For years, the author of How to Sew a Button never needed to know how to sew a button. After all, as a senior staff writer at SELF magazine, Erin Bried interviews celebrities around the globe, and her every mundane need—from a mani-pedi to house-cleaning, laundry and meals—is taken care of by people who are paid to do so. Gradually, however, came the realization that through neglect, her practical life skills had dwindled to nil. She found herself afflicted with a classic case of domestic incompetence. Sensing rightly that she was far from alone, she wrote this guide to help the similarly challenged.

Her argument is that all of us are capable of making a decent pie crust, doing our own nails, hanging a picture and hemming a pair of trousers, and that surely we’d feel better if we tried. Why farm out daily details to specialists if we can take care of them ourselves? We’d save money and self-respect. And it isn’t as if we have to do it all, all the time. The goal is to know how to do a few crucial things here and there, and to know when to ask for help. If you can roast a chicken, unclog a toilet, iron a shirt, balance a checkbook, introduce people, swaddle a baby and keep houseplants alive, you qualify as a Domestic Goddess by any reasonable standards.

And standards are kept reasonable by the influence of a unique panel of experts behind each of the many topics. The author interviewed 10 grandmothers who survived the Great Depression with a “make do or do without” attitude, and whose collective wisdom weeds the necessary from the nonsense. Readers are honorary heirs to these balabustas (Yiddish for masterful homemakers), and can approach each gentle lesson as the need arises.

Combating domestic illiteracy one button at a time, How to Sew a Button is a refreshing take on DIY and self-care, valuable for women at any stage of life.

Joanna Brichetto uses her grandmother’s old sewing box regularly. 

In popular culture, when men talk about being men they follow a certain formula. We’re probably going to hear about the protagonist looking deeply into the eyes of his firstborn child, his wild single days and the emotional rigors of being a husband. There’s almost a sense that men live the same life; just the names of the primary characters change.

Novelist Michael Chabon’s book of essays, Manhood for Amateurs: The Pleasures and Regrets of a Husband, Father, and Son, fits into that paradigm, but not perfectly. Thank goodness. Chabon focuses on the almost-overlooked moments of his life, and the result is a sparkling, clear-headed collection that provides a glorious look at the makeup of a man.

The Pulitzer Prize winner (The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay; Wonder Boys) waxes poetic about the creative benefits of the crappy TV shows and movies of his youth, compared to the polished, CGI-animated treats of today, which “don’t leave anything implied, unstated, incomplete.” He talks about the growing sense of doom accompanying his daughter’s blossoming into womanhood and how getting a men’s purse, or “murse,” represents one of the key benefits of getting older—not caring what other people think. Chabon also installs a towel rack, worries about his wife and examines other wonders of childhood: getting lost, the seductive power of basements and the shattered world of scatological humor.

As has been observed repeatedly, Chabon is an awesome talent. He’s blessed with observational shrewdness and a gift for nimble wordplay, but that never obscures the points he makes. (That last talent has served him well as a novelist, and it’s especially helpful here.) The essays, most of which previously appeared in Details, are nostalgic, funny and introspective while never straining for style points or wallowing in sentiment. It’s the kind of writing you read twice, not to get a better understanding, but to better appreciate the man’s abilities. Chabon is a regular guy—except that he can expertly explain himself with smooth, embracing eloquence. The rest of us have to stick to the same old story.

Pete Croatto is a New Jersey-based freelance writer.