⋒ favorite books of 2020 ⋒
I read 24 books in 2020 and this list is comprised of 18 titles (one, Devotions, by Mary Oliver, only partway finished but a favorite nonetheless and therefore its inclusion with the 2020 lot) which I considered my favorites from the year. With a ratio like that, I'm not sure whether that suggests I have a discerning eye when selecting what to read, or if it simply means that I am easily satisfied and effusive in my praise of the written word—more likely, perhaps, it is a little of both. I continue to use and love Goodreads—if you are on the platform, let's be friends! I love seeing updates on what friends are reading and saying about what they're reading throughout the year.
Without further ado, and in no particular order, the list:
Untamed // Glennon Doyle
This was one of my very favorite reads of the year. I hate that this book gets lumped into the nebulous genre of "self-help"—this book is almost antithetical to the notion of traditional self-help, as it encourages modern women to go against the grain of the shoulds and coulds imposed by our world, in search of the primal (for lack of a better word) parts of our truest and deepest selves and natures. I love Clarissa Pinkola Estes' Women Who Run With the Wolves and I think Untamed is a more accessible-to-the-masses book with a similar ethos. I love Glennon Doyle and I admire her commitment to living wholeheartedly and owning her mistakes and overcoming them as she takes notes and moves forward. If you don't follow her and her wife Abby on Instagram, you probably should (and expect great things like this and this).
"The blueprints of heaven are etched in the deep desires of women. What women want is good. What women want is beautiful. And what women want is dangerous, but not to women. Not to the common good. What women want is a threat to the injustice of the status quo. If we unlocked an unleashed ourselves:
Imbalanced relationships would be equalized.Children would be fed.Corrupt governments would topple.Wars would end.Civilizations would be transformed.
If women trusted and claimed their desires, the world as we know it would crumble. Perhaps that is precisely what needs to happen so we can rebuild truer, more beautiful lives, relationships, families, and nations in their place.
Maybe Eve was never meant to be our warning. Maybe she was meant to be our model.
Own your wanting.
Eat the apple.
Let it burn."
This Fight is Our Fight: The Battle to Save America's Middle Class // Elizabeth Warren
I had the pleasure and privilege to volunteer with Elizabeth Warren's campaign in Utah and I am still very sad that we did not elect her when we had the chance. I started reading her book early in 2020, but did not finish until after the writing was on the wall with regard to the Democratic primaries; still, I found this an excellent read and its contents remain relevant for anyone who wants a better understanding of how the economy once worked for the middle class, but has since waned in its benefits for that same demographic.
Mariana // Monica Dickens
The preface in the Persephone edition, penned by Harriet Lane (btw, just went down the most interesting of rabbitholes trying to identify which Harriet Lane, turns out this one is a contemporary author and not the one who was a stand-in FLOTUS for her bachelor uncle James Buchanan!), summarizes this novel better than I ever could—"It possesses the same bespoke qualities that make Dusty Answer, I Capture the Castle, Rebecca, and The Pursuit of Love such thrilling, absorbing, galloping reads. A whole world is conjured up quite effortlessly; and, when he arrives, the hero is everything you've been waiting for. In other words, Mariana belongs, quite triumphantly, to the hot-water bottle genre of fiction."
p.s. Persephone also has an e-book version!
How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy // Jenny Odell
This was one of several prescient pre-pandemic reads and also on my list of runners-up for prettiest cover. I read this book expecting an invective against modern technology, but instead found it a stunning critique of capitalism and how it treats the human condition as a problem to be solved and achievement as a certain benchmark of productivity to be reached.
Odell makes a compelling case that it is unrealistic and short-sighted to disengage completely from modern technology; here she draws an interesting parallel with the social communes of the 1960s and how those ultimately were failed experiments because they neglected the structure that is necessary in a civil society. Rather, Odell makes the case that we can play the game but refute the prescribed rules, instead rewriting the cultural mores that form the value systems we live by. She turns to the great social Indigenous revolution of decolonization as a pattern for how we might do this, and with it, recommends that we develop a personal and intimate understanding of and attention to the physical places and spaces we inhabit and frequent. In doing so, we become rooted and connected to our physical environs and regain control of our attention, that we might use it to further our own interests, rather than unwittingly dispense with it as fuel in a vicious capitalist cycle that tries to monetize our attention and use productivity as a measure of our and others’ worthiness, as a means to a very narrow end.
