Hermitage
HERMIT, n. Lots of us have probably been thinking about this word in these days of opting out of social events (but still, for most of us, going to work and school??). A hermit is a person who lives alone, and it comes from the Greek word for desert or wilderness, ἐρημίᾱ. Transliterated, that’s erēmíā (I like to put the Greek letters because of my enduring optimism that if I copy and past enough Greek into this newsletter, one of these days I’ll read it effortlessly). The wilderness is a desolate and uninhabited place, and the Greek word for it is related to the word for “loneliness.”
Originally a hermit was a person who lived alone for religious reasons, and the word is very important to the history of early Christianity, but these days when we say “hermit,” usually we’re just talking about solitude and not religious devotion.
Apparently, there’s some debate about whether John the Baptist counts as a hermit. I have zero authority on this matter, but he’s a guy who lived in the wilderness for religious reasons and I wanted to put this Hieronymus Bosch painting here. (I LOVE IT, IT’S IN THE NEWSLETTER, DONE.)
Also of note, a few months ago a friend showed me Wikipedia’s “obsolete occupations” category and I learned that rich English people in the 18th century would sometimes pay to house and feed a “garden hermit” on their property. This person would live in some kind of hut/folly/grotto/hermitage, wear robes, and occasionally dole out advice. That sounds way more fun than what I’ve been doing over here in my desolate wilderness (extremely comfortable home) and I think if we’re not allowed to socialize, we should at least get some cool robes out of it.
Lately in small-r romance, I have read
His Quiet Agent (demisexual m/ace m, both cis, contemporary, novella) by Ada Maria Soto. This book kept popping up on my twitter timeline, and then in one of my favorite romance blogs, and if I see a book mentioned enough times, it’s usually a good sign. A quiet, gentle, immersive read that takes on both grief and trauma (and funeral planning), it also sparkles with humor and has one of my favorite romance tropes, “let me cook for you.” Content warnings: death of a parent (during the story), hospitalization.
Seven Days in June (m/f, both cis and het, contemporary) by Tia Williams. This is another book that was on everybody else’s “favorite reads of 2021” lists, and wow is it dazzling. Screamingly funny, but also tender and sexy, but also devastating, but also hopeful, I can already tell this rollercoaster of joy and sorrow is one I’ll remember for the rest of 2022, even though we’re only two weeks in. Unusually for romance, this book is narrated in third-person omniscient, which is used to delightful effect as we get to peek inside the heads of not only Eva and Shane, the two Black writers whose tumultuous love story is at the heart of everything, but also Eva’s volatile mother, precocious twelve-year-old daughter, and clever, elegant, power-behind-the-scenes literary agent. The prose crackles. And if all that weren’t enough, this book contains one of my favorite tropes, “characters in a romance novel read romance novels.” So good. Content guidance: on-page depictions of self-harm and suicidal ideation, on-page hospitalization and death of a child, drug addiction, alcoholism, institutionalization, parental neglect and emotional abuse, sex.
All Manner of Hats (f/f, both cis and bi, fantasy, historical, novelette) by Elva Birch. A short, sweet, steampunk-set read about two women who are rivals vying for the same man in marriage—until they solve a murder together and realize they’d rather have each other. One of them makes magic hats! Content guidance: murder.
In things that are neither Romance nor romance, I read Rogue Protocol and Exit Strategy by Martha Wells, entries three and four respectively in her Murderbot Diaries sci-fi series, and I am now deeply invested in this traumatized, sentient construct with anxiety. You might think from the covers that these books are about robots and spaceships and big flashy action sequences, and while it’s true those things are present, really these books are feelings and friendship in a capitalist dystopia that violently subjugates some of the sentient beings who live within it, and also what makes someone a person. (The answer is “endearing narration.”) Anyway, every time Murderbot has an emotion and hates it, I have an emotion and love it.
Apologies for this day-late newsletter; you would not think a person who hasn’t left their house in days could be so busy, but my particular hermitage is mid-renovation. As part of that process, I decided to take all the objects inside (too many) and move them into a different arrangement, which required a lot more time and energy than expected. But you, lovely readers, are the only thing on my social calendar, so I thought better late than never.
See you in two weeks!
