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Hi.

It’s been a while.

The last time I recommended some books was at the end of 2024, and since then, I have read a bunch of new, pretty good ones. So here’s a list to power your beach sessions this summer.

Hello friends!

As I type these words, a fine November mist has almost entirely enveloped the mountain outside my window.

It looks as if a giant bent down and scooped up the rocks, the trails, and the quaint tower at the top, leaving nothing but a thick cloud behind. And some remnants of a forest, ready for the long sleep. The leaves are almost gone, colors long bled into the late autumn cold, and the black branches are ready for the first snow.

So, in other words — winter is coming.

In this spirit, I thought I’d collect some sustenance for you to make the dark months of the year a little bit lighter. Some art I’ve been enjoying lately. Art that would make a great companion for anyone tucked under some fuzzy blankets with a steaming mug nearby.

So go ahead, scroll through it, and — hopefully — find something for yourself.

Pierre-Auguste Renoir was a master of color.

Just take a look at his 1875 piece titled The Skiff (La Yole) and you can see for yourself:

Do you want to know something really cool?

He made this with only eight paints — and one of them was white.

If you want a surefire way to rile up a British nationalist, just mention the French.

For example, check out this gentleman — a disillusioned former Leave voter — when a reporter asks him whether he regrets voting for Brexit:

Reporter: Do you say you regret voting to leave?

Gentleman in the (German) Adidas jacket: Partially, yeah. A little bit. But there are bits that… I.. I can’t get past France and Germany. Don’t like them. I never have done.

You could probably sneer and say: “Oh well, that’s nationalism for you. Nationalists are xenophobes who hate everyone.”

But you’d be wrong.

The same gentleman in the same interview speaks quite fondly about their mixed-nationality neighborhood and especially the delightful Romanian family living next door. He just really can’t stand the French and the Germans — specifically.

He’s also not alone.

As long as I can remember, I had a certain fascination with Stephen King.

Which is unfortunate because as we’ve established many times, horror is not really my genre.

The first King book I ever read — and for a long time the only one — was The Shining. I remember buying it before a long train ride. It was in 2017, and I was only a few months out of medical school. The utter exhaustion caused by my training to be a respectable physician just started to lift, and I could finally entertain the idea of reading again. So on a whim, I bought the book, a sandwich, and a bottle of water, and tucked myself away in the corner of a train coach that was several decades older than me.

At least. (It had seen better times too.)

As the train wound its way toward the North, the sandwich went untouched. Most of the water as well. I was simply too busy being sucked deeper and deeper into the madness of the Overlook Hotel.

I finished the entire book during that trip, and by the end, I was properly terrified. Here’s what I wrote at the time in my Goodreads review:

I don’t think I can stay at a storied hotel up in the mountains ever again. This book is good. It’s clever in its prose, terrifying in its story, and most interesting in its characters. Definitely worth a read.

Then I didn’t touch another Stephen King book for six years.

(I didn’t go to old hotels in the mountains either, if you’re wondering. And I still don’t.)

Hello! 👋

This post is part of my Best of 2023 series, in which I tell you about the coolest art I experienced last year to give you some ideas for your own book shelf, watch list, and gaming collection.

Today’s topic: comics.

The rules are the same as last time: 5 entries in reverse awesomeness order, plus some honorable mentions at the end. Let’s go!

Welcome to Spring! I hope you had a great first 21% of the year.

Me? What did I do?

Thanks for asking — I climbed the Nobody Cares Mountain.

Welcome back to one of our regular segments here on the blog: I read, watch, and play way too much stuff and now I’m telling you to do the same!

Kidding aside, in 2023, I was once again fortunate to experience a lot of great media, and I want to tell you about it because good art is one of the things that makes life worth living.

However, this year we’re doing things a bit differently. Instead of writing one gargantuan post containing all of the books, movies, games, etc., I’ll create a separate post for each category.

First up: books.

In 2006, a man named John Lasseter walked onto the lot of the Disney Animation Studios in Burbank, California.

Tall and somewhat on the heavier side, Lasseter liked to dress in colorful shirts with bold patterns on them. The classic Hawaiian was a conservative choice for him compared to some of the more extravagant pieces in his wardrobe. Combined with his signature, round wireframe glasses, the end result made him look somewhat goofy, whimsical — even when he had a jacket on.

I assure you, he was nothing of the sort. As he strode toward the front door, an air of confidence followed the man.

After all, this was a triumphant day for him: he was just announced as the newly appointed head of Disney Animation. And an outside hire, no less.

See, John wasn’t a Disney man. At least not anymore. Not since he was unceremoniously fired from the House of Mouse, 23 years earlier.

Here’s a quick and fun exercise for you: can you—without googling it—define high literature?

I’m sure you know instinctively what kind of books one refers to when saying “high literature,” but can you actually put that hunch into words?

If you can’t, I don’t blame you. I couldn’t either, and based on my brief search through the internet, I think even scholars struggle with this one.