Photo Books I'm Loving this November

 It’s been well over a year since this substack was active, and I started it with all the best intentions. But then it started to feel more like a chore and less like fun, so I stopped. If you know me, you know I’ve enjoyed reading and writing since I was able to do it — you’d cringe if you had to read the journals of 7-year-old Hunter (a lot of entries about Pikachu, see below evidence) — but it’s increasingly hard to find the time and energy to write when adulthood just requires a lot of my brain power.

I’ve dreamt for a while about someday opening a space where I could sell photo books, related books, coffee, and pastries. But of course, doing something like that is super daunting and intimidating, so trust me, I’m not hinting at anything like that happening anytime soon (…unless someone wants to invest, hit me up! Haha.)

As a way to assuage my brain’s persistence in reminding me about this dream, I thought I’d share some photo books I’ve been enjoying this year! Some of you who follow this are photographers, but many of you aren’t, and I know photo books are typically only popular amongst photographers or photo-lovers. Hopefully I can convert some of you :-) All books are linked – just click on the title.

Echo Mask by Jonathan Levitt

Echo Mask is a collection of photographs made on the eastern coast of the United States. Levitt was a reviewer at a portfolio review I attended this past spring, and that is how I became familiar with his work. He is a very kind human as well as a very talented photographer. He hails from coastal Maine and that is immediately apparent in the work, though some of it is made in the southeast. The overall feeling of the work is a harkening back to basics – human emotion only in the context of nature, not in the context of all the distractions and technology that permeate daily life nowadays. Physical people are scarce in the work in a literal sense, but are very much a part of the work in the metaphorical.

Emmet Gowin, published by Aperture

If you are unfamiliar with Emmet Gowin, he is one of the greats (in my opinion, though I do believe that opinion is widely held). He has been a photographer for his entire adult life, and taught at Princeton in the photography department for many years. This book, published in 2013, is an exhibition catalogue. It was also my first experience seeing Gowin’s photography anywhere other than a computer screen. I have found it to be a wonderful comprehensive look at the work he has done – from the vast amount of portrait work he has done of his wife and her family to the bird’s eye landscapes he has done in later years. Black and white square images are his chosen format, and if you know me, you know why that speaks to me (it’s how I like to work, too).

The Forgotten by Rosalind Fox Solomon

This book was a gift to me, and I am grateful for it. I had never heard of Rosalind Fox Solomon before (sorry to my fellow photographers reading this), but after I spent time with this book I of course had to listen to any of her interviews I could find. She is a fascinating woman who did not pick up a camera until her late 30s. Needless to say, the camera changed her life. She is and was a natural talent, though she had the chance to study with Lisette Model (one of the greatest ever). The Forgotten is a difficult book. The photography itself is beautiful but a dark and gnawing message becomes clearer and clearer as the book progresses. Again, black and white square images.

Sally Mann: A Thousand Crossings, put together by Sarah Greenough, Sarah Kennel and Sally Mann

I mean…if you know me, you know I had to include this. Mann is my absolute favorite photographer of all time, and has had an inexplicable influence on me both in my work and in my day-to-day life. I just can’t say enough good things about her. So yes, this is a very biased portion of the newsletter. This giant chunk of a book contains SO much goodness within it — in part because it is so large. This book takes us through Mann’s family work (both infamous and famous), her elegiac and haunting southern landscapes, work about Civil War battlefields, further landscapes looking at churches, and work about her husband’s battle with MS. It’s ridiculously good.

Hopefully you are finishing up this letter with a newfound interest in one of these books…let me know if you do decide to pick one up, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Happy weekend,

Hunter

Some July Reads

I love cold weather. I am not a person who embraces summer for all its sweaty, sun-soaked, sunburnt glory. If you can call it that. I don’t find sweat or sunburns glorious. You probably don’t either. I digress. It’s July now, and soon it will be August, and right now is about the time when I start to count down to Halloween. Honestly, it just makes August harder to get through, but I love autumn.

How do I make it through July and August every year? Every day, I tell myself that I like summer. I lie to myself until I believe the lie. Some days, it works, but most days, I just hide inside all day. For weird people like me, books are great this time of year because all we want to do is hide from the sun. Good news, though! For normal people like you, books are also great because have you ever heard of a beach read?! Well, of course you have. That’s why we have the wonderfully predictable but still lovely Elin Hilderbrand.

