Liberati Beckons

The chase to re-engage with literary fiction and literary criticism

Hi! It’s me, BB — proud nerd, unapologetic villain sympathizer, a little bougie, a lot bookish, and Oxford comma devotee. I write about complex, morally gray characters you love to hate (or hate to love), believe character > plot, and believe every good book should have an accompanying soundtrack. I’m here to share anything and everything story-adjacent. Grab a glass and join me for this Between the Wines adventure.

A few months ago a friend called me out for not accepting criticism—on Taylor Swift’s The Tortured Poets Department, of all things. At first, I railed against it. Why can’t I just enjoy what I enjoy? Why can’t you leave me be? It’s not like I’m a pumpkin spice latte and uggs girl! He patiently explained that critiquing work is one of the best ways to admire it. To think critically about something is to take in every aspect, every word, every note, and examine it and what it means to you. 

That killed me. Since then, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how I let myself slide into this place of complacent escapism. 

Mulling over this unveiling of a true weakness of mine, I stumbled upon a video essay: Booktok, Brain Rot, and Why It’s Okay to Be a Hater by alisha not alihsha (sadly maybe not so active any more? Shame, because I would have loved more of her essays). Alisha raises the point that, as a society, we are moving in the direction of anti-intellectualism. In my journey to learn more* I discovered Anti-intellectualism in American Life by Richard Hofstadter. It was published in 1966… so apparently this issue has been around for a while… but why does it seem so prominent now? It’s bled into every facet of our lives—music, genre, fashion, culture, politics! There are other books out there for me to explore on this topic, and this feels like a topic for a later date—stay tuned. 

Back to the adventure at hand. 

Reading has always been a passion for me, sure, but it also helped me grow up. I read books that made me think, books that broke my heart, books that showed me the world and forced me to ask questions, books that made me want things… books that made me desperate to be a writer so I could control the flow of words and ideas just like authors did. 

When my life got out of hand as an adult—adulting can be hard—it seemed like I wanted to stop growing. I hated my job (kids, don’t go into fields just because you think it’ll pay well or to make your parents happy), my relationship wasn’t fulfilling and often made me feel small and less-than (not all high school sweethearts are meant to work out). I felt like I was on a runaway train I couldn’t stop. I wanted things to cease being uncomfortable. It was like my brain was begging the universe for some relief and some space to just be. What came with it resembled a little something like brain rot. 

This is a common theme these days, particularly among younger millennials and gen-z. Ever heard of bed rot? When the world is so overwhelming that people want to stay in bed all day and rot rather than engage in anything? In a world increasingly polarized, we as a people have taken a step back from thinking critically about anything hard and uncomfortable, we have run away from engaging in these thoughts and full speed into brain rot. Walls come up and our worlds get smaller and smaller. There are bookstagrammers and booktokers that bash other readers for not loving Maas-verse books or spice in their reads. There are people who crave escape, who are “just along for the ride.” 

For the love of libraries, I was one of them. A true passenger reader for the past however many years. I don’t want to be anymore. 

Of course, I will still read my romantasy and cozies (hell, I write cozies). Many of these stories serve as a salve to inflicted wounds of self, heartbreak, exhaustion, and failure. For that reason, there will always be a reason to love them. But at this juncture in my life, I craved the cogs in my brain to start moving again. 

I challenged myself to pick up books I wouldn't have considered before—except Sally Rooney, please no Sally Rooney. Sidebar: apparently my distaste for Sally Rooney is part of my brand. Several people have read a Rooney book, finished it, and immediately texted me, “Just read a book I know you’d hate. Thought of you! Miss you!” I have the receipts. For the record, I did. Read it and hate it, that is. 

Though now that I’m writing this… I wonder if part of my repulsion was the discomfort it provoked in me, to read about dysfunctional relationships and an intelligent woman who makes herself inferior just to feel the love (or attention) of others. I don’t like that thought… it makes me realize it’s definitely part of the equation.** Can I call my therapist on a Sunday? 