I loved this book because Odell dwells on many ideas and questions that consume much of my existential mental energy, particularly in the last couple of years. I felt comfort, solidarity, and hope when reading her words. I would rate this book 4.5 stars if I could, simply because I sensed that with better editing, her meandering thoughts and arguments could have been arranged into a tighter narrative—though this is less a qualm with Odell’s work than it is simply one reader’s preference and observation. I marked and dog-eared my copy and intend to return to Odell’s ideas often as I continue to navigate and come to grips with this modern and technological age.
P.S. Jenny Odell has also given me hope that I might yet befriend the magpies that hang out on my roofline eaves.
On Immunity: An Inoculation // Eula Biss
This was another prescient pre-pandemic read, recommended by my friend Shannon. It's almost eerie, now, rereading passages from this book discussing vaccines, the fallacies of anti-vaxxers, and the pre-emptive measures taken by the World Health Organization during the H1N1 pandemic. It is very real as we have lived through almost a year of a pandemic, rife with medical misinformation and non-believers, all the while COVID-19 ravages the globe.
This Fight is Our Fight: The Battle to Save America's Middle Class // Elizabeth Warren
I had the pleasure and privilege to volunteer with Elizabeth Warren's campaign in Utah and I am still very sad that we did not elect her when we had the chance. I started reading her book early in 2020, but did not finish until after the writing was on the wall with regard to the Democratic primaries; still, I found this an excellent read and its contents remain relevant for anyone who wants a better understanding of how the economy once worked for the middle class, but has since waned in its benefits for that same demographic.
Warren's education background is evident in her writing—she explains ideas clearly and concisely, and never in a way that demeans the intellect or insight of the reader. I found this book a very useful primer to some of the practical implications of American politics in the 1980s and 1990s; I was not born in the 80s and was just a kid in the 90s, so the nuances of the era's political workings were lost on me and glossed over when I learned about these eras in history classes (and perhaps because of their recency, the full impacts of the policies of the time had not yet been borne out). Warren reviews a series of events over the course of the 20th Century that helped to shape the American economy for the middle and working class, notably the Great Depression of the 1930s, the recovery period that lasted for decades, and the Great Recession of the late 2000s and its after-effects.
She highlights how we have veered off-course (in this case, the course being to ensure the ability of hard-working Americans to earn a living, pursue and receive an education, own a home, and retire in modest comfort—seemingly reasonably attainable goals) in the last several decades by continuing to elect Republican politicians bent on theories (the operative word) of trickle-down economics, which has shown time and time again to not bear the fruits for the people it purports to help—those at the bottom of the economic food-chain. I remain convinced that Warren's plans for the U.S. were the most practical, progressive, AND doable of her Democratic contenders; too many Americans are afraid of socialism and I don't think Bernie could have won popular support, though many of his ideas and Warren's share common elements. I think Elizabeth Warren has common-sense policies, a reasonable and realistic plan to fund them, and the ability to illustrate to the American people how she would move forward with those plans. Granted, the cooperation of Congress is another story, but I think the pandemic has only laid bare the vast wealth inequalities in this country, and that too many of the people in power are too inclined to keep it that way.
Writing this summary reminds me of the effect this book had on me—it made me feel hopeful and empowered to help bring to fruition Warren's vision (which is the shared vision of many Americans) for all of us, and most especially, for the least of us. This is still my favorite video of all time.
Mariana // Monica Dickens
The preface in the Persephone edition, penned by Harriet Lane (btw, just went down the most interesting of rabbitholes trying to identify which Harriet Lane, turns out this one is a contemporary author and not the one who was a stand-in FLOTUS for her bachelor uncle James Buchanan!), summarizes this novel better than I ever could—"It possesses the same bespoke qualities that make Dusty Answer, I Capture the Castle, Rebecca, and The Pursuit of Love such thrilling, absorbing, galloping reads. A whole world is conjured up quite effortlessly; and, when he arrives, the hero is everything you've been waiting for. In other words, Mariana belongs, quite triumphantly, to the hot-water bottle genre of fiction."
