in-between & soft rituals

notes on april, keepsakes and bookmarks

Lately, I’ve found myself craving more rituals. Not for their aesthetic, but for the sense of grounding they bring. April often feels like an in-between month for me. We have a saying in French, “en avril ne te découvre pas d’un fil.” The essence is that while spring has technically arrived, it’s still wise to keep your guard up. Keep the jacket and smaller layers nearby, as the weather can be unpredictable. Okay, that’s a long-winded way of describing it, but literal translations don’t always capture the same essence. For me, April wasn’t about rebirth or starting fresh but about making subtle shifts. Slowly shedding layers while letting the season’s rhythm guide me. It wasn’t about a big transformation. It was the little things that helped keep me moving.

For me, it looked like:

• Opening the windows first thing in the morning. A quiet gesture that marks the shift in light, temperature, and energy. Letting the air change, even for five minutes, feels like hitting refresh.

• Following the urge to declutter my wardrobe and give it a spring clean. I know, very groundbreaking. But in Scotland, it’s hard to dive into this ritual right after the spring equinox. The seasons here are a bit slower, and wearing coats and knits is practically a year-round deal. But by April, as the cherry blossoms finally bloomed, the shift was noticeable. I enjoy a good clear-out, as it allows me to rediscover old favourites, thank the warm clothes for keeping me cosy during winter, and tuck them away until autumn.

• Reorganising my kitchen drawer. Yes, there’s only one. My landlord didn’t think the kitchen through properly. It’s lovely, but I could use a couple more drawers. I emptied everything, said goodbye to the utensils and bits of cutlery I don’t use, gave it a thorough clean, and put it all back. A micro declutter, but it’s all about making something I interact with daily just a bit less chaotic.

• Getting inspired by the seasonal vegetables and fruits. Adding more colour to my plates. Steamed asparagus with soft-boiled eggs (or poached, if you can be bothered)—light, fresh, and nutritious. Juicy strawberries in my yoghurt bowl in the morning, or as a snack on their own.

• Switching my teas from warming, spicy blends like apple-cinnamon to lighter, floral ones like hibiscus, mandarin, or jasmine. Subtle, but my senses pick up on the change.

The final touch? A relaxing shower, fresh bed linen, clean pyjamas, and an ice cream.

It shouldn’t always be about productivity. These rituals are about welcoming myself back, easing out of hibernation, and blooming with the season. These small acts are really about putting myself first.

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Each month, I like to take a moment to reflect and share a few of my gentle favourites.

Below, I’ve rounded up my picks in the following categories:

• Keepsakes – Moments to hold onto

• Screen Time – This month’s watches

• Empty Plates – Food favourites

• Music Interlude – Songs I kept listening to

• Bookmarks – This month’s reads

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KEEPSAKES

❧ I had a little pinch-me moment when I saw my face pop up in my subscription feed! The lovely Stefania from Slowly But Surely interviewed me, which felt wildly surreal (read the interview here!). Her newsletter was one of the first I stumbled upon on Substack, so I felt honoured, very cool, very grateful. It was also the first time someone called me a writer (!), and I definitely blushed. Thank you again for having me, Stefania!

❧ I’ve been making my way through my coffee bean stash and especially enjoyed the Francisco Alvarado by Round Hill Roastery. The whole beans had a nutty aroma with a hint of sweetness, and once brewed, that sweetness came through beautifully. The tasting notes listed pomelo, hazelnut, and cantaloupe melon. For me, it was the melon that lingered — just barely sweet, like a summer lunch of chilled melon with parma (or mozzarella for my vegetarian heart) and a squeeze of lemon. A lovely blend: mild, subtle, and deeply satisfying. Sadly, it doesn’t seem to be available anymore, but I’m hoping it makes a comeback.

❧ Solo dates are a quiet ritual I cherish. I love stepping out of the comfort of home to find comfort elsewhere. If that place involves art, coffee, and books, I’m in my element. I spent the morning at Talbot Rice Gallery, visiting Searching for a Change of Consciousness by Walker & Bromwich — an exhibition exploring themes of community, social justice, environment, and hope for change. Afterwards, I settled in at Origin Coffee for a writing session (Substack’s gotta get fed). It’s been a while since I worked from a café; three hours slipped by unnoticed. I wrapped things up with a browse through Blackwell’s, Edinburgh’s oldest bookshop (established in 1848!).

❧ This April was spent watching Edinburgh wake up. Its familiar palette of greys and stone slowly softened as blue skies opened and the grass turned green again. Blooms arrived in waves: first the daffodils, then cherry blossoms, and now we’re waiting eagerly for magnolias and peonies. The birds returned too, more talkative than ever. I like to think they’ve missed this as much as we have.

We were spoiled with three weeks of dry weather, and April just kept getting better. At some point, we all realised we hadn’t seen rain in a while. It did return, but only briefly—just enough to give the gardens a drink and remind us it still could. And on the final day of the month, 23°C was promised. A rare gift in a city that seldom drifts far from 10–15°C, even in summer. That’s why I cling to the art of romanticising the everyday. It’s a bit of magic, really. Summer is easy to love, winter takes work, but these in-between bits? They’re the trickiest, especially when you don’t quite know how many layers are too many or too few on any given day.

