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Serial: A Throwback With A Modern Twist

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Before the onslaught of book promotion begins, I thought I would tell you savvy folks about my latest obsession: Serial, the podcast created by Sarah Koenig and the team behind This American Life. Serial is a weekly podcast that investigates the 15-year-old murder of high school student Hae Min Lee, which considers the question of whether her ex-boyfriend Adnan Syed really strangled her. Adnan was convicted of this crime and has been in prison ever since. His defense lawyer, however, was extremely sketchy, and was even convicted of misrepresenting her clients a few years later. In this, like most cases, there is enough wiggle room to leave space for a considerable gray area. That there is reasonable doubt is without question. Whether Adnan actually did it or not is another matter entirely.

When I first started listening to Serial, I thought it was fiction, an extremely well-produced radio play. This idea, that someone would marry old-fashioned radio with our newfound obsession with true crime, impressed me more than the first episode. (It’s a bit of a slow burn.) I also didn’t think that a reporter, even one in this age of cell-phone cams and Skyped business meetings, would have access to that many police recordings and trial videos. I found myself thinking things like, “Wow, they’ve made a real effort to find a multi-cultural cast,” as I listened.

Turns out I couldn’t have been more wrong. Koenig, who plays both host and chief investigator, has a casual style, but has she ever done her homework. Her and her team have tracked down recordings of police interrogations with the major suspects, interviewed countless supporting players, combed through cell phone records and evidence files, even gone so far as to try and re-create the route the killer used when he committed the crime. Not to mention that Adnan regularly calls her from prison for updates and to give firsthand testimony. Through it all, she remains wonderfully skeptical of both his guilt and his innocence. She is following the facts, wherever they may take her.

If this sounds like a highbrow version of shows like Dateline, 20/20, and 48hrs, it is, but in the best way possible. With this true-life story, the devil really is in the details. We, as humans, love procedure–the films of David Fincher and the books of Tom Clancy, to name just a few, are a testament to that–and there is something immensely satisfying, at least to me, in examining every aspect of this case for inconsistencies. On the last episode, Koenig said something like: “Forgive me, for a moment, for boring you with talk of cell phone records.” But at that point in the narrative, there is absolutely nothing to forgive. We are in it. We are hooked. Tell me about the cell phone records! I’m a beggar at the feast, waiting for a crumb from the Queen.

What makes this close examination of the details of the case all the more thrilling is Koenig’s nuanced readings of the facts. She begins episode one by reminding us how hard it is for us to remember something that happened a few days ago, let alone 15 years. So many of the witnesses she interviews express similar reservations about their own remarks. She is not afraid to let things remain vague or unproven. If anything, her overall point appears to be the fluidity of truth. Will we ever know, really know, if Adnan killed Hae?

The answer, of course, has to be ‘no’. To me, the most fascinating and challenging thing about Serial is that there might not be an endgame. When you read a murder-mystery tale, the author has everything planned out for you, down to the final twist, just like in those fictional radio plays of old. But no matter what Koenig’s conclusions about the case end up being–if she even feels like she can come to a solid conclusion–the truth, as they say, will stay out there. Only Adnan and Hae know for sure. The former is as unreliable a narrator as they come, and the latter is dead.

Serial not only forces us to reckon with uncertainty, it’s a tragedy that defies Aristotelian logic, embracing ambiguity, injustice, and the mysteries of life. I am riveted.

Selina

P.S.: So get your asses over to the site and listen! This kind of work deserves to be rewarded! 😉

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Announcing: Like Stars, Historical M/M Romance Out November 14th, 2014!!

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Friends,

It is my tremendous pleasure to officially announce that one month from today, November 14th, 2014, my first novel, Like Stars, a historical erotic M/M romance, will be published by MLR Press! The cover you can check out above, the blurb and the trailer below. I am doing a Blog Tour from November 7th to the 14th, with details about posts, giveaways, and other fun stuff to follow. I hope you will all join me in celebrating the release of Like Stars!!

The blurb:

What if your true love walked back into your life five years after his death?

Nathaniel Thredgold has finally returned from the war. Or has he? His lover, Wesley Douglas, isn’t sure. Wesley must put aside his engagement, his disbelief, and his anger to give his professional opinion. The truth about their relationship isn’t an option. But is this stranger really the Ravensworth heir and Wesley’s long-lost love? When your heart’s at stake, there’s no room for doubt.