Really though, this was a delightful, wonderful read. I laughed aloud so many times while reading from the sheer delight and the exactitude of so many situations in which Mary found herself, painfully relatable at times. I read this early in the pandemic, when hot water bottles were just the sort of comfort I needed, physically, and emotionally. The endpaper in my Persephone paperback is lovely.
p.s. Persephone also has an e-book version!
How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy // Jenny Odell
This was one of several prescient pre-pandemic reads and also on my list of runners-up for prettiest cover. I read this book expecting an invective against modern technology, but instead found it a stunning critique of capitalism and how it treats the human condition as a problem to be solved and achievement as a certain benchmark of productivity to be reached.
Odell makes a compelling case that it is unrealistic and short-sighted to disengage completely from modern technology; here she draws an interesting parallel with the social communes of the 1960s and how those ultimately were failed experiments because they neglected the structure that is necessary in a civil society. Rather, Odell makes the case that we can play the game but refute the prescribed rules, instead rewriting the cultural mores that form the value systems we live by. She turns to the great social Indigenous revolution of decolonization as a pattern for how we might do this, and with it, recommends that we develop a personal and intimate understanding of and attention to the physical places and spaces we inhabit and frequent. In doing so, we become rooted and connected to our physical environs and regain control of our attention, that we might use it to further our own interests, rather than unwittingly dispense with it as fuel in a vicious capitalist cycle that tries to monetize our attention and use productivity as a measure of our and others’ worthiness, as a means to a very narrow end.
I loved this book because Odell dwells on many ideas and questions that consume much of my existential mental energy, particularly in the last couple of years. I felt comfort, solidarity, and hope when reading her words. I would rate this book 4.5 stars if I could, simply because I sensed that with better editing, her meandering thoughts and arguments could have been arranged into a tighter narrative—though this is less a qualm with Odell’s work than it is simply one reader’s preference and observation. I marked and dog-eared my copy and intend to return to Odell’s ideas often as I continue to navigate and come to grips with this modern and technological age.
P.S. Jenny Odell has also given me hope that I might yet befriend the magpies that hang out on my roofline eaves.
On Immunity: An Inoculation // Eula Biss
This was another prescient pre-pandemic read, recommended by my friend Shannon. It's almost eerie, now, rereading passages from this book discussing vaccines, the fallacies of anti-vaxxers, and the pre-emptive measures taken by the World Health Organization during the H1N1 pandemic. It is very real as we have lived through almost a year of a pandemic, rife with medical misinformation and non-believers, all the while COVID-19 ravages the globe.
Eula Biss's father is a doctor and I love the thought that her familial exposure to medicine may have led somehow to this incredible work of non-fiction, a sort of cultural history of vaccination and immunity. The cover image is a striking painting by Rubens illustrating the myth of Achilles—using this as the starting point, Biss highlights how immunity and our preconceptions of disease live in the collective consciousness and have for centuries. Her observations on capitalism resonated deeply with me, and again, the prescient nature of this pre-pandemic read strikes me once more as I reread sections that I marked and annotated back in January and February of last year. For months I was so frustrated with Utah's elected officials, whose official response placed a higher priority on the economy than on human life; for so long, our Governor and Lt. Governor acted in deference to the business executives rather than the public health officials. Now as I see social media posts and text messages and photos from family members and friends receiving their doses of the COVID-19 vaccine, I can't help but feel a bit weepy; at long last it seems there may indeed be a light at the end of the tunnel.
One of my favorite passages is this recasting of herd immunity, exchanging for a metaphor more fitting for our time: "If we were to exchange the metaphor of the herd for a hive, perhaps the concept of shared immunity might be more appealing. Honeybees are matriarchal, environmental do-gooders who also happen to be entirely interdependent. The health of any individual bee, as we know from the recent epidemic of colony collapse, depends on the health of the hive. . . The cooperative work of bees...is an example of the kind of collective problem solving our own society depends on."
Circe // Madeline Miller
Circe was recommended by my friend Elizabeth and I believe I am already due for a reread. This was the first book I finished in 2020 and it set a wonderful tone for the year. It reminded me in part of C.S. Lewis's Until We Have Faces, as I found many similarities between their two main characters, both of whom are born into a particular set of circumstances and position but often feel on the outside of it. This novel takes place somewhat adjacent to many of the stories and legends of ancient Greece, and the way in which Miller introduced familiar characters intermingled with Circe's life was fascinating. Her work of weaving was a beautiful metaphor, too, and underscored the quotidian but beautiful nature of women's work. Circe spans many years and generations with one character and throughout the novel, the many threads of Circe's story lay the groundwork for what in the end is a triumphant, poignant finish.
