What I Got:

• The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern
• A Book of One’s Own: People and Their Diaries by Thomas Mallon
• A Study in Scarlet Women (Lady Sherlock #1) by Sherry Thomas
• The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes by Adrian Conan Doyle
• The Cybernetic Tea Shop by Meredith Katz
• The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux
• The Travelling Cat Chronicles by Hiro Arikawa
• Seeds of Spring #2: A Mi’kmaq Teen Discovers Kropotkin, Punk, and Her Place in the World by Christopher Coquard, illustrated by Sacha Ravenda
• The Nez Perce Indians (Simple History Series #8) (zines) by J. Gerlach
• The East Village INKY no. 62 (zine) by Ayun Halliday
• TOP: A Comic About Gender and Surgery (zine) by Rainer Bloodgood

What I Read:

• “The Cricket on the Hearth” from The Christmas Books, Vol. 2 by Charles Dickens, ed. by Michael Slater
• Accepting Failure (zine) by Ana López
• Shit Talk: what happens after it goes down the drain (zine) by Cindy Chen, Sam Haugh, et. al
• Shards of Glass In Your Eye #11 (zine) by Kari Tervo
• A Series of Unfortunate Events #10-13 (audiobooks) by Lemony Snicket
• The Dark Matter of Mona Starr by Laura Lee Gulledge
• Reading Quirks: Weird Things that Bookish Nerds Do! by The Wild Detectives, Javier García del Moral, and Andrés de la Casa Huertas
• Dancing at the Pity Party by Tyler Feder
• The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern
• Goldie Vance: The Hotel Whodunit by Lilliam Rivera
• The Princess Bride (audiobook) by William Goldman
• Gender Queer by Maia Kobabe
• Mr. Dickens and His Carol by Samantha Silva
• Heartstopper Vol. 1-2 (re-read) by Alice Oseman
• Seeds of Spring #2: A Mi’kmaq Teen Discovers Kropotkin, Punk, and Her Place in the World by Christopher Coquard, illustrated by Sacha Ravenda
• Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist (audiobook) by Rachel Cohn

’Tis the season to read too much. And to read mostly easy stories. Winter always makes me want to re-read books or pick up cozy, fun new ones instead of anything that takes up too much brain power.

I tried to ignore this tendency at the beginning of the month by picking up The Christmas Books, Vol. 2 by Charles Dickens and planning to read all three Christmas stories throughout the month. Well, I only got through one before deciding I’d rather not spend the rest of the month reading domestic winter tales without much plot. “The Cricket on the Hearth” shows how a loving couple with a new baby can overcome a suspected (and false) affair by remembering the good times and love between them, all the while getting a presumed-dead man back with his fiancée and bringing out the kindness in a grumpy old man. Crickets, apparently, are little household spirits or guardian angels. Who knew the chirping had a purpose?

The other not-so-easy read of December was The Starless Sea, the book I read with my sister. This story is amazing and complicated and atmospheric. So many beautiful descriptions. My main gripe is that this book is all about atmosphere, sometimes at the expense of the characters. They feel mostly flat, and while this did bother me, it does emphasize how much life stories have when let loose. They can change and morph, sometimes in unexpected ways, but always move toward one fixed ending. Morgenstern is insanely talented at giving life to her stories and, by repeating plots and symbols subtly, make the stories feel familiar. She understands at a profound level how stories can be told in a thousand different ways, in a thousand different forms. Plus, and I never thought I would say this, I love the bees. The bees were my favorite. They were sincere and kind and powerful. (But not when they’re near me in real life. No, thanks, bees. Let’s keep our distance.)

The zine Accepting Failure ended up being an endearingly honest portrait of a daughter trying not to “fail” based on her parents’ standards. Just like me, Ana López contends with the high expectations of others and switches from wanting to pursue science to wanting to pursue something creative. For me, this meant becoming an English major. For her, it meant becoming a balloon artist. López discusses how we have to define what failure means on a personal basis, otherwise we will never feel fulfilled or successful. Even though it’s scary, because the blame falls on yourself, instead of being able to blame others. A line that really resonated with me was, “I’ve made myself a lot happier by accepting what I know about myself over what others perceive.” This is something I’ve gotten better at, but I definitely fall into the habit of obsessing over how others see me. We all deserve to be in charge of our own failures and successes.

I read three amazing graphic novels this month. First off is The Dark Matter of Mona Starr, which was so simple yet so emotionally intelligent. It gives concrete advice on self-care and living with depression. This story shows a nonlinear path to mental wellbeing; the depression doesn’t just disappear after Mona develops good habits and thoughts. She knows how to deal with it better and rely on friends when she needs them, but it doesn’t mean the mental illness has disappeared. The artwork captures exactly what it feels like to believe there’s a black hole of nothingness underneath everything. I’ve often made the connection between depression and black holes, but instead I have channeled this into an interest in actual black holes. Depression is a black hole for Mona, and anxiety is a Hydra monster to me. Sometimes metaphors are the only way to articulate a feeling. Anyway, I highly recommend this book to anyone dealing with depression, especially junior high and high school students.

Dancing at the Pity Party portrays grief, loss, and dealing with a sick parent with humor, honesty, and heartache. Beautifully illustrated and incredibly comforting, this graphic memoir will make anyone dealing with grief feel less alone in the world.

