A Romantic Engagement, A Thriller and Chopin

A midweek hello 👋🏾

Hi lovely readers! Remember when last week I promised to tell you about the exciting week I’d been having? But the cat was still in the bag so I couldn’t? Well—the cat’s now out of the bag and I can tell you. My son got engaged! On a beautiful autumn evening, with the sun setting on the Toronto skyline, he asked the love of his life to marry him, and she said YES!

Such a proud mama moment.

I spent the rest of the week happy, slightly panicked about finding a mother-of-the-groom dress (haha I have two years) and with my nose in a book, namely:

☀︎ All The Colours Of The Dark by Chris Whitaker,

about a 13-year-old pirate and the beekeeper that saved is life. It’s a literary thriller, a coming-of-age age love story, and mystery all in one, recommended by my friend

Shweta Singh

. Thank you, Shweta! Although thrillers aren’t the usual genre I read in, I’m so glad I picked this one up. I’m not exaggerating when I say the prose is exquisite.

Her grandmother told her first love was the most terminal of ailments.

from pg. 244

It’s a long book, 595 pages long; it spans the years from 1975 to 2001. But the pace is good, the chapters are short, and it’s a thriller; we have some lovely red herrings, and the author leaves his readers with so many questions they absolutely need the answers to. And the characters. Christ Whitaker is a master of characters. They are unique and superbly developed. Here’s just the tiniest sample about Saint, my favourite character in the book:

She picked the mud from beneath her nails, fussed with her braid, and pushed her frames up a nose too small to carry such weight. She knew when he looked at her, when most looked at her, they saw a poor girl. Not poor like Patch, because her grandmother drove the bus and they owned a decent home because her grandfather had insurance, but poor in an altogether more complex way. A poor girl who had no sense of style, or femininity, no chance of finding a boy and then a man. A girl who looked to books for answers to questions that would never be asked of her. Weighed questions that had nothing to do with fashion or baking or making a goddamn motherfucking home.

from pg. 39

And the ending. Sigh. I love it when a writer takes you through so much heartache, but in the end brings you to tears with relief because it turned out how you wanted it to. And yes, I did cry when I read the last sentence.

In other literary news,

☀︎ I had my first foray into the world of fiction audio books.

Yes, you heard it here first. The ban has been broken. Actually, the only reason I never consume fiction on an audio book is that I like to see the words and the sentences and imagine a voice of my own making. But I wanted to include City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert on an upcoming list and needed a quick reminder of the story. I read it when it first came out and couldn’t quite remember everything. The verdict on a fiction audio book: I’m quite enjoying it while I drive.

☀︎ I’m on a panel discussing the new Netflix show Nobody Wants This.

For a show that at first glance seemed light and funny, it turned out to be quite offensive to many. Which underscores the importance of sometimes stepping into other people’s shoes and listening to their point of view. Panels on popular culture are important.

Gen X Women Discuss: "Nobody Wants This."

And last but not least

☀︎ There’s movement in the exciting world of my piano lessons.

I started a new piece. Chopin’s Waltz in B Minor Opus 69. Here is Evgeny Kissin playing it. I could listen to Chopin all day long!

☀︎ On that note 🎵, I will leave you with this quote from Kurt Vonnegut

To practice any art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow. So do it.

May your soul grow this week. Wishing you a great rest of the week, until soon,

XO Ingrid