Book of Clouds by Chloe Aridjis with K'sa Tete Pineau D'Aunis

Often I look to the books I’m currently reading and loving as a litmus test of sorts: a map to my conscious and unconscious moods. The particular season of my mind reified through underlined sentences, pages read and re-read, a growing pile of books to be obsessed by. But occasionally, my mind’s mood is so particular it will send me toward, or perhaps pull me into a certain type of novel. The types of novels I find particularly pleasurable in these moments are those that move with an understated strength; those both “contemporary and ancient” at the same time, depending on how closely you perceive the “seams.” The books I seek refuge in are those that move the way a mind moves—or perhaps with enough spaciousness to allow my own mind to fill in the gaps. To read Chloe Aridjis’s Book of Clouds is to go on a journey, but one with no beginning and no end. To observe the novel’s mind as it moves, makes connections, and—despite holding us at arm’s length—pulls from what exists there somethi