5 books I read in May

Set in Syria, London, New York and Japan

1. The Beekeeper of Aleppo

by Christy Lefteri

I was tired of looking at the same stack of books on my nightstand but couldn't justify buying new books so, instead, decided to shop our bookshelf. I never hang on to books once I’ve finished them so the bookshelf is entirely my husband’s collection of books and we do not have similar tastes. I perused it regardless, thinking I’d broaden my usual scope, and I settled on The Beekeeper of Aleppo (though I later noticed the price tag on it comes from Antonia’s Bookstore, the book shop in my hometown, and yeah it’s definitely my mother’s book and I’ve definitely previously pinched it from her).

Written in 2019, following the author’s experience of volunteering in refugee camps in Greece in 2016 and 2017, it tells the gorgeous and tragic story of asylum seekers, Nuri and Afra, a married couple in their thirties, on their journey from Syria to the UK through Turkey and Greece. It’s a love story, a story about family and loss and marriage and war and struggle and survival and it is beautifully told.

2. Here is New York

by E.B. White

I received a copy of this essay on New York, written in 1948, as a going away present from my brother before I moved here 3 years ago. It is both a time capsule and a timeless description of the city. “New York…succeeds in insulating the individual against all enormous and violent and wonderful events that are taking place every minute”. As I write this, I can hear the dull thud of post-concert fireworks, reminding me that 250,000 people enjoyed the Philharmonic Orchestra perform their annual free concert on the Great Lawn of Central Park tonight. A quarter of a million people gathered together, a few hundred metres from me and all I heard was a slight rumble. I mightn’t have even noticed it if I didn’t know it was on.

White describes the composition and evolution of NY neighbourhhoods and the three different types of people that make up the city: those born here, those commuting and those who have chosen to settle here - the last group being the ones who “give it passion”. He marvels that “It is a miracle that New York works at all” when you think alone of how much water must be pumped into the city every day. “The subterranean system of telephone cables, power lines, steam pipes, gas mains and sewer pipes is reason enough to abandon the island to the gods and the weevils”. I myself marvel at the subway every single time I am on it. New Yorkers complain that it is rubbish but you can tell that those people never stood at the bottom of a lane waiting for a bus that might show up anything from 1 to 59 minutes in and around its scheduled time, if it even shows up at all.

This is for anyone who loves New York or for anyone that needs a reminder of how much they love New York. Even if you hate New York, you’d be reminded of all the reasons you hate it and you’d still enjoy this book.

3. Sorry I’m late, I didn’t Want to Come

by Jessica Pan

Jess Pan

is the funniest person on Substack. This is a truth universally acknowledged. Her posts weren’t coming fast enough for me though and when I went on to her page to see why she was so selfishly hiding her light under a bushel, I saw that she is writing a book. And also that she had already written a book. So I got it out of my library and by page 8, I had to close it over because I was crying laughing. I’ve tried to retell her “rock bottom” sauna moment to people that didn't ask to hear it and it never goes down well because I’m laughing too much as I say it and because I can’t tell it as well as she does.

Jess, an American living in London and a self-described “shy introvert” (a shintrovert) sets herself the challenge of undertaking extroverted activities over the course of a year which includes talking to strangers, performing stand-up, hosting a dinner party and telling a story at the Moth. It’s hilarious. And as a relative newcomer to a city who too often complains that the locals are unfriendly, it’s relatable. I was reading it the day I set up this book club with strangers I'd literally just met, which I definitely wouldn't have done had I not been reading Jess’s story.

4. Hunchback

by Saou Ichikawa (translated by Polly Barton)

This was the

Open Book Club NYC

pick for May and the blurb sounds weird but stick with me: it is about a severely physically disabled 40 year old millionaire, living in a group care home in Japan, who writes erotica online and wants to become pregnant for the sole purpose of experiencing an abortion. It was a really difficult read to begin with and I had to close the book a couple of times with the visceral descriptions of the physical challenges faced by the protagonist in her day to day life. It was confronting. You are confronted with how society treats and includes (and to what extent) people with additional needs. I loved it. It was different, thought-provoking and unexpectedly funny.

