This is a free weekly newsletter. If you love reading, please become a paid subscriber. I’d love to send you special, surprise, secret-ish content like class discounts, access to comments, and recorded readings from Nonfiction for No Reason.
Please share all this good news on the socials, forward it to someone who might benefit, or text it to a friend. And thank you, as always, for reading.
My partner is just enough older than me that Madonna is a big deal to them. A solid member of Gen X, they’ve regaled me with tales of how ‘80s and ‘90s made queerness mainstream and gave her baby gay self a *somewhat distorted* mirror. I’m far enough behind as a geriatric millenial, that Madonna was already sort of an elder by the time I was around. On MTV, she held the clout of an established icon and served cockiness and attitude as she were entitled to the room she took up, rather than fighting for it.
I think there are reasons I don’t like Madonna [GASP] that are deeper than I care to go in this newsletter, but I will say that her blatant appropriation of a myriad of cultures is what’s earned her so much attention. Did she also pave the way for Beyonce? Sure, she even featured a video of the Queen saying so herself in her show, which is still touring.
Did she love and at times share lives with other icons (Prince, Tupac, Micheal Jackson, even if as friends) of our time as an equal? Yes, and I trust she provided something of value for those men in return. What I’m trying to say, very poorly, is that I respect her. There were moments at this show in 2024 when, surrounded by young and writhing dancers, backlit, and pinched into just the right corset and heels, that she is still the icon she was forty years ago.
I took this picture because the light was incredible, the performance of fame really thoughtful, and the way she is always reaching out to her own body and her dancers’ bodies kind of curious and compelling.
But then, she fell.
Or, she was dropped. Either way, she lay on the floor afterward for several counts, then laughed into the mic. Later, she said to another dancer during the same song, “YOU’RE not going to drop me, are you?” I don’t know what you hear, but that sounds like a threat, and a public one. Maybe it was just a joke, but from MADONNA, I’d only be terrified.
I turn 40 this month. It has me thinking about death and legacy and aging and womanhood and things. As I did when I was a little girl, I still look to these superstars for examples of how to be. I think about Gaga, and her big heart and her own brands of appropriation, now mostly acknowledged, while Madonna is putting on a global show in which the most exciting moments come from ballroom dancers, and they don’t even go all the way THERE. Of course, Beyonce did the same for the Renaissance tour, and honestly, I still don’t think it was all the way anywhere because her stage is just too big, metaphorically, and ballroom isn’t her house, either. And yet, with Beyonce, it always feels like a generous celebration of what she calls in, rather than a kind of self-conscious, campy, tangential, “I know about this, too!” which is what it felt like at Madonna’s show.
Every time I talk trash about her though, I immediately feel guilt, then reverence remembering what she’s done, how fabulous she made 40 look in the early 2000s, how bad and how joyful Ray of Light was, how incredible so much of the show was, even while she was painfully off-key, per usual, the ENTIRE time. I can’t stop. I just don’t like her!
Regardless, I’m thinking about what makes for graceful aging, and what really… falls flat. And if Madonna can fall in late-stage capitalism in which polar bears swim for nine days to find an ice cap to rest on, I guess it doesn’t matter if I fall, and find some embarrassing way to get back up, too. As my wisened partner was trying to tell me, maybe the power with Madonna has always been that seeing her do it means we can do it. And while Beyonce tries to give us that, it simply doesn’t feel true. She’s too good.
NFNR IS GOING TO TOKYO
Can you believe? I cannot. We have 120 RSVP’d for an event I thought would gather 30-50. I’m learning a ton, it’s a scramble, and it is not possible without the writers that make these events so wildly good.

To speak briefly of the accomplishments among these writers, Kanako Nishi just won the Yomiuri Literary Prize for her memoir in essays (not yet translated but we'll hear an excerpt in Japanese and English at this event!), and Kyoko Nakajima's new novel Urahagusa Fudoki comes out March 5, the day before the event.
If you want to watch the event live, I’m working on getting YouTube on board. A subscription will help! There’s also already a video of Vanessa Friedman, deputy editor of Hey Alma and utterly delightful human, on there from the NFNR in Portland on July 8, 2023, reading a heart wrenching essay called “Home Videos.” I had to pull myself together after that 8 minutes of all guts.
NFNR is growing.
I have some treats in store. I’ve invested in some serious recording equipment. I have some workshops in mind. People keep suggesting new ways to let more people in on this magical train, and I’m listening. Send me your ideas. Plop ‘em in the comments. And in the meantime, help us grow in whatever way you can.
Subscribe to the YouTube channel.
Donate on the website.
Become a paying subscriber.
Share this newsletter.
But mostly please stay well, ready for more. I can’t wait for what’s coming. <3
Katie