Set in the Edwardian era, Like Stars is a tale of mysterious identities, scandalous family secrets, and lovers in a dangerous time.

Many thanks to the kind folks at MLR Press for making this possible, and to Michelle Cary for the amazing cover art! It’s such a thrill to finally be able to tell you all the good news!

-Selina 😀

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Ten Things I’m Grateful For

The part of Thanksgiving I take the most seriously, the part that I feel gets overlooked in this age of turkey-with-all-the-fixings food orgies, is the giving of thanks. It was never a tradition in my family to go around the table and have each person name something they were grateful for, but it’s one I try to honor in some way every year. As an atheist, I believe that it’s important to celebrate the everyday, to take the time to give thanks or praise or love to the people in your life at every opportunity. With that in mind, in honor of Thanksgiving weekend in Canada, here are a few things I am so very grateful for:

-My mom. Many people think they have the best mom. They do not. I do, suckers. (Because it’s a competition, dammit!) All kidding aside, my mom is the kind of person where I have to be careful not to mention anything that I want or am interested in doing casually in conversation because it will automatically show up on my doorstep the next time I see her/somehow be arranged for me. Everyone should have such problems, am I right? She is a fantastic listener. She encourages us to dream and to live compassionate, authentic lives. She is a giver par excellence, and she sets a brilliant example of how to be a courageous and independent woman. This list isn’t in any particular order, but she is number one.

-That I am alive to witness and be a part of the changing times in terms of LGBTQ acceptance. We’re not there yet, but when you think of how things were just ten years ago, it’s amazing how far we’ve come.

-That when I alerted my male bosses to a slight gender bias in one of their policies, they quickly and unilaterally said, “We need to change that ASAP,” and took immediate action.

-That I live in a country that’s safe, with access to clean drinking water, Medicare, education, and all the other resources that so many people do without.

-That I have access to healthful foods and community sports.

-That there are more books than I have time to read, more shows than I have time to watch, more culture around me than I have time to participate in. But what I do read/watch/take part in thrills and inspires me.

-That I have the time to write, and ideas enough to fill that time.

-That so many people in the online community have welcomed me and are helping me to fulfill my lifelong dream of publishing my first book. The generosity and enthusiasm has been staggering.

-That I have such wise, caring, and generous friends, who astound and challenge me in equal measure.

-My dog. We start and end every day curled up together. She’s with me most of the day (I do go out, I swear). She’s put up with my every mood, protected me from threats real and imagined, and forced me out of grumps through sheer force of cuteness. She’s had some health challenges this year, but she’s still going full-tilt every morning, greeting every day like it’s her first. She’s my inspiration, and one of my greatest teachers.

What are some of the things in your lives that you are grateful for, readers?

-Selina

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Last Night at Chapters Centre-Ville

The man who entered the four-storey-spanning glass elevator looked like any other: corduroys, boots, trench, scarf. Male pattern baldness. But as the doors shut and the car began its ascent, it was like being locked in a peep show booth, except he was the star of the show, his own private dancer. He dropped his pants, loosed his privates, spread his arms wide, and started to… pee. And dance. And pee. And dance. On the glass walls, for everyone to see.

The employees at Chapters Centre-Ville Montreal, of which I was one for almost four years, came to know him, not surprisingly, as the Dancing Pee Guy. He was one of our less savory regulars, and the bane of J. on the second floor’s existence, for obvious reasons. Involving a bucket, a mop, and a whole bottle of Windex.

My station was the information desk, a sort of mini-fort beside the cash. It was, to my mind, the best of both worlds. Proximity to the cash significantly reduced boredom, which happened when you were alone on one of the upper floors with little to do. The hub of the store, it gave you the chance to interact with customers, managers, guests, and fellow employees from all the other departments. For every pithy interaction with someone who couldn’t understand why a book with the word ‘hospital’ in the title might be hard to search for, there were the hours spent with serious book-lovers, discussing philosophy, art, literature, cinema.

Our store was special. For one, it looked like an old-fashioned library, all faux mahogany stacks and attractive but uncomfortable chairs. Little nooks that became your oasis on a snowy day. Unlike the Indigo down the street, it was a haven for artists who needed a day job that didn’t entirely stifle their souls and grad students who didn’t want to just punch a clock while they completed their degrees. We were, as a group, way too smart of their own good. I spent many a break involved in a passionate debate in the staff room, many a weekend going to someone’s poetry reading, concert, or exhibition. These people knew their books—if you knew what you wanted, they would give their all to find it for you, even if that meant a special order or calling another store. Of course there were nights where we dicked around—what’s the point of having a retail job if you can’t occasionally dick around?—but we were devoted, to the books if not always to the company.

