Latest news with #ThePoppyWar
Sydney Morning Herald
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Sydney Morning Herald
The cult author who refuses to play by the book world's rules
For Rebecca F. Kuang, the easiest way to resist the internet is to carry a phone that won't cooperate. It doesn't glow, buzz, or beg for her attention – and she prefers it that way. It's a statement of defiance against the glowing promise that apps would make us more connected and productive. Instead, Kuang says, they've shredded attention spans and left us more alone than ever. 'My phone's basically a brick. It can't access most apps,' she says. 'People can't send me TikTok links. I can never see them. Of course, a lot of stuff is going to get caught in the net, but on the whole, it's great because I spend so much more time reading and writing and cooking and being grounded in the world around me and very little time online.' No X, no TikTok, no doom spiral of headlines – a notable abstinence, given the starring role the internet played in her bestselling 2023 novel Yellowface, a razor-edged literary satire about a struggling white writer who swipes the manuscript and identity of her dead Chinese friend, only to face the wrath of the online mob. 'That was my internet novel. It was really me getting the internet out of my system. I'm actually pretty extreme about digital minimalism,' Kuang, who publishes as R.F. Kuang, says. 'I knew I was never going to write a book like Yellowface again because that just was not a sustainable way for me to be in the world, so I felt like this freedom to do whatever I wanted with the next book. It will probably appeal to a different set of readers, and that's exciting to me, like I'm tired of talking about Yellowface.' Kuang is in her husband Bennett Eckert-Kuang's study in their Boston home when we speak over video – not her natural habitat. Enclosed spaces, she explains, feel stifling; she prefers to work somewhere open, where the air can move and the light can spill in. But today, the fading light cuts across her face, artfully preparing us for the shadows of her new novel. If you haven't read Yellowface, you've almost certainly seen it – the bold, winking yellow cover staring back at you from bookshop tables and BookTok. Inside, Kuang skewers the publishing industry and the chronically online mindset with a scalpel and a smirk: taking on how technology has rewired the way we consume art, perform outrage, and weaponise accountability. It's been optioned for a scripted television series with Karyn Kusama (The Invitation, Yellowjackets, Girlfight) attached to direct. While Yellowface was strikingly topical and opened the door to a wider readership, Kuang had already been forging her path through the searing landscapes of historical fantasy with The Poppy War trilogy (2018–2020) and Babel (2022). Drawing on mid-20th-century Chinese history and begun when she was just 19, The Poppy War was no overnight success – Kuang admits she initially felt 'sick to my stomach' every time she thought about sales – but word of mouth gradually built momentum. Meanwhile, Babel, set in 1830s England, became a BookTok hit. This steady rise meant, Kuang says, the sudden attention from Yellowface never 'messed me up'. As she critiqued publishing's pigeonholing of authors in Yellowface, Kuang herself refuses to be confined by genre or expectation. Almost as soon as she penned the novel, Kuang admits she was bored with the frenetic, internet-fuelled tone that is omnipresent in today's literary landscape – eager instead to explore new territories, both thematically and stylistically, in her work. 'I feel like I'm still very young, and I want room to grow, so to be typecast now would feel stifling and murderous to me,' she says. 'I think there is this sort of resistant delight to defying categorisation because when you are pretty overtly racialised or gendered, as so many people are, you do always want to be acting out against expectation. 'That resentment of expectation is not what drives me. It's just something I find psychologically interesting about myself. What drives me is wanting to evolve as an artist with every project.' I think it never got to my head or messed me up because I'm really good at moving on to the next project. She's also grown wary of publishing's other obsession – youth. In a recent piece for Time headlined Olivia Rodrigo and the Impossible Pressure to Stay a Prodigy, Kuang, 29, reflects on the pressure of being 'young' in the literary world. The scepticism that has met her, the interest in her age rather than work, and the anxiety that the apex of her career might have come and gone. 'It's really stupid, I think, that we are so obsessed with young authors in literature. Literature is one of the one things that you only get better at as you get older,' Kuang says. 'I hope I'm not in my prime. I hope that my prime is decades away.' Kuang might not realise it yet, given her self-imposed social media ban, but her readers are already gearing up for her sixth novel out this month. Roll your eyes at BookTokers if you like, but they're busily assembling reading lists heavy with Homer, Virgil, Ovid, and Dante as they prepare for the release of Katabasis – a richly layered, genre-bending dive into the underworld. (The title comes from the Greek word meaning 'descent'). In Katabasis, Cambridge doctoral student Alice Law and her nemesis Peter Murdoch wield pentagram magic to descend into the Eight Courts of Hell, all in a desperate bid to rescue their professor's soul – without him, their crucial recommendation letter is lost. The novel deftly plays with the classical stages of the underworld journey – the descent, the ordeal, and the return (anabasis) – while tipping its hat to Alice in Wonderland, T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land, and even drawing from the surreal dreamscapes of Dali. If you're counting subgenres, it's a clever mashup of dark academia and historical fantasy, with an enemies-to-lovers twist. And while this might seem underworlds apart from Yellowface, Kuang is as critical as ever, cutting through the pretension, privilege, and politics of academia. If Babel's Oxford setting allowed an examination of the institution's historical role as a facilitator of imperial projects, Katabasis focuses on the interpersonal – the inflated egos, the skewed priorities and values, and the fraught, often toxic, relationships between students and teachers. 