Trying to make sense of my little bit.
I’m living proof that there’s something to be said for hearing a song or an artist at the right time. It was Monday, 28 March 2022, when I played that album for the first time, start to finish. Henceforth, Jacob accompanied me at any hour of the day it was acceptable to wear my headphones during April, May, June and July.
Penelope paused, and then said to no-one in particular, “Hey, you’re my do-nothing friend!”
I was just starting to understand that there were other ways of understanding the world that did not centre around the dominant rhetoric I'd grown up with: whiteness, Christianity and generosity through charity. Vu Le led the way to the door; Anand Giridharadas handed me the key.
Without Twitter or Instagram, and a newsfeed blocker on Facebook, it can be hard to connect with what’s topical, so I was delighted to hear that David had started a Substack. David’s work lights up my inbox because he and I share a particular interest. In his greater quest to understand human motivations, David seriously scrutinises conspiracy theories.
Anne is as fiercely determined as Christopher in The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. She’s as kind as The Queen in A Bug’s Life. She’s as funny as Mark Watney in The Martian, if not funnier. She’s as humble as Samwise in The Lord of the Rings.
Tim Minchin allowed me to sit outside what I believed for many years, try on a new way of thinking and have a laugh. What a gift that is.
With Hanya Yanagihara’s A Little Life, I needed some space between takes. I picked it up by chance in the library in 2017, and I only read half of the blurb before I knew I wanted to give it a go.
Jemma Balmer 