spontaneous overflow

"If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day." -E.B. White

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Books from November-January, I think? 

HAMILTON BY RON CHERNOW!!!!!!!!!: Josh, Elizabeth, and I bought tickets to Hamilton last October. Last October, there was no way of knowing that we were participating in like, a cultural moment. History is cool and the Founding Fathers are interesting and wow, we should see this musical! We agreed to read the biography together (well, Josh read it 10 years ago because he is Josh) and to make a weekend of it. Cue six months of HAMILTON EVERYTHING HAMILTON ALL THE TIME. This biography is gripping and dramatic and devastating, especially read during a presidential election. I’ve almost convinced Conor to name any future dogs or babies Alexander Hamilton Lin Hanick. 

Dept. of Speculation by Jenny Offill: Conor’s brother Riley gave him this book for Christmas and told him not to read anything into its depiction of a failing marriage. That was a fair disclaimer, because this was a painful read if you’re still trying to feel shiny about being married. Still, it’s wonderful and full of the kind of ache you feel from holding your breath in a good way and in a bad way. I read it twice in one day because there are so, so many little pockets to think about. 

The Collective by Don Lee: A trio of friends connect over being the only artsy Asian-Americans at their college. The Collective follows them over the course of their decades-long friendship. It’s like a darker, angrier, more racially-charged version of The Interestings. 

China Rich Girlfriend by Kevin Kwan: I loved Crazy Rich Asians without reservation and loved China Rich Girlfriend in exactly the same way. There is nothing disappointing about this sequel. Kwan says he always planned these books as a trilogy which is great, because that means there’s a chance we’ll get to see some more of Taiwan through his lens. I will never tire of his meticulous descriptions of piles of food.

Modern Romance by Aziz Ansari: Ansari works with a sociologist to give you charts and stressful anecdotes about texting. There’s some fun overlap between his findings here and the story lines in Master of None.

Why Not Me by Mindy Kaling: I hope Kaling writes a new memoir every few years to offer new advice for the decade of life I’m about to enter. Also, no amount of googling seems to reveal the name of the White House staffer with whom she had a fleeting romance. 

Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosh: I went to a wedding and this was on the bookshelf in our AirBnB. It is great, but everyone already knew that. 

Career of Evil by Robert Galbraith: Wow, cliffhanger! Third in J.K. Rowling’s detective series. Not as gruesome as The Silkworm, but only by a tiny, tiny bit. It is still very, very gruesome and I never wanted to walk outside in the dark again. 

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr: I said that the two characters were annoying babies and that the plot was only okayyyy and Conor said that I was a bad person. He might be right. This was okay, okay? It was so medium. Dept. of Speculation is 1/8 the number of pages and I would rather read it 8 times instead of reading this again. 

The Collector by Nora Roberts: I went to a talk and screening for Love Between the Covers, a documentary that examines the changing, flourishing, exciting romance novel industry. It was fascinating and in this world, Roberts is King. This documentary was like a hashtag bonanza of everything I love: feminism, outrage about sexism, pop or “low” culture, feminine economic agency, sexual agency, feminine communities, intellectual sisterhood, writing as an act of subversion, etc. etc. Having never read a Roberts book, I wanted to get in on the action. I think I get it. I’m on board. Maybe not all of the time, but yea, I’m on board. 

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Hickory Hill in Iowa City. 

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Watson is harvesting blizzard biscuits for dinner. 

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Hickory Hill Park, Iowa City 

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After we canceled our New York wedding, I had to write some awkward emails to nice people who were going to help us make it happen. We decided to keep the engagement shoot we’d scheduled with Minnow Park, even though it would be a “hey, we’ve been married for two months?” shoot. 

I’ve been hoarding them ever since because “hey, we’ve been married for two months?” pictures are weird to share. I’m home sick today, though, and Conor is baking bread and just brought me a lemon ginger tea. He’s the best and being married is lots of fun! I’m really glad we are married, so here are some pictures of us in nice clothes, taken nowhere close to a major life event.

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Watson emerged victorious in a skirmish with his baby cousin Sully (he's only 8 months old) and now his swagger is out of control.