We resisted the top brass’ desire to cut down on books and amp up the home decor section for as long as possible. When we found out that the web site was selling a book by a local psychologist that explained how to de-program gays, the staff—a good 50% of which were LGBTQ—collectively wrote a letter of complaint to the CEO (Chapters-Indigo famously has a policy against carrying hate literature). Ditto decorating the entire first floor in rainbow balloons for pride.

It wasn’t all sunshine and roses, of course. There were break-ins and broken hearts. You grew to love some books so much you’d pimp them to every customer (Shadow of the Wind), but despise others simply because of the amount of copies they sold. I used to joke that if I got paid a nickel for every Da Vinci Code I sold, I could have retired at thirty. The night of one of the Harry Potter launches, when everyone was celebrating, I accidentally miscalculated the change required from the bank to the tune of losing us $200, and spent a good hour crying in the office, terrified of being fired (spoiler: I wasn’t).

And now comes the news that my store, our beloved store, the one I love to revisit a few times a year even though I haven’t worked there for almost a decade, is closing. In its place? A Victoria’s Secret. If that doesn’t perfectly exemplify what’s wrong with our contemporary world, I don’t know what.

I visited last night, for the last time. It closes tomorrow. The cliche was true, it was a shell of its former self. All the upper floors and the basement were closed off. The Starbucks had already moved out. The last of the stock was collected on the first floor, where the bestsellers and recent releases used to be, divided into sections marked by handwritten signs taped onto the edges of tables, the sides of shelves. The two front doors were flung wide open, as if they didn’t even mind if you stole.

Though I was sad, I couldn’t help but smile. So much of the person I am was formed between those walls. There, I got my first taste of real responsibility, real challenge, real camaraderie among co-workers. I don’t think I’ll ever work anywhere where I like the people so much ever again. Chapters gave me one of my best friends, a lifetime of dinner party repartee, the courage to dip my toe into the publishing waters, and, with any luck, fodder for at least one madcap novel/television series.

I checked the elevator, but the Dancing Pee Guy wasn’t there. His legend, like the store itself, is now a thing of memory.

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Toronto Trip: Food Glorious Food!

So in case you hadn’t noticed by now, I’m something of a foodie. Whenever I go on vacation, I usually have several restaurants I look forward to eating at; it’s what has kept me from doing an all-inclusive, since I’ve never forgotten what Anthony Bourdain said about buffet lunches in Kitchen Confidential. I don’t need fancy, either, although I wouldn’t turn my nose up at it. Montreal specializes in affordable bistro fare that spotlights local ingredients, stellar technique, and just enough innovation to make things interesting, and Toronto has a similar reputation. My lovely hostess, Mal Peters, was game to play culinary tour guide. Here are some of the places we checked out.

MOMOFUKU NOODLE BAR

As soon as I heard David Chang was expanding his empire to include a Toronto location, I knew it was perhaps my one and only chance to sample some of his storied Asian cuisine. My friend C. has sung the praises of his pork buns on many an occasion, and since I am always going on about the savory pillowcases made by local heroes the Satay Brothers, I had to give Chang’s a try.

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They did not disappoint. The buns were fluffy but firm. The sauce was tangy without compromising spice. The pork belly was cooked to perfection. Add a few slices of cucumber and some cilantro… sublime! But even better was the ramen bowl.

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Beautiful, no? I have not eaten a better plate/bowl of food all year. It was hot that day, but if this was available to me in the middle of winter, I would haunt the place seven days a week. Pork belly, pork shoulder, cabbage, seaweed, a poached egg, and homemade noodles in a broth so yummy even your mother would think it’s better than hers. It is that good. That red daub in the middle is some sort of spice bomb that took the dish to infinity and beyond. I was crazy full after eating it, and I wanted more. (It normally comes with a fish cake, but I am allergic, and they very kindly omitted it for me. Class.)

