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The past couple of years, I've been leaning into my innate anarchism. Reading this book is part of my effort to understand how some early anarchists made their way in this country, fought for their values, and resisted political and social oppression. I picked up both volumes of Emma Goldman's Living My Life. This review is for volume one.

Let me start by saying: Emma Goldman was one bad bitch. Honestly, how did she go under my radar for so long? Oh, I know. Because she was (and is most likely still) considered a threat to the auspices of 'law and order' that keep powerful systems rife with disparity and exploitation in place. Once considered the most dangerous woman in America, Goldman lived her life fully in every moment, refusing to compromise her autonomy and devotion to the ideal that no human belongs 'over' another.

I wish every single person would read this book. Not because I think everyone will be converted to anarchism. Instead, I want people to understand in great detail what anarchism actually is.

Personally, I spent most of my life slightly afraid of anarchy. The first time I saw the symbol, it was scrawled on the notebook of one of the 'bad' kids in school. You know the type, always in trouble. The term was always defined for me as "lawlessness" and "chaos" by the media and the adults in my life. 

On the contrary, anarchism is the idea that people can and should live freely without top-down hierarchical power brokers deciding their fate.

To be fair, the idea of anarchism can be scary if you're the kind of person who feels insecure without having any authority telling you what to do, think, or believe. I know many people who genuinely believe that if it weren't for their religion or the rule of law, they wouldn't be able to govern themselves and be a 'good person'.

However, the more I read this book, the more I found that anarchism resonates with the person I've always been. As I read the words of this extraordinary woman, I found myself feeling not so alone in the world. It was like a massive part of me had finally been seen. A part of me that has always made me feel like an outsider. My heart swelled as I devoured this book.

Goldman came to the U.S. in 1886 at the age of seventeen after being raised in Russia in a home with an abusive father. She married early, then divorced, and spent the rest of her life in and out of relationships with men that she loved but with whom she did not 'make it official.' Her political positions on issues like racism, sexism, labor, and religion are ahead of her time.

Shit, they're ahead of our time:

On marriage: "'If ever I love a man again, I will give myself to him without being bound by the rabbi or the law,' I declared, "'and when that love dies, I will leave without permission.'"

On sex work: "I rebelled against the Christian hypocrisy which allowed the men to go free and sent the poor women to prison for having ministered to the sexual demands of those men."

On what a woman wants: "No amount of wardrobe could have given me so much joy as my precious little library."

On God: "I was opposed to the Catholic as to the other Churches. I considered them all alike, enemies of the people. They preached submission, and their God was the God of the rich and the mighty. I hated their God and would never make peace with him."

On family planning: "Still more impressed was I by the fierce, blind struggle of the women of the poor against frequent pregnancies. Most of them lived in continual dread of conception...Having a large brood of children, often many more than the weekly wage of the father could provide for, each additional child was a curse, 'a curse of God,' as orthodox Jewish and Irish Catholics repeatedly told me."

After becoming part of the Yiddish-speaking anarchist community, Goldman discovered her skill as an orator. She began to command crowds of people, and subsequently, the attention of the rich and powerful, who spent decades trying to bring her down. Regardless, she stayed focused on her work and looked for any opportunity - even her own public trial - to spread anarchist messages.

One of the most essential takeaways from this book is that it provides a glimpse into just how dire the situation was for the average worker, woman, and child during the turn of the century. It illustrates in great detail just how depraved power can be, how heartless and cruel unchecked capitalism is. At a time when many of our rights are being stripped away - after a century of work by leftists of all stripes - it would behoove us to take note and act now to prevent their further erosion.

Goldman was very clear that politics is not the way to solve most of the problems facing society. Leaving the solutions to our problems in the hands of those with the most money and power - and yes, folks, that is who holds political office in America - is a recipe for exploitation. Her narrative pulls no punches. She is unapologetic throughout the telling of her life story and is frank about her own missteps. Her words reflect both a fiery, passionate rebel and the tender heart of a woman without artifice who loved as intensely as she fought.

My request to you is this: read this book. Read it. You don't have to agree with everything in it, but if you don't see parallels to the conversations happening around the power imbalances we are facing today; and the infinite, sinister ways that those who hold the greatest amount of power protect their own interests and ruthlessly penalize the people who stand up to them, then I dunno. Maybe democracy isn't for you.