I must start this list with an Elin Hilderbrand book. Because I just mentioned her but also because if you don’t know who she is then I get to enlighten you. In all transparency, her books are not much in terms of literature or depth. But they’re incredibly fun, full of juicy drama, and easy to fly through. They’re the essential beach read.

The Rumor by Elin Hilderbrand (2019)

This beach read follows the lives of several people, all of whom are connected to one another in some way. Madeline King and Grace Pancik are best friends, and the story follows their families’ lives for a summer. Madeline is a writer, Grace is a passionate gardener (and passionate about her handsome landscape architect), Grace’s husband is in financial trouble, Madeline’s son and Grace’s daughter are dating, and a wild rumor is circulating throughout the island. The story takes place on Nantucket and each chapter captures the luxuriously lazy feeling of a summer vacation (while also keeping you on the edge of your seat for all the drama) (!!!). Warning: this book is cheesy, like every Hilderbrand book, but the writing is worth it for the story.

No One Asked for This: Essays by Cazzie David (2020)

I knew I loved Larry David, and I had feeling I loved his daughter Cazzie David, but now I know for sure. Cazzie is hilarious, and her writing shows that (surely a difficult feat as so much of comedy is delivery and inflection – I would know, such a comedian myself) (if you know me, you know I’m joking, I am not funny) (hard to demonstrate this in writing, I rest my case!!!!). Her self-deprecating humor and wild, strange, and/or embarrassing stories kept me entertained the entire book.

Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi (2016)

Two half-sisters – Effia and Esi – are born into different villages in eighteenth century Ghana, and their lives take two dramatically different turns. Due to the growing slave trade, Esi is imprisoned and shipped to America where she endures enslavement. Her children and grandchildren will be raised in slavery. Effia, on the other hand, is married off to an Englishman and lives in a castle in Ghana. One thread follows Effia’s story as well as the stories of her descendants. The other thread follows Esi’s story as well as the stories of her descendants. Gyasi’s beautiful storytelling allowed me to gain a deeper understanding into the intergenerational pain that was wrought by colonialism and slavery. This is a heartbreaking but important book.

Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami (1987)

Haruki Murakami is a captivating writer, and this book is my favorite of the few of his I’ve read. The story follows Toru as he navigates college in Tokyo and his devotion to Naoko, his ambiguous more-than-friends-but-not-really-committed friend. As Naoko descends into devastation following the loss of their mutual friend, Toru finds himself able to experience independence outside of their hometown. We follow Toru through his experience of college, and that experience is filled with description of food, cityscapes, and the people he encounters. Warning: there is a rape scene that I found to be quite disturbing in this book. This book may not be for you if that is especially difficult for you to tolerate.

Light Years by James Salter (1975)

I am not normally the person who can read a book that’s known for its beautiful prose. Sure, I love beautiful prose, but I get bored if the story alone can’t hold me. As Elin Hilderbrand has shown me, I will always choose interesting story over nice writing. WELL that was until James Salter! I just read this book about a month ago, and it is one of the most beautiful books I’ve ever read – and I was never bored. The scenes captured in Light Years are so richly written that I could picture myself there – in their cozy upstate New York home, in the streets of Italy, in the car, down by the river.

Have you read any of these books? I’d love to hear your thoughts if so. Any book recommendations for me, please??

Happy reading,

Hunter :-)

Some June Reads

I am not a book expert, and I often don’t have the patience or intellectual stamina to make it through some of “the classics,” but I love to read. Not only do I love to read, but I love to walk around bookstores (and avoid eye contact with the salesperson for fear they might speak to me), I love to hear what my friends are reading, and it’s pretty typical for a conversation to remind me of a book. And I can’t help but ask, “have you read ____?” I do my best to not sound like “oh, yes, I’m so sophisticated because – didn’t you know – I read,” but I just can’t help but want to talk about books.

I began this little substack (these posts will go out via email and also live on here) back in the new year in hopes that I’d write a lovely, magazine-length review every month at least. But between grad school and my brain’s way of being, that did not happen. A much more feasible task for me would be a digestible (both for myself and the reader) list of book recommendations. I could say that this is for you, reader, but in all honesty, it is for me, because book recommendations come out of me like word vomit and I need to just get it out of my system. Okay, it just being for me was a joke, I sincerely hope you get something out of this, even if it’s just the idea that reading could possibly be fun.