'I think of them as a duology that deals with why I love the academy so much and can't step away but why I am increasingly uncomfortable with it,' Kuang says, perfectly placed to say so, having roamed some of the world's most elite academic halls. From her undergraduate years at Georgetown University to graduate degrees at Cambridge and Oxford, she's now teaching and finishing a PhD in sinology at Yale. Her research spans Chinese-language literature and Asian American writing, focusing on Chinese American and Chinese diaspora authors and their explorations of travel, language, geography, and storytelling. Kuang – who was born in Guangzhou, China, moved with her parents to Dallas, Texas, when she was four – grew up in a household that valued literature highly and was always drawn to fantasy. She started her PhD the same year as her husband, who's pursuing philosophy at MIT, started his. They recently celebrated their first anniversary. While some couples spend their evenings arguing over whether a potato is too far gone to cook for dinner, theirs seems to involve lively debates on logic paradoxes and the quirks of rational decision-making, conversations about which inspired Katabasis. 'I just fell in love with the idea of logic paradoxes, especially paradoxes of rational decision-making, which feels very pertinent to how we live our lives,' Kuang says. 'There are so many paradoxes where you make a series of decisions that seem like you're better off at every stage, and then suddenly you find yourself in a far worse position than you anticipated, with no way to claw out of it. And that seemed like a lovely way to describe being in a PhD program.' Kuang's academic and creative worlds have never been separate – they flow into one another. Her novels are set on campuses or in educational institutions, and weave in her scholarly pursuits. Her advisors often remind her to rein in her signature point of view, reminding her she's writing an essay, not fiction. 'I find it very difficult to keep the creative voice from seeping into my academic work. I'm always having conversations with my advisor about how my academic writing needs to be a little less opinionated and have a little less of that spunk and flair that I like to bring to my fiction prose.' Having reached new heights after Yellowface, Kuang could now write full-time. When asked why she hasn't stepped away from academia, the answer is simple: 'I like it.' I feel like I'm still very young, and I want room to grow, so to be typecast now would feel stifling and murderous to me. 'I wish I had a more sophisticated answer than that, but I think I'm in a lucky position where I have multiple career options. I could be a full-time author, I could be a full-time academic, and I just enjoy both too much to give either of them up. I always tell myself, the moment it stops being engaging, I'll step away,' Kuang says. 'For all that is frustrating and broken about academia, I'm still committed to this core promise of inquiry and curiosity and sharing it with others, and I do still regularly feel that when I step into a classroom.' She didn't feel the weight of expectation after Yellowface – no sudden compulsion to chase its sharp success or bottle its biting style. Instead, she slipped quietly into her next chapter, boarding a flight to Taipei to plunge straight into research for a new book. 'I think it never got to my head or messed me up because I'm really good at moving on to the next project,' she says. 'I never enjoy doing the same thing twice. I get bored really easily and I don't like feeling like I'm repeating myself. I just like jumping down new rabbit holes and seeing who's going to follow me there.' Loading Her next novel, Taipei Story, is a coming-of-age story about language, family, and grief. She says it takes inspiration from novelists Elif Batuman, Sally Rooney and Patricia Lockwood, and follows a student spending a summer in Taipei studying Chinese while wrestling with questions of identity and belonging. It's a clear break from fantasy, and she's relishing the stylistic stretch. Writing, however, has only grown trickier. Taipei Story has been through several drafts – each one a meticulous autopsy of every word, comma, and cadence. Kuang is merciless with herself as she works through them. 'I hate every single word I put down,' she says. But this isn't a crisis of confidence. Kuang says her reading has sharpened, her standards have risen, and now her prose has to keep pace. 'When my writing feels hardest, the results are often the most rewarding,' she says. 'It's not that I've gotten worse as a writer, it's that I've gotten better as a reader, and now I need my writing to catch up.' If her personal katabasis means crawling through literary darkness searching for the good stuff, then the rest of us might as well switch our phones to silent and go with her. In myth, the hero returns.
