This Book, That Book: All of the Books I’ve Read in 2024 (so far)

Pssst! FTC Disclosure: Embedded in each book title is an affiliate link and if you click on it (and purchase a gently-used book) I will receive a commission. 

Feel free to do that…

We interrupt your regularly scheduled program of me discussing my time in San Francisco to bring you part one of my 2024 book review.

Welcome back to This Book, That Book, the place where I tell you whether or not you should read this book or that book. 

Last year, I read 43 books, topping my reading goal of 30 books. 

This year, so far, I’ve read 36 books.

Hold your applause.

I’d be lying if I said that I enjoyed every single one of these books, but I loved so many of them and am excited to spend the latter half of the year reading more so that I can reach, if not surpass, my goal of 50. 

Many of the books I read were about sad, desperate people, and only occasionally did the authors restore hope in the end. So many of them featured ugly people doing ugly things, depicting people as they are, and not always how they ought to be. Regardless of the type of novel, I frequently got inspiration for how I should write my own books and how I should live my life.

So, here is my review of all 36, keeping it light on the spoilers and constructive in the criticism.

Judge for yourself:

Ripe by Sarah Rose Etter– Positions itself as a dystopian novel based in our modern times. It depicts the soul-crushing, cut-throat tech companies that exist around homeless encampments, the need for recreational cocaine to keep up with the grueling demands, and the ridiculousness of modern-dating. The message is clear: we live in dystopian times. Craftwise, the dialogue is a little weak, at times bordering on cartoonish for the evil tech bosses. The ending, as bizarre as it is, firmly cements the story in the magical-realism genre. 

Short People by Joshua Furst– gets to the crux of how children are: the literalness, the earnestness, the honest-to-a-fault-ness, and the fundamental desire to do no harm. I’m a tad biased, having taken this professor’s class, but it remains a very good collection of short stories. 
Favorite story: This Little Light

Death in Venice by Thomas Mann– A famous German writer ventures to Venice, where he promptly falls in love with a young Polish boy (and by “young” and “boy,” I am being literal). The story is him obsessing over the child and, at times, making the effort to interact with him. It is a short, well-written novel, using the high-falutin language of the time, even in translation. 

Citizen: An American Lyric by Claudia Rankine–  I had read this book years ago for class and had to read it for another class this year, but it is worth reading twice. This “American Lyric” dives into Rankine’s personal experiences as a woman of color in America. 

Exalted by Anna Dorn*spoiler alert* This was a super light and rompy book about astrology up until all of the incest. On a lighter note, this novel will teach you everything you need to know about zodiac signs, and is a love letter to Leos in all of their attention-seeking glory. Meanwhile, I was likened to a wounded puppy, as a cancer. This novel has it all: a self-loathing lesbian character, an obsession with Heathers-era Winona Ryder, incest, and a shit-ton of astrology.

The Dead by James Joyce– The takeaway: sometimes your wife is a person too.

 The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne by Brian Moore– This novel takes place in Ireland and examines the life of one Judith Hearne, a woman who has not done much with her life. This book is deliberately offensive, using racial slurs. It will depress you, by asking questions about your life decisions and whether or not you’ve truly lived a life. 

The Pure and Impure by Colette– opens, like many great stories, in an opium den. In what is one of the earliest examples of autofiction, a writer gets inundated with all of the things that the people in her circle do and writes about them.

A Sorrow Beyond Dreams by Peter Handke– The takeaway: sometimes your mother is a person too.

The Ha-Ha by Dave King– You will not ha-ha very many times during this book. A man who cannot speak or write due to an injury sustained in Vietnam is tasked with looking after the nine year old son of his ex-girlfriend when she goes into rehab. He is profoundly lonely, being completely articulate in his head, but not out loud, the one place where it counts.

Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant? by Roz Chast– Written in comic-format, this memoir outlines cartoonist Roz Chast’s experiences taking care of her aging parents. Chast takes you panel-by-panel, showing you how difficult taking care of elderly relatives can be, especially when they were always difficult people to begin with. After reading this book and seeing what was in store for me, should I make it to my 90s, I bought bok choy with apple cider vinegar and started doing laps in the pool. This book had a real eat-your-greens-and-do-some-push-ups effect on me. I also then proceeded to call my parents to tell them how much I loved them and to also recommend that they start putting aside some money for assisted living right now.

In A Free State by V.S. Naipaul– Anyone who says they have an interest in colonization, emigration, and dislocation should read this book. It’s a fictional story about people living in an unnamed African country, Haiti, and Washington D.C. and covers what it is like to be in those places.

