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apparently men write novels too

earlier this year, i decided i would take on the challenge of reading more fiction by male authors. i have always been conscious of the gendered bias in my reading habits: the vast majority of books i read are written by women, and the few books i have read that are written by men often feature a girl/woman main character.

i never actively decided to almost exclusively read books by/about women [edit: this is an outrageous lie! i totally went through a phase where i denounced the entire literary canon for its racism and misogyny and avoided male artists in general like the plague], it just kind of happened because i have always been drawn to explorations of (the mulitiplicity of) girlhood/womanhood BUT, i don't want to risk getting stuck in some essentialist rut where i discount the interiority, sensitivity, and creativity of men.

i recently finished Beware of Pity by Stefan Zweig, which was Just OK. i found it at a charity shop and bought it because it had an interesting-ish cover and i'd heard good things about it on litfic booktok (i have no interest in booktok, but the algorithm persists).

for my birthday this year, my partner bought me a copy of Brideshead Revisited, which has been on my to-read list for some time now. i thought i would start reading it after Beware of Pity, but it shared too many similarities and i feel i need some distance from the World Wars and army officers who dally with the aristocracy.

i put The Shards by Bret Easton Ellis on hold at the library because i suspect it might be fun, and a bit of trash every now and again is nourishing for the mind & soul. then, as a palate cleanser, i will read something by Ben Lerner. and then, there are the classics (off the top of my head, i have Baldwin, Nabokov, Tolstoy, among many others on my to-read list that i need to get acquainted with...)

tbh, i think i yearn for a syllabus. sometimes i miss being told what to read, having to overcome that initial resistance to reap unexpected rewards, which is maybe why i'm challenging myself now.

unfortunately, my copy of In Memory of Memory by Maria Stepanova that i thrifted a couple weeks ago (a pristine Fitzcarraldo Editions paperback!) is looking real inviting rn so maybe the men will have to wait.