LOS COLIBRIS

Before our trip, the lovely Mal sent me a list of 14 restaurants to choose from for our big fancy meal. We ended up having a few of those, but the place that most intrigued me was a new resto called Los Colibris (The Hummingbirds). Since we hadn’t made a reservation, we were told we only had an hour and a half to eat, which was fine by us. Our waiter was very gracious, didn’t make us feel rushed at all. The problems started when the manager started interfering, doing his job for him and speeding our plates to the table. To see her openly undermine him left a bad taste in our mouths that the food certainly didn’t warrant, and her attempt to apologize to us felt kind of insincere, so if you do sample their wares, be aware that there is a wee bit of a service issue.

The food almost entirely made up for it, though! We first sampled their guacamole with yucca chips – fresh, creamy, and crunchy, with just the right hit of acid and no grease. I then had their Cerdo en Mancha Mantel, a confit pork belly in adobo sauce with black bean tamal, pineapple salsa, and broccoli, and we ordered a side of Papas Bravas, a type of spicy potato.

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It tasted as good as it looks. One of my main criticisms of most fine dining restaurants is that they skimp on the vegetables, so I cheered the addition of the broccoli. The pineapple contrasted so nicely with the sauce and the pork that it was almost a refined version of tacos al pastor. The potatoes were a miss for me: too much char, not enough spice. This might be the more authentic version, but I’ve had the dish better elsewhere. Overall, there were a few hiccups, but I would definitely go back for more.

AROMA ESPRESSO BAR

I was alone for lunch on one of my festival days, on the hunt for something filling but healthy. Coming from the land of butter, cheese, bacon, and lard, I was impressed by how widely available truly nutritious and delicious lunches were in Toronto. I had three dinner salads that not only tantalized the taste buds, they didn’t challenge the waistline. But the best of these was at a nondescript café on King Street. I was in a rush, having dallied too long looking for a place to eat, and walked in out of desperation. Instead, I had one of my most memorable lunches in a long time.

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An arugula salad with lentils, sweet potatoes, and goat’s cheese. There was something crunchy in there, as well. So simple, but so perfect. Loved it so much that I’m going to replicate it at home. The best of surprises.

Although I don’t have pictures, I loved the chipotle roast chicken avocado BLT at Easy, the baked goat’s cheese in phyllo on spinach salad and the lime tarts from Littlefish, and the amazing mascarpone cheesecake with berry compote from Hunter’s Landing. These are only some of the amazing restaurants you’ll find in Toronto. While not exactly the culinary mecca of Canada (that would be my own fair city), there are definitely adventures to be had for the urban foodie in us all.

-Selina

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Toronto Trip: TIFF ’14

Late into my aestas horribilis, my lovely friend Mal Peters texted me to suggest I visit her in Toronto the week of the film festival, since she had inadvertently booked some time off. Being a diehard cinephile and in dire need of a holiday, my immediate answer was “Yes!” After creating an elaborate Venn diagram charting where the films I wanted to see and the dates I would be in town intersected, I decided on four films (I heart making schedules): That One With a Lot of Heat Out of Sundance; That One With the Danish Guy I Love; That One With the Other Danish Guy I Love; and That One With Sherlock as Alan Turing (AKA Maybe I’ll Get To See the Batch Kiss a Dude).

I am happy to report that there was not a stinker in the bunch. All of them are independent films with various levels of promotional support. Two of them are foreign-language films that will likely get a North American and European release, but still could benefit from a little extra push, so here are my capsule reviews.

WHIPLASH

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This is the film I was least excited to see. I had heard great things coming out of Sundance about it, but I really just picked it because it was the best-looking film that fit into an empty slot in our schedule.

It was the best film I saw. It. Is. Amazing. I am not overselling it. It’s about a jazz drummer (Miles Teller) at a music school who gets called up by the most renowned teacher at the school—perhaps in the world—to be a part of his class/ensemble (played by J.K. Simmons). The teacher is both inspiring and abusive. The driven student becomes more so under such a harrowing yet challenging influence. When these two forces collide, it is a clash of the titans. If you think you know where this story is headed, you are wrong.

All of the music was written for the film. The cinematography and the editing use it to punctuate the film language. The director (Damien Chazelle) used to be a jazz drummer himself, though he says it’s only inspired by his experiences and those of his fellow musicians, it’s not autobiographical. He imbues his film with the percussive rhythm of the music he loves; it pulses and pops and crashes like an extended drum solo.

It’s also a captivating meditation on what exactly it takes to make great art. If no one is there to push you, then how far can you really go? Is talent enough to make someone great? But if someone pushes you too far, doesn’t that risk not only your artistic spirit, but your life? Your ability to achieve greatness? These are the questions the film asks, brilliantly. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a mic drop. Go see it.

