Recent Reads (and other media)

6.12.26
Maud Martha

Following my submission of a final paper assignment prompted by “having lived with one of Yeats’ poems,” I received an email from my professor with the respective feedback, and a book recommendation. I lived with “The Lake Isle of Innisfree” and spent six pages documenting my crisis of belief (one that began with a close-reading analysis of the poem, of course). Who am I? What do I believe in? Where is my Innisfree? To that, my professor responded, “Have you ever read Gwendolyn Brooks' Maud Martha? It may well be my favorite single book of prose, ever. A desert island book if there ever was one.” So, naturally, I ordered a copy from ThriftBooks and made it my first read of the summer. As an avid reader of Brooks’ poetry, I was intrigued to find that Maud Martha was her only novel. Poet-written prose is my favorite genre, and Brooks’ poetry shines through her protagonist, Maud, whom we follow from age seven to her second pregnancy, through 34 short vignettes. “But dandelions were what she chiefly saw. Yellow jewels for everyday studding the patched green dress of her back yard. She liked their demure prettiness second to their everydayness; for in that latter quality she thought she saw a picture of herself, and it was comforting to find that what was common could also be a flower.” We come to know Maud through the way she notices things and the quality of her attention to the world around her. A hat. A fur coat. A white woman’s condescension. A moment of joy that is ordinary but still important because it happened. Brooks trusts that these moments amount to a narrative life, and they do. I haven’t yet found the words to describe how much this recommendation means to me, but for now, I’ll just say that I feel seen, and grateful to have been given an Innisfree.

5.15.26
Sorry, Baby

There’s a list of movies I keep in my journal for particularly trying times—films I suspect will be devastating and reserve for the moments when I need to offer my heavy heart to someone else's story. Eva Victor’s feature debut, Sorry, Baby, had been at the top of my list since its release, and while I pressed play last night with tears already in my eyes, I closed my laptop feeling a little less alone. The film follows Agnes (Victor), an English professor who lives in the same New England house and teaches in the same program, years after something terrible happened to her there. Victor ditches any expectations of a film about assault and spends time on gut feelings, friendships, deadpan humour, and the absurdities of moving forward. There's a moment where Agnes admits, almost offhandedly, that sometimes she doesn't think about it at all. Sorry Baby offers the dependable truth of a person still here, still getting up in the morning. “But, sometimes, bad stuff just happens. That's why I feel bad for you in a way. That you're alive, and you don't know that yet. But I can still listen, and not be scared. So that's good, or that's something, at least.”

Macy Wang

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