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The Walmart Book of the Dead

an excellent one-sitting read, hypnotic and moody gothic americana. transportive vignettes to the nighttime side of suburban nightmare banality that do not really leave you feeling like you've got a path to transport yourself back

Underland

i can't remember or find who said that it's been too long since scientists were poets, but i think they'd take heart in underland. macfarlane says repeatedly that he is not a scientist, but he's certainly a poet of the highest order! and if we take science to mean the curiosity about and observation of the world's structures, he's found some of the most poetic scientists - from proper physics PhDs to lifelong neighbors of an underground river with no academic training - to guide him through everything that lies beneath us. macfarlane shares their expertise with us and in doing so, translates some hard science such as mycorrhizal networks and dark matter particle theory. in that way, the author and his companions will scratch an itch for approachable and interesting slightly-pop science, but what really struck me throughout underland was the relationship between the inhuman and the deeply human, for better and worse. in every chapter, macfarlane paints vivid pictures of his companions and of the relationships they build with each other. they're a salt mine overseer, but beyond that they're fun to be around and their laugh booms around corners. they're a fisherman, but moreso someone who shares eyes with their infant granddaughter. these people are underland's anchor and they create a bridge between deep geological time and the present. they bring a certain tangible immediacy to the abstract truth that humans have been exploring the underland since time immemorial. i could rant hardcore about this one. other lovely aspects include the detailed inclusions of the journey to each verison of the underland and macfarlane's simple but incisive and cinematic descriptions - mountains are scabbed with snow, breaching whales disclose themselves. the word economy here is tight as hell. i devoured macfarlane's bibliography after finishing this.

Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk

pitched as a thriller but read more as a fable to me, the moral being do NOT fuck with a quirked up babcia!!! love the question of the sanctity of life in all its different forms, love the kooky space cadet brand of unreliable narrator, loooove the frequency with which my stomach twisted for real in the last thirtyish pages

Cara Noir vs PAC | RIPTIDE

REST IN PEACE riptide wrestling, #1 most beautifully-shot promotion in the world - this is a lovely baby's first thirty-minute-plus match; easy to latch onto the heel brawler vs. babyface dancer characters, pac's agility and brutality mesh so well with cara's fluidity and million-dollar selling. great underdog fire and a red-hot crowd

The Walmart Book of the Dead

an excellent one-sitting read, hypnotic and moody gothic americana. transportive vignettes to the nighttime side of suburban nightmare banality that do not really leave you feeling like you've got a path to transport yourself back

Underland

i can't remember or find who said that it's been too long since scientists were poets, but i think they'd take heart in underland. macfarlane says repeatedly that he is not a scientist, but he's certainly a poet of the highest order! and if we take science to mean the curiosity about and observation of the world's structures, he's found some of the most poetic scientists - from proper physics PhDs to lifelong neighbors of an underground river with no academic training - to guide him through everything that lies beneath us. macfarlane shares their expertise with us and in doing so, translates some hard science such as mycorrhizal networks and dark matter particle theory. in that way, the author and his companions will scratch an itch for approachable and interesting slightly-pop science, but what really struck me throughout underland was the relationship between the inhuman and the deeply human, for better and worse. in every chapter, macfarlane paints vivid pictures of his companions and of the relationships they build with each other. they're a salt mine overseer, but beyond that they're fun to be around and their laugh booms around corners. they're a fisherman, but moreso someone who shares eyes with their infant granddaughter. these people are underland's anchor and they create a bridge between deep geological time and the present. they bring a certain tangible immediacy to the abstract truth that humans have been exploring the underland since time immemorial. i could rant hardcore about this one. other lovely aspects include the detailed inclusions of the journey to each verison of the underland and macfarlane's simple but incisive and cinematic descriptions - mountains are scabbed with snow, breaching whales disclose themselves. the word economy here is tight as hell. i devoured macfarlane's bibliography after finishing this.

Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk

pitched as a thriller but read more as a fable to me, the moral being do NOT fuck with a quirked up babcia!!! love the question of the sanctity of life in all its different forms, love the kooky space cadet brand of unreliable narrator, loooove the frequency with which my stomach twisted for real in the last thirtyish pages

Cara Noir vs PAC | RIPTIDE

REST IN PEACE riptide wrestling, #1 most beautifully-shot promotion in the world - this is a lovely baby's first thirty-minute-plus match; easy to latch onto the heel brawler vs. babyface dancer characters, pac's agility and brutality mesh so well with cara's fluidity and million-dollar selling. great underdog fire and a red-hot crowd