In which I KNEW IT

Seven years ago, in 2018, this man’s debut novel jumped off a shelf at me at Barnes and Noble. It looked satisfyingly chunky and as a science fiction book that was obviously going to be Part One of a substantial series, it was something that was immediately Aligned with My Interests.

I opened it and flipped through it and looked at this author picture. And thought Jeez, that guy looks like a prick. I bet he’s a conservative.

And then I put the book down.

And, standing there in Barnes and Noble, I googled this man to see if I could find evidence of him being a prick. And, indeed, I couldn’t find any, and the closest I came was him claiming he “doesn’t talk about politics” on Twitter, which is something that only conservatives say.

And after a few minutes I started feeling bad about it! This is not how I usually work. My rule for politics in my reading has always been Don’t Want None Won’t Be None, and how it is supposed to work is you can believe whatever you want so long as you don’t go out of your way to make that information available to me, but as soon as you do I will judge you accordingly. And, to be completely clear, I’m perfectly fine with people applying that same line of reasoning to me. You can choose to not read a book– which, most of the time, costs you money— for literally any reason you want. Refuse to read a book with a blue cover. Spend a year reading only books with blue covers. I don’t care. There are way more books out there than anyone has time to read in an entire lifetime, with more coming out literally every day, so you use whatever filter you want. I don’t have anything to say about it.

Feeling guilty and kind of stupid, I bought his book. And brought it home, and read it, and really didn’t like it all that much. And it sat on the shelf for five or six years while four sequels came out, and sometime in the last couple of years I looked at it again and thought oh, what the hell, and for whatever reason the second time around I liked it a lot more, and the sequels quickly followed, along with the sixth book, on release day. The series wasn’t world-changing or anything, but it was solid and interesting, and it was also clear that barring some sort of car accident or something it was going to be finished soon.

So how do I feel about the fact that a 2018 interview has come to light recently where not only does he piss and moan about how every YA book nowadays is about a girl who “wants to be an assassin for some reason” and there aren’t any books for boys, and about his affection for Jordan Peterson?

I am, to be clear, almost certainly going to buy the last book of his series when it comes out, which should be this year or early next year. This isn’t JK Rowling or Neil Gaiman territory, where the books are forever consigned to the pit. He’s just a conservative Catholic, and frankly the fact that the interview lurked in the depths for years before exploding onto TikTok in the last couple of weeks for whatever reason means that he actually does seem to be following my DWNWBN rule. But I likely won’t bother with whatever he does next, and next time I’m gonna trust my gut when I take a look at an author and get a vibe. Because, again, there’s lots of books out there, and I don’t need a good reason not to buy one.


This is kind of awkwardly stapling two posts together (and there will be an addendum at the end featuring even more stapling) but I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how weirdly gendered reading seems to be getting. I have never believed that there was any such thing as “girls’ books” or “boys’ books”– I’ve told the story here a few times before about my aunt catching me with Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret when I was ten or so, a book I picked up and read because it was there and I was bored, and her being vocally horrified, and me being completely baffled about what the problem was. But just because I don’t believe there’s any such thing as gendered books doesn’t mean that society doesn’t think so, and it feels like in the last couple of years reading has taken this weird slide into being Something Men Don’t Do, which is entirely fucking unacceptable. This is particularly clear in retail establishments that sell books but aren’t bookstores– go look at the books in Target sometime, for example, and I’ve seen pictures of Wal-Mart’s book selection and it seems to be the same thing. Target clearly doesn’t think men read.

(Do more women read than men? Sure. But that’s not the same thing as “men don’t read.”)

I think this is probably mostly BookTok’s fault, which is dominated by women, and whatever, I’m not attached enough to my own gender to be bothered if something is addressed to “my book girlies” and happens to overlap with my interests.

But did I kinda want to fight when I saw this? A little:

Anyway, one way or another, I’m not going anywhere. If that makes me a book girlie, I’ve been called worse.


You may remember a couple of weeks ago when my family attempted to go to a specific local Italian restaurant and, in a comedy of errors, managed to end up at the wrong restaurant, eating a meal there because we are cowards, and resulting in me not getting carrot cake, which was the entire reason I wanted to eat at that place in the first place.

Well. My birthday was yesterday, but my birthday dinner was tonight:

I could only finish half of that gorgeous sonofabitch. I don’t even want to know what my blood sugar is right now. I’m getting my A1C checked later this week in advance of a regular doctor visit next week, and I may just show the doctor a picture of this cake when she jumps down my throat about how I’m so diabetic I’m legally already dead.

In which rage-eating is a thing

I had a gallbladder attack several years ago; it is an odd feeling to be able to pinpoint precisely the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your entire life. I did not behave well in front of the nurse; when asked to rank my pain from one to ten my response was something along the lines of “I’m at the emergency room for a stomachache, what the hell do you think?”

There may have been more swearing than that; my memory of the event is rather hazy. Because of the extreme pain, you see.

My gallbladder was no longer strictly “my” gallbladder anymore a couple of weeks later (I lost seventeen pounds during the weekend hospital stay, too) and since then I’ve been kinda weird about food. I don’t remember being a hunger asshole in my previous, gallbladdered life, but I do this weird thing now where I go from not hungry at all to HOLY FUCK GOD ALL OF YOU CAN DIE IF YOU DON’T PUT FOOD IN ME RIGHT NOW in no goddamn time at all and I develop rapid rage issues and shakiness if I continue to be denied food. The worst part is that the instinct to gorge myself continues even after I’ve technically eaten enough to satiate myself, because the shit hasn’t had time to get into my bloodstream yet.

This is all just to say that I am typing right now because it was the easiest available way to keep me from shoving an entire bag of Tostitos and salso con queso into my facehole. It occupies my hands while my dinner and my post-dinner chips and like three glasses of orange juice make their way into my system.

(For those of you who may be wondering: no, I’m not diabetic, and last I had it checked my blood sugar was normal. I’m fat, and I’m ungallbladdered, and this started immediately after the surgery. It’s not diabeetus.)

Speaking of food: it’s Thanksgiving weekend, obviously, so if you promise not to cry if I’m less robust with the updates than usual I promise to try my best not to cry when all of you find more important things to do than visit my blog ceaselessly over the weekend. Although it would be nice if you did that; it’s certainly better than shopping, even if I do kinda want to go to the local Gamespot at midnight tomorrow night. Which I am not doing. Because no. I’m actually cooking very little for Thanksgiving itself; I plan on making up for that with the next couple of days. My main goals are to get my comic books organized (four piles: Send to Friend A, Send to Friend B, Keep, and Sell to Dude from the Comic Book Post if He Still Wants Them) and to play computer games and to read. And to not think of my students at all for most of the weekend. It should be an attainable goal; we’ll see.

Enjoy your holiday, if I don’t see you before then. (VISIT MY BLOG CEASELESSLY, I ORDER YOU!)