The Secret Lives of Church Ladies by Deesha Philyaw– When I first started reading this, I was expecting something more dramatic and exciting, but as I read along, I appreciated the lack of pretense and melodrama. This collection of short stories was down to earth and realistic, telling the stories of desperate people trying to get through life. Each story was a fascinating character study.
Favorite story: How to Make Love to a Physicist 

The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin– This cleverly-titled novel tells the story of a profoundly lonely book shop owner who is tasked with looking after a child. The novel is wholesome and hopeful. I read it in a day, which is a testament to how good it was. Reading a book in a day is what a sick day is for. This novel really tests your knowledge of books, making near-constant references to classic literature in a way that is not pretentious. 

The Guest by Emma Cline– After she is ditched in Long Island by her rich boyfriend, a young woman can’t move back to the city, where her abusive ex-boyfriend, whom she robbed, is on the hunt for her. Instead, she plots to have her nice ex-boyfriend take her back, staying in Long Island by intuitively flitting from one group to the next and putting on airs as a blasé member of the same social circle. It was hard at times to read as the character inconceivably makes a mess of things. Syntactically, Cline uses copious amounts of fragments that weaken her work, while also, at times, writing lines that are too wordy and overwritten. This, oftentimes, lulls the reader instead of compelling them to read further. Cline always has beautiful, glittery descriptions, but they occasionally get lost in the less special details that clog her narration. I still recommend this book as it was very entertaining and hit the right pressure points when there’s tension in the story.

Writers and Lovers by Lily King– Generally speaking, I do not like novels in which the protagonist is also a writer (yes, the title should have tipped me off). Like everybody else, I read to escape, so I don’t want to read about another person’s crippling bout of writer’s block, which the author probably had while writing the novel in question, along with a contractual obligation to write the novel in the first place. It is the quintessence of “write what you know,” taken to the upteenth degree. The end result is usually a few ramblings about the creative process, and, in this case, a starving artist who ends up victorious with a book deal. Writers and Lovers is a far less egregious example, but an example nonetheless. 

The Fox by D.H. Lawrence– Have you ever watched that scene in North By Northwest and thought to yourself: this is cool and all, but is running someone over with a crop duster really an effective way to kill them? I had a similar thought when reading The Fox, namely *spoiler alert* is chopping down a tree and letting it fall on someone an effective way to kill them? Still enjoyable to read.

The Senselessness by Horacio Castellanos Moya– A political-exile must edit thousands of pages of testimony from witnesses of the genocide of indigenious people for the Catholic Church, an institution that he hates. Naturally, this story grapples with some serious themes, so only read it if you too are angry with the world and in need of having those feelings validated. 

Chronicle of A Death Foretold by Gabriel Garcia Marquez– I read (skimmed) Chronicle of a Death Foretold in high school and had to give a group presentation in which we invented a literary interpretation as to what really happened in the book. Between me and my two group members, we’d read enough of the book to come up with the idea that Angela Vicario was actually a virgin who broke her own hymen. (If you haven’t read the book, I cannot imagine what that must sound like to you). The three of us stood in front of our class and, with complete confidence, told everyone that the female character in the story broke her own hymen to get out of a marriage, something that is not at all supported in the text, and could only be said by three fifteen year old virgins who thought that hymens were highly-breakable pieces of the female body that would shatter like cut glass stemware when, one day, a penis poked it. Actually reading the book as an adult leaves you with a *slightly* more nuanced impression. You focus more on the senselessness of the crime being committed, the sense of community, the culpability of bystanders, the way that the information is laid out so effectively despite the novel’s commitment to ambiguity, and the many, many layers of commentary that Marquez brings to the story. But the hymen thing is good too.

​​Good Morning, Midnight by Jean Rhys– I barely understood what happened in this one and not just because so much of it was in French.

Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton– Poor Ethan Frome, man. In between a rock and a hard place with a marriage that he hates and a woman that he loves, Ethan navigates some treacherous waters and does so very poorly. It is not exactly a warm-and-fuzzy beach read, but it is still a worthwhile read.

The Pisces by Melissa Broder– I love dysfunctional women stories and this novel about a codependent woman who is court-ordered to go to group therapy after punching her boyfriend in the face hits that target pretty well, in my opinion. Some of you may remember that last year I read a book that had a naked woman spooning a dead bird on the cover, so it is only fitting that I should pick up this book in which a fully-clothed woman, in the throes of passion, embraces a silhouetted fish. Reading the description, I learned that it was actually a story about a woman who has a lot of sex with a merman and I thought to myself, “I’ve never read a book like that before.” That said, there was so much mermaid sex in this one. (The word pussy gets thrown around a lot). It was snarky and scathing at times in the narrator’s internal monologue, never going full-tilt, tawdry romance novel. And in case you ever wondered about the rudiments of sex with a mermaid, this book answers those questions for you in vivid detail. 