The Vanishing Half // Brit Bennett
“[I]t is not the anger of Black women which is dripping down over this globe like a diseased liquid. It is not my anger that launches rockets, spends over sixty thousand dollars a second on missiles and other agents of war and death, slaughters children in cities, stockpiles nerve gas and chemical bombs, sodomizes our daughters and our earth. It is not the anger of Black women which corrodes into blind, dehumanizing power, bent upon the annihilation of us all unless we meet it with what we have, our power to examine and to redefine the terms upon which we live and work; our power to envision and to reconstruct, anger by painful anger, stone upon heavy stone, a future of pollinating difference and the earth to support our choices.” -Audre Lorde, “The Uses of Anger,” Sister Outsider
Circe // Madeline Miller
Circe was recommended by my friend Elizabeth and I believe I am already due for a reread. This was the first book I finished in 2020 and it set a wonderful tone for the year. It reminded me in part of C.S. Lewis's Until We Have Faces, as I found many similarities between their two main characters, both of whom are born into a particular set of circumstances and position but often feel on the outside of it. This novel takes place somewhat adjacent to many of the stories and legends of ancient Greece, and the way in which Miller introduced familiar characters intermingled with Circe's life was fascinating. Her work of weaving was a beautiful metaphor, too, and underscored the quotidian but beautiful nature of women's work. Circe spans many years and generations with one character and throughout the novel, the many threads of Circe's story lay the groundwork for what in the end is a triumphant, poignant finish.
The Vanishing Half // Brit Bennett
This was one of my favorite novels of the year. I haven't read Bennett's earlier book The Mothers, but definitely plan to. The Vanishing Half was a deftly woven story of several generations of characters, dealing in their own ways with the construct of race, race as an identity, social capital, what it means to be seen, and words and identities (both) as weapons. The title speaks to a primary theme in the novel and appeared throughout for the various characters in ways I had not expected. Bennett’s characters and their inner complexities drew me in and kept me there, a fascinated audience member to this drama of lies and multiple lives. Bennett is such a talented writer and the way she evoked a sense of place was marvelous.
p.s. In case you were wondering, this novel was on Barack Obama's end-of-year list!
Jack // Marilynne Robinson
Another Obama end-of-year choice; he and I share a love of Marilynne Robinson. This novel was such a gift in 2020, as Robinson's last work of fiction was published in 2014, and her quiet contemplative writing was just what my soul needed. This cover design (and its complements in the other volumes) is another runner-up for favorite design of the year.
This novel recounts a brief part of the life of Jack Boughton, many years after he left his hometown of Gilead. Specifically, this novel focuses on Jack's interracial relationship with Della Miles, a Black woman and preacher's daughter—Jack, a preacher's son, though long since prodigal, and their relationship technically illegal. As Jack navigates the issues of societal norms and expectations, his own sense of morality, and the morality to which he aspires for Della's sake, he forges a path forward and remembers where life has taken him in the past, often recollecting his shortcomings and failings. Jack's central existential preoccupation is the notion of doing no harm, but his bent toward his vices seems to overpower him at nearly every turn. His character reminds me, in part, of Cal in East of Eden; Jack hopes to be good but knows he is not. But his honesty with himself belies his hope in reform, despite all lived evidence to the contrary. In this way, his is another episode or repetition of the primordial story of what it is to be human.
As is typical of Robinson's novels (though now I am trying to remember if Housekeeping follows this narrative trait or not; it's been so long since I've read it and I don't remember! I also don't have my own copy otherwise I could reference it/fact-check this assumption), this one reads as a stream of consciousness of its protagonist, with plot exposition interwoven as mediated through his thoughts and observations of the events as they are taking place. I think for any other writer, perhaps, this would be a dangerous stylistic choice, but as always, Robinson achieves her end with grace and a beautifully rendered story arc.