The Age
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Age
The cult author who refuses to play by the book world's rules
For Rebecca F. Kuang, the easiest way to resist the internet is to carry a phone that won't cooperate. It doesn't glow, buzz, or beg for her attention – and she prefers it that way. It's a statement of defiance against the glowing promise that apps would make us more connected and productive. Instead, Kuang says, they've shredded attention spans and left us more alone than ever. 'My phone's basically a brick. It can't access most apps,' she says. 'People can't send me TikTok links. I can never see them. Of course, a lot of stuff is going to get caught in the net, but on the whole, it's great because I spend so much more time reading and writing and cooking and being grounded in the world around me and very little time online.' No X, no TikTok, no doom spiral of headlines – a notable abstinence, given the starring role the internet played in her bestselling 2023 novel Yellowface, a razor-edged literary satire about a struggling white writer who swipes the manuscript and identity of her dead Chinese friend, only to face the wrath of the online mob. 'That was my internet novel. It was really me getting the internet out of my system. I'm actually pretty extreme about digital minimalism,' Kuang, who publishes as R.F. Kuang, says. 'I knew I was never going to write a book like Yellowface again because that just was not a sustainable way for me to be in the world, so I felt like this freedom to do whatever I wanted with the next book. It will probably appeal to a different set of readers, and that's exciting to me, like I'm tired of talking about Yellowface.' Kuang is in her husband Bennett Eckert-Kuang's study in their Boston home when we speak over video – not her natural habitat. Enclosed spaces, she explains, feel stifling; she prefers to work somewhere open, where the air can move and the light can spill in. But today, the fading light cuts across her face, artfully preparing us for the shadows of her new novel. If you haven't read Yellowface, you've almost certainly seen it – the bold, winking yellow cover staring back at you from bookshop tables and BookTok. Inside, Kuang skewers the publishing industry and the chronically online mindset with a scalpel and a smirk: taking on how technology has rewired the way we consume art, perform outrage, and weaponise accountability. It's been optioned for a scripted television series with Karyn Kusama (The Invitation, Yellowjackets, Girlfight) attached to direct. While Yellowface was strikingly topical and opened the door to a wider readership, Kuang had already been forging her path through the searing landscapes of historical fantasy with The Poppy War trilogy (2018–2020) and Babel (2022). Drawing on mid-20th-century Chinese history and begun when she was just 19, The Poppy War was no overnight success – Kuang admits she initially felt 'sick to my stomach' every time she thought about sales – but word of mouth gradually built momentum. Meanwhile, Babel, set in 1830s England, became a BookTok hit. This steady rise meant, Kuang says, the sudden attention from Yellowface never 'messed me up'. As she critiqued publishing's pigeonholing of authors in Yellowface, Kuang herself refuses to be confined by genre or expectation. Almost as soon as she penned the novel, Kuang admits she was bored with the frenetic, internet-fuelled tone that is omnipresent in today's literary landscape – eager instead to explore new territories, both thematically and stylistically, in her work. 'I feel like I'm still very young, and I want room to grow, so to be typecast now would feel stifling and murderous to me,' she says. 'I think there is this sort of resistant delight to defying categorisation because when you are pretty overtly racialised or gendered, as so many people are, you do always want to be acting out against expectation. 'That resentment of expectation is not what drives me. It's just something I find psychologically interesting about myself. What drives me is wanting to evolve as an artist with every project.' I think it never got to my head or messed me up because I'm really good at moving on to the next project. She's also grown wary of publishing's other obsession – youth. In a recent piece for Time headlined Olivia Rodrigo and the Impossible Pressure to Stay a Prodigy, Kuang, 29, reflects on the pressure of being 'young' in the literary world. The scepticism that has met her, the interest in her age rather than work, and the anxiety that the apex of her career might have come and gone. 'It's really stupid, I think, that we are so obsessed with young authors in literature. Literature is one of the one things that you only get better at as you get older,' Kuang says. 'I hope I'm not in my prime. I hope that my prime is decades away.' Kuang might not realise it yet, given her self-imposed social media ban, but her readers are already gearing up for her sixth novel out this month. Roll your eyes at BookTokers if you like, but they're busily assembling reading lists heavy with Homer, Virgil, Ovid, and Dante as they prepare for the release of Katabasis – a richly layered, genre-bending dive into the underworld. (The title comes from the Greek word meaning 'descent'). In Katabasis, Cambridge doctoral student Alice Law and her nemesis Peter Murdoch wield pentagram magic to descend into the Eight Courts of Hell, all in a desperate bid to rescue their professor's soul – without him, their crucial recommendation letter is lost. The novel deftly plays with the classical stages of the underworld journey – the descent, the ordeal, and the return (anabasis) – while tipping its hat to Alice in Wonderland, T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land, and even drawing from the surreal dreamscapes of Dali. If you're counting subgenres, it's a clever mashup of dark academia and historical fantasy, with an enemies-to-lovers twist. And while this might seem underworlds apart from Yellowface, Kuang is as critical as ever, cutting through the pretension, privilege, and politics of academia. If Babel's Oxford setting allowed an examination of the institution's historical role as a facilitator of imperial projects, Katabasis focuses on the interpersonal – the inflated egos, the skewed priorities and values, and the fraught, often toxic, relationships between students and teachers. 