FAR FROM MEN (LOIN DES HOMMES)

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A morality play about the human cost of war paid by both sides, the first film from Viggo Mortensen’s Perceval Pictures stars the King of Men as a French school teacher living in the barren wilds of Algeria during its war with France. A former major in the Second World War who returned to the place of his birth in search of a more peaceful existence, he is forced by the French army to transport a dissident (Reda Kateb) to the nearest city for execution. Both men have a complicated history, with the country they call home and with the conflict its now enduring, and form a bond as they encounter various trials along their journey.

The stark Algerian landscape becomes a character itself, its rocky desert terrain almost impossible to cross. With nowhere to hide and even fewer options, the two men are forced to rely on each other. But even if they reach their destination, is there a way out for them? For Algeria? For France? When both sides have committed atrocities, when two divergent cultures clash, will there ever be a clear winner and a clear loser?

Far From Men is based on a short story by Franco-Algerian Albert Camus, and waves its philosophical colors with pride. I admired the way it allowed no easy answers, and never gave its characters an inch. It’s also liberally spiced with humor, a relief from the intensity of the life-or-death situations it depicts. It’s extremely well acted and made, but it was missing a little something for me. I should have been engrossed, transported, devastated. Instead, I was intrigued. It’s a beautiful intellectual exercise with a strong message, but I personally felt it lacked power. But worth seeing all the same.

A SECOND CHANCE

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Danish director Susanne Bier specializes in ethical dilemmas played out on the domestic front. Her latest film features a bravura performance by Nikolaj Coster-Waldau (that’s Jaime Lannister to my fellow geeks) as a police detective who, in a moment of weakness, makes a questionable decision that quickly and vertiginously spirals out of control.

Warning: Personally, I think this magnificent movie is best enjoyed spoiler-free, so I would skip the next paragraphs if I were you, even though I won’t be getting into the film’s various twists and turns.

It could be the subject of a Lifetime movie: a couple suffers the loss of a child, so the cop father steals a baby from a junkie couple who neglect their own. But it is played so realistically, so emotionally, so compassionately that not a moment rings false. It is a shame that foreign-language performances don’t get nominated for Oscars, because NCW should be on the nominees list this year. His tender, devastating work here will cut you to the quick.

This is an adult movie of a kind that they don’t make anymore. Except, apparently, in Denmark.

THE IMITATION GAME

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As much as I enjoyed the heck out of this film—there’s something to be said for seeing a film with a festival audience in a theater as large as the Princess of Wales—I was surprised that it won the audience award. It was a lot of fun, a moving story told expertly, but I think the, er, Cumber Collective may have helped it along a smidge.

I am not damning with faint praise when I say it’s the kind of film I like to categorize as Elevated Masterpiece Theatre. To give context, I adore Masterpiece Theatre. That said, they’re not reinventing the wheel. It’s a compelling and relatively unknown story acted and directed by artists at the top of their game. Benedict Cumberbatch gives his all as Alan Turing, the genius who built the machine that cracked Enigma and helped win the war, also one of the grandfathers of modern computers.

I read one review that criticized his performance for not being far enough away from Sherlock, and while I don’t disagree, it is still a beautiful, affecting performance. My rule of thumb for judging performances is this: could another actor have done the part better? No, which excuses the typecasting. The same review goes on to praise Keira Knightly for yet another variation on the brainy, spunky chick she almost always plays. A similar charge could levelled at Charles Dance, who seems to have been cast as Tywin Lannister the WWII General. Just goes to show you how intimidating in his own right Cumberbatch is that his foil had to be one of the most skilled and ruthless players of the Game of Thrones.

The truth is, everyone in the ensemble is great. The film rises above its prestige Oscar-bait bio-pic status, but it doesn’t overleap it. Still, it’s a diverting night out at the cinema: a little drama, a little heartbreak, some witty banter, some scandalous cruelties. If I look a little too closely, I see a film trying much too hard to eek a traditional boy-meets-girl-under-harrowing-circumstances narrative out of a persecuted gay man’s story. What happened to Turing is horrifying. In remembering him, best not to forget that.