The Blind Owl by Sadegh Hedayat, trans. D.P. Costello– you read the book by living inside the narrator’s opium-addled waking-consciousness. I would like to ask my professor what the deal is with many of the books he assigned dealing with opium. There was a lot of existential nihilism in this one, so get ready to feel depressed.

Black Water by Joyce Carol Oates– Blatantly based on the Chappaquiddick incident, a woman dies in a car after being left there by the drunken senator that left her there to die. RIP.

​​The Chill by Ross Macdonald– Is a noir-style mystery. It uses some dated terminology and describes the appearance of every woman he meets in ways that you couldn’t get away with today. The vibe is very much I-went-out-looking-for-dames. The novel has sparse details and is very dialogue heavy, but I appreciated the lack of meaningless stage directions. There is a complicated cast of characters, making it difficult to keep the names straight at times. The ending will take you by surprise. 

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy– underedited in the best possible sense, being lyrical, fragmented, and non-linear in an almost un-authorial way that maintains the novel’s style. It is completely uninhibited in its descriptions, using unique details to describe a scene. I was most interested in Sophie Mol’s place in the story. It takes over a hundred pages for her to appear, we learn very little about her, and her death, which the entire story revolves around, happens so quickly it has a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it-quality.  

Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen– This novel had such a satisfying ending that’ll make you believe in second acts in old age and karma for those who abuse animals and women. After being tormented by the evil business practices of a dysfunctional circus, animal cruelty, and the cruelty of age, the story redeems itself in the end and will make you believe that you truly can run away and join the circus. 

Hula by Lisa Shea– There was so much I appreciated about this novel, such as how the idyllic moments of childhood are juxtaposed against horrifying ones and the narrator’s incomprehension of them as a result of her age. The father is treated like a mythical figure throughout the story, in and out of the girls’ lives for better and for worse in equal measure. At times I thought that the prose were a little over-groomed, the result of meticulous editing, but I still enjoyed reading about these girls’ tumultuous childhood.

Love and Other Words by Christina Lauren– Like many novels in the contemporary romance genre, Love and Other Words is about as formulaic as a Hallmark movie, but still very fun to read. The girl’s mother who always lit up a room is dead, the heroine runs into the guy from her youth who was her first love and has suddenly turned dreamy, she keeps hinting at the big event that went down in their past that you must wait hundreds of pages to read about, and, guess what: they both love books. I was impressed by how she could always find new ways to wax poetic about the way the guy smiles and blushes. Apparently men with “lopsided smiles” are straight up perfect.

Every Summer After by Carley Fortune– I had deja vu while reading this one, as it was nearly a shot-for-shot remake of Love and Other Words. It was not like the author lifted whole passages from the text, but the premise was unmistakably derivative. Both stories go back and forth between “now” and “then,” telling the story in both past and present tense, and tease the reader about “what happened” between the protagonist and her love interest, for whom they were each others’ whole world. In both stories, the man grows into a flawless adonis who listens to every word she says and comes back even dreamier once they’re adults, at her beck and call. It is female wish fulfillment in its purest form. The parents were so much more fun in this novel than in Love and Other Words, as they were drinking red wine on their dock and eating hot fondue at the drop of a dime. That’s the dream right there.

Beach Read by Emily Henry– All hail Emily Henry, the patron saint of the contemporary romance genre. I don’t consider myself to be a romantic person, so making me read a contemporary romance novel is a little bit like making an atheist read the Bible; I might like parts of the story, but I’m just not a believer. This book did not convert me, but I still enjoyed it. The novel tells the story of two writers and I typically hate novels about writers (scroll up in case you’ve forgotten), but this one was so much more charming. Once again, the male character is attentive and perfect, being attractive, good in bed, and head over heels for the female protagonist. 

Happy Place by Emily Henry– Here we have another rom com full of people in a situation that I would never find myself in. There is miscommunication, selfishness, and going with the flow just to appease others. The main character made terrible life decisions in this book, in my own personal opinion. I give it about a year before her character realizes the massive mistake that she made and gives up on life. I preferred Beach Read over this one.

