Stuff I’ve Read. And what I think!

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Forgive my use of “stuff.” The word “stuff” called to me, and I answered. I don’t consider these books to be reducible to such a frivolous word. But the way their contents sit in my brain is undeniably stuff-like.

While reading a book and being shepherded word-to-word by what is usually a master of the craft, sentences are sharp and voice is distinct. A good writer will hold you in their vision and keep you there. A good writer makes you forget about other good writers while reading them. It’s like listening to a song and trying to think of another song. Impossible. There’s only the imposing Now, as conducted by Me! It’s really great and I enjoy this aspect of reading.

However, once that great book is closed and another great book begins, and then another, and then another, the mind turns those crisp, individual pages to a soggy pulp. What survives of that original and specific experience is the juice, squeezed by a closed fist like water from a balled-up rag. I lovingly call this great wad of lit-pulp in my brain “stuff.”

What I write to you now isn’t about whether the specific works below are “good” or “bad” or even “enjoyable” but about… the stuff-juice. I read all of these over the past several months, with the exception of Donald Barthelme’s work, which felt necessary to include. I’d be honored if you took these as recommendations, or simply enjoyed my commentary.

A touchstone of Sufi and Persian literature. Birds are amazing. They’re on page one of the Bible, and thus, all Abrahamic traditions introduce birds immediately. Say what you will about the rest, but this move feels correct. Even in scientism birds are recognized as our noble forerunners; living dinosaurs, direct descendants of the previous stewards of the planet. I like the idea of my serious reading journey also beginning with birds, even though that would be a myth. I elect to believe it.

The Conference of the Birds is an allegorical tale in which the birds of the world come together to elect a leader. There are chapter titles like “The Birds of the World Gather” followed by “The Birds Confer and Make Excuses.” Pigeons, peacocks, eagles, and the rest all have unique virtues and specific character flaws. Just like in real life!

There are certain books you visit because they’re wellsprings, because other writers have visited them over the centuries, and you wonder what could be in the water that’s so special. Reading this felt like handling an artifact at times, but you can tell Attar’s poetry was the lovely birdbath Rumi himself drank from with cupped hands.