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First up, 🥴! It’s a short one this month, as I’ve spent weeks physically and mentally unwell in a way that’s got me one ROSALÍA re-listen away from joining the church. It’ll pass. Loath to bring cobwebby vibes to this bright, fresh November, I’ll refrain from mentioning how we got absolutely Phar Lapped by October. That was then. We’re in Norway now.

November always seemed to me the Norway of the year. ― Emily Dickinson

Meanwhile in writing

I’ve been thinking about prepositions in politics: so much of our fight is a struggle for prepositional relativity. Who is from somewhere? Who is against what? How do we work beside each other? Musician Bobby Vylan of duo Bob Vylan (not to be confused with Bobbie Vylan, also of duo Bob Vylan) put it beautifully in Louis Theroux’s now-defunded (thanks, British Airways) podcast, describing his ‘strange’ relationship with the UK: ‘I feel like I’m in it but not of it.’

in /ɪn/ prep.

To belong by location or circumstance; to exist within the bounds of something.

While Vylan is speaking about the dehumanising otherness of racism, that sense of being in but not of a group is something most of us have felt. For such small words, prepositions carry enormous weight — they can exclude or include, reject or welcome. Notice and handle them (and each other) with care. 💔

of /ɒv/ prep.

To belong by essence or identity; to be a part of something in a way that defines or shapes you.

Meanwhile in style

The end of the year means it’s award season! Across the globe, dictionary media teams are going into battle for algorithmic relevance as they announce their contenders for Word of the Year 2025.

Adverbs fans will know that last year’s offering from Macquarie was enshittification, a word that was both timely and disappointingly autological. This year’s Macquarie verdict is still pending, but elsewhere the lexicographic festivities are well underway: Collins has already announced vibe coding as its winner, and youth-fave six-seven took the crown at Dictionary.com. Proud of you, kids. 🥲

Meanwhile in reading

This month, I’ve been reading the classics silly-style. You know the drill: you’re supposed to read Frankenstein and think about capital-T Themes like scientific responsibility, man-as-God, hubris, etc. You’re certainly expected to note its intertextual links to Paradise Lost and Genesis. But here’s a secret: you can read a book however you like.

Frankenstein’s creature can just be a funny lil (big) guy. If you’ve been feeling disconnected from Great Literature™ because you think you need to read it ‘properly’, consider this permission to pick something up and just read it. There’s no wrong way, I promise.

Poems

It’s been a poetry (adj.) sort of month. I finally sobbed my way through Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock after coaxing myself to ‘have the strength to force the moment to its crisis’ at every challenge in my life without knowing its context. It’s a beautiful poem, and I’m glad I wasn’t made to study it at school (the ruin of many a poor poem). This interpretation of Prufrock as a trans character feels relevant and compelling.

Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

But despite the romping epic from Dante and the heart-twisting ache of indecision from Eliot, it was this tiny poem by Charlotte Mew that snared me this month. This year’s a different thing. 🌸

That’s all for November

Thanks for reading Meanwhile in November! If you were sent this and fancy subscribing, you can do so below — feel free to share it far and wide or keep it squirrelled away just for you. I’ll see you in December. 🫶