The Sabotage Cafe by Joshua Furst– In an ode to punk rock culture, Sabotage Cafe tells the story of a delusional mother imagining what her teenage daughter is going through after she runs away from home. I appreciated the way in which the mother’s imaginings of what her daughter is going through reflects her own adolescence and how it is made clear throughout the story that the mother is deeply confused. Even though I knew it wasn’t real, I was still engrossed all the way through, wondering what was going to happen to the daughter even though nothing was actually happening to her. I also appreciated the suburban kids, fighting the system, despite not knowing anything about the system in question. 

The Hour of the Star by Clarice Lispector– is a 70 page hailstorm of a novel that waxes poetic about the secrets of the universe over a very thin plot that turns a simple girl into something complicated through the narrator’s perception of her.

Book of Eve by Carmen Boullosa– reimagines the book of Genesis from Eve’s perspective. In doing so, Boullosa challenges the Bible’s ideas of womanhood. It depicts Adam and Eve out in the wilderness following their exile from the garden of Eden. Boullosa offers creative new interpretations about what really went down in the Bible, such as Cain being created in Eve’s image, as a lover of fruit. I felt that there were some missed opportunities to comment more on pregnancy, menstruation, and Eve’s role in that as the original giver of life.

Moving Kings by Joshua Cohen– After getting out of the IDF, Yuav and Uri work for Yoav’s cousin David King (an inverted King David) at his moving company, Moving Kings, where they evict predominantly people of color from their houses following the 2008 housing crisis. In doing so, the novel makes the comparison between the occupation of homes in New York City and the situation in Gaza, with occupation and displacement being the central themes of the novel. At times, I wasn’t sure what the author’s views were on Israel and Palestine, although trying to psychoanalyze a writer through their novel is usually a fruitless task. (It’s worth mentioning that the novel also came out in 2017). I know that it’s pretty low hanging fruit to compare Cohen to Philip Roth since they both write about the Jewish experience, but I think that with this novel it is an apt comparison for several reasons: grotesque writing about sex, total lack of political correctness, flippant tone, and not having very many plot points in what still manages to be an eventful novel. 

My three favorites were:

The God of Small Things
Water For Elephants
Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant?

A few honorable mentions:

The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry
Black Water
The Ha-Ha

The award for most original book I read goes to The Pisces. Again, mermaid sex. 

Book of Eve was a close second. 

Have you read any of these books? If so, share your thoughts (nicely) in the comments.

Happy reading!

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel




P.S.: Check out my previous blog post: An Escape to the Golden Gate


When the book is ripe enough to eat



An Escape to the Golden Gate

On my second day in the city, I saw exactly what I’d dreamed of when I pictured going to San Francisco all of those years ago: the San Francisco Bay covered in glittery fog and the Golden Gate Bridge disappearing into the clouds.

I’d never been to the West Coast before– I’d only ever gone up and down the East Coast. Standing on the opposite edge of the continent, I wanted to go to the beach. 

After walking the length of the bridge, I decided to hang a left at the beach.

At first, I walked down the path into a wooded hillside towards the water and then decided not to in case I encountered a bear along the way. (It is on their state flag after all).

The view from sunny California

Having told no one where I was going that day, I decided that maybe it was best not to walk down a mountainside alone and instead made it to Marshall’s Beach by taking the road.

I’d packed a swimsuit for my trip without any plans to get anywhere near the freezing cold water in the Pacific Ocean. Since I decided to go to the beach spontaneously, I didn’t have it on me. Instead, I climbed over the rocks and walked barefoot along the shoreline, discovering for myself that the water was in fact numbingly-cold. 

Watching the waves crash, I started to get FOMO and wished I had my bathing suit, despite how cold it was. I turned a corner and realized that this was not the type of beach for which you needed a bathing suit. 

When Google searching beaches with which to best glimpse the Golden Gate Bridge, none of the websites mentioned that Marshall’s Beach was a clothing-optional beach with a large gay scene. 

And I’m not mad about it. I always love a good trip to the beach. 

So did I partake in the nude beach experience? Did I adopt a when-in-Rome attitude and plunge naked into the Pacific Ocean? Did I emerge from the water naked with my long, wavy hair blowing in the breeze behind me like a Botticeli painting? 

Maybe.

I can tell you that I came out of the excursion with a sunburnt nose and my bad knee even worse than before, having witnessed a few eye-opening things taking place on the sand, but I loved it. A day at the beach is still a day at the beach.

Following that, I ate bao at a chinese restaurant called Bao, which more than lived up to its name, and got a drink at The Buddha Lounge in Chinatown. I 10/10 recommend both.