[alethiosaur]

Hey, so I went to a wedding in September and met my new cousin-in-law, Emily, for the first time (along with 100 other new family members). “I know we just met,” she said, “but I read your blog and we have a lot of books in common.” Amazing, right? Family-in-law jackpot. Well, Emily, this post is for you. Except for how this post is full of distressing, disturbing, and totally uncomfortable reading. YAY! 

These are books from September and October (I have a blog?). The unrelenting theme for two months was HORRIBLE THINGS HAPPEN TO WOMEN AND CHILDREN. 

Let’s start at the tame end of the spectrum with three YA books from Kelsey Keyes, kind friend, excellent book selector. 

I’ll Give You the Sun by Jandy Nelson: WONDERFUL! Public-cried on the train because it was so sweet and sad. Brother-sister twins were best friends when they were young, but at 16, are basically strangers to each other. I love the heck out of this book and will recommend it to pieces. It’s the happiest book on this list and yet, TW: rape, bullying that veers into torture. Yea, I know. It’s going to get worse.  

Under a Painted Sky by Stacey Lee: Your typical girls-must-pretend-to-be-boys-to-survive-and-have-an-adventure story, but the girls are an escaped slave and a Chinese-American violinist. They join a group of cowboys, one of which is Mexican. It’s romantic, exciting, and so, so great to hear this story with POC characters. Still, TW: attempted rape, murder 

When by Victoria Laurie: Young woman can see everyone’s “death date” on their foreheads. As the premise of a thriller, it’s fine. While looking up the author, I found out that she is a professional psychic! And you can book sessions with her! So, as psychic-based thrillers go, I guess this is pretty legit. TW: torture, child abuse, murder 

Next, we have two books I picked up because they were listed as “the next Gone Girl.” When will I learn?! There is no “next Gone Girl.” 

Disclaimer by Renee Knight: The twisty-surprise elements in Disclaimer are solid, but less thrilling (Gone Girl, Girl on a Train) and more sad. This is mostly sad. I don’t want to ruin anything for you, so, TW: bad things, sad things, ha ha women, right? 

The Good Girl by Mary Kubica: Also basically just sad. Medium levels of twisty. TW: more bad things, but the cat lives

Speaking of violence against women: 

The Round House by Louise Erdrich: After his mother’s violent rape, Joe tries to make sense of the crime, his identity, and the frustrating problems surrounding jurisdiction for crimes committed by outsiders on Native lands. After The Round House, I put every Louise Erdrich book on my list, because what kind of person have I been, not reading Louise Erdrich? TW: rape, torture, murder 

Room by Emma Donaghue: I saw a trailer for the movie and thought, “whoa, l bet the book is cool.” It’s not a literary masterpiece, but it’s suspenseful, unusual, and quick. Worth reading, especially on an airplane. It’s also in that category of books that will make you appreciate all the food and clothes you have (see also: The Martian, Hatchet, The Boxcar Children). 

Finally, let’s end this post with two brilliantly written literary epics. These two books create ambitious, sweeping worlds. I nearly put both down at several points because I was having a hard time, but they are well-paced, well-told stories and I couldn’t look away. If anything, what made things worse was knowing that the books were based loosely on actual historical events. Yes, this is all brutal, but yes, they also probably happened something like this.

The People in the Trees by Hanya Yanagihara: A Nobel Laureate is convicted and imprisoned for sexually abusing his adopted children. He writes his memoir from prison and his colleague presents the resulting text to the reader with a bit of Pale Fire-esque unreliable editing. While the abuse allegations are vague, the main narrative describes the discovery of, and eventual destruction of a lost tribe and the extinction of a rare turtle. It’s rough. TW: child rape, child abuse, animal abuse (including vivid descriptions of a turtle being dismembered alive), torture, crazy unethical research practices. 

The Incarnations by Susan Barker: Taxi driver Wang starts getting really weird letters that claim to describe his past lives. The letter writer and Driver Wang have known each other for hundreds of years and one betrays the other, life after life. The letters detail the bloodiest moments in Chinese history while Driver Wang goes about his life in modern Beijing. Shocking, engrossing, immersive, but also tw: everything. rape, excruciating torture, cannibalism, incest, child abuse, castration. 

Coming up, 16 books about unlikely animal friendships - illustrated!

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Conor and Luc work on Brahms together. "Hear that resonance? That's Luc!"

