Word Raccoon and I are under the weather today. We want to write creatively, can’t. Want to read, can’t. Can’t find anything to watch that pleases us. We’ve tried. The two things that have piqued our interest are on streaming services we don’t currently have. We do not want to sign up for any more. 

I have interested WR in potentially flipping through the book American Writers at Home after I post this, a lovely coffee table book. (Do people still have coffee tables? I don’t think we have had one in about 25 years.)  There are many other art books she might enjoy festooning the sidetables. 

Anyway, I have not managed to get WR out of her pj’s yet today, but I am threatening to make her change and at least going to sit in the car in the parking lot of the gym to keep her streak going, even if she doesn’t feel like going inside. (The illness is light, we’ll be over it in a couple more days. In the meantime, we’re powering down all nonessential activities. And we’re eating soup and crackers on the porch.) 

We are hoping someone talks us out of going. We are not sure we should let them. 

Since it’s a mildly wretched day already, I might as well tell you the sad thing: one of the squirrels on our street met its fate, likely beneath the wheels of a car. I hadn’t named it, but I had called it “one of the young ones” in my head. I see its sibling?? outside right now, looking a bit lost. Maybe I’m just anthropomorphizing the poor thing, but I’m still sad about it. (WR is both sorry to hear it and thinks I’m making too big a deal about it.) 

And while I’m complaining, someone I know went to see Father John, I discovered on social media. I comfort myself in saying that not going paid for at least half of the cost of my new glasses. (Insurance only covers so much. Sigh.)

Enough, Drema. Not another word about FJM! WR is getting impatient with my whining, and I don’t blame her.

Here is my review that I wrote last week of Penny’s excellent, engrossing novel. Long story short: read the book! 

Doll Parts by Penny Zang. 

Doll Parts entranced me. It’s a tender, haunted story of friendship and fate, told in a captivating dual timeline. In college, Nikki plunges into the campus mystery of the Sylvia Club, a coterie of Sylvia Plath devotees shadowed by death. 

In the present, Nikki is gone, dead, or something more ambiguous, and her estranged friend Sadie, pregnant and restless, moves into Nikki’s house. There she finds research notes, cryptic signs, and a design that only someone who knew her to the marrow could set in motion.

Sidenote: Am I the only one who hunted online frantically wanting to buy the gold-plated jade turtle pendant by Avon after reading this? The novel is that vivid: objects feel alive, talismans of memory and desire.

What stayed with me most wasn’t the whodunit mechanics (though the campus mystery is worth the read and full of great music), but the intimate choreography between these two women. Nikki knows Sadie so well she can predict her next moves even after death. She counts on Sadie’s self-interest, even anticipates that Sadie will fall for her husband, and folds that knowledge into her plan. She trusts Sadie with her daughter. The result is both eerie and strangely loving, a testament to how complicated and yet enduring friendships can be.

Zang writes with an atmospheric grace: the book feels like a mixtape of grief and obsession, scored by a killer playlist and lit by the soft glow of half-remembered college nights. It’s dark academia with heart, a campus ghost story that lingers more in the psyche than in jump scares. (Though there are a few of those!) 

Prepare for the unexpected, and for the subversion of expectations at points, which just delays the sweet payoff. 

And the fashion!! The funky dresses, band t-shirts, hairstyles, accessories, and even specific outfits that do so much of the heavy lifting in revealing the characters. I adored it all. (I know I’m being vague here, but I want you to discover them for yourself.) 

The texture of Doll Parts, from its objects, music, and uncanny understanding of friendship, remains unforgettable. A campus mystery worth reading, and one that will have you scouring vintage sites for that turtle pendant. (I haven’t bought one, but it’s tempting.)

I know Zang didn’t write it just for me, but it hits all the sweet spots, so it kinda feels like it. 

It’s definitely worth a read.