'I think of them as a duology that deals with why I love the academy so much and can't step away but why I am increasingly uncomfortable with it,' Kuang says, perfectly placed to say so, having roamed some of the world's most elite academic halls. From her undergraduate years at Georgetown University to graduate degrees at Cambridge and Oxford, she's now teaching and finishing a PhD in sinology at Yale. Her research spans Chinese-language literature and Asian American writing, focusing on Chinese American and Chinese diaspora authors and their explorations of travel, language, geography, and storytelling. Kuang – who was born in Guangzhou, China, moved with her parents to Dallas, Texas, when she was four – grew up in a household that valued literature highly and was always drawn to fantasy. She started her PhD the same year as her husband, who's pursuing philosophy at MIT, started his. They recently celebrated their first anniversary. While some couples spend their evenings arguing over whether a potato is too far gone to cook for dinner, theirs seems to involve lively debates on logic paradoxes and the quirks of rational decision-making, conversations about which inspired Katabasis. 'I just fell in love with the idea of logic paradoxes, especially paradoxes of rational decision-making, which feels very pertinent to how we live our lives,' Kuang says. 'There are so many paradoxes where you make a series of decisions that seem like you're better off at every stage, and then suddenly you find yourself in a far worse position than you anticipated, with no way to claw out of it. And that seemed like a lovely way to describe being in a PhD program.' Kuang's academic and creative worlds have never been separate – they flow into one another. Her novels are set on campuses or in educational institutions, and weave in her scholarly pursuits. Her advisors often remind her to rein in her signature point of view, reminding her she's writing an essay, not fiction. 'I find it very difficult to keep the creative voice from seeping into my academic work. I'm always having conversations with my advisor about how my academic writing needs to be a little less opinionated and have a little less of that spunk and flair that I like to bring to my fiction prose.' Having reached new heights after Yellowface, Kuang could now write full-time. When asked why she hasn't stepped away from academia, the answer is simple: 'I like it.' I feel like I'm still very young, and I want room to grow, so to be typecast now would feel stifling and murderous to me. 'I wish I had a more sophisticated answer than that, but I think I'm in a lucky position where I have multiple career options. I could be a full-time author, I could be a full-time academic, and I just enjoy both too much to give either of them up. I always tell myself, the moment it stops being engaging, I'll step away,' Kuang says. 'For all that is frustrating and broken about academia, I'm still committed to this core promise of inquiry and curiosity and sharing it with others, and I do still regularly feel that when I step into a classroom.' She didn't feel the weight of expectation after Yellowface – no sudden compulsion to chase its sharp success or bottle its biting style. Instead, she slipped quietly into her next chapter, boarding a flight to Taipei to plunge straight into research for a new book. 'I think it never got to my head or messed me up because I'm really good at moving on to the next project,' she says. 'I never enjoy doing the same thing twice. I get bored really easily and I don't like feeling like I'm repeating myself. I just like jumping down new rabbit holes and seeing who's going to follow me there.' Loading Her next novel, Taipei Story, is a coming-of-age story about language, family, and grief. She says it takes inspiration from novelists Elif Batuman, Sally Rooney and Patricia Lockwood, and follows a student spending a summer in Taipei studying Chinese while wrestling with questions of identity and belonging. It's a clear break from fantasy, and she's relishing the stylistic stretch. Writing, however, has only grown trickier. Taipei Story has been through several drafts – each one a meticulous autopsy of every word, comma, and cadence. Kuang is merciless with herself as she works through them. 'I hate every single word I put down,' she says. But this isn't a crisis of confidence. Kuang says her reading has sharpened, her standards have risen, and now her prose has to keep pace. 'When my writing feels hardest, the results are often the most rewarding,' she says. 'It's not that I've gotten worse as a writer, it's that I've gotten better as a reader, and now I need my writing to catch up.' If her personal katabasis means crawling through literary darkness searching for the good stuff, then the rest of us might as well switch our phones to silent and go with her. In myth, the hero returns.