Rebecca // Daphne du Maurier
This was one of my favorite novels of the year (and also, ever). It is absolutely gripping, and in a year when my attention span [for reading] suffered at the hands of anxiety and depression, that quality is not one to be ignored. du Maurier's writing reels you in and immerses you in the seaside setting of Manderley—the opening scene is a dream or perhaps a memory, then in Oz-like fashion, everything roars to life in color on the coast of France where the story begins. Published in 1938, it truly reads as a modern Gothic novel and du Maurier's grasp and execution of the genre is impressive.
Rebecca is one of several du Maurier novels that Alfred Hitchcock adapted for the screen. I think I need to read her other works; I read My Cousin Rachel several years back, but found for some reason that Rebecca resonated much more. I grew up on the Hitchcock adaptation of Rebecca (1940), but re-watched it after completing the novel and before the Netflix adaptation's release. The movie notably alters a couple of crucial plot points—I was surprised, as they seemed like significant alterations! I won't mention them here (my sister says there is a statute of limitations on spoiler alerts, but since this is a classic novel I myself was decades late to, I'll spare you;) If you've read the book and seen both films, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the matter! Regarding the Netflix adaptation, it was the eye candy we all needed at month six of the pandemic, however, it fell flat in many regards. I loved my friend Meg's comments on it; she observed that the Netflix adaptation lacked the depth and vibrancy of its female lead, perhaps because the film was directed by a man. In effect, it did not plumb nearly far enough into the depths of the interior life of the main character, and ultimately did not deliver on its viewers expectations—disappointing, to say the least, for a psychological thriller. But enough about the movies—read the book!
Devotions // Mary Oliver
Longtime readers will know I adore Mary Oliver and have loved her work for so long. This volume is absolutely wonderful. I love reading each poem, knowing it was selected by Oliver herself for inclusion. I'm about halfway through at this writing and have savored every page. The selections from Thirst were especially wonderful, as I had not come across them before (favorites of this section: "Six Recognitions of the Lord," "Gethsemane," "The Poet Thinks About the Donkey," "Praying," "Thirst," and stanza 7 of "On Thy Wondrous Works I Will Meditate").
From the Acknowledgments:
"Devotions is arranged by date of publication, but in the instance of Dog Songs, a volume collecting many earlier poems, it was worth a bit of mischief to allow all the dogs to be together." Mary Oliver is a treasure and I am eternally grateful that I coexisted briefly on the same planet as her.
favorites: too many to possibly enumerate in any kind of meaningful distillation
The Dutch House // Anne Patchett
This novel was not very personally compelling (as opposed to others on this list which resonated on a personal level), but as always, I loved Anne Patchett's writing and the process of being drawn into one of her stories. I loved that the Dutch House is its own character within this family's story, a sort of architectural love letter to the place they inhabited. This novel is a slow burn but builds momentum as the plot points slowly begin to converge towards the end. I think I still prefer Patchett's essays to her fiction, and I preferred Commonwealth to The Dutch House, but I nonetheless enjoyed this read and the story behind the cover image (another favorite from this year, and so striking).
Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches // Audre Lorde
This was one of my very favorite books that I read in 2020. This is ESSENTIAL READING.
favorites:
"Poetry Is Not a Luxury"
"The Transformation of Silence into Language and Action"
"Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power"
"The Master's Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master's House"
"Age, Race, Class, and Sex: Women Redefining Difference"
"The Uses of Anger: Women Responding to Racism"
Little Fires Everywhere // Celeste Ng
The way Ng plumbs the depths of the inner lives of her characters gave way to a reading experience which felt like peeling back the layers of an onion. Juxtaposed with the complex web of their outer lives, the effect was masterful. This novel was fascinating on so many levels (thematically and otherwise). I thought the Hulu series captured some aspects well, but I thought it lost the depths of the characters' inner lives, particularly Mia (though I will say that the show's art direction really nailed The Photo—it was such a striking image and they brought it to life beyond perfectly). To some extent, I think this is on account of the translation from the page to the screen. There is so much richness to the themes Ng explores, packaged tidily and unassumingly into a story about class and race and keeping up appearances.Intimations // Zadie Smith
This short series of essays written during the COVID-19 pandemic and quarantine period is so striking. Zadie Smith’s observations on culture and society through the lens of a global crisis are illuminating."Talking to yourself can be useful. And writing means being overheard." I have recently discovered the collaborative project The Isolation Journals and it feels very resonant with the ethos and headspace of Smith's Intimations.