Anyway, I also miss the challenge of engaging in difficult themes. So I asked the aforementioned friend for a list of books he suggested I read. He delivered. I probably couldn’t think of a more pedantic list if I tried.*** Truth is, we’d had multiple conversations lately where I thought, I wish I was smarter. But that’s not quite right, because I am smart… it sneaks out on rare occasions, I swear. It’s really a matter of stretching that muscle to engage and think critically. Though I have to ask, does everyone really need to read Moby Dick? I mean… really. I find Mark Twain writes in such a staccato beat that I would die of boredom before I finished Huckleberry Finn (don’t kill me!).****

And because it was helpful for me to read, I shall pass this on to you. An excerpt***** from a letter he wrote to a young, green student at his alma mater that cold emailed him. Some people are too good for this world.

There are doors that your degree will never open though. The doors of lifelong education and culture you will have to open on your own. A library card and a curious mind will take you farther than any degree. Read. Read bravely and widely. Read theory and literature and history and smut and the children’s books that comforted you when you were 12. Read because it interests you and because it challenges you and sometimes because it bores you. Read Wendell Berry and Ayn Rand and Marx. $&!#, you will wish you read Marx sooner because it seems all the smart people you admire either hate him or love him and, either way, you wish you had taken a class on Capital at SCHOOL with some graying commie in a tweed jacket (one presumes). Read Knausgaard and Bolaño and Twain and Maclean and $&!# man, read Moby $&!#ing Dick for the love of the English language! Oh, and Rachel Cusk, too. And Virginia Woolf. Pay for writing and journalism whenever you can afford it. Go to a local independent bookstore and buy a book about feminist apple cultivation in Minnesota because the world should be a big and weird enough place to support some strange person writing such an impossibly strange book.

See? You were inspired, too. 

So, dear readers, welcome on this journey with me to read between the wines and have some fun while we do it. 

*See?! My brain is waking up! 
**I still don’t like Rooney. The characters are flat. Flat Stanley’s who are dragged along wherever she wants to take them just for a picture. The motivations in Normal People are lacking, in my opinion. 
***I feel it’s important to add here that he’s one of the smartest and most thoughtful people I know, but I can still call him on this.
****James by Percival Everett James, on the other hand, was chef’s kiss.
*****edited slightly for anonymity and use of foul language.

Book Recommendation & Wine Pairing

North Woods by Daniel Mason was a book I didn’t see coming. I had been in a bit of a reading rut but needed to finish this before book club. I didn’t even read the inside flap before I began… then I couldn’t put it down. As I mentioned above, litfic has not been such an easy grasp for me in recent years, but this book really married my need to be carried away somewhere with beautiful prose and depth. The TLDR is the story’s setting remains largely unchanged—the north woods is our main character of sorts. We follow this land through the generations of inhabitants, from colonialists, runaway slaves, mountain lions, farmers, and all sorts in between. The vignettes were engrossing. Every time I thought the book would lose me and start getting a little slow, it immediately picked up again. There were themes of paradise lost, the apple of Eve and temptation, land as a silent witness. I inhaled this weird, lovely, earthy book.

Which is why I recommend pairing it with something equally earthy that has depth and heart, that comes from a place of long-standing tradition and where the land honored and nurtured. Domaine du Vieux Télégraphe, Châteauneuf-du-Pape (La Crau) has the lightness and approachability of cherry and black raspberry while slowly melting into more earthy flavors like oak, leather, and smoke. Nestled in the hills of southern France, the vineyards in Châteauneuf-du-Pape are rich in tradition and charming history. The consideration that this wine is a blend makes it all the more appropriate for a story of tales woven together.

Writing & Querying Update

Well, friends, Susie Sweetheart is Back From the Dead, is complete at 98k words. It’s the second novel I’ve written but the first one worth publishing 🤓. I had queried a bit over the summer but took a break to begin building an author brand with the amazing

Jessica Sorentino

. I’ll be updating you on my progress here.

I’ve also started working on a project that we can consider Knives Out meets Modern Family—and it is so so much fun to write. Hopefully, now that my crazy season has ended and I’ll be knee-deep in querying trenches, I’ll have some capacity to flesh this out. First scene is done… so that’s a start?

Until next time!

xx, bb