This weekend was a tough one for myself and my family. Our Boston Terrier, Dolly Madison, passed away after 13 wonderful years as, essentially, the Queen of the house. She was my birthday present when I turned 11, gifted to me in an effort to cheer everyone up after a recent tragedy only a year beforehand. And Dolly did more than just cheer us up during that summer of 2003—she became an integral part of the family.

My mother always complained about her accidents around the house in those early years, and she always loved to wiggle under the back gate to go see her friends down the street, which subsequently got her into major trouble. But she was playful and bright; she cuddled on the couch in the crook of your knee during movie night; she would happily sleep in until noon and almost never woke up in the middle of the night. She knew when you were sad and would lick your face as tears tumbled down your cheeks. She would hear the word “walk” and start hopping around the kitchen in an effort to make you get out the door more quickly. She never met a stranger…and she chased our cat down the length of the kitchen almost daily (an activity that the cat actually started to enjoy, I must add).

August 2003 / March 2016

August 2003 / March 2016

I went away to college in 2010, but by then our relationship was cemented as best friends, and when I came home her tail would wag and we would play catch I would sneak her chicken under the dining room table at dinnertime when no one was looking. I would buy her a new toy that she would promptly destroy and we would lay on the couch all day reading and watching TV, only getting up to go on that W-A-L-K and maybe grab a bite to eat.

When she got tired, she’d stand by the stairs and stare, wondering when the hell we would scoop her up and plop her onto our beds. When she was sad, she would paw at us and sleep more (but she was rarely ever sad). When she was happy, she would bring us a toy and make us play tug of war. When anyone played a musical instrument (especially saxophone), she would sing along. When you crouched down for a kiss, she would plant one right on your lips (and maybe lick your entire face while you were at it).

She got me through all the ups and downs and the many emotions of middle school, high school, and college, and was a bright light in the tough times in the early months away from Georgia and in the crazy city of New York. The past year and a half, she would put away her camera shyness (getting that dog to look at a camera was like pulling teeth) and tolerate my mother’s phone to have a little convo. My mom reported that whenever she put me on speaker Dolly would come and lick the phone as a “hello.” I am convinced that she knew that though I moved away, I would always be back. I would joke that I was never coming home to see my family—only to see my dog.

The love of a pet is a precious, precious thing. Dolly was the one comfort that held true throughout all those years; when I was fighting with my family or desperate to be alone, Dolly was always there. When I was happy and celebrating, she was there. And as she grew old, she watched us grow up, change our habits, move out. She’s been there for all four of us, no matter the situation. She was the best dog a gal could ask for. We couldn’t have been more lucky to have had a pet like her in our family these past 13 years. We will miss her dearly, and love her forever.



…of translated books in the U.S., that is. I’ve just finished SIGNS PRECEDING THE END OF THE WORLD by Yuri Herrera (translated by Lisa Dillman), a beautifully written and moving story of a young Mexican girl who crosses the border into the United States in order to deliver a message to her older brother, who crossed long before her and had stopped sending letters or messages of any kind back home to her and her mother. The story is ethereal, poetic, and yet is grounded in familiar descriptions, moments, and feelings.

I found this lovely book when I went to a deceivingly large bookshop (the pathway through many bookshelves winds forever to reveal a sizable shop, despite its small storefront) in Hyde Park in May called 57th Street Books, where one of the authors I work with at St. Martin’s spoke about her book on the South Side. The owner handed me this book. And he also passionately shared his goal of stocking the best translated literature out there.

Though I could label myself as an editor or a writer, I call myself first and foremost a lover of literature. I grew up reading translated works of literature, from Kafka or Flaubert or Marquez. And as an editor, I have the ability to help these kinds of riveting, eye-opening stories make their way into the marketplace—and thrive. Of course, getting to publish new American authors is one of the great pleasures in the work that I do. But I want my list to be filled with works from all over the world in an effort to remind American readers that there are many, many perspectives. And without reading them, we run the risk of folding into our own little world.

So go out and buy a translation! Another one that I read recently (and affected me very deeply, in more ways than one) is WILLFUL DISREGARD by Swedish author Lena Andersson.


Moving to a foreign city can be somewhat daunting. I remember moving to Paris and having to adapt not only to a new city but also to a new culture and a new language. It’s difficult at first, but as time goes on, you get the hang of things. Parisians started becoming my family, and French my language. Moving back to the States was a reverse culture shock, and I missed drinking wine on a daily basis and buying a baguette from the boulangerie right the down the street from my house.

This is Mexico: Tales of Culture and Other Complications (She Writes Press, March 2015) by Carol M. Merchasin begins much like mine. Merchasin moved to Mexico with her husband, envisioning a fresh and new way of life. What she finds is a culture shock like no other. From chapter to chapter, she recounts her experience with merchants who give no change, house maids who bring their children to work, and other culture quirks that at the same time annoy and inspire her.

This expatriate sets up the book with a different story for every chapter, highlighting a different aspect of Mexico that presented a cultural challenge for her. As she infuses elements of humor and a light tone, Merchasin presents Mexico as her and her husband (or, as she refers to him in the book, Senor Reoberto) see it as foreigners adjusting to a new world.


Travel writing can be a difficult feat, and while Merchasin does a thorough job of presenting Mexico as an expat might see it, there was not a keen sense of connection with how Mexico functions. I wished I were reading individual stories of people she interacted with every day, rather than the solo story of Merchasin’s daily life. Though she gives glimpses into those lives—particularly with her cook and maid—I thought a unique story like this would have provided a more rounded view of Mexico had she centered chapters around other people rather than herself.

Nevertheless, if you’re looking for a light, interesting narrative about an American’s life in Mexico, this is the book for you.