Read With Us Lounge: 6/29/26

Welcome back to the Read With Us Lounge!

This week, I have a question that's been simmering in the back of my mind:

Why does food writing affect us so deeply?

Or maybe it doesn't affect you that way at all. That's part of what makes these conversations interesting.

Food shows up everywhere in literature. Sometimes it's a lavish feast. Part of why I loved reading Redwall with my kids was because of the vivid descriptions of the feasts. Sometimes it's a simple cup of tea, a sandwich, or a bowl of soup. Yet those scenes often linger in our memories long after we've forgotten other details of the story.  

Why is that?

Food is one of the most universal experiences we share. We all eat. We all have favorite foods, comfort foods, foods tied to celebrations, and foods connected to people we've loved. A description of a meal can evoke memories, emotions, and even physical sensations. Reading about cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven or tomatoes warm from the garden can make us feel as though we're right there at the table.

Food also tells us something about people. What they cook, what they crave, what they refuse to eat, and who they share meals with can reveal character in ways that pages of exposition never could. A family dinner can expose tensions, a holiday meal can reveal traditions, and a simple act of cooking for someone can become an expression of love.

Some of my favorite food writing comes from Laurie Colwin's Home Cooking and More Home Cooking. They're not cookbooks in the traditional sense. They're collections of essays about food, cooking, family, friendship, hospitality, and everyday life. Colwin understood that cooking is rarely just about the food itself. It's about caring for people, creating a home, making mistakes, celebrating successes, and gathering around a table. Reading her essays often feels like sitting in a kitchen with a wise and funny friend.

The best food writing seems to understand that meals are rarely just meals. They carry memories, relationships, hopes, disappointments, traditions, and sometimes entire histories. Food becomes a language all its own.

So this week's questions are:

• What books, memoirs, essays, or stories contain food scenes that have stayed with you?

• Is there a particular meal in a book that you still remember?

• Why do you think food writing can feel so intimate?

• Have you ever cooked something because you read about it in a book?

• Or are you completely unmoved by food writing and prefer your books with as little discussion of meals as possible?

As always, there are no right answers here. Read what you want, think what you think, and tell us about it. I'm looking forward to hearing what books and meals have found a place at your table this summer.

I think this prompt fits especially well with the Lounge's spirit of exploring how reading connects to everyday life and personal experience. It invites people to talk about books, but also about memory, family, and the stories we carry with us.

I hope you're enjoying hanging out in the Read With Us Lounge so far. Be sure and visit Kym and Carole to see what they're talking about today.  

Books on Thursday

I finished one book this week, but it was an interesting one.

Joe Biden devoted his life to public service, guided by a genuine concern for others and a desire to do the greatest good for the greatest number of people. Jill was by his side for much of that journey, and together they have endured more than their share of personal heartbreak, something that, sadly, continues even now. I wish them both peace, comfort, and all the best in the years ahead.

That being said, I read View from the East Wing hoping for a deeper, substantive memoir from Jill Biden. Instead, much of the book focuses on feel-good anecdotes about White House life, like Christmas decorations, teaching classes, grading papers in the Rose Garden, and other behind-the-scenes moments that, while pleasant enough, never felt particularly revealing.

What I was most interested in was Jill Biden's perspective on Joe Biden's disastrous debate performance against Donald Trump. That section was easily the most compelling part of the book. According to her account, both she and Joe immediately knew he had "f***ed up". She writes that she wondered whether he was having a stroke or had somehow been poisoned. I remember watching the debate and wondering if he was experiencing a stroke or TIA myself, especially after the now-infamous "we finally beat Medicare" comment.

What surprised me most was what happened next: they went to Waffle House. Personally, if I genuinely thought my spouse might be having a stroke, I think I would have skipped Waffle House and headed straight to the ER. That detail left me with more questions than answers.

