“I think of McCarthy and ‘The Group,’ giving me language to understand myself before I even knew that’s what I needed.”
“There is a saying in book collecting: You only regret the books you don’t buy.”
Fitzgerald was ground down, I imagine, consumed by how to take care of her family. This didn’t make her any less the thinker, writer, reader, that she was.
Holding on to our cultural foods and customs was a labor of love, but labor nevertheless. American Night provided a little respite.
“FOE!” he had yelled, when really, phở is more graceful than that.
I told Kingston how much her book meant to me as a half-Chinese woman, as a writer. It showed me my own life was worthy of examination, even exaltation.
Herring in Ukraine to fried whiting on my street. Melville to Jewish legend. How easily we eat fish caught from depths we don’t understand.
“Finding joy in food that comes from a bag or a box feels like a sin in a society that demonizes it.”
“Unlike most popular orphan characters, I wasn’t too young to remember my parents.”
“If food is like a language, then menudo is its own dialect in my family.”