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Dog video inception - how deep can we go?

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Books from July and August because book deadlines, secret weddings, etc.: 

Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: Ugh, where have I been, right? Americanah is perfect and uncomfortable and romantic and wonderful and should be in the canon. 

Three Kinds of Motion by Riley Hanick: Full-disclosure, Riley Hanick is my brother-in-law. Hey, wow, I have a (brilliant, super cool) brother-in-law. Three Kinds of Motion makes masterful use of the “creative nonfiction” category to meld, swirl, and follow Jack Kerouac, Jackson Pollock, and Dwight Eisenhower’s lives. The three stories converge at points in Iowa, as do biographical vignettes from Riley’s twenty-something years. This review from The Rumpus is a helpful introduction. 

My Beloved World by Sonia Sotomayor: Look, I’m all about the Notorious RBG always and forever, but I can’t stop talking about Sonia Sotomayor. Her biography is readable and all kinds of inspiring. I want to write down everything she says about affirmative action, studying hard, being open-minded, having or not having children, fairness, community, and love up and down my arms so I can go through my days in a constant embrace of her words. 

Aunty Lee’s Delights by Ovidia Yu: Mystery set in Singapore featuring an older widow as the detective. Every other scene is a description of people eating. Lots of fun. 

Big Little Man by Alex Tizon: More about this book here. 

Mr. Kiss and Tell by Rob Thomas: I know Rob Thomas has better things to do than write Veronica Mars novelizations, but as long as he writes them, I will keep reading them. Veronica gets a puppy! Deputy Leo shows up! Mac and Wallace! 

Warrior and King by Ellen Oh: Standard warrior-girl dragon fantasy, set in vaguely medieval Korea, but there’s a shard incline in violence and horror between the first and last two books in the trilogy. And, probably one of the more unexpected resolutions of a YA novel love triangle in recent memory. Very much recommended if you can look past the gore to settle into the new mythologies. 

[alethiosaur]

Fun story: Conor and I married each other on August 6th. It is surprisingly easy to get married. It is easier than:

picking bookshelves and combining collections 

coming to an agreement on whether we should allow Watson to put his head outside of the carrier on the subway 

resolving whether or not it was racist for the casting call for The Hunger Games to specify that Katniss should be Caucasian (uh, yes)

keeping track of Conor’s travel schedule

Which is to say, when we spontaneously decided to get married and had four days to make it happen, it felt entirely doable. I know, I know, I said next summer. But, my mom’s health has not been great and with book deadlines looming, concert opportunities abounding, and all sorts of 2016 travel up in the air...well, it wasn’t as though we were going to be any more ready to be married in a year. So, you know, why not Thursday?

We woke up next to each other with Watson wedged in-between our shoulders. We met our family and friends at the Santa Barbara County Courthouse and made our way to the clock tower. Surrounded by ocean on one side, mountains the other, and city below, we said our vows. “I want my toothpaste to be your toothpaste,” I said. “You are my truth,” Conor said. Dad Hanick declared us married. Moms Hanick and Lin witnessed. Everyone cried buckets and said nice things about Watson. 

We shared a delicious lunch at Wine Cask and our wedding cake was white chocolate with raspberries and whipped cream frosting. The adults left and all the kids went to the beach and watched seagulls ignore Watson. Then, we had a delicious dinner at The Lark. The next day we ate tacos for breakfast and I learned to paddle board, and were totally, for real married, just like we have been every day since and every day forever. 

p.s. Every perfect picture courtesy of Jerry 

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Happy Birthday, Watson! Today you are SEVEN years old, but still so, so smol. You are part moose, part shark, and part muppet, but you will always be our baby son.

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RORI MARA. Today you are two and you are a blur of cotton candy light. You eat orange juice and french fries for dinner. You love Hello Kitty stickers, being upside down, yelling, and dogs. Pants are awful but cream cheese is AMAZING. So is lipstick. We have a lot in common. 

Today you are two and you are a queen. I love you, little one.

[alethiosaur]

I could spend the afternoon roasting and freezing. OR, I could eat nothing but tomatoes and peppers all week. 

Hm, tough call. 

I am so behind on my word count and will spend the next three weeks crying. If we want to talk about work-life balance, just let me count my garden towards tenure. 

