
A fairly typical loaf, although the fermentation time was affected by the length of my run which pushed it a little further than I would have liked.

A fairly typical loaf, although the fermentation time was affected by the length of my run which pushed it a little further than I would have liked.

These are two memoirs of life in France from Nobel laureates, that’s why I read them together and also where the similarities end.
“A Movable Feast” details Parisian life (mostly) from 1921-1926, around the time that Hemingway (Hem) would transition from journalism to fiction writing and compose his first novel “The Sun Also Rises.” Unfortunately, this was not written during that time when Hemingways writing was at its sharpest and there isn’t a lot to tell beyond his associations with the other famous writers and artists. The (famous) section about (F) Scott Fitzgerald is the most famous and entertaining character study. The rest is a bit dull and often feels dated (Gertrude Stein) or self pitying (the starving artist who lives meagerly but refuses to “sell out”).
“The Years” is perhaps the best memoir I’ve read. This book narrates the author’s life from her youth after WWII, early adulthood, and middle age. Personal detail are not the focus of the narrative but rather used to describe the experiencing the history of each time period. Without sympathy, Ernaux describes working-class girlhood during the post-war rebuilding phase, sexuality before the legalization of contraception and abortion (as well as the legalization of both), the legalization of “no fault” divorce, family dynamics with adult children, and technological changes moving into the 21st century. This all takes place in ~230 (non-Proustian) pages that mix memories (both personal and consumerist) with stark personal and cultural analysis.

A matter of not judging a book by its cover–this loaf looks nearly perfect on the outside but is a bit small and feels denser than I’d like. The problem being that it just never really hit a phase of fast rising where the activity surpasses the detrimental effects of acid on the gluten. Decisions were made and a slightly dense loaf was chosen over a loaf that went too long and could no longer hold any shape.

A novelist’s memoir about his ~20 years of running marathons.
I know a lot of people who have read and enjoyed this but I really don’t understand–it’s a man humble bragging about his marathon times and suggesting that marathon training might be a metaphor for life, somehow it lasts 200 pages. His novels get a lot of criticism but still have some redeeming qualities, this on the other hand…

How can I judge a book written about my hometown and people I know?
Admittedly I was apprehensive to read this. I’m always a bit wary of writing seeking to explain the rustbelt as they tend to be overly reductive and turning into some variation of good (educated, liberal) vs bad (no college degree, conservative) and written almost entirely to make “good” coastal urbanites feel superior but not guilty.
Of course I can’t be fair here. What can be written in a few hundred pages that comes close to capturing people that I actually know. Is it even possible to have any sort of message without reducing people and situations into points within a narrative?
But the author is also from my hometown (but moved away long before most of the things described). Even I went away to college in 2016 and haven’t really spent a lot of time there since. So maybe we’re on the same page? But I can’t tell if it feels more despondent or I’m just used to living in a wealthy college town where public school students have to choose which Ivy League school to attend while I thought we were lucky to have AP classes at all.
I’ll try to be fair and say that Beth Macy tries to be fair even if it does generally fit the mold. People from Urbana are either 1) crazy Q-anon supporters, 2) apathetic, or 3) the overachieving saviors. Academics are brought in to explain the overall economic changes (oh and David Axelrod???). There is hope for the community but also resistance to any change that would require admitting there’s a problem. The solution? That liberals can’t just ignore these people they consider uneducated xenophobes without consequences (even if they’re generally painted as uneducated xenophobes). But have no fear, a few heartfelt conversations can end political polarization!
In many ways it was difficult to read about terrible situations that were probably happening when I lived there without noticing them. However, it’s all just a little too simple. Maybe this is what I expected–everything is just a little too clearcut for reality. The people doing good are not perfect saints and those standing in the way are not necessarily malicious.
I do appreciate that this book isn’t really ragging on my hometown and using it as an example of everything wrong with America (there’s an effort at objectivity and a clear affinity the author has for her time there and the connections still maintained). In many ways it isn’t really scratching below the surface which leads to too much of a narrative of good saviors fighting bad people in power.
Despite the authors criticism of such attempts, this does read like a book written for coastal audiences to understand while maintaining a sense of superiority. But fear not, she’s “from there” and highlights a few points of good against the apathetic and grotesque. Or maybe I’m a “country clubber” who just can’t face the reality because it wasn’t so bad for me. And maybe I would’ve felt quite differently if it didn’t seem to personal.
A few big points:
Several minor points:

Switched my starter to 100% whole wheat and it’s quite active even though it’s been a little cool inside.
This was a loaf where nearly everything worked out. Hydration felt just right. Developed well without much kneading. Shaped and fridged while it was still very active. (Although I didn’t fuss with tucking in the ends, clearly). Good spring and fairly even bake.

A biographical novel about a great composer being written by the composer’s lifelong friend. But also an allegory of Germany’s progression from ~1900 until WWII. But also a confession of guilt from the author whose early political writings would find favor with the Nazis and cause regret during his later humanist bend (as detailed in “The Magic Mountain”).
More than three weeks with this novel and it wasn’t nearly enough time. This is worthwhile endeavor of a novel that requires perseverance, focus, and some degree of background knowledge of music and theology. While there is some overlap with “The Magic Mountain,” those topics are only a part of this much more encompassing novel which weaves together knowledge of music, theology, literature, philosophy, and psychology into a narrative on Germany’s cultural shift in the first half of the 20th century. Despite being the shortest of Mann’s most notable works, this is the most encompassing. And really there is no criticism that I’m qualified to give.
Now, a long break before “Jacob and His Brothers”…
Another dough that was a little too slack though not quite as over-fermented as last week. The starter was fed with only whole wheat this week before refilling my container with white bread four. Did that make a difference? Maybe–


A little over-hydrated, over-fermented, and under-tensioned. Far from the prettiest loaf but always one of the better to eat!

The weather has cooled off enough that a couple hours with a hot oven doesn’t feel too bad. And my starter has been revived from a few months of slumber (although it’s still a bit slow going). Back to the standard recipe of ~1/3 whole wheat and the rest white. A slow fermentation that got a little carried away in the last half hour but with enough left to give a decent spring.