One of the fringe benefits of going to a popular festival like Toronto—along with having one of your dearest friends put you up for the week—is having the actors and directors do Q&As after the screenings. They smartly schedule the secondary screenings that the public can actually get tickets to the morning or day after the gala premieres, so that the stars are still in town and can attend. I was lucky enough that the filmmaking teams to three out of the four films I saw took time out of their busy promotional schedules to come and speak to the real fans—the paying audience. The only cast that didn’t? The Imitation Game. Bad form, chaps.

Coming later this week… a brief culinary tour of Toronto, with pics! Stay tuned!

-Selina

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Spotlight on Homeless LGBTQ Youth

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While casually perusing my GoodReads mail, I came across this startling statistic. It stopped me short. I’ve read quite a few M/M books where one of the protagonists is or was homeless and had to prostitute himself for a time, but I never really thought about the reality. They were, after all, romance novels, and a host of horrible things happen to protagonists in order to create dramatic tension. I bet the 40% in that poster wouldn’t mind if some of their hardship was merely dramatic tension, easily resolved by the story’s end.

Instead, here are a few sobering statistics I learned after a cursory search:

-LGBTQ youth are twice as likely to experience sexual abuse before the age of 12.
-LGBTQ youth, once homeless, are at higher risk for victimization, mental health problems, and unsafe sexual practices.
-58.7% of LGBTQ homeless youth have been sexually victimized compared to 33.4% of heterosexual homeless youth.
-LGBTQ youth are roughly 7.4 times more likely to experience acts of sexual violence than heterosexual homeless youth.
-LGBTQ homeless youth commit suicide at higher rates (62%) than heterosexual homeless youth (29%).

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I also learned that there are precious few shelters that cater to LGBTQ youth. I found a few in the United States, one in the UK and a related charity in Canada. The Toronto city council was recently petitioned to create more options for homeless LGBTQ youth, because of “normalized oppression” in the general shelter system. To quote Alex Abramovich, a research coordinator with the Centre for Research on Inner City Health at St. Michael’s Hospital in Toronto (and this CBC news story):

“It’s come to be expected that the shelter system is homophobic and transphobic so LGBTQ youth will frequently avoid the shelter systems and find themselves in situations such as sleeping on a park bench or in alleyways.”

Rejected by their families and their communities. Subjected to sexual abuse, homophobia from all corners. Deprived of the fundamentals, such as food, shelter, education, love, respect, all because of outmoded social conventions and bigotry. We can tell them it gets better all we want, but that isn’t going to put a roof over their heads, get a meal in their bellies, give them somewhere to feel safe and accepted.

Donations can. Volunteering can. Public pressure can. In the US, you can donate to Lost-N-Found Youth in Atlanta or ALSO Youth in Florida or the Ali Forney Center in New York City. In the UK, there’s the Albert Kennedy Trust. If you or someone you know runs a shelter, and they are interested in learning more about how to cater to LGBTQ youth, loads more information can be found here. Here in Canada, there’s Egale.

Canadian Thanksgiving is in a little over a month. Wouldn’t it be great if some of these kids could be spending it in a shelter, enjoying a hot meal, with others like them, watched over by sympathetic staff and volunteers? I hope one day kids whose only crime is to love who they love, or be who they are, are relegated to the world of fiction.

(Much thanks to Moderatrix Lori from the GoodReads M/M Group for shining a light on this issue.)

-Selina

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Coming Soon to an M/M Publisher Near You…

It’s Labor Day weekend, peeps. I’m sure I’m not the only one thinking, “When did that happen?” The temperatures for early September are already looking on the chilly side. I just bought my first sweater of the year (short-sleeved, but still). Doo-doo just got real.

Here at Chez Selina, it’s been one tough summer, and I certainly don’t feel like I’ve caught my share of rays. So, in order to get myself excited for fall—which, really, is usually my favorite season, and this year may just feature the release of a certain book by a certain blogger (AKA me!)—I’ve decided to list the M/M books I’m most looking forward to reading. Nothing wrong with giving some of my favorite authors a little free promo, either, right? (*And* I’m fairly sure you weren’t exactly salivating for another recipe post. There are a couple of pop culture pieces in the pipeline, but probably won’t see the light of day until my schedule relents a bit—see the aforementioned rough summer.)

So, without further ado, here are the titles that have got my eyes twinkling, my fingers itching, and my loins… well, you know. In other words: Can’t. Bloody. Wait!

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Flight of Magpies, KJ Charles and Bloodline, Jordan L. Hawk, here and here. I’ve mentioned my love for these ladies’ work before, and I am beyond eager to dive back into their respective series.