Day two was down with another adventurous San Francisco day in the books. I was ready to limp around San Francisco for another adventure on my third day in the city.

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out my previous blog post on what my first day in San Francisco was like.

I Left My Heart in [blank]

“I left my home in Georgia, headed for the ‘Frisco Bay”

–Otis Redding, Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay

School was out for summer and I was in a mood. The kind of mood where I sit around playing California Dreamin’ on repeat as my semester ramped down because that’s exactly what I was doing: dreaming of California, a place that I’ve never been to but have heard so much about due to the total tonnage of songs dedicated to it. I’d made it through my semester and, I’m not sure if you’ve seen the news lately, but that semester was a little bit more difficult than usual.

Around this time, my metrocard was getting low and the temperature was getting high. I found myself wanting to be in a walkable city with famously mild weather.

Packing only the essentials

All of my friends were back to their corners, jet-setting to their own summer plans. I decided to do something that I’ve been dreaming about for a while:

I booked a flight to San Francisco. 

Dressing the part of someone who’d go to the Bay Area

In proper girl-on-a-budget fashion, I made plans to sleep on a friend’s couch and then toggled back and forth between the $120 flights on airlines with shoddy safety records, and 15 hour layovers in the midwest, and the slightly pricier tickets from more reputable airlines. 

Prior to actually visiting San Francisco, I envisioned a politically-correct mecca, filled to the brim with the liberally-enlightened. I’d seen the same iconic images as everybody else: picturesque, Victorian houses stacked up and down hilly streets, a blue-burnt sky behind them, and the Golden Gate Bridge silhouetted on the horizon. 

What I found instead was a not kid-friendly, gritty and grimy city brushing up against a hypoallergenic tech sector. (The amount of signs I saw advertising for strip joints was actually kind of impressive and made it look like a local delicacy). Each street was elbowing the next, with Lululemon-clad women boarding the bus one minute and Boho-hippies boarding it the next. The bus would then migrate over to the decayed financial sector, which has become more of a homeless sector, having lain dormant since the pandemic. 

All of these multitudes and more were compacted onto a tiny peninsula.  

I was trying to understand where this “out with the old and in with the new” mentality came from.  I read the same articles as you (well, some of you): tech people setting up camp and redefining the city, homelessness populations being the largest in the country and turning into a way of life, and the cost of living skyrocketing to untenable heights, all taking root in San Francisco over the past decade.

I had to lay eyes on this for myself.

You’re probably wondering why I went to San Francisco in the first place. I want to set a novel in San Francisco (don’t ask me why because everybody asks me why and I don’t know why, which would indicate that I make questionable decisions) and felt that I could not tell the story authentically until I took the city by storm myself. I slept on my friend Raj’s couch (This is Raj. Say hi to Raj). 

Raj has been my brother’s best friend since they were 2 when I was in utero. 

While he went to work, I tooled around town. 

I arrived the day after the city held one of its biggest traditions, which had inconceivably included both marathons and raves, so I basically showed up during a city wide hangover. It was like a day at the beach when everything is so calm that the water barely moves. 

My first stop was City Lights Bookstore, the indie bookstore where Alan Guinsburg debuted Howl many moons ago. After nearly ending up at a lamp store a few times thanks to my GPS, I arrived at City Lights, a beautiful bookstore that was nearly Alan Guinsburg themed at this point, but didn’t sell any of the hockey romance novels that my mother keeps trying to get me to read. Sad. 

From there, I went to see this bay that everyone talks so much about. I saw the Golden Gate Bridge, which is blue at a distance and only red up close. I could see Angel Island and Alcatraz on the horizon beside one another. 

I closed out my day at Pier 39, seeing –and smelling– the sea lions. 

The sea lions on Pier 39 made me irrationally happy as they spun through the water and then flopped onto the stacks of sea lion bodies on the dock. I enjoyed witnessing the Greco-Roman wrestling matches of the sea lions who’d sardined themselves onto a dock and were now biting and barking at each other.

I started to think that if I were to be reincarnated as any animal, it would not be too bad to come back as a Pier 39 sea lion. I particularly related to the one antisocial sea lion on a different dock who refused to socialize with the other sea lions. 

He wasn’t dead. He moved a few times. He was just chilling like he was dead. 

I spent much of my first day bumbling around, courtesy of my nonexistent sense of direction. Raj was an excellent tour guide, explaining to me the different socio-political forces at play in San Francisco, the geography of where I was, and the best spots in the city. He actually knew the history of where he was and so could tell me the significance of where I was standing at any given time. 