Overall, this memoir never quite became the book I hoped for. There are warm family stories and plenty of optimistic moments, but I finished wishing for more substance, more candor, and a deeper examination of the events and challenges that defined the Biden presidency. For readers looking for a comforting portrait of Jill Biden, this may be satisfying. For those hoping for sharper insights and a more revealing account, it may feel somewhat superficial. Three stars from me. 

Now I'd love to know what you're reading!  

Unraveled Wednesday: 6/24/26

I’m happy to join Kat and the Unravelers today with more of the kitchen towel. I know it's not exciting knitting, so I tried to take some slightly different photos. 

Justin and Jess have been with John this week, fishing in the Blackfoot River in Montana, so I've been checking on their cats. It's fine but it's honestly been a lot of driving to go down to their house, check on the automatic feeders to make sure they're not blocked (they always are), clean the litterboxes, water plants, collect mail and packages, put the trash out, etc. ....

So I decided to take my knitting yesterday and see if I could convince Nugget to pose with it for some pictures. A few treats were required to make that happen.

This is on Justin and Jess' oven so I could get an idea of how far along I was. 

Maybe a bit more than halfway? I was picturing gifting a stack (maybe three or four) of these to Ryan at Christmas, but it's looking like that stack might consist of only two towels. We'll see. 

What are you making this last Wednesday in June?  

Read With Us Lounge: 6/22/26

One of the things I hope we'll do together in the Read With Us Summer Reading Lounge is question some of the assumptions we carry around about books and reading. So my question this week is:

What makes a book "summer reading"?

When someone says they're looking for a good summer read, most of us probably have an idea of what that means. But when you stop and think about it, it's surprisingly difficult to define.

Is it the setting? A book that takes place at the beach, on vacation, or during a long hot summer?

Is it the tone? Something light, fun, and easy to read while sitting on a porch or beside a pool?

Is it the pacing? A page-turner that keeps you reading long after you planned to turn out the light?

Or maybe it's nostalgia. Perhaps a "summer read" is whatever reminds us of childhood summers when school was out and we had long stretches of time to disappear into a book.

It could even be marketing. Publishers and booksellers certainly have ideas about what belongs on a summer reading list, and every year we see displays filled with the latest beach reads, thrillers, romances, and family dramas.

It could simply be reading that happens in the summer. 

But I wonder if summer reading is really much more personal than that.

For some people, summer is the season when they finally have time to tackle a long classic they've been putting off for years. For others, it's the perfect time for mysteries, romance novels, memoirs, graphic novels, or rereading old favorites. Maybe a summer read is simply any book that arrives at the right moment.

I know my own definition has changed over the years. There was a time when I would have said summer reading was light and entertaining, like when I used to check out ten Nancy Drew mysteries from the library. Now I'm not so sure. Some of my most memorable summer reading experiences have involved books that were thoughtful, challenging, or even a little difficult.

So I'm curious:

• What makes a book feel like summer reading to you?

• Are there certain genres you gravitate toward in the summer?

• Do you intentionally choose lighter books, or do you read whatever appeals to you?

• Can a serious or literary novel be a perfect summer read?

• What's the best "summer reading" book you've ever read, and what made it feel that way?

As always in the Read With Us Summer Reading Lounge, there are no wrong answers and no reading rules. Read what you want, when you want, and tell us about it. I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts.

I like this question because it gets at one of the themes of the Lounge: challenging the idea that there is a "right" way to read or a particular kind of book we should be reading at any given time.

I hope you're enjoying hanging out in the Read With Us Lounge so far. Be sure and visit Kym and Carole to see what they're talking about today.  

Books on Thursday

I read three books this week. One was a recommendation from Jane; one was a rediscovery and reread after three decades, and one was nonfiction that made me think. 

Street Haunting was my introduction to the writing of Virginia Woolf thanks to Jane, and after finishing this collection of essays, I'm curious to try some of her fiction next.

Woolf's writing style is fascinating, evocative, observant, and packed with vivid details. Even when she's describing something as ordinary as a walk through the streets of London, she notices small moments and textures that most people would overlook. Her essays often feel less like arguments and more like invitations to see the world through her eyes.

