nadja spiegelman

anonymous asked:

how do you choose the books you want to read? Could you suggest some of them?

Ooh, I love your second question. I just choose whatever catches my eye. I’m kind of sporadic with what I catalogue but you can add me on Goodreads

In no particular order, some of the books on my TBR list are:

Nightwood, Djuna Barnes
Oval, Elvia Wilk
Malina, Ingeborg Bachmann
Trick Mirror, Jia Tolentino
Nights at the Circus, Angela Carter
Sisters of the Revolution: A Feminist Speculative Fiction Anthology, Ann and Jeff VanderMeer
Because Internet: Understanding the New Rules of Language, Gretchen McCulloch
Marilou Is Everywhere, Sarah Elaine Smith
Health Justice Now: Single Payer and What Comes Next, Timothy Faust
Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City, Matthew Desmond
Superior: The Return of Race Science, Angela Saini
The Polyvagal Theory in Therapy: Engaging the Rhythm of Regulation, Deb A. Dana
The Art of Loading Brush: New Agrarian Writings, Wendell Berry
The Weil Conjectures: On Math and the Pursuit of the Unknown, Karen Olsson
The Antipodes, Annie Baker
Gingerbread, Helen Oyeyemi
The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, Max Weber
Treatment of Complex Trauma: A Sequenced, Relationship-Based Approach, Christine A. Courtois
Where Reasons End, Yiyun Li
The Trauma of Everyday Life, Mark Epstein MD
The Walker’s Guide to Outdoor Clues and Signs, Tristan Gooley
The Heavens, Sandra Newman
I’m Supposed to Protect You from All This, Nadja Spiegelman
A Sand Book, Ariana Reines
We Cast A Shadow, Maurice Carlos Ruffin
Carving Out a Place to Write in Paris | Read It Forward
I had been to Paris often as a girl, on vacations to visit my mother’s family. Other Americans might swoon at the buttery croissants, the perfect foulards, the flower and cheese shops. But I knew Paris. Paris was shop-keepers who slapped children’s hands. Paris was sitting still for hours at the dinner table while my grandfather scolded me for using the wrong fork. It made me feel very French, to not love Paris. Three years ago however, as I prepared to move from New York to Paris in order to write a book, I found myself suddenly awash with romantic visions. I imagined I would sit in the same chairs as Hemingway, be invited to join literary salons, stroll cobblestone streets that would leave me blinded with inspiration. I pictured myself at a round bistro table on a café terrace, an overflowing ashtray by my notebook, while French waiters gave me free café crèmes, simply because I was a regular, and they loved me. There was really no limit to my fantasies, no matter how much I told myself I knew better. As soon as I arrived, I set about finding the café that would become my café. I settled on the closest one, on the corner: a large brasserie identical to all the others that lined the extra-wide Grand Boulevards. The street was a main axis, and the cafés along it catered to a high-turnover of tourists and businessmen on lunch breaks. The decor was black and modern and slick, the menu was printed in both English and French, and they served food at any hour of the day. Now that I have a better understanding of the nuances of French culture, I blush to think that I was ever naïve enough to believe this particular café could be mine.

Nadja Speigelman on finding the perfect place to write her upcoming memoir I’M SUPPOSED TO PROTECT YOU FROM ALL THIS.


Nadja Spiegelman and Sergio Garcia Sánchez talk about their graphic novel exploration of New York’s subway, art-making, and sandwiches.