The Wildelings by Lisa Harding was on a 'dark academia' reading list I came across. I don't know if it fits into that category. Still, it takes place at a fictional Dublin university (named after Oscar Wilde) and deals with some dark elements of human nature, so sure.

The story revolves around Jessica and Linda, two friends who met as girls in their small town, and who have come to Wilde together. Jessica is a pretty, talented, and ambitious young woman with aspirations in theater. Linda, on the other hand, came from a difficult home life and was essentially adopted by Jessica and her stepmom. Linda is shy, unsure of herself, and afraid of attention. From the beginning, Jessica has had a dominant position in the relationship, never seeing Linda as any threat to her popularity or social standing.

At Wilde, they meet Mark, a philosophy student who is in a graduate program at the university. 

Mark is enigmatic and strangely attractive. People gravitate to him, and he holds enormous control over his friends, a sort of cult-leader-in-the-making. Mark casts Jessica in his play, and at the same time, begins a romantic relationship with Linda. As Jessica falls deeper under Mark's spell, confused by her feelings toward him, she is challenged by Linda's happiness as the girlfriend of the most popular man on campus (despite being in a relationship with a hot French dude).

Jessica is equal parts an immature, selfish, vain, and attention-hungry young woman, and also perplexed and terrified at the loss of control she experiences as the plot unfolds. The book is written from her point of view, and I found myself oscillating between sympathy and a desire to slap some sense into her.

Mark's influence over the people in Jessica's life begins to look threatening when she notices people acting strangely toward her and each other. There's a palpable sense of danger in the narrative as Jessica finds herself on rocky footing socially while her best friend seems to be ascending. She suspects that Mark is intentionally creating this dynamic, but for what purpose we never find out.

The only part of this book that left me frustrated was the lack of clarity around Mark's motivations. Maybe this is intentional on Harding's part, but I finished the book - which had a dramatic and tragic ending - unsatisfied and wondering why all of this had to happen in the first place. Maybe Mark is just an asshole, and there are no real motivations, but that flies in the face of everything we learn about him along the way. He's controlling, manipulative, and highly intelligent with strong ideas that he forces on others in innumerable ways.

Regardless, I enjoyed reading this book. It’s filled with tension, and Harding captures the uncertainty and self-absorption of young adulthood perfectly. This is a solid read.

Kim Gordon is arguably and objectively one of the coolest people to have ever walked the planet. Full stop. An artist’s artist. An L.A. girl who made good in New York City. A woman who sought to define her style and relationship to her art, even as part of a band that helped define alternative music.

I’m stunned at how many people did not like Girl in a Band, and it makes me realize how much parasocial relationships impact people’s ability to enjoy an artist’s work. Most of the criticism was that she didn’t appear graceful and ‘above the fray’ when talking about her ex or other artists. Or annoyed that she isn’t a master of the narrative. Apparently, these folks prefer the ghostwritten bullshit that passes for memoir that most famous people put out.

I listened to the audiobook, which Gordon narrates, and was completely caught up in it. Her life has been fascinating (I had no idea she used to date Danny Elfman!) and at 72 – long after most humans have given up and deteriorated creatively and intellectually – she continues to produce compelling work with a pronounced edge.

The book begins in Gordon’s childhood, and we learn about her fraught family life, especially her emotionally closed-off mother and her mentally ill brother. Her stories about growing up in the sixties in L.A. give us a faded, melancholic snapshot of a very specific time and place that was so creatively powerful and filled with possibility that its reverberations are still felt today.

The book is, admittedly, a bit of a mixed bag. In addition to her early family life, we are treated to anecdotes about moving to New York and finding her way in the art scene, where we’re introduced to a wild and colorful cast of characters – some of whom are well known in popular culture. She also explores her sense of self – her femininity, conscious style choices, her relationship to motherhood, and the heartbreak of having to redefine herself after a public divorce with her ex-husband and former bandmate Thurston Moore.

Gordon pulls no punches. She’s not trying to appease an audience, posture social graces, or perform to the sensibilities of her readers. Her loathing of the woman that Moore left her for is wide open, as is her derision for Courtney Love (Gordon was a good friend of Kurt Cobain). These are people with whom Gordon was in actual relationships, and she has every right to her negative opinions about them.