favorites:
"Peonies"
"The American Exception"
"Something to Do"
"Screengrabs"—"A Man with Strong Hands" and "A Hovering Young Man"
What Kind of Woman: Poems // Kate Baer
Kate Baer wins for Most Beautiful Cover, no question. I love Kate's work and the way she negates and refutes the usual tired narratives fed to women and girls, by reworking them into fresh new visions for our future.
favorites:
"Advice for Former Selves"
"My Friend Bethany Rages at the News"
*"Female Candidate" <--- if I had to pick only one favorite, this is it
"Things Men Say to Me"
"2020"
"For the Advice Cards at Bridal Showers"
"New Year"
"Dogs at the Park"
"Back to School Shopping"
"The Martian"
p.s. Shout-out to my sister, who was Kate's publicist on this book!! Emily was visiting me when Kate's publication day took place and it was exciting to see the press and coverage pouring in, including this Vogue feature, Cup of Jo's lovely blog feature on Kate's beauty uniform, and Kate's debut as number 1 on the NYTimes Bestseller's List!!!
Mosses and Lichens: Poems // Devin Johnston
I discovered this book by accident when I happened upon this volume at The King's English and was immediately drawn in by its title as well as its cover artwork (obvi could not resist a thematic flatlay). Devin Johnston’s poems are quiet but arresting; his writing is rich and layered, qualities belied by the title of this collection. He is one of several poets I’ve read and loved who uses traditional poetic form in an occasional and subtle but present manner (not hitting you over the head with it, like iambic pentameter—which, don’t get me wrong, I love in its appropriate contexts). He also uses words to their full advantage, fully leaning into their multitudinous nuances and full meaning. The result is wonderful and I’m looking forward to reading more of his work.
favorites:
"Mosses and Lichens"
"Clyde's Drawing"
"Domestic Scenes"
"Pachelbel's Canon"
"An Epoch"
"A Small Kingdom"
"Prehistoric"
"High Water"
"Futilities"
"The Well"
"The Fall of Icarus"
"Early November"
"Poem for the New Year"
Scriptorium: Poems // Melissa Range
I found this book of poems due to Tracy K. Smith's introduction and endorsement on the cover, and it did not disappoint. This slim volume holds so much richness, like a looking glass into an archivist's treasure trove of illuminated manuscripts and inky pigments crushed from shells and stone. I found the subject matter fascinating and the end notes were illuminating as to the specifics of many sources of inspiration for the poems in this volume. Melissa Range’s language is deft and rich, qualities shared by the physical aspect of the illuminated manuscripts of which she often writes.
"In library books, the rules for subjects long-assigned: / for children's tales, use "pigs"; for grown-ups', prefer "swine." / How now, white sow, on which one will you dine? / Wilbur is "some pig"; Napoleon, some swine." -excerpt, "Pigs (See Swine)"
Endnotes: "According to Library of Congress rules, one must classify children's books about pigs under "pigs" and adult books about pigs under "swine"; the terms are not interchangeable."
And I loved this, from the acknowledgments: "Thank you to my East Tennessee family, whose musical speech was the first poetry I heard."
favorites:
"Verdigris"
"Labyrinth, Chartres"
"Navajo Code Talkers, WWII"
"Ultramarine"
"All Creation Wept"
HRH: So Many Thoughts on Royal Style // Elizabeth Holmes
I've been a follower of Elizabeth Holmes' Instagram account for several years and continue to love her commentary on the British royals. Holmes journalism background is evident and this book is meticulously researched and presented. The content is inherently different from her "So Many Thoughts" series on Instagram, but the two platforms (online, book) are certainly complementary—both underline the sentiment that one can be both a woman of style and of substance. The images in the book are gorgeous and it was a perfect read as I caught up on the seasons 3 and 4 of Netflix's series The Crown.
I've been a follower of Elizabeth Holmes' Instagram account for several years and continue to love her commentary on the British royals. Holmes journalism background is evident and this book is meticulously researched and presented. The content is inherently different from her "So Many Thoughts" series on Instagram, but the two platforms (online, book) are certainly complementary—both underline the sentiment that one can be both a woman of style and of substance. The images in the book are gorgeous and it was a perfect read as I caught up on the seasons 3 and 4 of Netflix's series The Crown.
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