As with most essay collections, some pieces resonated with me more than others. A few felt dated or simply didn't capture my interest, but the strongest essays were excellent and made the collection worthwhile. My favorite was "How Should One Read a Book?" In it, Woolf celebrates the freedom and pleasure of reading without rigid rules, a message that still feels fresh and relevant today. 

 

Woolf's writing speaks better for itself than I ever could. While I didn't love every essay equally, I admired her intelligence, her powers of observation, and her ability to transform everyday experiences into something memorable. A rewarding introduction to an author I've long meant to read, and one that has encouraged me to finally pick up some of her novels. Three and a half stars rounded up.  

 

I first read Harvesting the Heart by Jodi Picoult in 1993, shortly after my second son was born. Over the years I remembered it fondly and looked for it several times, although I somehow convinced myself that it had been written by Hilma Wolitzer. I was excited to find it again for a reread.

 

Reading a novel about new motherhood hits very differently when the baby you were caring for the first time around has just turned 33. As a young mother, I identified with Paige's uncertainty, exhaustion, and fierce love for her child. Now, with the perspective that comes from decades of parenting, I found myself noticing different aspects of the story, the strains on a marriage, the lingering effects of family history, and the ways people struggle to understand one another.

This isn't Picoult at her most polished or ambitious, and some of the plot developments feel melodramatic by today's standards. Still, I found the emotional core of the novel convincing. The depiction of early motherhood, in particular, rang true, capturing both its joys and its isolating challenges. Paige's mistakes can be frustrating, but they also feel recognizably human.

While Harvesting the Heart didn't have quite the same impact on me as it did when I first read it more than three decades ago, it remained an entertaining and heartfelt read. Revisiting it offered not only a chance to evaluate the book itself but also a reminder of how much a reader can change over time. Sometimes the most interesting part of a reread is discovering the distance between who you were then and who you are now. Three stars. 

 

I borrowed Comfortable with Uncertainty from the library, hoping for something like an instruction manual, a practical guide that would teach me how to become more comfortable with uncertainty. Instead, what I found was something both simpler and more challenging.

Pema Chödrön's central message seems to be that there are no instructions. There is no formula for eliminating uncertainty, no set of steps that will guarantee peace of mind. Rather, the practice is learning to stop resisting life's inherent unpredictability and to meet whatever arises with openness, curiosity, and compassion.

That may sound frustratingly circular to readers looking for concrete advice, and at times I found myself wishing for more practical guidance. Yet as I continued reading, I began to understand that this longing for certainty and clear answers is exactly what Chödrön is encouraging us to examine. The discomfort we feel when things are unresolved isn't a problem to solve but a reality to face.

As with many collections of teachings and reflections, some sections resonated with me more than others. Chödrön's writing is warm, accessible, and often insightful, but there were passages that felt repetitive. Still, I frequently found myself pausing to reflect on an idea or reread a particularly meaningful passage.

In the end, I didn't come away with a roadmap for becoming comfortable with uncertainty. I came away with the realization that comfort may not be the goal at all. Instead, the book invites us to drop our expectations, stop grasping for certainty, and learn to face whatever comes with an open heart. That's easier said than done, but still an important lesson.Three stars.

Now I'd love to know what you're reading!  

Unraveled Wednesday: 6/17/26

I’m happy to join Kat and the Unravelers today with some less-than-exciting knitting. The kitchen towel is back, and it’s now a bit longer than the last time you saw it.

I’ve been on a roll with this project. The knitting is both wonderfully mindless and relaxing, making it easy to pick up throughout the day. I’ve worked on it outside while listening to the birds and using Merlin, while waiting for loads of laundry to finish, and even at the auto body shop.

John had a car accident last week (he’s okay), but he left for a fishing trip this week, so I had to meet the insurance adjuster at the body shop while he inspected the damage. The knitting may not be exciting, but this towel has been getting around.

