Maeve was the first woman I'd ever read who wrote about herself not in relation to someone else--whether lover, husband, parent, child. She simply walked around New York City alone, watching. Her point of view was clear and contained as an ice cube.
Eggs, Ian Knauer
I spent a summer chasing chickens around the yard, feeding them each morning, tucking them in at night and trying my best to keep the foxes at bay until finally, in late August, I walked into their shed to discover my first egg. To my disappointment, it looked exactly like a grocery store egg.
Black Deutschland, Darryl Pinckney
I never let the discussion of the impossibility of the relationship I wanted with him take the place of the relationship I could not have with him.
Eleven Hours, Pamela Erens
"Don't pay attention to the numbers," the nurse tells her. "You can spend six hours getting to three centimeters and then go from there to ten in forty-five minutes. It doesn't mean that much."
"Why do they check, then?"
Franckline removes the chilly cloth. "Because we all like to measure things," she says.
Sudden Death, Alvaro Enrigue
Over the course of her life, Malinalli Tenepatl was many people, like all of us, but she had the privilege of possessing a different name for each incarnation.
I don't know what this book is about. I know that as I wrote it I was angry because the bad guys always win. Maybe all books are written simply because in every game the bad guys have the advantage and that is too much to bear.
What Belongs to You, Garth Greenwell
What would I be without the anger I felt then, I wondered as I stood looking over the water, the anger I still feel, it ebbs or surges but is always there; whatever it has kept me from, without it I would have lost myself altogether.
Tomatoes, Soa Davies
Tomato soup is a panacea that never fails to comfort me.
Modern Lovers, Emma Straub
Choices were easy to make until you realized how long life could be.
Strawberries, Susan Spungen
The funny thing is, I didn't even like strawberries when I was a child.
Dusk or Dark or Dawn or Day, Seanan McGuire
The world is full of stories, and no matter how much time we spend in it--alive or dead--there's never time to learn them all.
Buttermilk, Angie Mosier
Buttermilk is incredibly forgiving, so don't be afraid to experiment.
Grits, Virginia Willis
If the only grits you've ever had came out of a brown paper packet and were cooked in a microwave with a cup of water, I forgive you for not liking them.
All the Birds in the Sky, Charlie Jane Anders
The not-understanding was worse than anything else, it was like a mystery and a wound that couldn't heal and an unforgiveable failure.
The Mothers, Brit Bennett
The pier was nothing but a long piece of wood that kept crumbling until it was rebuilt, and years later, she wondered if that was the point, if sometimes the glory was in rebuilding the broken thing, not the result but the process of trying.
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