Memoirs by Leslie Jamison and David Sedaris, a short story by Caki Wilkinson, a novel by Elisa Shua Dusapin, and extras

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Of course I’d heard babies were always waking up. But this now seemed like a joke. How did anyone get them to sleep in the first place? Every time I put the baby in her bassinet, she cried and cried. She slept only when she was being held. 
—From Splinters, a memoir by Leslie Jamison (Little, Brown and Company, 2024). If you have access to it, Hachette Audio released an unabridged audiobook, narrated by the author, which is excellent. In January 2024, The New Yorker included an edited excerpt from this memoir in the Personal History section.

Here are a few links to items referenced in the memoir, to accompany you as you read and/or listen:

- A clip from "Garry Winogrand: All Things Are Photographable," the episode of the PBS show American Masters about American street photographer Garry Winogrand (Season 33, Episode 6). Many of his photographs are available online if you search his name.

- The Maggie B., a children's picture book by Irene Haas (Margaret K. McElderry Books/Simon & Schuster, 1975).  

- "Inside the Apple," a poem by Yehuda Amichai, translated from the Hebrew by Chana Bloch, from The Selected Poetry of Yehuda Amichai (University of California Press, 1996).

It's several hours after my sister's wedding reception and I'm sitting next to Dave, the hotel bartender, on the loveseat in his room, which looks just like my room but backwards. We're watching Cash or Crash and missing the questions that would make us rich. Our outer knees are touching. 
—From "A Little Bit of a Scene," a piece of flash fiction by Caki Wilkinson, The Hopkins Review, web feature.  

They don't seem to be expecting me. The man in the ticket booth checks the list of names for the hundredth time. He's just ushered out a group of women, all with the same muscular build, their hair scraped back. . . . I'm here for the costumes, I tell him again. In the end he turns away, stares at a television screen. He probably doesn't understand English, I think to myself. I sit down on my suitcase, try calling Leon, the director, the one I've been corresponding with. My phone battery flashes low, only three percent left. I hear myself laugh nervously as I look around for somewhere to charge it. 
—From Vladivostok Circus, a novel by Elisa Shua Dusapin, translated from the French by Aneesa Abbas Higgins (Open Letter Books, 2024). Originally published in French by Éditions Zoé (2023) and in English, in the United Kingdom, by Daunt Book Originals (2023).   

Bonus book to read again: 

As with pot, it was astonishing how quickly I took to cigarettes. It was as if my life was a play, and the prop mistress had finally shown up. Suddenly there were packs to unwrap, matches to strike, ashtrays to fill and then empty. My hands were at one with their labor, the way a cook's might be, or a knitter's. 
—From When You Are Engulfed in Flames, a memoir/collection of essays by David Sedaris (Little, Brown and Company, 2008). This segment is from "The Smoking Section," a lengthy essay that closes the book and which appears on pages 240-323 of the original hardcover. (The cover of the paperback being sold now is decidedly different. The original cover, which I really like, incorporates Van Gogh's Skull with Cigarette, 1885.) Also, if you have the option, I always recommend listening to David Sedaris read his books himself and/or seeing him read live.