Once I was in San Francisco, I felt like I could feel the city’s character muscling its way to the surface, a character that shuns the very idea of the tech industry being anywhere near Haight Ashbury, the home of free love and public fornication. San Francisco is trying hard to maintain its reputation as the beat-poetry, psychedelic-rock birthplace by trumping its newfound granola-tech-people-with-homeless-encampments-lining-the-streets-reputation. 

You’ll be sure to learn my thoughts on how that’s going by the end of this four part saga.

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out my last blog post about my friend Alyssa’s Senior show.

Alyssa’s Senior Show

A couple of weeks ago, I ventured back to Sarah Lawrence to watch Alyssa’s final show before she graduated. Those who’ve been keeping up with it will know that my friend Alyssa has been hard at work creating and now promoting her magnum opus album in the SLC music program. 

For the event, Alyssa was putting on a real show, the closest thing that an undergrad can have to a Vegas act. Projected behind her was all of the artwork she had for each song and standing beside her for the beginning of each song was one of her friends wearing a dress that she made herself. 

Each dress represented the song that she was singing, acting as an extension of her work. I wore a beautiful light green dress that she made for her song Evolution, doing a twirl and a curtsy. Alyssa is probably the only person for whom I would do this.

Alyssa, a true renaissance woman, created the dresses that go with the songs, created the art that goes with the songs, and created all of the songs. This was done in part to promote her new album The Train (all bangers, no skips, swear to god).

People bought her merchandise, also handmade, afterwards. She was charming and graceful in between each song, wishing the crowd a Happy Passover and explaining the inspiration behind the album that she’s been working on for over a year now. The event was a hit with plenty of turn-out and made for the perfect send off to her time at SLC. 

The merch

I’ve been watching Alyssa’s music career from the wings since the beginning, first through her performances at Sarah Lawrence and then throughout the city. I’ve heard The Train more times than I can count and can probably sing along when asked. I’ve had some very fun times with this album, as have many other people. 

Congratulations to my mega-talented friend on her final performance at Sarah Lawrence. Now, she is on to new things and I’m ready to hear the music that she makes out of all of it.

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out my previous blog post about my recent trip The Botanical Garden in Queens

Flower Power: The Orchid Party at The Botanical Garden

A couple of weeks ago, the Botanical Garden in Queens was throwing their annual Orchid Party, which promised craft cocktails, live dancing, high fashion, and lots and lots of orchids. Florals in fashion was the theme, as they showcased designer dresses with nature in mind. I dressed for the part, wearing my flower petal jacket, and headed on over. 

I had a hard time rustling up any enthusiasm amongst my friends since the last day of the event fell on 4/20. After exhausting everyone in my proverbial rolodex for my admittedly last minute plans, I went it alone. 

The event started with drinks and live dance performances set to a mash-up of Prince and even more Prince. If dancing doesn’t work out for these dancers, they could always go into work as contortionists. 

On stage with the dancers, there was a runway competition where audience members were asked to strut like they were on a runway and the rest of us had to choose a winner.

After that, I strolled through the conservatory where the rows and rows of orchids were intersected with elaborate floral-themed designer outfits, designed like sculptures in a sculpture garden, and lily pad-filled pools. 

The fashion was designed by up-and-coming New York City designers Collina Strada by Hillary Taymour, Dauphinette by Olivia Cheng, and FLWR PSTL by Kristen Alpaugh. 

Walking through the conservatory was like walking through a perfume ad. It was very romantic, so naturally I was there all by myself, lubed-up on a margarita and sniffing orchids. Beside the flowers were plaques, explaining the science of the different plant species, making the entire set-up like one part Natural History Museum, one part flower shop, and one part hip hop dance competition. 

There was something for everyone to enjoy: fashion, science, dance, and alcohol. I can’t really think of a more blase way to kick off spring than to go to a fashion event and look at flowers while having a drink. 

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out my previous article: Carmen

Carmen

Great news people: I have once again gone to the opera.

Having gone and blogged about it four times, I know that this comes as a shock to you all, but nonetheless I did it. 

This time I went with my friend ​​Claire to see Carmen. Even if you haven’t seen Carmen, I can assure you that you have heard the music, as it has one of the most iconic scores of any opera, something that I didn’t know until I was sitting in my seat.

Despite it being a French opera taking place in Spain, The Met decided to set the production in the midwestern United States. I did not expect to see a production of Carmen in which the titular woman was wearing turquoise cowgirl boots and jorts while gyrating against a semi truck, but no judgment.