Later this afternoon, I’m taking it with me to Justin and Jess’s house, where I’ll be checking on my grand-kitties, Nugget and Fletch. The towel may be clamoring for even more adventures before it’s finally finished.

What are you making this Wednesday in June?

  

Read With Us Lounge: 6/15/26

I've been forced to change my comment settings because I was inundated with stupid spam. Currently it's set for users with Google accounts. I'm sorry to do this and don't mean to make things more cumbersome for my valued readers as I do appreciate your comments. I also chose to moderate all comments, so please submit your comments (just once!) and they will be visible after I moderate and publish them. Sorry and thank you! Now, back to the much more relaxing Read With Us Lounge.

Today in the Read With Us Lounge I'm wondering if star ratings help or flatten the reading experience? Can a deeply meaningful book still be just 3 stars?

If you've spent any time on Goodreads, StoryGraph, or Bookstagram, you've probably noticed that star ratings have become one of the dominant ways we talk about books. Before we know anything about a novel's themes, characters, or emotional impact, we often know whether someone gave it two stars or five.

But what do those stars actually tell us?

Star ratings are useful. They offer a quick shorthand for our reactions and help us keep track of what we've read. They can guide recommendations and make it easier to spot patterns in our own reading lives. Looking back at a year's worth of books, a rating system can reveal surprising things about our tastes.

But I think star ratings can also flatten the reading experience. A single number has to carry the weight of hundreds of pages, dozens of emotions, and countless personal connections. The result is that books with very different strengths and weaknesses often end up receiving the same score.

Think about two books you rated three stars. One may have been a perfectly competent novel that entertained you for a weekend and was forgotten a month later. I would choose On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan for this example. Lovely prose but not much else for me. The other may have been a challenging, flawed, but unforgettable work that raised difficult questions and stayed in your mind for a long time. This one for me is Better: A Surgeon's Notes on Performance by Atul Gawande. I probably think about this book at least six or eight times a year. My star ratings are identical, but my experiences were not.

This raises an interesting question for me: Can a deeply meaningful book still be just three stars?

I would answer yes.

We often assume that ratings measure importance, but they may actually measure enjoyment, or some combination of enjoyment, craft, originality, emotional impact, and personal timing. A book can be significant without being entirely successful. It can provoke thought without being pleasurable. It can change the way we see the world while also frustrating us as readers.

Some of the books that generate the best discussions fall into this category. They may have pacing issues, unlikeable characters, or uneven writing, yet they tackle subjects that linger long after the final page. We may admire them more than we enjoy them. We may be grateful we read them even if we would hesitate to recommend them broadly.

In book groups especially, the most interesting conversations often emerge from books that land somewhere in the middle. A universally beloved five-star read can generate enthusiastic agreement, but a three-star book can produce debate. Kym, Carole, and I have purposefully not chosen some books that we thought everyone would love (e.g. Tom Lake) because we were afraid there would be little discussion and we would all just sit around saying how much we enjoyed the book. Readers bring different experiences, values, and expectations, revealing just how subjective reading can be.

Perhaps the real limitation of star ratings is not that they exist, but that they sometimes become the entire conversation. I have long wished that Goodreads would allow for the awarding of half stars, but even that wouldn't really solve the star issue. When we focus too much on assigning a number, we risk overlooking the richer questions: Why did this book affect me? What challenged me? What frustrated me? What will I remember a year from now?

A star rating can capture a verdict, but it rarely captures the whole picture. Maybe I should stop depending on them so much! 

Things to think about:

• What factors influence your star ratings most: enjoyment, literary quality, emotional impact, originality, something else, or all of them together?

• Have you ever given three stars to a book that you still think about years later?

• Is there a difference between a "good" book and an "important" book?

• Do you rate books based on your personal experience or on what you believe the author achieved?

• Have star ratings changed the way you choose books or talk about them with other readers?

• If you had to give up either written reviews or star ratings, which would you keep?

Be sure and check with Kym and Carole to see what they're thinking about today!