Dear friend—
Here are some things I am grateful for:
Some proper fall weather.
Fall has descended onto the city of Pittsburgh—and perhaps a great part of the mid-Atlantic—with a passion. The fall equinox dipped below the clouds and brought the 80-degree weather down to 60 overnight, and ever since then (knock on wood) it’s stayed there.
I’ve said this to plenty of people before, but I think that since I’ve moved to Pittsburgh, the weather has felt progressively more bonkers. My freshman year was the last real spring I’ve experienced in the city.
Since Pitt ends its second semester quite early, in the waning weeks of April, every year from sophomore on has seen freezing rain and snow and bleary, chilly skies throughout all of April. Spring only peeks out its little head come May. Meanwhile, I've seen more than one February day where the mercury climbed past 60, even 70 degrees.
On the other end of things, summer has bored into October like a stubborn, hot termite. One fall, I had an environmental writing class and the professor took us to Schenley Park, where a guide walked us through Panther Hollow. He told us that the trees are getting yellow later and faster every year—a sign of climate change. That day was the first breath of cool air after a string of days in the 70s and 80s.
But today, cold white sunlight seeps through my window, as does the chilly air. My fingers are a bit stiff as I write this, but my sweater is cozy and my coffee is hot. Hazel has burrowed under my blankets and will be happy there until I get up.
As I tweeted a few weeks ago, i have reached peak happiness for the year nothing will beat grabbing a hot drink with chilly hands at a cozy coffee shop in my silly little sweater.
Amtrak and my grandmother, dancing.
The past few weeks have been busy ones. Work has been all aflutter with the Manchin climate shenanigans, and I have been trying to get my life and my space together in expectation of the winter hunker-down, when doing anything seems so much colder and harder.
Last weekend, I was especially busy, because I had a wedding to go to—the first one I’ve been to since childhood and the first one I’ve been a part of myself. My cousin got married on a circle of grey cobblestone overlooking green hills that dipped and rolled toward the horizon. There was the lightest shower of rain pattering against umbrellas, as my uncle asked the couple to repeat their vows after him.
It was the first big wedding in my generation of our family, the previous two being COVID weddings, and so there was a lot of anxiety melting into a lot of joy. My grandmother is well past 80, but she was out on the dance floor nearly as much as my sister and I. M friend, I have not seen my grandmother dance so much and so happily in my entire life.
On the way to and from the wedding I took an Amtrak from Pittsburgh to Harrisburg (s/o to my mom for driving me the first leg of the journey), and as I said to a friend of mine, I don’t know why we have any other mode of long-distance travel.
This was of course hyperbole, but I said what I said. The seats were at least twice as comfortable as any airplane or Greyhound seat I’ve sat in, the leg room was unbelievable, and the bathroom was big enough for me to spin in. For much of the ride there and back, I lay across two seats with my duffle bag under my head, curled up exactly how I would curl up on my couch at home.
On my way back from Pittsburgh Monday night, I saw the most stunning sunset—they sky all lit up fluorescent pink and then orange and the trees charred with nightfall. I’ll share a photo. Words don’t do it justice.
Lush colorful bejewelled escapist fantasy adventure.
After a heavy past few weeks, I was craving an escapist fantasy adventure. The thing about such fantasies is that you can get lost in a world whose consequences are big and intense but very different from your own.
Enter Gods of Jade and Shadow, by Silvia Moreno-Garcia. I'd heard about this book for ages but only recently picked it up and boy, has it been a treat.
It tells the story of Cassiopeia Tun, whose aristocratic family resents her because her mother ran off with an indigenous man. Though they take in the pair after her father dies, they make Cassiopeia work practically as a servant for her grandfather.
But one day, after a fight with her cousin Martín, Cassiopeia is left in the house alone. In a fit of rebellion, she opens a forbidden, locked chest in her grandfather's room. And out springs a god.
Cassiopeia joins Hun-Kamé, Lord of Xibalba, a death god, in his quest to regain his power and this throne from his brother. The journey takes them throughout Mexico, lit up by the changes and possibilities of the Jazz Age, and by the magic of old myths and legends that still breathe in a Mexico that has largely forgotten them.
I had a little trouble getting into it as the beginning felt a bit slow, but that beginning builds the foundation for Cassiopeia and Martín's characters, setting the stage for the development and conflict further down the line. And the relationship between Cassiopeia and Hun-Kamé is so bittersweet and beautiful. The ending had me aching, in all the best ways.
Moreno-Garcia’s narrator is quiet and subdued, but rich with description and scenery, the plants and animals and colors. It's that third-person omniscient narrator reminiscent of fairy and folk tales. It doesn't try to dazzle you—it knows its subject matter, the mythology and the adventure, the setting and the characters, will dazzle you without overwrought language.
The stars on the ocean, late nights in sleeper cars, demons and spirits, grand hotels and mansions, fantastical beasts, city streets bustling with newly made automobiles, jewels and dresses and gardens and shadows—it's all there.
All this to say, this book is the wonderful magical colorful read I was looking for. Big recommend.
Thanks for reading, I'll be back soon,
mia xx