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How to Keep House While Drowning felt like a distilled therapy session about cleaning. I saw this recommended on fedi somewhere, and felt like this was useful for me to read right now. It's less "here's my life hack productivity advice for folding shirts" and more "here's some better ways to think about and emotionally approach taking care of yourself and your space". (Honestly, this is probably the more valuable thing.)

A bunch of thoughts I enjoyed that stuck with me: * cleaning is morally neutral * your space exists to serve you (do you hang clothes on a chair? if that works for you, then that's awesome) * interrogating preconceived notions of what cleaning looks like * prioritizing health > comfort > happiness in care tasks (and cutting out perfectionism saying you have to do all of these things all of the time) * balance in care tasks between people being less "am I contributing enough?" and more "am I taking advantage of someone else?"

I tore through this book, and might just re-read it immediately, which is something I never do.

It starts out as a fantasy story that feels exceptionally weird because Chandrasekera's willing to do his world building / exposition very slowly. I kept going through a lot of confusion because the writing itself is just so beautiful. And then gradually as the exposition falls into place it becomes clearer that the book is at least partly a critique of religious fanaticisms and chauvinisms... but each time I felt I really had a handle on the book something in its world would shift - either the protagonist learning a new piece of his own story or a significant detail the the author waited until a dramatic moment to show the reader. Even the ending feels like another instance of that, and it is a relatively unclear ending, though it fits the whole mood of the book enough not to be frustrating.

To be clear: I like this kind of storytelling better than spending pages and pages on worldbuilding before anything happens, and all loose ends tied up by the conclusion. It just needs a damn good writer to make it work, and Chandrasekera is one. I also never felt like I was more confused than the protagonist himself, which I think is how the book managed not to fall into feeling like a cheap trick.

After reading it, I read up on the story of Rāhula, and realised that many more details in this book are clearly-intentional references to that than I'd picked up on. And I read some Sri Lankan history and realised that much of what felt like echoes of Myanmar or Israel were more direct references to specific aspects of Sri Lanka's civil war. Part of why I want to re-read is to have those things in mind, but I think it's also a strength of the book that it works as a more general allegory too. I think I would advise other readers to go in the same order as me: dive into the book first, and catch up on its references after.

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