Another graphic memoir found itself in my hands thanks to my sister checking it out from the public library for me. I’ve been wanting to read Gender Queer by Maia Kobabe for a really long time, but I could never find it anywhere. And it was worth the wait. Maia’s story is different from mine in many ways, but a lot of it was still relatable. E talks about gender dysphoria, not knowing why certain rules were being imposed on em based on an assigned gender, and the ups and downs of coming out to eir family and friends. It was therapeutic to see feelings that I’ve often felt guilty for or confused about portrayed on the page. While I consider myself a genderqueer man instead of simply nonbinary, Maia and have a lot in common in our gender journeys. Plus, I love seeing different pronouns besides he/she/they out there in the world, proving everyone who says non-mainstream pronouns are “too awkward” to use.

Speaking of graphic novels/memoirs, I wish I would have read the Goldie Vance graphic novels before reading the middle grade mystery novel adaptation, Goldie Vance: The Hotel Whodunit. The characters felt a bit flat and I wish I could have gotten to know them better. Plus, I really want more Goldie and Diane content. Adorable. Goldie keeps saying how cool Diane is and it’s so wholesome to see her simp over the record store girl.

My main gripes with the book are that it relies on the comics to flesh out the characters and that Goldie rarely stops to consider how others might be affected by her actions. She acts like forcing her friends to help her is a Ferris Bueller thing, but it just comes across as inconsiderate. All in all, though, this was cute and fun, a more progressive and diverse version of Nancy Drew that takes place in a 1960s without racism, but still with sexism. Goldie Vance is the queer, biracial, Black Nancy Drew we all need when the uncomfortable 1930s bigotry gets to be too much. Highly recommend for middle grade readers!

Just before sitting down to write this post, I finished listening to the Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist audiobook. I wish I would have read it with my eyeballs because I found Norah’s narrator a little annoying. This story is awkward and punk and angst-ridden. Nick and Norah both work through feelings attached to emotionally abusive exes, and Rachel Cohn shows how the “slutty” and “mean” girl can have a compassionate and helpful side, too. It doesn’t erase her nasty actions, but it does show how complex everyone is on the inside. Nick and Norah are flawed and can’t seem to figure things out, but they end up meeting each other in the middle and accepting the enjoyment of being with another person. I have a lot of issues with how Norah and Triss (Nick’s ex and Norah’s frenemy) call each other “bitch” all the time, because it seems like they always (at least partially) mean it. Though Triss is not without good qualities, I felt like Norah needed to let Triss go as a friend until Triss is willing to change a little. I also don’t like how the narrative is so binary and gendered, even while most of the side characters are queer members of punk bands. My last issue is with Nick and Norah. Yes, though I loved how they got together and worked through shit together in the underground NYC punk scene, their relationship goes back and forth too much. I like that the relationship isn’t linear, but they have the same problem too many times in a row. However, I am a sucker for books about music, angsty romance, and college-aged characters, so I still really enjoyed it! Nick can write some killer lyrics and this is the first book in which I ever enjoyed a make-out scene. It didn’t just describe the actions, but also the emotions that are involved in physical intimacy. (I should add that the use of the word “breast” is incredibly unsexy to me and completely took me out of the scene every time it was used.)

My re-read of A Series of Unfortunate Events has come to a close, and as December is a time of endings, it felt fitting to discuss this at the end of the post. When I was in middle school, I never finished the series, and I don’t remember which book I left off with, but I have finally read ’til the end. Anyway, re-reading/reading this series was an absolute delight. These books hold up so well in 2020 and were beyond their time. Not only does Snicket prove that kids are human beings that should be taken seriously instead of second-rate citizens, he also includes many subtly queer characters: Sir and Charles, Mrs. Morrow who could now be “your sister, or your mother, or your aunt, or wife. Or even your husband”, the genderless henchperson, etc. Snicket also knows how to teach vocabulary words and phrases in his stories while letting kids know their experiences are valid and valuable. That their grief, hardships, opinions, and observances should be included in the conversation. I also love a good story that includes the “author” as a character in the story. (Another example is The Secret Series by Pseudonymous Bosch.)

Obviously, these books are not perfect, but they teach so many good lessons in such a whimsical way that it’s hard to remember them when reflecting on the series as a whole. In this world, no one is normal or freakish, they just are. No one is entirely good or evil, they are a mix of the two. The storytelling is inventive and snarky. The ending is uncertain yet hopeful despite the previous unfortunate events. Stepping back and thinking about all the things that happen to the Baudelaires (without the whimsy) made me really sad. Their grief gets compounded and compounded and compounded, but in The End, they find the will to survive and thrive after losing so many people and so much comfort. In the end, they are alone, but they are alone together. I’m a bit sad that I’m done with the series and have a feeling there is another re-read in the future for me.

Minus the incredibly horrible stuff looming over the world, this is one of the best Christmases I’ve had in a while—less drama with less family around, and my mom made the heartwarming gesture of repainting some ornaments with my chosen name. You know what, I wish I could just say “fuck 2020,” but while it has really been a horrible year, it hasn’t been entirely horrible. Just mostly horrible. And you and I, we survived. That’s not a small feat. I’m sure I’m not the only one who used humor to get through 2020, and I would like to leave you with the only Match.com commercial I’ve ever enjoyed. Here’s to hoping 2021 is better, if not great.