Hold Still by Sally Mann (2015)

Alright, alright, I KNOW what you’re thinking. “You’re a photographer so that’s why you like it.” (If you don’t know who Sally Mann is, she is one of the most important photographers of our time nbd. She also happens to be an amazing writer.) Hold Still is Mann’s memoir. But it is more than the tale of how she came to love photography and her resulting career. Mann uses Hold Still as a chance to explore memory, family, life’s nuances, and death. It was nominated for the National Book Award when it was released in 2015, and for good reason. Not only does she navigate these relatable and ever-relevant subjects so gracefully, but plenty of image-heavy description fills the pages. When I read this, I was transported to Mann’s porch in the beautiful hills of Virginia.

Godshot by Chelsea Bieker (2020)

A novel about cults, droughts, the mother-daughter relationship, and the power – for good or evil – of community. Honestly not my typical read as it has a bit of a post-apocalyptic feel, but I thoroughly enjoyed this book from beginning to end. Godshot follows the story of 14-year-old Lacey May. Lacey’s mother is an alcoholic and a chronically poor man-chooser, but Lacey still thinks she hung the moon. When Lacey’s mom skips town, though, the religious cult they’re apart of moves in on Lacey and she has no one to protect her from their bizarre and abusive scheme. Despite the weight of the topics this book deals with, Bieker still finds a way to integrate humor and sensitivity.

Sleepy Hollow Motor Inn by Molly Young (2021)

I love everything Molly Young writes, and I find many of my reads in her newsletter Read Like The Wind. Molly has not put out a book, she mostly writes for publications, but she has released two zines. (A zine is basically a short, self-published book.) Both zines are wonderful, but I particularly enjoyed this one that took me down a rabbit hole of an array of topics that I never previously thought could be connected. Sleepy Hollow Motor Inn explores a homicide, an old motel, the Titanic, a rare blood disorder, and two different pandemics.

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt (1994)

I read this right before COVID hit us in 2020. The setting of this book ­­– Savannah, Georgia – is part of what it makes it so enjoyable. The city itself is a character in this story; as I read it, I felt immersed in the sticky humidity and Spanish moss and Old South architecture that characterizes Savannah. Savannah is an interesting character, but each human character in this novel is even more interesting. We meet society ladies, country boys, a recluse, a drag queen, an antiques dealer, a con artist, and a voodoo “priestess.” Oh, and there’s a murder mystery, of course.

A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle (1989)

Peter Mayle’s writing is like floo powder (non-Harry Potter fans, floo powder magically transports you to wherever you’d like to go). Mayle worked in advertising in London for many years before retiring to the south of France with his wife. He lived there for many years and put his creativity to use by writing and publishing tons of stories about his culinary (and other) adventures in France. Mayle is hilarious and thoughtfully observant. He is self-deprecating while describing French culture in a simultaneously loving and critical eye. I actually think I gained weight when I read this book because I couldn’t stop ordering my poor husband to make me French food “like what Peter Mayle ate in the chapter I just read.”

Have you read any of these?? Do you have any recs for me?? I’d love to know so email me if so. 

Social Distance with Vesta Gul in "Death in Her Hands"

It’s February 2021, and most of us in the United States have grown accustomed to a lifestyle of isolation. I’ve been quarantining with my husband since March. We quarantined in Texas, and then moved to D.C. where we quarantined some more. It’s been lonely. You get it. Well, so does Vesta Gul. Sure, she may be a fictional character living in a fictional world, but she chose to quarantine before it was cool. Ottessa Mosfegh’s newest book Death in Her Hands was released in June 2020, and it serves as an indirect homage to the limitations of human sanity when in near-complete isolation.

We meet Vesta, our main character, after she’s lived in a cabin in the woods for nearly a year. She’s chosen a locale in the northeastern US, and she only leaves her house for daily walks with her dog Charlie and a trip into town once a week. At the start of the novel, Vesta finds a note on her walk with Charlie. It reads: “Her name was Magda. Nobody will ever know who killed her. It wasn’t me. Here is her dead body.” But there is no body to be found. Vesta takes the note home, and the resulting story follows her train of thought. Her mental spiral due to isolation and a new, perceived threat reminded me a bit of my own life experience this year.