Forbes
11-06-2025
- Politics
- Forbes
Why College Matters: For The Love Of Learning—And Democracy
In a time of tense scrutiny of higher education, it helps to be reminded why college matters. Two recent talks by highly acclaimed novelists left sparks on how much the opportunity to learn still means to people, and why it's important for keeping our country strong. The joy of learning is an undercurrent throughout the efforts to increase the share of Americans with college degrees or other credentials that lead to measurably better economic outcomes. There is incredible hope and promise embedded in the word opportunity—that people have the freedom to learn, the chance to pursue their passions, and a real path to thrive. I was struck last month by New York Times bestselling author R.F. Kuang's poignant call to protect the rare opportunity of American higher education in a world where many are subjected to political suppression. Kuang brought a crowd to their feet as the convocation speaker at Georgetown University. I happened to be in the audience as Kuang, a Georgetown School of Foreign Service graduate herself seven years ago, urged the Class of 2025 not to take education for granted. 'A university is such an impossible fantasy—a place where we can test dangerous, unorthodox ideas; where we can dream up better worlds; where we can make mistakes; where we can change our minds,' Kuang said. 'The life of the mind is a utopia, and history proves its precarity. It will die if we stop fighting for it.' Kuang's own story includes five novels, two master's degrees, and a No. 1 ranking on the New York Times Best Sellers list for her fantasy series, 'The Poppy War' trilogy. She's also pursuing a doctorate degree at Yale University in East Asian languages and literature. But her regard for learning really goes back three generations. Kuang's great-grandfather and grandfather in China sought to obtain education in the time of political and economic turmoil. Kuang's father made it to Beijing University to study physics—graduating in 1989 in time to join other students in the Tiananmen Square protests to demand political reforms. China's leadership sent troops into the streets, a moment captured forever by the global image of a student standing his ground before a line of tanks. Thousands were killed or injured, and Kuang's father, who had already gotten permission to pursue his doctorate in the United States, left for California. 'America represented this utopia where one could think and speak freely,' Kuang told the Georgetown graduates. 'You'll never find a bigger patriot than my dad. He flies the red, white, and blue on the Fourth of July. He rocks a cowboy hat. He loves fishing and grilling and driving his truck. He says he's already fled one authoritarian state, and he's not going to flee another.' Gen Z hit college-going age at a time when public faith in higher education has declined to a historic low. The perception of college, Kuang noted, is that it's an exorbitantly expensive ivory tower for political brainwashing, AI cheating, and partying. College should not be 'an amusement park, a member's club for the elites, a corporation,' she said, calling upon higher education to cut out its rot and change. Universities need to open their doors, allow honest dialogue, and share knowledge with the world—because the opportunity to learn is so valuable. 'We are so accustomed to speaking of the university as a frivolity, as a luxury, that we have forgotten how rare a space this is,' Kuang said. 'Hold onto that luxury,' she encouraged the graduates. 'Refuse the poverty of thought. Stay curious.' Not that life for the graduates, even with the benefits of that education, will be simple or easy: 'Now you will put your ideals to the test, and more likely than not watch your dreams meet the crushing anvil of reality,' she said. 'You are stepping into a world now where, if you hold on to your principles, sooner or later you will be staring down a tank. But my father emerged from that bloody square, and the first thing he did was seek out another classroom.' The powerful urgency of Kuang's speech stuck with me. Gen Z is stepping into a much more uncertain world than the generations before them, as democratic principles at home and abroad face threats, and as artificial intelligence transforms the workplace and raises the bar for a more educated workforce. While often defined by challenges, Gen Z brings distinct talents to society as digital natives with a better understanding of mental health and wellbeing, and a keen interest in finding climate change solutions. John Green, whose 'The Fault in Our Stars' became a No. 1 bestselling novel and hit motion picture, understands Gen Z's mindset and hunger for learning. More than a dozen years ago, Green launched an educational video series called CrashCourse with his brother Hank. It became popular among high schoolers, making history and biology lessons entertaining and easily digestible. Some of his inspiration came from being a 'reluctant learner' himself, as Green put it, who didn't want to learn algebra or French but had teachers who never gave up on him. 