October Recommended Reads

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October was a month for shifting. The leaves were changing, of course, but I find that this is also a season of inner transformation. I felt like I was simultaneously rushing and slowing down — expanding and retracting. Perhaps that’s why I gravitated toward these three deeply reflective titles, the sorts of books that pulse and linger in your mind long past the final page.

These were my favorite books from the month of October:

A Ghost in the Throat
By Doireann Ní Ghríofa
★★★★1/2

In the lull between a traumatic birth and a daily life devoted to checking off to-do lists, a young mother finds herself obsessed with the work of Eibhlín Dubh Ní Chonaill, an eighteenth-century Irish noblewoman made famous by the epic poem she composed in the wake of her husband’s sudden and violent death. But though Eibhlín Dubh’s words have stood the test of time, the details of her life have not, and the young mother is starving for any morsel of information she can dig up. She plunges headfirst into a research vortex, determined to reconstruct Eibhlín Dubh’s fleeting existence through her own translation of the famous poem. What she doesn’t realize is she’s not just searching for Eibhlín Dubh’s ghost — she’s also searching for herself.

This novel is lyrical, introspective, and deliberate in a way that makes it feel almost dreamlike. The narrator shifts effortlessly between the past and present, interspersing scenes from her own life with meditations on the way she imagines Eibhlín Dubh Ní Chonaill’s private moments. In exploring the process of trying to reconstruct a woman’s legacy through research, the author carefully weaves together themes around erasure, control, and female voices. The inclusion of Eibhlín Dubh’s poem, both in its original Irish and in translation, embodies the interconnectedness of the two stories at the center of the book and of women’s experiences in general.

Vladimir
By Julia May Jonas
★★★★

Until now, the 58-year-old literature professor at the center of Vladimir has had a comfortable enough life in academia. But after her husband, John, is accused of engaging in inappropriate relationships with some of his former students, campus is suddenly filled with whispers and tension. The professor takes it as a sign that younger generations have lost their sense of agency, musing that the women who have accused her husband see themselves as “little leaves swirled around by the wind of a world that does not belong to them.” Fueled by the complicated emotions around her husband’s transgressions, she becomes infatuated with the department’s newest junior professor, Vladimir, who also happens to be a married man and a rising literary talent. And she’s willing to go to almost any lengths to get what she wants — no matter how it might affect her marriage or her career.

The pivotal element of this book is the complex narrator at its center. The professor is witty, perceptive, and sensual, and examines her own actions and emotions with a kind of academic aloofness that seems to obscure some of the true turmoil underneath. She is also skeptical of the cultural shifts of the #MeToo era and frustrated by her students’ preoccupation with the role of morality in art. This skillful, layered characterization forces the reader to consider the same questions the narrator is grappling with: How do we determine what has “value,” be it a person or a work of literature? What part does power play? When do we become complicit?

I’m Glad My Mom Died
By Jennette McCurdy
★★★★1/2

Jennette McCurdy wasn’t particularly interested in acting when she was a kid. But it was her mother’s biggest dream to see her daughter blossom into a star, and Jennette’s biggest dream was to make her mother happy. So from the age of six, she spent her weekends in acting classes and at auditions, and soon took on her mother’s routine of calorie restriction and multiple-a-day weigh-ins. McCurdy’s memoir chronicles the dark reality behind the outward veneer of childhood fame, including the complex mother-daughter relationship that ruled her life, her struggles with addiction and disordered eating, and her path to recovery from the spotlight.

This memoir is raw, visceral, and darkly funny. McCurdy steps into the perspective of her younger self, relating her early experiences through a childlike lens makes the casual mistreatment she endured immediately apparent to the adult reader. The candid, droll writing style rings true in a way that is relatable and deeply affecting, and McCurdy reaches beyond her own story to explore how we view success, trauma, self-discovery, and the pedestal of motherhood.

That’s all for this month. I’d love to hear what you’ve been reading lately, so feel free to reach out and let me know. I’ll see you in early December for my next round of recommended titles!