IMHO, some of the earliest Marxian feminist novels came from Sweden’s Moa Martinson, who wrote stories, many of which that were deeply personal, of poverty and life in Sweden around the turn of the last century. Since my great grandmother was born around this time in Sweden, I love getting this perspective on life and culture. Martinson’s social commentary is almost entirely shown instead of told, and so it’s particularly powerful. I am always amazed to see people break new ground, and Martinson does that in her novels. Women and Appletrees is particularly good.

I used to write more like Little Weirds by Jenny Slate. Maybe I still do. This work is quirky and literary, emotional and smart, and quirky. Did I say quirky? This is a woman who has been given (given herself?) permission to fly with the little weird thoughts and experiences that make up life. The books vacillates between deep heartache and desperate loneliness and also accounts of companionship, unexpected life-affirming experiences, and good people (mostly women), who have stepped in and made her life better, even if only for a short time. There are little weird encounters or weekends or trips that are healing. You can tell that Slate is a reader and surrounded by art and has a literary eye. Her bio says her dad is a poet, and you can tell. This isn’t the type of book that usually gets published. I’m glad it did.

Through the Children’s Gate: A Home in New York by Adam Gopnik is one of the best books on parenting I’ve read. This book is about life, so non-parents will enjoy it too. Fans of the New Yorker will like it for the beautiful writing and deep insights it offers. But, I think parents may appreciate this book the most.

This book reads like a series of connected essays. I can almost see the influence of an editor, trying to thread the themes more intentionally throughout to make this seem more like a novel than separate essays. It really reads like a collection of connected essays though, and it works. Of course it works.

I found Lives of Girls and Women by Alice Munro at a blessed Little Free Library after I was on hour two of watching my kids play at a local park. The cover says “novel,” but it really reads like a series of connected short stories. There’s no question that Munro is an excellent writer, especially of short stories. The first story is “The Flats Road,” and the subtle, yet profound sense of place and character development truly puts Munro in a class of her own. That said, and probably because I was expecting a novel, I had a hard time sticking with the stories. I came expecting a cohesive whole, but the novel isn’t that. If you read it, expect a collection of (good!) shorts.