'I wanted to capture what I later learned in life is the joy of learning—the fact that we are here to understand ourselves in the universe,' Green said at a Lumina Foundation retreat in Indianapolis, our shared home base. 'And if we're lucky, we get to do it in community with people and learn from people who are smarter than us—or at least people who have been smart longer than us.' Known to 3.9 million YouTube followers as the Vlogbrothers, the Greens became interested in helping students access college when they learned that millions of Americans start college but don't complete degrees, sometimes still burdened by student loan debt. They wanted to see if a couple of guys in their 40s who have jobs could navigate the complex college system. The answer was no. That led the brothers to produce the 'How to College' CrashCourse series to demystify the system and team up with Arizona State University to create Study Hall, which offers low-cost, flexible college courses. Students pay only $25 upfront, then can choose to pay $400 for transferable academic credit after seeing their final grade. In his talk at Lumina, Green spoke of the need to create an education system that works for everyone and values community. To Green and to most of us, solving America's higher ed challenges is essential not just for economic growth, but for democracy itself. 'This is also about having an educated and informed citizenry at a time where life is going to get very, very weird,' he said, explaining how artificial intelligence can now create videos in his likeness and spread misinformation. 'They can say anything. And that means that we need a really well-informed, educated citizenry,' he said. 'That is critical for the future of our democracy and the future of our country.' These two storytellers—R.F. Kuang and John Green—offer vivid reminders that education remains both a personal lifeline and a public good. Whether it's Kuang's family story of striving for knowledge, or Green's mission to widen the path through flexible, affordable learning, their experiences highlight what's at stake when access to higher education is threatened. At this inflection point, higher education needs more creative ideas to redesign systems, like Green's Study Hall courses. It needs advocates for its value, like Kuang, and to further prove itself by setting up today's graduates for tomorrow's future. For all its flaws, college remains a powerful engine of opportunity. At its best it shapes thinkers, challenges assumptions, and fosters resilience in the face of life's challenges. And at a time when democracy itself is being tested, the need for informed and empowered citizens has never been greater. Education, in the end, is more than a degree—it's a commitment to the shared future we're all building.
Los Angeles Times
25-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
How to have the best Sunday in L.A., according to Taylor Tomlinson
Taylor Tomlinson, the comedian and writer who has hosted the CBS talk and variety show 'After Midnight' for two seasons, has lived in Los Angeles for nine years. But thanks to a robust stand-up schedule (her now-in-progress 'The Save Me Tour' has 76 dates booked across North America and Europe through January, including an L.A. hometown show scheduled for Aug. 10 at the Greek Theatre), she's only around L.A. for about 20 Sundays a year. 'I try to do two weekends on the road a month,' Tomlinson said. 'But sometimes it ends up being three. Usually my Sundays are spent flying home, and I'm doing my leisurely things on a Tuesday at noon.' She was more than happy to plot out a Sunday plan that doesn't involve 'a layover sitting in a coffee shop in the Phoenix airport.' It would start with making some matcha and head toward a close with sushi and a movie. In between, she'd hit a flea market, a bookstore (to score some spiral-ring notebooks) and the outdoor spaces at the Huntington. This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for length and clarity. 9 a.m.: Whisk up some morning matchaIn my perfect world, I'd fall asleep at midnight and get nine hours of sleep, which would be perfect. I am not somebody who can handle coffee because I get headaches. So I usually make matcha at home with unsweetened almond milk, and I add cinnamon and usually use a little bit of vanilla protein shake as creamer in it. And I do it iced. I go to a lot of coffee shops when I'm on the road and always have to ask if their matcha is presweetened, because a lot of places make it with honey or sugar already in it. But more mainstream places are getting unsweetened, ceremonial-grade matcha, and that's what I use. I've got one of those bamboo whisks, and I like the whole routine of boiling water and then whisking in the matcha powder. I really feel like I'm doing something. 