April 2026 Reads

Almost every time I look at one of my book stacks, I think, "This collection of books makes no sense." April's stack might be the weirdest one yet. Then again, there might be a common thread that I can't see, other than "Andrea's omnivorous reading taste." What do you think?

Fiction
Borrower of the Night by Elizabeth Peters. I've written enough about Elizabeth P. in this and my previous blog that I probably don't need to say much. This is the first Vicky Bliss novel. It was published the year I was born! There are, for that reason, some corny and out of date ways that people talk and act, but it has overall aged well, and I love the ending. Chef's kiss!

Bind Me Tighter Still by Lara Ehrlich. I listened to Lara's podcast, Writer-Mother-Monster, back in the day, so I was intrigued to hear her talk about her first novel on the Literary Mama podcast (This Mama is Lit), and I picked up a copy right away. It's a mother-daughter story, of a daughter coming of age, and what a mother will sacrifice to protect her child, but with the unusual twist of the mother having been a siren who gave up her tail to go onto land as a human. It's a bit of a retelling of The Little Mermaid (much darker than the Disney version), set in a carnival atmosphere. I found it very raw and compelling.

The Plague by Albert Camus. There was a review of a collection of Camus's notebooks recently in The New York Review of Books, which I found very interesting, and while I'd like to read that book some day, I also wanted to read more of Camus's fiction (having reread The Stranger not long ago). So I picked up The Plague, which is about a town in Algeria that is beset by rats and literal (as in bubonic) plague and is subsequently cut off from the rest of civilization. The story follows the doctor, as well as a small, ragtag group of his compatriots, as they struggle through the difficult days of trying to slow the spread of disease and watching people die. The parallels to our own recent pandemic--especially people's reactions to limitations imposed to protect others--were stark. I can's say I enjoyed the book, exactly, it was after all about plague, but I found it engaging and insightful about human nature.

Nonfiction
The Book of Delights by Ross Gay. Whenever I'm in a used bookstore, I look for this book to pass on to other people who I think need a little more delight in their days. I also usually keep a couple of copies lying around the house that I can pick up and read excerpts from whenever I'm in similar need. This paperback copy, which looks like a dog took a bite out of the front cover, is one of these used bookstore finds, and it happened to be the copy I picked up when I decided last month to re-(re-)read the whole thing, cover to cover, and it is now the only one I have in my possession, because I realized last week when I was casting about for things to give my three children for their three May birthdays three days apart that I had three hard-cover copies of the book (my original, purchased new, plus two used, bought at $3 and $5 apiece, such is the state of inflation these days). On the cover of each, I pasted sticky note that said "This book will change your life. (Heart) Mama." It's true--it changed my life, and it will change yours as well. The Book of (More) Delights, which I'm rereading now, will change your life more, but you need to read the OG first, and I haven't discovered any of ​The Book of (More) Delights in the used bookstores yet.

When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris. Fulfilling a similar need--the need for laughter, for joy--in an altogether different way (less earnest, more sardonic; fewer dandelions, more seedy hotel rooms). I'm not sure if it was a reread or only that I'd heard some of the essays on This American Life or at a live show in the past. At any rate, I always enjoy Sedaris's darkly funny telling of family stories, and this one didn't disappoint.

Born to Be Posthumous: The Eccentric Life and Mysterious Genius of Edward Gorey by Mark Dery. I grew up with Gorey, from the illustrations in John Bellairs novels to the title illustrations of Masterpiece Mystery to the occasional book, like The Gashlycrumb Tinies, that got misfiled in the children's section of the bookmobile. I adore his intensely crosshatched drawing style, and his weirdly nonsensical stories, but I didn't know much about the man behind the art. At the beginning this biography, Dery writes, "After he died, struck down by a heart attack in 2000, a joke made the rounds among his fans: During his lifetime, most people assumed [Gorey] was British, Victorian, and dead. Finally, at least one of the above was true." I'm sorry to admit that I fell among the "most people" (well, if I didn't actually think he was Victorian, I assumed he was from a much olden-days-ier time than the mid-to-late 20th century). I was delighted to be set straight by this book, and even more delighted to learn about Gorey's weird fascinations and compulsions, the way all his varied interests fed into his creative process, and the ways that he just did the work he wanted to do without worrying about markets (or, heaven forfend, "platform") and it all worked out rather well for him. 

Graphic Memoirs
I don't often read comics or graphic novels, but both of these books kind of jumped off the shelves at two different bookstores I was browsing around with no real intent (reason #972 to have bricks-n-mortar book stores and libraries that carry actual, physical books). And I loved both and inspired by the idea of--and two very different approaches to--visual storytelling.

Belonging by Nora Krug tells the story of the author's journey of returning to her native Germany from the US and hunting down old records to figure out what role her grandparents had played in the Nazi regime and WWII, to figure out how much blood they had on their hands. It's a beautifully illustrated, deeply compelling story of what it means to collaborate or resist a totalitarian regime, that feels intensely important in our day and age.

Can't We Talk about Something Pleasant? by Roz Chast relates the cartoonist's experience of caring for--to the extent she could and the extent they would allow her to--her elderly parents through their last years and final demise. It's a brutally honest, heartfelt book about one of the most challenging and least talked about parts of life.