Writing about my mothering experience as a foreigner raising bilingual and bicultural children, dealing with the system on behalf of my special needs son and navigating Chicago and the world with my kids.
There are many things that I want to write about right now, but as of now I don’t have the words. I may try tomorrow, but as of today, I will do as I have done the last day of these past few months, write about the few books I read this month. Books have always been my escape and my solace, and right now we all need a bit of both.
Today I finished The Boy, the mole, the fox and the Horse. I read it with my family, or, to be more precise, to my family. Yes, I am a weirdo who likes to read aloud, especially English, since, after 18 years living in English speaking countries, my English still needs quite a lot of practice. After the first few pages, the kindest of my sons(no, they are not all equally kind, and that is ok) asked, very fittingly, to read the part of the mole. He also likes to read aloud.
Going back to the book, it has been perfect for the last few days. Trying to explain the world to my kids hasn’t been easy in the last few days. They are aware of what is going on, of the pandemic, the police inflicted violence, the unrest… I am glad that I didn’t buy it any of the previous 29 weeks that it appeared in the New York Times best seller list, because it was perfect to convey the importance of kindness and perspective.
The Best British Poetry 2012, edited by Sasha Dugdale
Anthologies are not necessarily my favorite type of book. But they are a good way of getting to know the literature of other countries, for example, especially when we are talking about poetry. Occasionally, I buy the survey numbers of Granta, and I have a subscription to the Poetry magazine. In a similar way, anthologies always allow me to discover new writers. This anthology was not an exception. Thanks to it I discovered an English American poet, Anne Stevenson, who became deaf in her thirties. I have ordered one of her poetry books, to read it myself and to add it to the gallery of outstanding deaf people that I am putting together for my son, so he grows up knowing that there is nothing he cannot achieve. And while discovering poets, I have also recovered a bit of the British accent that I lost when I moved to Chicago.
Todo lo que tengo lo llevo conmigo, by Herta Müller
This book, written by Herta Müller, who was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2009, will give you chills as it manages to merge humor and horror. The protagonist, whose name and exact age we don't learn until very late in the book, narrates his experience in a Russian work camp after WWII. In short chapters, some philosophical, and some mundane, he gives us a vivid picture of what life and death meant there. In English it was translated as The Hunger Angel. And despite the seemingly hard topic, it is incredibly poetic and delightful to read.
The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse, by Charlie Mackesy
This book is both a visual and calligraphic gem. It was perfect to read with the kids, but I will for sure read it again by myself, probably as a mantra in the days to come. In a way, it reminds me of The Little Prince, with its stunning drawings and wonderful drops of wisdom. Perfect.
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