Four books, for the month of March. The month of unclear narrative it seems.

The Vanishers, by Heidi Julavits Not quite sure what I think of this, still. A fun read, and quick. The plot (centering around psychics and mothers) is just fantastical enough to be fun and quirky, while still ending up a bit muddled in execution. The constant juggling of apparitions and real people can get a bit exhausting, and isn’t tricky enough to keep the reader guessing through it.

Ghost Lights, by Lydia Millet A light, though somewhat un-engaging, novel on one man’s midlife crisis. Tidy and well put together, but the emotional beats had no weight.

Blood, Bones, and Butter, by Gabrielle Hamilton Nothing has made me want to cook—to really revel in food—like this memoir. Hamilton is writing a memoir about food and her food experiences, which means that there are some infuriating blank spots in describing her life. If it isn’t directly related to food or her relationship therewith, it becomes a side note (multiple girlfriends, life events). But her connection to and clear love for the stuffs we eat can be intoxicating.

The Dead Do Not Improve, by Jay Caspian Kang Debut novel of a dude whose journalistic essays I adore. There are some really wonderful moments, and some really lovely writing—the voice is so clearly of our age, our generation without being grating. The plotting, however, is a bit of a mess.