Hey allllll; welcome back to the genre of column du mois that some of you really like, and some of you—you’ve DM’ed me to say—actually don’t like: Cat’s Book Club. Yeah, we haven’t all gone Full Nerd, like yours truly, and so a lot of these “what I read” write-ups don’t appeal to you. I’m sorry. It should go without saying that I really, REALLY appreciate you rolling with me for ALL of my columns. I know I need to write more, for example, beauty; it’s so crazy, when you’re writing a book like I have been for two years (it’s getting CLOSER) you just BARELY care about what you look like, or about buying new makeup, or any of it, and then it is hard to write about it. Like, I have an unbelievable amount of dress-up clothes, and I look at them right now all, “Huh?”. For a minute I was thinking sobriety was the reason for my lack of interest in my usual feminine effort, but I really think it’s the heavy book work.
If you’re new here, I have been really, really committed to completing this (hugely) autobiographical chick lit noir novel—to writing it in full, all 400 pages, before I even show it to my agent or anything. (And no, I am not worried about JINXING shit). I sold MURDER to the amazing Sarah Knight—please subscribe to her Substack here—formerly at Simon & Schuster, with a proposal and 60 pages of sample material. When you try to sell a novel, you shop a “finished product” (in quotes because if you sell it, it will go through many more drafts with your new editor). I’m happy to be doing my work this way, alone in my years-long creative trance, with no promise of a book deal, because...work is just my thing.
Besides, writing a book definitely has not been torture like it was when I did it during addiction. If anything, it’s been pleasurable, because it’s a real job, and jobs boost your self-esteem. Five days a week I feel good about myself and my life. But it takes A LOT out of me. I organize so much on the page that organizing my own look is just…out of the question. I type with my hands to dress my vivacious “fictional” character in crop tops, broken Tina Chow earrings, Jurassic Park “Clever Girl” g-strings, and ab glitter before sending her out on the town to do things like hook up with the Florida-based white rapper Skiff-Skaff at a Times Square hotel. When I, Cat, finish writing every weekday, I smear on dry old MAC black eyeshadow with my finger and grab my Trader Joe’s tote bag before I leave the house; no one sees me except the stoners at the Third Avenue UPS Store when I make Amazon returns, or the cashier who sells me pomegranate.
And that’s fine. I’m currently kind of in love with writing, which I don’t think I’ve ever felt. I’m not using a “twee” phrase like that casually. Writing is about as fun as running uphill; I’ve been doing it professionally too long to romanticize it. But in attempting to tackle one of the highest art forms, a novel, I have really fallen in love (still sounds extremely annoying, sorry) with the work. You know, I learned to write in the slick commercial world of Condé Nast—very tight, bright, and quick copy. Writing a novel has slowed me down, taken me out of “machine mode”, and helped me relish what I am privileged to have the time to do. For example: fancy vocabulary words enchant me right now. I used avoid using them so as not to sound phony and pretentious; now, I see them as glamorous accessories, sparkling little brooches you can pin all over the damn place. Continuing education helps; I have found taking a writing class weirdly romantic. I know that sounds weird. I dunno. I’m fucking vibing!
ANYWAY, I’m telling you all this to explain my onslaught of book columns, which some of you don’t love. Nothing has helped immerse me in the ROMANTIC TRANCE of what I am trying to do more than reading, reading, and YET MORE READING. The stacks have gotten smaller as my writing class homework (reading two classmates' novels per week) has gotten heavier. Here are some of the books I’ve read lately—one of which will be the polarizing book of the season; another is one of my favorite books I’ve ever, EVER read, not just this year, but in my entire life.
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