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The Boy with the Painful Tattoo by Josh Lanyon, here. Never miss a book of his! Can’t wait to dive back into the lives of Kit and J.X. (now played by Benedict Cumberbatch and Andrew Scott in my mind palace).

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Fever Pitch by Heidi Cullinan, here. I have to pass on a lot of Heidi’s books, not because she isn’t a kickass author (she so is), but because of the kink level, which makes her less kinky books that much more precious to me. That we get to read more about Kelly and Walter only sweetens the deal.

Unjustified Claims by Kaje Harper (no cover or link yet). I was always a vampire girl, until a JesseWave review convinced me that Ms. Harper’s books were different. I love all her books, but have a special place in my heart for her wolves. Can’t wait to meet the new members of the pack.

But the most exciting news of all, though so many details are still very much TBD and this is not an official announcement, is that one of the books on my In the Works page will soon be in the works no more! More concrete information to follow…

In the meantime, show some of these authors some love and pre-order these tantalizing new titles!

Cheers,
-Selina

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Tuscan White Bean Soup with Basil Pistou

There’s nothing in the world that hits straight to the heart like the smells and tastes of meals you associate with home. I’m only one-quarter Italian, but that cuisine and culture has dominated my life. Lasagna is my death row meal. I feel it’s a crime against nature that I will never again taste my grandmother’s tomato sauce the way only she could make it. Pancetta, basil, fresh pasta, tomatoes, parmesan cheese–these ingredients are the siren call that keeps me coming back to my favorite restaurants and experimenting in my own kitchen. Comfort food that never stops being exciting.

One item on my bucket list–I kid you not!–is to try Mario Batali’s hundred-layer lasagna at Del Posto. Sometime last fall, my mom turned me on to this recipe, which is now my go-to winter soup (and there’s a lot of winter here in Quebec!). The celeriac in particular has such a clean summer smell that you’ll actually enjoy chopping it. This recipe isn’t just a few of my favorite things in a pot, but, like those tunics made of curtains in The Sound of Music, something that reappropriates the best part of my childhood to today. I hope you’ll try it, and experience just a little bit of that nostalgia along with me.

Vegetarians/vegans, though it contains bacon, the pistou pack enough punch for you to omit it, and you can substitute chicken broth for vegetable. This recipe is by Molto Mario himself, with an assist by Carla Hall.

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Tuscan White Bean Soup with Basil Pistou

For the Pistou:
2 cups fresh basil leaves
1/4 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
1 garlic clove
salt and pepper to taste
1 teaspoon red chili flakes
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil

For the Soup:
1/2 pound pancetta (medium dice)
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 large onion (chopped)
1 medium celery root (peeled and cut into 1/2-inch dice)
4 garlic cloves (sliced)
3 thyme sprigs (leaves torn)
3 14-ounce cans cannellini beans (rinsed)
salt and pepper to taste
6 cups chicken stock

For the Soup: In a large dutch oven, cook the pancetta in olive oil over a low heat to render out the fat for about 5 minutes. Turn the heat to medium-high and cook until crispy.

Add the onion and celery root and saute over medium-high heat, seasoning with salt, for 2 to 3 minutes just to soften slightly. Add the garlic and thyme and cook just until fragrant, about 2 minutes more. Add the white beans and season with salt and pepper.

Add the stock and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to a simmer and cook for 25 to 30 minutes or until the soup is thick and flavorful.

Remove from heat and carefully mash with a potato masher to blend the ingredients. [I used a hand-blender.] Serve with a garnish of fresh pistou and freshly grated Parmigiano.

For the Pistou: In a mortar and pestle or food processor, blend the basil, cheese, garlic and season with salt, pepper and chili flakes. Slowly add the olive oil and continue to blend.

Magnifico!

Selina

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On false idols (and why they will fuck you up)

Was sent this quote by the sage Jeff Moore. Probably as close to a personal life philosophy as I could get.

“In the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And the compelling reason for maybe choosing some sort of god or spiritual-type thing to worship — be it JC or Allah, be it YHWH or the Wiccan Mother Goddess, or the Four Noble Truths, or some inviolable set of ethical principles — is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive.

If you worship money and things, if they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough. It’s the truth. Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. And when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally grieve you. On one level, we all know this stuff already. It’s been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, epigrams, parables; the skeleton of every great story. The whole trick is keeping the truth up front in daily consciousness.”

– David Foster Wallace, This is Water