This book is a thrilling joyride of both suspense and confusion. Shortly after the onset of the story, I began to realize how unreliable the narrator Vesta was. Though the events recounted to me by Vesta were fascinating – and kept the pages turning quickly – I found myself questioning every situation. Is Vesta imagining this, or is this real? Her descriptions of her response to the world grow more concerning as the book progresses. What starts out as anxiety due to a murderous note turns into several days without bathing or eating and perceiving threats in places they likely don’t exist. Mosfegh’s use of these details made me wonder if I’d ever find out the truth. With only Vesta’s voice as my source, I figured probably not, but I couldn’t stop reading anyways. Rather than a murder mystery, this book is the story of a woman reaching the end of her sanity. Though it is an exhilarating read, it also is an uncomfortable one.

Once Vesta perceives the threat of a murderer on the loose, everything changes. A perceived threat coupled with her isolation pushes her past the brink. Sound familiar? It felt like a hyperbolic metaphor for my experience in the COVID-19 pandemic. Isolated from friends and family? Check. Long walks with dog? Check. Terrified of dying? Check. A silent killer on the loose? Check. Mosfegh has a clear understanding of the inner thoughts of an anxious person, either because she has experienced anxiety herself or studied it thoroughly. As Vesta navigates her days, we follow her train of thought. Intrusive thoughts appear randomly and suddenly, reminding me of my own all-too-real daily encounters with anxiety.

I recently heard a writer named Molly Young speak on a podcast called Nerdette. She shared her theory that there are two types of people: there are people who read books for an escape. These people want to read the opposite of what they’re dealing with so they can detach. Then there are people who read books relevant to what they’re going through. If you are one of the latter, Death in Her Hands might be for you. Still, if anxiety is a frequent friend in your life, I would encourage you to approach this story with caution. There is no shame in taking a break from the story for a bit or putting it down altogether if you find it troubling.

Vesta is a misanthrope. She harshly judges every human she sees on the rare occasion she ventures into town, and she even judges her neighbors who she has never met but seen from afar. She disdains people for a variety of reasons: their appearance, their intelligence, their food choices at the grocery store, their shoes, the way they talk. “Bethsmane wasn’t for ladies. It was for people who hunted or drove trucks. It wasn’t an elegant place…The place wasn’t cultured by any measure. People ate fast food…Women mostly dressed in cheap synthetic materials. The blouses they wore were tie-dyed and glittery, and many women had tattoos on their arms,” she muses when thinking of the town she lives near. “She was…chubby. From behind she reminded me of a clapping seal, the way her buttocks flattened, her hands raised as if in prayer at her chest,” she remarks about a woman she encounters in a public bathroom.

Multiple users on Goodreads wrote that Vesta’s distaste for people is a turn-off for them in the book. “Word of warning: This woman hates fat people and it’s mentioned over and over and over again,” Goodreads user Michelle laments. “People don’t want to talk about how they relate to a character’s more unsavory qualities,” Mosfegh shared with the New York Times, “so they’re like, ‘God, she was really gross.’ Everybody’s so obsessed with being liked.” To me, Vesta’s harsh perceptions are meant to reflect the truth. That we all have ugly parts. We’re human. As a reader who deals with anxiety on a daily basis, I can unfortunately and admittedly see a bit of myself in Vesta. When I am at my lowest, and I’m just trying to get my groceries so I can get home and finally rest after a long day, the people around me are my metaphorical punching bags. Sure, the attacks are only in my mind and will forever stay there, but I still catch myself judging the occasional dawdling woman who won’t get out of my way as I try to navigate aisle number five. As the entirety of the book works as hyperbole, so does Vesta’s perception of humankind. I think Mosfegh’s portrayal of Vesta is meant to be a challenge to the reader: how much of Vesta resides in you?

With each passing year, I realize more and more how powerful the human brain is. It is a frightening thought at times: how little we understand about our brains, how mental illness can gradually and sneakily creep up on us, how careful we must be to take care of ourselves, our minds. The situations we choose to stay in, the people we choose to surround ourselves with, the places we choose to live, the food and drink we choose to consume. People always say that teenagers think they’re invincible. It’s true, at least in my experience. I’m still young, but I’m at the age now in which my mortality feels real, and I can see and feel the impact of even small daily choices. Another glass of wine? Another cancelled FaceTime (or in non-pandemic times, coffee date) with a friend because “I’m too tired”? Vesta had the chance to harness her anxiety and depression. She didn’t take it. She chose to burrow herself further into it. Death in Her Hands surprised me. I went in expecting a murder mystery and came out on the other side reminded of what could happen to me – or anyone – if I neglected myself long enough.