9:30 a.m.: Back to bed with a bookThen I'd bring my matcha back to the bed and I'd read for a bit. I really struggle with letting myself read for fun, because, for a long time, I wouldn't read anything that wasn't teaching me something or had some sort of self-improvement element to it or was about comedy or business. I'm working on a book of my own right now, so I'm currently reading Chuck Palahniuk's 'Consider This: Moments in My Writing Life after Which Everything Was Different,' and for fun I'm reading 'The Dragon Republic,' the second book in R. F. Kuang's 'The Poppy War' series. 10:15 a.m.: Self-scramble some breakfastI like going out to breakfast when I'm on the road but, when I'm home, I like to cook for myself. So I'll do a scramble with some eggs, turkey, zucchini, spinach and bell pepper and then top it with some avocado. 11:45 a.m.: Make for the Melrose Trading PostThis might [sound like] a really basic Sunday, but I'm not in L.A. very much. So I would go to the Melrose Trading Post [flea market] over at Fairfax High School with some friends of mine because it's a way to socialize. Zach Noe Towers and Sophie Buddle and I do [stand-up comedy on] the road a lot together, and when we're home on a weekend, this is something we do together. I've bought a lot of leather jackets there. I have way too many jackets — an insane collection of jackets. It's a real problem. I bought a weird lamp there. I think the last thing I bought there was this wardrobe [from J. Martin Furniture] that was green, and they said they would paint it any color I wanted and have it delivered. So I had them paint it a dusty rose that matches the flowers on these vintage pillows I had just gotten for my bed. The wardrobe fills out the one blank wall I had left in the bedroom. It's really cute and makes me really happy. They have food and music and stuff to drink too. Last time we went we got some Thai food from a truck and hung out for a bit. 2 p.m.: Vroom over to Vroman'sFrom there I'd head to Vroman's Bookstore in Pasadena, which I hadn't been to until very recently. It's a huge independent bookstore, and they have literally everything there — books, gifts [and] stationery — so I'd probably buy a notebook. I've got so many notebooks. The two things I overbuy the most are vintage jackets and notebooks. I use different types of notebooks for different [purposes], but they've all got to be spiral-ring. I like [notebooks] that are long and skinny for my set lists. I like stenographer's notebooks for new jokes because [the pages] have a line down the middle; I use one side for jokes I know work and one side for jokes I'm not sure about yet. And I like a really big notebook to journal in. Then there are the kind I find at flea market vendors when I'm on the road where they turn old children's books into notebooks and leave part of the [original book] text in between the [blank] pages. This one [she holds aloft a spiral-ring notebook with the title 'Peter Pan' on the cover] is by Red Barn Collections. I think I picked it up at a flea market in Salt Lake City. 3 p.m.: Head to the HuntingtonIf I didn't sit and write in the cafe at Vroman's, I'd head to the Huntington. I've been a member there for years, and sometimes when I have a whole day off, I'll go there for awhile. I'd either go to the side area where there are a few chairs and sit and read or go to one of the benches that overlook the Japanese garden. If I was writing, I'd do that in the cafe. 5:30 p.m.: Sushi in Studio CitySince the Huntington closes at 5 p.m., I'd head to this sushi place in Studio City that I love called Sushi Tomoki that opens at 5:30. I like to get there right when it opens because it fills up so fast. And it's so good, and the service is fast even when they're packed. 7 p.m.: Take in a movie at Universal CityWalkSince I'm in Studio City and my group of friends and I are all AMC Stubs A-List members, I'd go to Universal CityWalk to catch a movie. CityWalk is what it is, but it's close to the sushi place. And the AMC theater there is really good. If you go with a bunch of friends, you can split the cost of parking. I love to talk about the movie afterward, so instead of just standing by the car talking about it, we can walk around [CityWalk] and talk about it. The last thing I saw there was 'Paddington in Peru.' 10:30 p.m.: Tea time before bedtimeAt this point it's probably pretty late when I get home, so I'd probably drink some tea — I do a licorice or a ginger tea at night — shower and then read for awhile. Or maybe do some journaling or doomscrolling in bed, depending on what my mood is. And hopefully fall asleep by midnight.