So I leaned into it. Took the day off. Dug out the picnic blanket, pulled on some shorts, and layered on suncream. I passed by Project Canelé for something sweet (because why not), and found a spot in the park. It felt... lush. No other word for it.

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SCREEN TIME

I only brought this category in last month’s Letters from Edinburgh, and was about to leave it blank, having not watched anything in April. The beginning of the year felt quite promising; my goal was to hit the cinema once a month, but April’s new releases felt a bit flat. So instead, I signed up for a free trial on Mubi—it had been on my mind for a while.

By using this link, you get 30 days free—and so do I. This isn’t a paid promotion. Just sharing in case you’re also looking to give it a go (help a girl stay cultured!).

The Last Showgirl (2024 / Dir. Gia Coppola)

I missed The Last Showgirl in theatres, so I thought it was only right to start there. I’m a bit torn. The cinematography, the colours, the showgirls’ costumes—everything was stunning. I loved the 16mm film format, which gave the visuals a raw, grainy feel that added a nostalgic quality, while also keeping things glamorous. But I’m honestly a little disappointed that all I can say is how pretty it looked. It was nice seeing Pamela Anderson back (I grew up watching Baywatch on TV with my mum), but I couldn’t connect with the story much. The movie is about showgirls, but somehow the spark was lacking, or only arrived right at the very end.

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EMPTY PLATES

In my effort to shake up my breakfasts, I tried this cinnamon quinoa bowl, and it totally hit the spot. It’s from Love & Lemons, which is my go-to whenever I need a delicious vegetarian recipe. I tweaked it by stretching the quinoa across four servings instead of two and adding Greek yoghurt for more protein. Then came the toppings: nectarine or peach slices, raspberries, almonds, and—of course—a generous drizzle of maple syrup (a non-negotiable at breakfast). It’s colourful, satisfying, and makes mornings feel just a little brighter.

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MUSIC INTERLUDE

April brought a surprising wave of great new songs. What’s been soundtracking your days lately?

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BOOKMARKS

My April reads came courtesy of my local library. Earlier this year, I took some time to put holds on most of the new releases that piqued my interest. Of course, in true library fashion, they all arrived at once. A fresh drop every week, keeping me on my toes. I couldn’t let my fellow bookworms down, so I paused my current reads and gently cracked open the spines. Some were brilliant, a few were a bit disappointing, and then there were the nice in-betweens.

april reading menu

• Rebel Witch by Kristen Ciccarelli (romantasy)

• The Lamb by Lucy Rose (horror)

• A Thousand Blues by Cheon Seon-ran (I would call it “soft” sci-fi)

• Good Girl by Aria Aber (literary fiction)

• Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng by Kylie Lee Baker (horror)

• Sunrise on the Reaping by Suzanne Collins (dystopia)

• The Lantern of Lost Memories by Sanaka Hiiragi (magical realism)

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Rebel Witch (The Crimson Moth #2) by Kristen Ciccarelli

When I first stepped into The Crimson Moth series, the balance between romance and fantasy felt evenly struck, a 50/50 split (or at least that’s how I remember it). Maybe that’s why it resonated with such a wide audience. With Rebel Witch, though, the scales tipped. While the plot had real potential, the romance stole the spotlight, and the story itself faded into the background. It should have soared, but instead it felt all too predictable.

Kristen Ciccarelli leaned heavily into internal monologues, letting most of the communication play out inside the characters’ minds. The back-and-forth became repetitive, circling the same thoughts. Interestingly, where The Crimson Moth felt like a crossover into new adult territory, this sequel landed firmly in YA. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s not quite my cup of tea. In the end, it never quite took flight.

The Lamb by Lucy Rose

Cannibalism has been the hot topic in fiction in recent years. Sometimes political, sometimes feminist, sometimes just blood-soaked spectacle.

There’s something disturbingly tender about The Lamb. It walks a thin line between horror and intimacy, following a mother and daughter who share an appetite for human (stray) meat, prepared with care. It reminded me of the film Bones and All (dir. Luca Guadagnino, 2022, based on Camille DeAngelis’ novel)—not in its gore, but in its craving; that haunting hunger.

The plot moves linearly, almost too cleanly. That is, until Lucy Rose hit me with a twist at the very end that I genuinely didn’t see coming. It elevated the whole thing and left me thinking about it longer than I expected.

A Thousand Blues by Cheon Seon-ran (tr. Chi-Young Kim)

I usually shy away from stories built around technology. They often split between two poles: robot uprising or robots discovering they have feelings. A Thousand Blues leans toward the latter, in the vein of Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro, but with a surprising extra layer: horse racing.

