, a pay increase in line with inflation (under this government?)
I do think more and more of the importance of naming the things we want and actively and very specifically asking for them, so whenever a thought or an idea comes to me, I’ve been trying to just make a note of it. If it’s something that is, theoretically, very possible, it prompts me to ask myself what’s stopping me. And if it isn’t yet possible, the hope is that maybe one day it will be.
Onto the Books
Both my reading and book-buying habits have taken a bit of a turn this year. I’ve been working my way through my unread books and I get such a smug sense of satisfaction when I finally read a book that has been staring at me for months (ehem, years…) and also reading any books I acquire more promptly. I don’t do book buying bans, mainly because if someone dares to tell me not to do something I’m much more likely to want to do it (even if that person is myself) so my current strategy of attaching self-satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment to reducing my stack(s) of unread books is working well for me.
On the subject of more promptly reading new books, I was recently sent these newly reissued Picador editions of some of Jamaica Kincaid’s work and I’m not sure when I last received such exciting book mail.
I read Lucy just last year so I won’t be revisiting it just yet but I loved it. Since these arrived I’ve read Annie John and At the Bottom of the River and I’d urge everyone who hasn’t encountered Jamaica Kincaid’s work to give it some attention. She writes as though she only has space for truths and no interest whatsoever in appeasing or even appealing to anyone, especially on the subjects of girlhood, mother-daughter relationships, colonialism and everything that makes those things discomforting; she also writes so strikingly about nature and her home island of Antigua and there’s something so dreamlike about her prose which creates a balance I really appreciate. A Small Place hasn’t been reissued as part of the collection but I’ll always recommend that one too.
If you’re looking for any further inspiration, do read this essay on Annie John by Akilah White (AKA @ifthisisparadise) for Bad Form. It’s a stunning thing to witness a writer’s impact on someone’s being. Maybe we all have those authors or those books that meet us where we are, as we are and speak to that version of us that we know ourselves to be, becoming hopelessly attached as a consequence. When Akilah said ‘Caribbean women writers hold such a frightening hold over my life. How do you stand it?’ I was reminded of just how overwhelming that feeling is but I also think that once you’ve known that feeling once, it’s impossible not to keep reading endlessly in the hope that you’ll get to experience it again. She also talks about Annie John and Jamaica Kincaid in ways I never could so yes, read the essay!
Lastly, we need to talk about Milk Teeth by Jessica Andrews. I loved her debut, Saltwater when I read it a few years ago so I was eagerly anticipating her new novel. I bought it last week and read it immediately (you see, I do that now) and, oh my word, I just fell into it. Like every other book in existence, I don’t think this book is for everyone so don’t let my enthusiasm be the only thing that persuades you to part with your money; not everyone loves such poetry in their prose, I imagine some people might think it’s heavy on the description, maybe a little too introspective for others but those are all things I loved about it and if those things appeal to you too this is one you should probably give a go. Saltwater, too.
“I wanted abstractions; a cut glass sea with light leaking into it, burnt summer tarmac on a motorway at night. I wanted sensation, to go out in the world and let it rip through me, to learn the shape of my coastline, to see if I had any edges. I didn’t know what to do with all that want as it swelled in me like a river, rushing and churning and soaking everything in its path…”
Milk Teeth is such a heady, intimate read and, personally, I was drawn to the way this unnamed character feels and thinks so much and so deeply yet actually says very little. It’s fertile ground for miscommunication which usually has me inwardly screaming at all the ways it could be avoided, but, in this case, it felt more relatable than infuriating, in part because the fear, the hesitation, the longing, the shame beneath the silence was so perfectly described that I felt it for her. This is a book that was completely and utterly absorbing and I don’t doubt that it will stay with me just a little bit longer than usual.
Just before I sat to write this letter, I finished a book that has definitely been added to the list of best books I’ve read so far this year and definitely one of the best debuts (if you follow me on Instagram, you might already have some idea of which one I’m referring to) and, whilst I’m so tempted to wax lyrical about that one too, I think it’s best that I save all talk of it until next time…
Until then, I hope you all get to experience many moments where you find yourself wondering, ’if this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is’. I know I’ll be trying to.
Speak soon,
Tasnim