Perhaps there was some commentary in the sense that the story takes place outside of a gun manufacturing factory and they were commenting on the mass gun deaths in the US and/or the American military industrial complex. Either that or I just put more thought into it than they did. 

In the end, the story taking place in the midwest meant that when Carmen dances for her love interest she did so on top of a trash can at a gas station, which was a daring artistic choice. 

We then proceeded to witness the most toxic relationship known to man. There was a lot of “I have to be with you,” “I can’t be with you,” “you don’t love me,” “I can never be with you” “I can’t live without you” going on in the story. Then one of them died. 

In all honesty, as a chronically single person, that’s what just about a lot of you guys’s relationships look like to me. Carmen holds the record for quickest and most pointless death in an opera. 

At least she didn’t sing for half an hour about how she was dying. She didn’t even see it coming. 

For the opera, I kept it casual by wearing a floor length ball gown that I purchased at a consignment shop last semester. When I bought it, the sale’s woman to ask what I was buying it for. I answered “the opera.”

She asked, “oh when are you going to the opera?” and I had to admit that I had absolutely no idea. 

Sometimes, you have to buy the dress for the event that you have no prospects for. Likewise, I recently purchased a dress for the ballet, but have no idea when I’ll be going. I will keep you posted on how that’s going. 

Unfortunately, it would appear that while that conversation was taking place, the sales woman forgot to remove the plastic chip at the bottom of the dress, causing numerous people to stare at it at the Met Opera House. I tried to tell them with my eyes that I did not in fact shoplift my ball gown, but that is hard to communicate visually. 

The music was beautiful and so was the singing. Yes, I was occasionally distracted by the juxtaposition of a woman belting it in French, acting sexy against the chain-link fence of a weapons factory, while wearing a lab coat, but I still had a fantastic time at the opera. 

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out my previous blog post about my royal portrait

2023 Royal Portrait

Singular Royal Portrait

/rɔɪəl pɔːʳtreɪt/ Noun.

  1. A representation of a member of a royal family
  2. A photo shoot I do every year with a friend in order to get a smokin’ hot photo of myself for my blog and holiday card

It was that time of year again, where I take an obnoxious amount of photos of myself for my blog and holiday card and post them for the world to see. 

Now, you may have noticed that it is mid-April, but we are just going to ignore that and just enjoy the pictures that I did put on my holiday card, because sometimes, it is hard to get around to posting your royal portrait photos.

Padgett came over for my “royal portrait” photoshoot, bringing with her a special light and her phone. What I wanted this year was to take a picture with my cat– something I assumed wouldn’t be a lofty goal.

I leaned in to take a picture with her. Suspicious of my intentions, she gave chase. 

It took us an embarrassingly long amount of time to catch her, which we eventually did by cornering her in my bedroom. The only thing missing was the Benny Hill theme song. 

What I was going for:

What I got after cornering my cat:

After still failing to get a decent picture, Calypso darted out of my room. My cat may never forgive me for trying to get a picture with her, despite rescuing her from a 17 cat litter in what I’m pretty sure was a trailer park.

A photo of us when she still trusted me

Otherwise, the shoot was lovely. My face was not behaving, but that’s nothing that a little alcohol couldn’t fix. I’m sure that that’s how the real models do it, anyway. 

I changed clothes, I played music, and in the end I got some great pictures, with or without my cat’s cooperation. 

Shoutout to Padgett for sacrificing life and limb to lean over my bannister to get a picture of me lying on the floor.

BTS

For the original shoot, I wanted the cover to say Happy Holidays, with a nice respectable photo of myself, and then the back to be a messy jumble to prove why we truly needed to be wished luck in the new year. 

Proof that I read books sometimes

Instead, I did what I do every year, which was have a nice photo on the front and a 2023 candid shot on the back.

The front of the card:

Taken seconds before she ran away from me

The back of the card:

So, Happy Holidays

And a Happy New Year

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

Baptism by Water

My friend Claire had been Catholic her whole life, although never officially baptized, so to make it official, she was getting baptized, confirmed, and communionized– a full work up– at Notre Dame Cathedral in New York City. I put on my Sunday best, and set off for the Cathedral. 

My Sunday best looked like a dress from the show Mad Men. Please ignore all of the stuff in my room. I’m not sure why I posed like that either

To the untrained eye, a Catholic mass is a bunch of people bobbing up and down in a gymnastics display, because, I suppose, physical exertion shows devotion to God. As a board certified Catholic, I knew when to kneel, cross myself, sit, and stand. No mean feat.