Yep. With robots as jockeys. It sounds strange, but it works. Cheon Seon-ran draws a quiet but powerful comparison between manufactured lives, both robotic and animal. And somehow, it’s all incredibly moving. The writing doesn’t shout its opinions; it whispers them through the characters' reflections. I also think the timing of its publication was spot on, as AI is a hot topic lately.

Structurally, the book starts at the end and then flips us back to the beginning—one of my favourite storytelling tricks. Bonus points for pulling it off with such elegance that I immediately turned back to the first page. Beautiful, thoughtful, and timely. Spoiler: I cried.

The characters carried the plot. Everything was pretty solid. I felt like I was moving along seamlessly with them until the end. All in all, it had some beautiful moments that made me reflect not just on AI or technology, but on how we’re all craving softness lately. And we could all benefit from slowing down, gazing at the “blue-blue and dazzling” sky. I think this might be her first work translated into English, and I hope there will be more.

Yeonjae says mistake is another word for opportunity.

‘Because it’s all too fast’, he said. ‘It’s okay to be a little slower, isn’t it.’

Good Girl by Aria Aber

What begins as a seemingly simple coming-of-age tale—girl turns 19, navigates Berlin’s nightclubs and identity crises—reveals itself to be far more layered. Nila tells everyone she’s Greek, not Afghan. She is spinning through identity crises with neon lights and a 36-year-old boyfriend in tow (yikes). This erasure happens in a Germany still wrestling with its history, in a post-9/11 world still finding its voice.

There’s so much simmering under the surface: race, history, trauma, the weight of silence. And Aria Aber doesn’t spoon-feed you. You have to sit with it, let it marinate. I was frustrated with Nila. I wanted to shake her. But also? I understood her. Twenty-something chaos in all its familiar glory.

A girl can get in almost anywhere, even if she can’t get out.

I rolled my eyes, not entirely without envy, and yet I was drawn to him. The way everyone is to the gifted.

Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng by Kylie Lee Baker

I went into this book with nothing but a trusted friend’s recommendation—and I’m so glad I did. Bat Eater plunges us into the heart of the 2020 pandemic, not in hindsight, but in real time. It’s eerie, raw, and profoundly necessary.

Cora, an American-born Chinese woman in her mid-twenties, is dealing with grief, racism, and something strange—really strange—brewing in the dark. Through this brutal reality, Kylie Lee Baker weaves folklore and magical realism with spine-tingling precision. Ghosts, grief, rage—they all live side by side. The writing is immersive and unsettling in all the right ways. I had to keep the lights on (those who read the book will understand why).

While I would recommend going in blind, I’d also suggest reading the synopsis to know what you’re getting into. The events described there—especially in the opening chapters—were deeply upsetting. This isn’t your typical “pandemic novel.” It’s a gut-punch wrapped in gorgeous writing and clever twists. Easily in my top five of the year.

"You're stressed," he says. "Eat a pineapple cake."

"That's not how stress works," Cora says.

"I beg to fucking differ," Harvey says, pushing the package toward her. "If anyone deserves a pineapple cake at three a.m., it's you, Cora.”

Sunrise on the Reaping (The Hunger Games #0.5) by Suzanne Collins

Oh, Haymitch, we’ve waited years to hear your origin story. I was 18 when I first devoured The Hunger Games, and like many, I felt for Katniss & Peeta’s mentor and wanted to peel back the layers to understand why he was the way he was. Strangely enough, I was never interested in President Snow’s origin story. Suzanne Collins still delivered it, before Haymitch, in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, and I enjoyed it. Now I also think I enjoyed it because it filled in the details surrounding the games. Sunrise on the Reaping, as a prequel to the original series, doesn’t stand as neatly alone.

Parts of it felt like fan service, and the beginning was slow. Once we were thrown into the arena, I felt that old knot in my stomach return. The bloodshed began. The horror of the Capitol’s cruelty came flooding back—not just the violence, but the twisted design of it all. Frankly, I think these were quite traumatic reads for an 18-year-old, and Sunrise on the Reaping certainly was too. I think I liked it—but maybe that’s just my teenage self talking. I’m not sure how the series would land if I read it fresh today.

Games or no games. If you’ve got enough bones in your body, you eat a bully?

The Lantern of Lost Memories by Sanaka Hiiragi

After all the death and chaos from Sunrise on the Reaping, I needed something cosy, and The Lantern of Lost Memories delivered. Japanese fiction really knows how to soothe the soul.

The premise: a photo studio between life and death, where you revisit memories through pictures and make a lantern out of them. Some memories fade, and you can even travel back to retake them. Pure magic.

It reminded me of Before the Coffee Gets Cold—gentle, a bit whimsical, quietly emotional. However, the ending was a bit wobbly. It felt like the author had a beautiful concept and poignant conclusion, but struggled with connecting them. Still, I’m glad I read it. It offered the kind of softness I was craving.

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As April folds into May, I’m curious—have you been leaning into any soft rituals lately too? Felt the tug of the in-between? I'd love to hear what this month has looked like for you.

Until next time,
Amandine

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