To be fair, I don’t consume many memoirs, and I generally loathe celebrity culture, but Girl in a Band was a treat. I truly enjoyed it. Maybe it helps that I was never a Sonic Youth stan. I don’t see Kim Gordon as a “celebrity” outside of any popularity (welcome or unwelcome) that Sonic Youth attained in the 90s. She’s an artist, and artists don’t make art for approval.

I’m going to start this review by saying: READ THIS BOOK.

The Pilgrimage by John Broderick is a riveting soap opera of a story about a wealthy couple living in a midcentury Irish town. The story is told from the perspective of the wife, Julia, who begins the novel having an affair with Jim, her husband’s nephew (and doctor). Her husband, Michael, is a closeted (natch) gay man who is also disabled and spends all his time in bed being tended to by a handsome servant named Stephen.

Michael, despite his ‘nature’ is devoted to the church. He is determined to go on a pilgrimage to Lourdes, in the hopes that he will be healed from his affliction. Julia, believing this to be a fool’s errand, nevertheless supports the idea and assists in the planning. The two of them decide that Jim and Stephen should accompany them on their journey, and they obtain their consent.

The entire novel spans several weeks and months as they prepare for their spiritual journey. A plot centering on Julia’s relationships, first with Jim and then with Stephen, begins to unfold. Julia is the sole woman among this cast of male characters, and she defies the ‘idealized’ Catholic wife stereotype. She is practical, sleeping with other men as a way to satisfy her physical desires, uninterested in forming any real attachment to them. Throughout the book, she views events and people clinically with an almost utilitarian outlook. She has no faith and very little interest in pretending otherwise.

When anonymous letters begin to arrive, threatening to uncover her secret affair with Jim, Julia becomes preoccupied with trying to find the source. This leads to her (correct) suspicion that Stephen is the author of the letters. Stephen, in turn, is confused about his own sexuality and attaches himself to Julia, claiming to be in love with her. He is less interested in sex than in other forms of intimacy, which Julia finds extremely discomforting.

As I said, this is all very soap-y… but in a good way! A surface-level reading of the book makes it a fun diversion. A deeper reading, however, allows us to encounter so many of the social and religious factors that confronted the author, himself a gay Irishman, during his lifetime. In The Pilgrimage, we discover a world of black-and-white ideology built upon a multi-colored rainbow of human experience. It is an insistent and rebellious telling of the reality of life under the heavy hand of a conservative, even oppressive environment that defines each of the characters’ motives while undermining their identities.

The Pilgrimage was banned in Ireland after it was published, which is a perfectly good reason in and of itself to read it. But it’s also a powerful, unflinching look at how human beings construct ideals that fail to take into consideration the reality of who we are – and the (sometimes hilarious, sometimes tragic) folly that results.

Again: READ IT.

Will & Testament by Vigdis Hjorth deals with the painful topics of incest and family dysfunction. The book is (at least partially) taken from events in the author's own life, which means she writes in great detail about these dynamics, aptly capturing the pain and frustration of dealing with a family in denial.

The story is about a family with four adult children whose father recently died. The eldest two faced serious abuses by their parents, while the younger two seem to have had gratifying lives and love their parents devotedly. The central conflict of the novel is over their father's will, which leaves the two family vacation cabins to the youngest siblings. The older children, including the narrator Bergljot, are rightly upset, and the result is a tedious family drama in which Bergliot's feelings of betrayal come out through protracted arguments about the cabins (that is, when she's not actively avoiding her family).

I'm going to be honest and say that there wasn't much of a plot to this book. It literally felt like reading the therapy journal of someone who needs to vent about how shitty their family is. There was no satisfactory resolution, or anything driving the story because the entire family already knows about Bergljot's claims of abuse. It's just... they ignore and/or deny it.

I'm giving this book two stars because I finished it, and the depictions of the family - each of them inhabiting their roles in the dysfunction perfectly - were done well. But ultimately, it was boring, and I got to the point where I was like, "I'm not a therapist, lady." It did feel like that one friend who only wants to hang out in order to dump all their problems on you. Meh.

My only knowledge of The KLF before reading this book is a faint memory of hearing their song "3AM Eternal" on the radio in my senior year of high school, thinking, "What is this?" The music I was into at the time - mainly of the new wave and alternative genres - left little room for a British techno band. I ignored them. Which is why, in the year 2025, when I saw this book in the library and the chorus, "KLF IS GONNA ROCK YOU... ANCIENTS OF MU-MU" popped into my head, I felt the need to investigate why on earth anyone would write a whole ass book about a British one-hit-wonder band from the late 80s/early 90s.

