I’m a writer, I don’t read.

That was my first thought upon choosing Currently Reading. Why? It’s definitely not true. I’ve always loved reading. I read all the time. I spent a lot of tough times hiding in books.

What I’ll do is a week in the life. I’ll keep a log of all the things I read. This should be illuminating.

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I wrote that Monday. It’s Sunday. Actually, it’s 2:30am on Monday. I didn’t keep that log. Whoops. Let’s do this from memory.

So, I haven’t read for fun in a while. I can’t remember the last time. I’m sure I have; I just don’t remember when. Anyways, an endless amount of research awaits. When do I have enough information to perfectly depict my setting in the 1920s? I’d love to know.

Man into Woman, an autobiography of Lili Elbe.

This is an autobiographical account of an early trans woman. I’ve written about her a bunch so far this semester. Her book had to be fictionalized to pass censors. This story was so scandalous, that, after their marriage was dissolved by the King of Denmark’s personal intervention, both women involved had to marry men to avert suspicions of homosexuality. Good for Lili (straight trans woman), bad for Gerda (lesbian cis woman). Oh, but Lili died before anything fun happened. Boo. Unfortunate. Moving on. Lili’s ex-wife Gerda’s next marriage of convenience ended with her philandering, Italian husband stealing all her money, leaving her to die alone and penniless. Is that worse than dying due to experimental medical procedures? No, not even by a long shot. Honestly, the whole medical part is like a horror story. What are ethics?

A lot of these accounts remind me of some of my last conversations with my grandma when the dementia was particularly bad. You’d be having a lovely conversation. Things are going well. Then, in a casual tone without missing a beat, this little old lady will drop some bigotry so old school you’re not even sure what it means.

And, like, what am I supposed to do? Lecture her? It’s not like she’ll remember any of this in 3 minutes. 

And then back to lovely conversations where my transness confuses her. Sometimes I wonder if the shock of that revelation killed her. Or maybe I sensed the end was near and stopped procrastinating. Maybe both?

Living such a life that it kills your grandma to hear of it. What a trans experience – just like this book. And just like that, we’re back on topic! Let’s see how long that lasts.

The Weimar Republic Sourcebook

As the name would suggest, this is not merely a sourcebook, but the sourcebook for this period. Weighing (or voluming, if you may indulge my desire to make up words) in at a massive 140 cubic inches of primary source texts – essays, speeches, articles, advertisements, important documents, etc. For reference, an average lime is almost 12 cubic inches (and roughly 337g/cm^3 [math is hard, but I’m just happy for an opportunity to use something I learned in AP chem])– so, almost 12 limes worth of primary source material!

If you can think of a worse way to describe the length of a book, please, let me know. Anyways, it’s been beneficial to my research. There are some surprisingly progressive opinions in here.

On a lighter note, I decided to figure out what young people in the ‘20s did for fun. For this, I turned to the short story Bernice Bobs Her Hair by F. Scott Fitzgerald. So, what did they do? They danced and cut their hair rebelliously short – whatever it takes to rise to the top of a cutthroat, dance-based social hierarchy. This story was pretty boring, to be honest. But, I did look up how people danced back then and found this little gem.

I like how it occasionally cuts to a confused-looking audience, unsure whether to be amused or outraged. Honestly, the context doesn’t actually help. The actual dance moves defy my descriptive abilities — everywhere you look, there is so much going on, and none of it makes sense. This was during prohibition, so it would seem that these people were sober — making this probably the best argument against prohibition I’ve ever seen.

Anyways, it amuses me to imagine all these fancy, Great Gatsby style scenes were actually these stupid dances. “Each generation gets the dance it deserves,” argues the sourcebook.

Now, enough rambling – time for the main event.

The Case of Footnotes v. Endnotes.

How is this even a contest? Oh, the joy I feel, opening a book and seeing half the page consisting of juicy, contextualizing footnotes. Yes, I always want to know more! With footnotes, there is a direct link between text and note – just a little flick of the eyes to the bottom of the page.

Endnotes are disconnected from their text. You need to either use a bookmark or make a librarian cry with all those dog-eared pages. By the time you read the endnote, you’ve forgotten exactly where you are – a whole waste of time I’d prefer to avoid.

Endnotes don’t feel the same. I always read them all right at the start of their respective chapter. Who has time to leaf back and forth and back and forth endlessly? I suppose in academic articles or other shorter, essayistic pieces, there are some aesthetic benefits. But in a novel or other longer piece? No thanks.

Now, I must admit to a minor conflict of interest. Many years ago, when I was young and naïvely trusting, an endnote did me wrong.

I was reading Anna Karenina when her suicide was spoiled in an endnote about that railway worker’s death in the first few chapters. I can only imagine that smug editor, arrogantly showing everyone his little quip on foreshadowing and symbolism without a care as to who he might hurt.

How can I trust again? Sure, one could argue you can’t really spoil a 150-year-old book. All I know is that it was new information to me.

On the other hand, Footnotes have never done me wrong. For these reasons, I stand with footnotes, and you should too.