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No big deal, just TRIPLED my name. Give me ALL THE NAMES!!

“Wait,” you might say, “I thought you weren’t getting married until next year?”

True, but here is the thing. New York lets Person A (Lu) and Person B (Hanick) take any combination of A & B as their new last name, but not C (Lin). One of us needs to have Lin in the mix for it to come into play. Changing my name now means that Conor can take Lin when we marry.

That, and I have publications in-progress and would like to streamline my authority record.

This process was a total pain. It’s difficult to figure out what you’re supposed to do and people are mean to you for no reason. The official NYC Civil Court websites are only minimally useful. Fortunately, the Sylvia Rivera Law Project provides step-by-step instructions, including lots of tips about what room to go to, or how long you might have to wait. The website is written for people establishing a new gender identity, but I found it immensely helpful.

It does focus on Manhattan, though. In case someone out there is furiously googling for information about name changes in Brooklyn (like I did), here are a few additional pieces of information:

The Brooklyn location for name changes is the Civil Court at 141 Livingston Street. The building does not have a big THIS IS THE COURTHOUSE sign - it doesn’t have any visible title at all, other than a plain white sheet of paper taped to the door with the address on it. It’s gray and at the corner of Smith and Livingston Street.

You can’t bring a camera in, but you can check it at the security office.

There isn’t an obvious directory, but name changes happen on the 9th floor at window 906.

The hours are 9:00-4:00, but lines start to get long around 11:30. You need to get documents to window 906 by 3p, the cashier closes at 3:30, and the days I went, the judge took a lunch between 1:00-2:15. 

Take a number from the machine that is labeled specifically for 906. Even if there is no line, and there’s nobody within a hundred feet of the window, take a number. Or, stand at the window until someone notices you. Then, they will yell at you for not taking a number.

Bring both original documents and photocopies, or you might get saltiness (license, birth certificate, proof of address).

There’s no mention of this on SRLP or the court’s website, but you need a physical, dated, current utility or bank statement as your proof of address. Luckily, I bank with Bank of America, and was able to walk to a nearby branch.

Ultimately, this wasn’t a problem for the judge I saw, but the clerks gave me a hard time about changing my name to Conor’s without his permission. If I hadn’t mentioned him, and just chose Hanick out of thin air, it wouldn’t have been a problem. To strengthen my case, I could have brought him, a notarized and signed consent form, or just left him out of my explanation for the name change. I talked to someone who had a marriage license and was still told to get a consent form? This seems unpredictable.  

Brooklyn has you file the papers and see the judge in the same day, so plan to be there for several hours. Bring a book - no phones in the courtroom.

You will probably publish a notice of your name change in the Irish Echo. They will tell you to go to their office, but you can put in your request electronically, using a scanned copy of the order from the judge. Their deadline for publication in the following Wednesday’s issue is Friday at 2:00p. There is a Fed Ex/Kinko’s by the courthouse if you’re trying to make this deadline. Double check the affidavit and notice they send you before going back to Window 906 – if there’s a typo, you will get shamed by the clerks and they will look at you like you’re stupid. The Irish Echo will apologize and be very nice about republishing, but it will set you back a week.

Certified copies of your name change are $6. Based on the typical post name change activities, the clerk suggested 5 copies.

Total time: 4 hours for the filing and hearing (9:00-1:00), additional hour when you bring proof and buy certified copies. Possible additional trips if there are mistakes. 

Total cost:

$26.50, Birth Certificate + expedited / online processing fee (mostly because I didn’t want to deal with the self-addressed, stamped envelope, the applications, and the ambiguous timeline)

$25, Notarizing the name change petition

$65, filing fee / index number

$35, publishing name change in the Irish Echo

$8, sending copies of the order to the Social Security Administration and DMV by certified mail

$30, 5 certified copies of name change

$12.50, new driver’s license 

$17, new passport pictures

$110, new passport

= $329.00

All worth it, to be the only Silvia Llewellyn Lin Hanick in the world.

I’ve agonized about this name change for most of my life. How would I reconcile feminist principles / resistance to the subsuming traditions of marriage with my lifelong effort to reject everything about and from my father? I love it when women like Lori keep their name and say, “I’ve always been Lori Townsend. It’s my name! It’s who I am,” and long wished that I felt the same. I don’t, though. I hate being Silvia Lu and avoid using my last name whenever possible. It may have been who I was, but it wasn’t who I wanted to be. It’s a short and stubby name full of mistakes and resentment – on top of all of the other stuff, the nurse accidentally left off my middle name when I was born. 