People. I have been enlightened.

First of all, The KLF was not a one-hit band. They had several hits that went under my radar (some recorded under different names). Second, they were in no way a superficial, flash-in-the-pan dance music group that was out for a quick score. In fact, this band might be one of the few actual artists with a true philosophy to their music and performances from that era. These guys were insane, in the best possible way.

In The KLF: Chaos, Magic and the Band Who Burned a Million Pounds, John Higgs takes on the monumental task of trying to explain the artistic and economic motivations behind a group of avowed artistic renegades whose decade-long antics culminated in the ultimate stunt - the literal incineration of one million pounds. He takes us deep into KLF lore - the origins of the band, their strange chemistry, their unironic embrace of magic as a tool for art, and the literary and music influences that made them pioneers. We learn that The KLF pioneered sampling, yet loathed the idea that they existed to fight for their (and others') right to employ it in their music. They were a band that, like so many other artists with an agenda, were too easily written off as "pranksters" or "attention seekers" by those who didn't understand the nature of their social and economic beefs.

Ultimately, The KLF existed not to make art but to be art. Everything they did was to stand for defiance of a corrupt, exploitative, and money-driven industry of which the members were intimately familiar. They understood that the human mind is complex, combining learned logic and the inherent, dark depths of creative meaning-making that has served our species well for a millennium; and that the purpose of art is to speak to, provoke, and inspire the latter.

Whether you like The KLF or not, this is a book for people who love art. Whatever criticisms can be lobbed against the band, it's safe to say that nothing they did was gratuitous. There was (and still is) thought, meaning, and purpose behind what they were doing.

Also - I'm going to go ahead and follow everyone who read and liked this book because I think it's a great litmus test. If you liked this book, I'm guessing I like your taste.

I love reading about cults, and I've never read anything by Lawrence Wright that I didn't like, so I was all-in from the very beginning on Going Clear. Much of what is in the book has been cited in various articles, documentaries, and published personal accounts from defectors. Still, Wright does a fantastic job of bringing it all together and synthesizing it into a coherent narrative, adding details that make this a compelling (if not sometimes infuriating) read even for those familiar with Scientology.

The book begins at the beginning, with an in-depth look at Scientology's founder, the charismatic and prolific L. Ron Hubbard, a man who still holds the world record for the number of books written during his lifetime. We learn how Hubbard made the battle against psychiatry a lifelong mission, and how he evolved from being a dreamy sci-fi writer who cynically founded a religion-as-business to a deluded church leader, high on his own supply, convinced of his own divinity. We meet the women in Hubbard's life, his children, and some of his most ardent supporters, some of whom do not survive their association with the church.

After Hubbard's death, the narrative shifts to examining the current leader of the organization, a man with striking similarities—and differences—from Hubbard. We learn about how members of the Hollywood elite are drawn into Scientology, and how the organization maintains those relationships through its celebrity center in Los Angeles.

The most interesting part about the book (and possibly the most interesting thing about cults in general) is a consideration of what makes one group's set of beliefs an 'absurd cult' and what makes another group's beliefs an 'official religion'. Wright doesn't rush us to easy answers, and I appreciate it. He asks us to consider our own biases about how we define religion, and asks us to reflect on why many people want (and need) to believe things that are not true to be the best version of themselves.

This is a pretty long book, but I blazed through it quickly (even with all the legal disclaimers). There's a lot to consider here for anyone who has looked at religious people and wondered how intelligent people allow denial and existential fear to inspire beliefs that have no basis in reality.

The first thing you should know about “The Moon Is Down” by John Steinbeck is that it was written in March 1942 as Allied propaganda. It tells a story of the invasion and occupation of a small northern European village. The parties are not named, but it’s a clear depiction of the invasion of Norway by SS troops. It was clearly written to bolster the resolve of Allied soldiers and remind them that a larger, more powerful force is no match for the human spirit and our innate desire for freedom.

The second thing you should know is that it was published simultaneously as a novel and a play. The book is written in a manner that makes this clear. Short, impactful episodes with powerful dialogue tell a story of how the villagers resist their occupier; how the village mayor negotiates with and debates the decisions of the invading general; and how much of a moral, emotional and physical strain occupation is on the occupier.

