Heather Evans Editorial

Over the past year, I have learnt and unlearnt many things.

One of the biggest lessons that has involved myself both learning and unlearning is that, frankly, life is far too short for lots of questions, hesitations and accepting rubbish on a daily basis. Life is far, far too short for:

• Shit friendships
• Even shitter relationships
• Weak hugs
• Even weaker coffee
• Not petting that doggo
• Not leaving that jobbo
• Sticking it out with a decade old laptop that you can build a house with

and…

• Sticking it out with a book that is D R A G G I N G (and you can also build a house with).

Up until very recently, I used to hold myself to the rule that I had to finish every single book I started regardless of whether I enjoyed it or not. It was a badge that I wore with pride to announce that no book will ever defeat me. No matter how hard the journey, how painful the experience, how tiresome a character or plot line was, I simply felt I owed it to the author that I had to run over the finish line heroically. It was my weakness if I didn’t. Maybe, just maybe, if I turn over one more page it may get better…

However, I realised that more often than not I would finish a book with this unwavering mentality and think ‘wow, I am never going to get that time back’. I thought that if I didn’t finish the book that I couldn’t comment on it critically as, well, what is my opinion worth if I haven’t actually read it cover to cover? As a reader who reads one book at a time, I would often be reading a book that was just not my cup of tea while looking longingly at my bookshelf at untouchable stories I wasn’t entitled to experience yet. It was a kind of prison I put myself in.

Additionally, I used to think reading a bigger book made me a better reader. A longer narrative, in my eyes, required more work and was a higher form in comparison to a short story. Yet, I’d be reading these books that easily could had been doorstops and think ‘blooming heck, I am 200 pages in and I need to get to page… 700???’. Especially when you work full-time, unless a book is outstanding there is no way you are going to settle down in your dressing gown after work and crack open a Middlemarch equivalent bad boy of a book. It made reading a chore for me, and from working in publishing I can 100% let you know that bigger does not mean better.

Short stories are incredibly difficult to write well. To come up with a plot that can fit into such a small space, make it flow with ease, and also come up with a gripping conclusion arguably requires more skill and craftsmanship than a beast of a novel. I have no idea why I denied myself them for so long.

Nonetheless, 2018 was the year I unwound the bounds. The first book I have ever put down was Calvino’s If On a Winter’s Night a Traveller. 

I was aiming to finish it to go to the SYP’s book club but I just couldn’t do it to myself. Calvino’s narration was incredibly meta to the point where it annoyed me, and the writing style was just not to my interest whatsoever. Eventually, I waved my white flag and decided that I owed it to myself, not the author, to pick up something that would rekindle my fire for reading. As you can see from Ted above, his eyes are telling it all: You are not seriously going to carry this on? Just put this down, Hev. Find something new.

After all of this, I decided to permanently break the chains of the contract I was metaphorically locking myself into. If I do not finish a book, that doesn’t mean I cannot have as valid a viewpoint on it as someone who has. If anything, by not finishing the book that is me critically assessing it as simply not something I enjoy or would recommend. It isn’t a weakness to put down a book; it was weak of me to not recognise that I am permitted to do so. Even if lots of readers enjoy the book, it is all down the personal preferences and as writing is a subjective artform I do not owe it to anyone to finish anything.

With this in mind, I decided to go and find a collection of short stories to get me back into reading. I needed the satisfaction of finishing something. With my work and social life being incredibly full on, I thought it would be a good to have something I could dip into when I have the time without the commitment of completing a whole saga. I picked up Carmen Maria Machado’s Her Body and Other Parties and absolutely loved it.

I have been recommending Machado’s debut collection to quite literally everyone I know, but I cannot stress enough how brilliant every single line, let alone story, is. The collection firms falls into the genre of magical realism/feminist/queer literature, and everything makes no and complete sense simultaneously. It is nice to read stories where the protagonists are queer without it being made a huge fuss of. The queer love that appears in all forms flows throughout the collection so naturally and is beautifully written. Machado also explores themes of eating disorders, apocalypse, illness, marriage, madness, love, motherhood and so much more, as well as scrutinising the societal pressures we all find ourselves under and the industries that callously contribute to this, such as the fashion industry. It is an absolute must-read, and I would even put it as in my top three books of all time.

Rather than making this a novel in itself, I am going to leave this here. In the nature of life being too short to deal with rubbish, I can happily say that I am writing this on a brand new laptop that hopefully will not stay with me for a decade like its predecessor. If you’re sick of a book, and anything else for that matter, remember you always have the choice to put it down. Although, I will say do pick up Machado’s book!

Happy reading!

Hev xo