Find it at your library!

I have a problem with perfectionism. My problem is that until very recently I thought perfection was attainable. It turns out getting straight A’s year after year can give a person a false sense of herself. And that false sense crumbles under the pressure of real lived experience.

Tiny Beautiful Things was recommended to me a long time ago, but I was sure I’d never read it. Life advice from Cheryl Strayed? It didn’t make sense to me. I had read Wild. I knew the kind of life choices she’d made. Why would I want to take life advice from someone who had shot heroin in a motel room?

Fast forward a few years—I still haven’t shot heroin, but I’ve fucked up in other ways. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, that I cringe to recall. I have memories I try to bury down deep so I don’t have to look at them. When Tiny Beautiful Things crossed my radar again, my perspective had changed. Who better to give advice than someone who has made a crapload of mistakes? What’s the alternative, anyway—find someone who has always done things right? If such an anomaly even exists, what kind of advice would a person like that be able to give? “Oh, you know, just be more perfect, like me.” How is that useful? And more importantly, how did I spend so many years of my life being such a self-righteous idiot? (I’m still a self-righteous idiot sometimes. This I know, now.)

Tiny Beautiful Things was a cathartic reading experience for me. I started listening to it on my way home from work and cried so hard I thought maybe I should pull over because I couldn’t see. Life is hard. Harder for some people than others. But hard for everyone. People are messed up and make bad choices and shit goes wrong. But there is honor in owning our mess and working to make it better. Most of the advice in the book starts from that place.

This was the right book at the right time for me. I’m glad I got off my high horse.

Find it at your library!

Is it just me, or is this book criminally under the radar? I’m not even sure where I heard about it or how it ended up on my list, but it’s certainly not one I’ve seen bandied about much. I didn’t even have any immediate plans to read it—I used an Audible credit on it out of desperation one night when the two other books I planned to read next in audio turned out not to be available in the format (#firstworldproblems).

My sweet spot when it comes to mysteries and thrillers is somewhere between cozy and brutal, which in my experience can be a pretty narrow target to hit. I am weirded out by books that are too cutesy or jokey about death, but I also can’t stomach outright gore. So my ideal mysteries are the kind that take crime seriously, but don’t wallow around in the bloody details. As I flipped through my TBR, desperately searching for anything that might fit the bill, I reread the synopsis of The Crossing Places and thought, yeah, that sounds about right. And it totally was!

Ruth Galloway is my jam. I don’t know when I’ve more closely identified with a character. She’s an antisocial nerd, a bit overweight, much more confident in her field of expertise than interactions with people. Her work as an archaeologist leads the police to seek her help on a case dealing with bones found in a salt marsh near her home. The bones turn out to be thousands of years old, and not those of a missing girl, but Ruth gets sucked into the case anyway, partly out of her own interest and partly by forces out of her control. While I’m a little miffed that I hadn’t heard of this series before now, I’m tickled that there are eight other books for me to enjoy, no waiting required.