A small room behind a bay window. A single bed, a table and chair, and a sink. I could manage something larger, with more conveniences, but I could never match the view.

With Terese Marie Maillot's Heart Berries now finished (save the preface by Sherman Alexie and the interview at the end), I struggled with where to file it on my shelf. My initial impulse was to file it with Shawn Wilson and Leanne Betasamosake Simpson. But after reading it, it made as much sense alongside Denis Johnson's Jesus' Son (1992) and Elizabeth Smart's By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept (1945). Rather than choose, I purchased another copy, and did both.

My decision behind me, I return to Erin Wunker's Notes from a Feminist Killjoy, which I was enjoying for its honesty, simplicity and generosity -- until I was so beautifully interrupted. But first, my go-to palette-cleanser: Renata Adler's Speedboat (1976):

"My own mind is a tenement. Some elevators work. There are orange peels and muggings in the halls. Squatters and double locks on some doors, a few flowered window boxes, half-dressed bachelors cooling on the outside fire steps; plaster falls. Sometimes it seems that this may be a nervous breakdown -- sleeping all day, tears, insomnia at midnight, and again at 4 a.m." (14)