I've been taking a lot of pleasure in cooking lately. Yesterday, I made a pork tenderloin and root vegetables for my husband, parents, brother and his family. As I've mentioned before, Budget Bytes has helped a lot in the transition from never cooking to cooking regularly. Another part of it had been my aversion to anything domestic, anything feminine. I want autonomy, self-determination, and respect. I want to spend my time training and creating in the public realm, not at home in the kitchen. But it's weird how nice it is to cook, given that it feels like women have been pushing to get out of the kitchen since the '50s. I have no desire to go pro at the cooking thing, either through restaurant work or cook book creation or anything like that. It's just really nice to be able to put away my other stuff, cue up my audiobook, and spend an hour or so making food. It smells nice. It involves things that have grown in the ground or been slaughtered for the energy bound up in their fat and muscle cells. It's entirely analogue for a goddamn change. No chance for anyone to market their products at me.
It does seem to come at a steep price, the pleasure in cooking, in hanging out with kids, in making a domestic life your priority. The price of that work and good feeling is dependence on an outside source of income. The price is a lack of respect, a sense that, like a child, you never left home. It feels like a trick to punish people for indulging in the good life.
Ever since reading Detransition, Baby, I've been thinking about what it means to pursue femininity. To think of it as desirable, or at least a thing that can be turned up or down. Leaned into or discarded. Rather than a mark that will endanger me and hold me back. Maybe, like home cooking, there will be more to enjoy.
Book Log time! **SPOILERS**
Turton, Stuart -- The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle
Published: 2018
Read: 03/2021
Lord and Lady Hardcastle have reopened their country manor house to host a party, ostensibly reintroducing their daughter to the local society. She's been in Paris for the past 19 years, ever since her brother was murdered at the house. Our protagonist, cowardly Dr. Sebastian Bell, witnesses a murder in the forest and doesn't remember who he is. We steadily learn the rules of this place. We are someone named Aidan Bishop who is, over the course of a day, going to inhabit eight different hosts. His task is to solve the murder of Evelyn Hardcastle and present his answer to the Plague Doctor (the ref, sort of) by the end of the night. If he can do this, he will be freed. If not, he'll start the loop over again, his memories wiped. Two other people are trying to solve the murder. One is his friend (Anna) who is trying to protect him, in exchange for him figuring out how to get them both out. The other is stalking his hosts, maiming and killing them. Mostly the time loops, as he jumps between different hosts, are the same, but he sees that some things actually do change. He has more self-determination than he previously thought. Aidan, his eight selves, and Anna work together to solve the mystery and escape the terrible place.
It took me a while, when I started reading this book to adjust to the fact that it's not a straight whodunnit. The memory loss in the beginning made me roll my eyes hard, especially with how hacky it felt compared to Tana French's use of the trope. I rolled my eyes again at the body swapping and the time loops. (Turton also goes on and on about how fat one of the characters is and how awful and shameful his life is because of it. Give me a fucking break.) It took a while to trust that Stuart was going to use these gimmicks towards a greater purpose. Eventually, I felt like I was reading a long Doctor Who episode, Heaven Sent specifically. If that were my initial expectation I would've started enjoying it earlier. As soon as I got calibrated to the genre cross, I liked it a lot. Stuart unravels a satisfying and intricate plot web. He uses some of the tricks I'm used to from Agatha Christie, chiefly people not being who they say they are. And he does a nice job exploring what it would mean to be inside of another person, to share their emotions, predilections, and traumas. To be frustrated by their faults and slowly appreciative of their strengths. For example, the Butler character's skin is covered with burn scars. When Bishop is inside of the artist, he sees the Butler as beautiful and interesting. He appreciates his face so much more than other people's boring symmetrical ones.
Turton seems very hesitant about writing female characters. Bishop has eight hosts and they're all men. The other female characters are either pure madonnas or wretched whore maniacs. I saw online that Netflix is turning this into a miniseries. I hope they make some of Bishop's hosts women to help balance that out. It matters whether you get a character who's eyes you can see through.
I really enjoyed the plotting and the genre-crossing. Less enthusiastic about the characterization and fat shaming.
Rating: ★★★
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