Viv Albertine’s Book is Yet Another Stealth Memoir About Rock ‘N Roll Motherhood

Maybe it’s a literary version of wishful thinking, but lately the only thing I really want to read as a new mama are rock biographies and memoirs. Parenting books make me feel anxious and overloaded, I don’t have the attention span for serious novels these days and anything truly new in terms of non/fiction feels very “in one ear, out the other” if it’s something I don’t have much prior knowledge about. (My new information absorption abilities have been seriously challenged since early-onset parental insomnia, as I call it.)  But rock books are easy: I usually know a bit about

Reading Roundup: The Rules of Civility, Night Film, Country Girl

You know what’s also wonderful about fall besides apple cider donuts at the orchard, Neil Young’s birthday, riding horses and cozymaking in the kitchen? Reading books. Which I always do, but there’s something about doing it when the air is brisk and you’re curled up with some tea and a blanket that makes it an especially sensuous activity. Just burrow under a cozy throw, light a candle for some company and read away into the night, wind biting at the glass in the windows. Books becomes especially beloved to me when it’s colder, and I relate to them more sharply