I circled and circled around the keep name/change name options while Conor patiently dissected the implications of both choices with me. Alex Tizon would probably side eye my quoting him here as he was talking about the troubling trend of white men/Asian women couples, but he writes, “instincts are shaped to an immense degree by the culture we live in, and it’s often futile to blame people for absorbing the values of their culture. The most I could do is suggest that other values may exist just outside the boundaries of our awareness” (Big Little Man 86). Still, that’s right on. It was liberating to move out of the false keep name/change name binary and pick option C. We change our name together! Maternal names! Family names! New traditions, new values.

One last observation for this very long post. As I was standing in line with my name change order, I had a sudden flash of panic. “This is it,” I thought, “there’s no going back. I’m choosing Conor. I better be certain.” Next summer, Conor and I will put on fancy shoes and gather our families and we will spend 5 minutes in front of an officiant at the Marriage Bureau and promise to spend our life together. Everyone will be happy and there will be lots of snacks. It will be capital-M-Meaningful. In the rosy, shiny glow of the day, it will be so, so easy to say “yes, I do. I choose you.” Changing my name has been frustrating and annoying. It’s been a test of patience, of perseverance. There’s nothing shiny about any of this. Saying “yes” to Conor in the bleak hallways of the Civil Court in my fifth hour and third visit? It’s not romantic and it’s not a celebration, but it felt really, really good. 

BRB, monogramming everything.

[alethiosaur]

I can’t wait for a monthly round-up to talk about Big Little Man. Part memoir, part examination of Asian American masculinity, Big Little Man had me grimacing with self-awareness, and misty with recognition. Its scope is focused. Asian American women get two chapters, and there’s no conversation about queer identities. Still, Alex Tizon builds a cultural and personal study that confronts the most painful parts of being Asian American while liberating us and himself from its associated baggage. 

At the risk of oversimplifying his nuanced argument, a few excerpts. 

On the shift from Orientals to Asian: 

“[Vincent] Chin’s murder signaled something else, a shift in the perception of Asians and Asian-Americans as a threat from above rather than below, and this shift in status seemed to correlate with the adoption of ‘Asian’ to replace 'Oriental’…The threat came from below because Orientals were seen as lower in the hierarchy.” This shifted in the 1980s and “Asians today are often seen as 'tech geeks,’ 'math wizards,’ 'book nerds,’ – small, shy, studious moles who could gradually and ever so inconspicuously come to dominate the world” (59, 61).  

On the fetishization of Asian women: 

“Immigration policies in the nineteenth century allowed Asian men to come as laborers, without their women. Americans feared that letting both sexes in would spawn yellow hordes. The limited number of Asian women permitted entry were often picture brides, mail-order brides, or prostitutes. An element of sex was a prerequisite for admission. Chinese women in certain western towns were immediately presumed to be whores. These women reinforced European notions of the Orient, notions that accompanied European immigrants across the Atlantic and white pioneers across the American West – right into the modern day. Oriental girls existed to be consumed by men” (77).

On portrayals of Asian men in the media: 

“Something like 2 million Asians live in the New York metropolitan area, but Asians hardly appeared in [Sex and the City] at all - symbolic annihilation at its best…they dated all kinds of men – a Russian, a Latino, a couple of African Americans, several Jews, but no Asians. Asian men did not figure in as men. As props, yes. As spectators” (118). 

On dual identities: 

“Now, with the ease of travel and communication, immigrants can remain connected and forge identities that span oceans. So I was both Asian and Asian American. And Asia’s rise helped me to rise, if only as a source of pride that I could point to and mysteriously tap for extra reserves when my energy flagged…I’m still not out of the hole completely. Some days I’m dropped back down to the bottom…Nothing inherited is escaped easily, and it didn’t help that my first three decades in American were marked by perpetual flux and disorienting fits and starts, my own imperfect storm.”

[alethiosaur]

Street harassment is never okay

But if you have to yell at me, I respect that you went with "HEY, YOUR DOG IS COOL."