5. I Feel Bad About My Neck

by Nora Ephron

I was absolutely meant to read this book. A friend of mine is a Nora Ephron fan and I pointed out the Apthorp Building (which Ephron lived in) to her on a recent visit. It struck me that I’d never read anything by Ephron myself so I put her name into the library catalogue and picked out the title that grabbed me the most (Wallflower at the Orgy). Closing that tab, I opened up Substack and the very first thing I saw was that

Open Book Club NYC

was doing a bonus event this month: a collab with Trinny London where

Catherine Shannon

and others would be doing readings from a Nora Ephron book! I Feel Bad About My Neck. I immediately went back on to the library website and requested this book too. Fast forward a few days, I’m walking past the package room of my building when the guy calls my name to tell me there’s a package for me. The address was handwritten and the postage stamp was from Dublin. I was intrigued. I wasn’t expecting anything. I opened it up straight away and there was a fresh copy of ‘I Feel Bad About By Neck’ by Nora Ephron. I was momentarily so confused. Had I accidentally bought this book instead of requesting it in the library? And had I bought it from Ireland? I picked up the card that accompanied it and in it was a note from my friend to thank me for her stay and saying that she thought I’d like this book!!!! How crazy is that!!!!!

Well, reader, I DID like the book! I loved it. How can I relate so much to a Jewish American woman born while World War 2 was still going? Well, I relate to her because everyone relates to her and like ‘Here is New York’, because some things are timeless. Getting married, raising kids, moving house, experiencing heartbreak, buying a big tub of Jolene only to discover you already have a big tub of Jolene (in the press under the sink in the bathroom).

I tell a lie when I say I hadn't read Nora Ephron before because I had read one essay. “Moving On”, about her time living in the Apthorp building on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, written originally for the New Yorker and republished in ‘I Feel Bad About My Neck’. I read it because my husband said to me one day back in September 2022, “You wont believe this, the New Yorker has just re-shared on Instagram an old essay by Nora Ephron about living in the Apthorp”. He thought I wouldnt believe it because we had that day viewed an apartment in the Apthorp! And it was magnificent! I won't try to describe it because you can just read how well Nora described it but we were very briefly taken with it. I’d say we fancied it or had a flirtation with it more than the head over heels in love that Nora experienced. We're too sensible for that.

We admitted that we’d love showing people we lived there more than we might actually enjoy living there. It was old. And when the realtor trying to sell it to you is saying things like “It’s difficult to heat in the winter” and “the toilet usually flushes”, you start to get your guard up. The fact that it was within our budget to be honest already had our senses on major alert. It looked like somewhere the French ambassador should live and host wonderful ambassadorial parties. Why were they letting us in? There was a room inside the front door to the apartment, I don't know what you'd call it, maybe a vestibule? It’s sole purpose was to hold a table which would hold a vase. You’d have to walk round the table holding the vase to go through another door to get into your apartment. There was another door for you to open, place your bins behind , close the door and they'd be magiced away. Not down a chute. Someone behind the door (who could access them through a different door) would come and take them away. There was a lot going for this apartment. But it wasn't the thin windows or the sometimes flushing toilet that tipped us towards a “no”. It was the news that only owner-occupiers could use the amenities of the building and lowly renters like ourselves enjoyed no such privileges. And I just couldn't stomach that. So what, Conan O’Briens kids can play in the communal playroom but my two have to stand outside looking in? No thank you¹.

I mentioned here my husband’s story about being woken as a child to dig up blighted potatoes. Well, he has another childhood story that I’m nearly less inclined to believe and that’s that he swears that on a family holiday to Bundoran (strap yourselves in, it gets worse than this) that they weren't allowed go to Waterworld but what they were allowed to do was stand outside the window and look in.

I sometimes wonder if David and I ever crossed paths before we realised we’d met. Were we ever at the same Slane? Or Oxegen? Or football match? Well no, we wouldn't have crossed paths at a match because he famously has never been in Croke Park:

Well, I think Bundoran might have been our prequel story. I was the child inside in Waterworld and I’m racking my brain to see if I can remember two famine-era looking twin boys, outside in the rain, looking in.

1. I read online that Conan O’Brien lives there. I don’t know if he still does. I don’t know if he owns or rents. His kids are in their 20s.