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This weekend has been absolutely glorious — exactly the right balance between being out in the world, and indoor cosiness. Saturday started with my usual two hours of classes at the gym, and then I returned home for lunch, through crisp, clear, biting cold air. I spent most of the afternoon cooking — stewing fruit for our weekday breakfasts, and preparing an absolutely massive quantity of northern Thai-style dal, a new-to-me recipe that involved cooking ginger, garlic and shallots under the grill until they were blackened on the outside and took on a smoky flavour.
In the evening, Matthias and I caught the train out to one of the little villages around Cambridge, where — after a half-hour walk through fields in the dark — we had a Burns Night-themed dinner at the local gastropub. The food was great, the fires were lit, people had dogs in the bar area, and in general everything was wintry and lovely.
This morning was spent swimming and doing yoga, and then we headed out after lunch for our monthly walk with our walking group. This time, the walk was around Ely, so we didn't have to be driven there and back, which was great. The weather was terrible — strong winds, scatterings of freezing rain — but it was still great to be out and about, chatting and catching up with everyone. The walk ended at the pub at the end of our street (after everyone walked past our house and gave us tips on how to prune our lavender plants; some of the group are professional gardeners, and the others have allotments and are very knowledgeable about all things botanical), and Matthias and I have just returned home, for a few hours of chilling out until the weekend draws to a close.
I've only finished one book this week, This Woven Kingdom (Tahereh Mafi), the first in a YA fantasy series inspired by Iranian mythology. Honestly, I have to say that it's fairly mediocre — tropey and formulaic, with insta-love between its protagonist and her love interest (who are, of course, Romeo and Juliet-style figures from opposite sides of a supernatural and political conflict), the heroine is super super special with powers and abilities possessed by no one else, the lost heir to a supernatural dynasty, living the life of an unappreciated, much abused drudge, in obscurity, etc, etc. The worldbuilding is paper thin. My tolerance for this kind of thing is very dependent on my mood — and because I was in a good mood this week, I responded far more favourably than the book probably deserved. It's trash, but it's my kind of trash. I certainly can't recommend it, unless you're in the mood for this kind of tropey mush.
I have, however, been reading a lot of other interesting things online, and I will leave you with some links.
I liked this piece on Max Gladstone's newsletter, which I felt had a handy analogy for the challenges of our current moment:
The author Susan Dennard, who left social media for good in 2022, and slowly weeded out any further opportunities for scrolling aimlessly through any form of digital content (to the point that she now only uses the internet to post long-form writing, read some longform stuff, and communicate via email or videoconferencing/messaging platforms). She's written a recent essay reflecting on the various effects of these choices, which I found to be very relevant to the discussions I've been witnessing around leaving social media, or reframing one's relationship with it.
This piece by Talia Lavin, another in her 'notable sandwiches' series of essays, really encapsulates why I'm glad to have subscribed to her writing. It's about a sandwich, it's about The Count of Monte Cristo (and all its many adaptations), and it's also about this:
Finally, here is an article about Ukrainian scientists researching whether radioactive fungi from the Chornobyl site might be able to function as a radiation shield for journeys to Mars.
I hope your weekends have been filled with nice things.
In the evening, Matthias and I caught the train out to one of the little villages around Cambridge, where — after a half-hour walk through fields in the dark — we had a Burns Night-themed dinner at the local gastropub. The food was great, the fires were lit, people had dogs in the bar area, and in general everything was wintry and lovely.
This morning was spent swimming and doing yoga, and then we headed out after lunch for our monthly walk with our walking group. This time, the walk was around Ely, so we didn't have to be driven there and back, which was great. The weather was terrible — strong winds, scatterings of freezing rain — but it was still great to be out and about, chatting and catching up with everyone. The walk ended at the pub at the end of our street (after everyone walked past our house and gave us tips on how to prune our lavender plants; some of the group are professional gardeners, and the others have allotments and are very knowledgeable about all things botanical), and Matthias and I have just returned home, for a few hours of chilling out until the weekend draws to a close.
I've only finished one book this week, This Woven Kingdom (Tahereh Mafi), the first in a YA fantasy series inspired by Iranian mythology. Honestly, I have to say that it's fairly mediocre — tropey and formulaic, with insta-love between its protagonist and her love interest (who are, of course, Romeo and Juliet-style figures from opposite sides of a supernatural and political conflict), the heroine is super super special with powers and abilities possessed by no one else, the lost heir to a supernatural dynasty, living the life of an unappreciated, much abused drudge, in obscurity, etc, etc. The worldbuilding is paper thin. My tolerance for this kind of thing is very dependent on my mood — and because I was in a good mood this week, I responded far more favourably than the book probably deserved. It's trash, but it's my kind of trash. I certainly can't recommend it, unless you're in the mood for this kind of tropey mush.
I have, however, been reading a lot of other interesting things online, and I will leave you with some links.
I liked this piece on Max Gladstone's newsletter, which I felt had a handy analogy for the challenges of our current moment:
Jiu-jitsu this week gave me a useful opportunity to reflect on defense.
The first instinct when someone’s on top of you, aiming for a choke hold or a submission, is to get that guy t.f. off. You want out of here. The adrenaline hits; you buck, you roll, you twist and kick. Full-on animal spirits.
The trouble is, you spend a lot of energy thrashing about. And, if you aren’t much stronger than the other grappler—who, remember, has gravity on their side—you’re not likely to get anywhere, if your opponent has the faintest clue what they’re doing. Even if you are stronger in general, one or two failed maximum-strength attempts to break free will wear you out. A common first step is to establish frames: defenses that work by structure rather than strength. If you get your arm inside a choke hold that works by isolating your neck, the other guy will have a hard time. The structure of your arm, the bone fact of it, protects you. You can save your strength to seize a later chance.
The author Susan Dennard, who left social media for good in 2022, and slowly weeded out any further opportunities for scrolling aimlessly through any form of digital content (to the point that she now only uses the internet to post long-form writing, read some longform stuff, and communicate via email or videoconferencing/messaging platforms). She's written a recent essay reflecting on the various effects of these choices, which I found to be very relevant to the discussions I've been witnessing around leaving social media, or reframing one's relationship with it.
This piece by Talia Lavin, another in her 'notable sandwiches' series of essays, really encapsulates why I'm glad to have subscribed to her writing. It's about a sandwich, it's about The Count of Monte Cristo (and all its many adaptations), and it's also about this:
But the real fantasy at the heart of Monte Cristo—and what makes me keep returning to it along with all those playwrights and filmmakers and artists and animators—is the fantasy of justice. It’s the wronged man, the victim, rubbing the faces of his abusers into their own crimes; it’s the refusal to be cast away, the combination of the ability, the means, and the desire to right such a fundamental wrong. From a man who cannot even see the sky from his dungeon, Dantes becomes a bolt of vengeance sent from heaven. And because injustice continues, and multiplies; because those who wrong others continue to benefit from it; because the cruel use any means to perpetrate their cruelty—well, the fantasy of destroying them utterly, these ordinary heartless men, has endured for nearly two hundred years. The fact that fantastic resources are needed to enact such justice against the powerful is, amid all the fantastical elements of the story, apropos. The scales are so cruelly tipped that it takes a wonder-tale to reverse them.
Finally, here is an article about Ukrainian scientists researching whether radioactive fungi from the Chornobyl site might be able to function as a radiation shield for journeys to Mars.
I hope your weekends have been filled with nice things.