I’m an anarcho-pacifist, so wartime propaganda leaves me uninspired, but I think this book is worth reading. The Moon is Down is a short, concise book (barely over 100 pages), but we’re not robbed of Steinbeck’s glorious, soul-inspiring writing style:

“In marching, in mobs, in football games, and in war, outlines become vague; real things become unreal and a fog creeps over the mind. Tension and excitement, weariness, movement–all merge in one great gray dream, so that when it is over, it is hard to remember how it was when you killed men or ordered them to be killed. Then other people who were not there tell you what it was like and you say vaguely, “yes, I guess that’s how it was.” ― John Steinbeck, The Moon Is Down

Second, the book is clear about the corrosive futility of occupation and the resistance of the human spirit, even when ‘conquered’ by outside forces. In this present day, as the world watches another occupation attempt to crush the spirits and destroy the hopes of millions of people in Gaza, we see the truth in statements like, “They know that ten heads lopped off will destroy them, but we are a free people; we have as many heads as we have people, and in a time of need leaders pop up among us like mushrooms.”

I’m not in love with this book, but it’s a fascinating read and there are some very deep, universal truths peppered throughout that are worth consideration 83 years and six milllion “never agains” later.

There is very little that happens in this Nobel Prize-winning novel, and yet, it's one of the most impactful books I've read this year. I'm married to an immigrant who came to the West, seeking opportunity and security. I've witnessed firsthand the emotional and psychological challenges that befall anyone who undertakes a cultural transition, the myriad, minor conflicts that play out in every aspect of daily life and relationships. It is a hard life, and Abdulrazak Gurnah captures it beautifully in this understated novel.

The main character, a fatherless man in his forties who immigrated from Zanzibar to England for an education, remains nameless. After moving to Great Britain in the 1960s, he meets a beautiful (and rebellious) white girl named Emma from a conservative family, and settles into a common law marriage with her. He lives almost wholly cut off from his family in Zanzibar, brushing off Emma's questions and concerns about why they have no contact, especially after the birth of their daughter. Still, it's not enough to rock the boat, and they live seemingly happily with our main character enjoying his typical western lifestyle - cocktails in the evening, a rebellious teenage daughter, and social obligations with Emma's family.

Things go smoothly until our protagonist returns to Zanzibar after twenty years (and much political upheaval), taking the reader with him. Gurnah does a masterful job of immersing us in another culture, using numerous small interactions with his people to illustrate just how differently the world appears from Zanzibar. From the colonizer to the colonized, from white to Black, from a secular environment to one that is decidedly Islamic, infused into every moment of his day.

His family wants him to come home to Zanzibar. He's got his education, and the country, having been ravaged by war and colonialism, needs him. They entice him with a fabulous government job and attempt to arrange an engagement to a beautiful young woman. Throughout, we hear his internal monologue pining for Emma, missing England, and criticizing the corruption and poor management of his home country. And yet. When he returns to England, he is confronted with the stark truth that he is not wholly of that place, and never will be.

The characters in this book feel real and vital. The main character is complicated, confused, but also cynical. He's got a great sense of humor, and many of his observations are pretty funny in a snarky, sarcastic way.

Throughout the entire time I was reading, I kept waiting for some huge, tragic event to unfold. In the end, however, the mundane reality of this man's life and experiences, representative of millions of other people who have found their way across the globe, is a powerful story without fireworks and contrivances. We are left only with his truth, which can fit nowhere but within himself, and for which there is no alternative.

“I trust that every animal here appreciates the sacrifice that Comrade Napoleon has made in taking this extra labour upon himself. Do not imagine, comrades, that leadership is a pleasure! On the contrary, it is a deep and heavy responsibility. No one believes more firmly than Comrade Napoleon that all animals are equal. He would be only too happy to let you make your decisions for yourselves. But sometimes you might make the wrong decisions, comrades, and then where should we be?”

Everyone’s read Animal Farm, right? I remember reading it in eighth grade, but I couldn’t remember much about the story so I decided to re-read it, and holy shit. This book is a masterpiece. It illustrates the dangers of holding power, and the ease of manipulating those subjected to it. It describes the rise of tyranny and authoritarianism in a whimsical, almost childlike way that is accessible to anyone. It’s the clearest, most digestible depiction I’ve ever read about revolutionaries becoming the very thing they wish to overthrow. If you’ve not read it in a while, pick it up and give it a second pass. You won’t be sorry.