I was familiar, also, with the confirmation process, having been the sponsor for my cousin in Boston, which feels like a very Boston thing to say. She’d chosen Joan of Arc as her patron saint– the patron saint of bad bitches. (And some other stuff probably too)

The officiant of the mass was a bishop who’d served faithfully as UN Ambassador to the Pope for years. He was the Permanent Observer of the Holy See to the United Nations, representing the Vatican to the world.

Anyways, I asked him where the bathroom was. 

This was before mass started so I hadn’t yet heard his resume. 

His sermon dealt with how lucky we all were to be there in that church, miles away from Russia, Ukraine, and The Holy Land, how we were amongst the most privileged in the world. His point was unclear to me, as I sit here and try to type it out, but my guess is that his point was about how we should recognize this privilege and be grateful for our lives.

Spot the Catholic

Afterwards, we had a big feast at Claire’s house. I was not sure what one gives as a gift for an adult baptism, but I went with a bottle of Prosecco. I was not given a bottle of wine when I was baptized at six months old, though I wouldn’t put it past some of the people in my family. 

One day, when I was still too young to wipe the drool off my chin, I was dunked in water in a white dress and everyone around me clapped. Claire joined the church with a bang, with a celebration that she could actually partake in. 

So welcome to the club, Claire! There’s about a billion of us. 

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

Alyssa Sage, Live at Berlin Bar

Out and about on the town one night, I headed downtown to watch my friend Alyssa perform a new set from her upcoming album. This time it was at Berlin, a live music bar in Manhattan, famous for booking fresh talent as part of a “decadent escape into New York City’s Underground.” 

For me, it had more Sarah Lawrence people, more alcohol, and, most importantly, a fresh audience to hear Alyssa’s new album, The Train. 

Anxious that I would be late after the train got delayed, I hauled ass to the bar and showed up sweaty and panting, prompting the bouncer to tell me, “you’ve got a nice cocaine energy to you.”

I informed him that it was “just my natural energy” and that, lucky me, I get to act this way all the time. 

Alyssa hadn’t gone on yet, so when I arrived there was instead a young woman singing a folk song about someone going down on her. 

It was an original piece by her. 

The lyrics to her next song were something to the effect of “I thought that dating older men would fix me psychologically.”

I believe that it did not work out that way for her. 

Alyssa, and her band of fellow Sarah Lawrence-ites, went on shortly thereafter. While they were setting up, I had my second Long Island Iced Tea of the night (I know, shut up) and strangely started to really feel the music. 

It was for that reason that I cheered very loudly and shouted only the most intelligent things I could think of. 

The next morning, after I swore I’d never drink again (alcohol is a poison, etc.), I thanked Alyssa for another good time watching one of her performances and reuniting with my fellow alumni.

As always, brava, Alyssa!

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out my previous blog post on what it was like to attend the book launch party for  The Wildest Sun at Book Club Bar

The Wildest Sun at Book Club Bar

FTC Disclosure: Embedded in the words “The Wildest Sun” at the end of the post is an affiliate link and if you click on it (and purchase the book) I will receive a teeny-tiny commission. Happy reading!

I am back again, with yet another story about a book launch party in the city, making me two for two when it comes to book launches within the same week. 

A few days after attending Elizabeth Topp’s book launch at The Corner Bookstore, I went to the launch of my friend Asha Lemmie’s sophomore novel, The Wildest Sun, at Book Club Bar. 

Asha and I attend the creative writing MFA program together at Columbia, which is how I know all about her New York Times Bestselling debut Fifty Words For Rain, a novel that has had members of my mother’s book club gushing ever since its release. 

For those who’ve never been to Book Club Bar, it is a book bar, where people can drink cocktails while reading books. This would be when my family and friends would say “enough said.” Sitting with a good book while having some wine is what many people dream of, so my friends and I poured one out while listening to Asha explain her genius to the room. 

Asha was charming and poised as she answered her editor’s questions, dressed in her fabulous, and signature, pink. Asha’s writing, which I have the privilege of reading more often than you all, deals heavily with “cultural rejection” as she puts it, making for very rich topics to explore. I am currently in the midst of finishing The Wildest Sun, a novel that explores that topic and more, in depth

We parted ways early in the evening, as Asha was due at NBC news the next morning.

My itinerary has been full of literary events, with hopefully more to come as the year progresses. I will also be making another pilgrimage to NYC Book Club in times to come in order to spend way too much of my money on wine and books.  

Aaaand, if you would like to check out The Wildest Sun by Asha Lemmie, click no further:

The Wildest Sun

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out my previous blog post here