One of the few truly great things I did in 2020 was read. A good book kept me away from the headlines and allowed me to escape or learn something or think about my life differently. I read more books this year than ever before. How did I do it? I occasionally read more than one book at a time, and I also listened to a number of audiobooks -- I found a few that really hooked me, which is rare. I also didn't read a lot of long books, so that helped. And I purchased a Kindle Paperwhite earlier in the year, thinking it would come in handy on my travels, but it turned out to be a godsend during a pandemic, too.
For reference, more books I've read: (See: Year 1 | Year 2 | Year 3 | Year 4 | Year 5 | Year 6 | Year 7)
Since I'm dealing with a longer list of books this year, I'm going to format this a bit differently in hopes that it's not a slog to read, or to write.
A re-read: Peace Like a River by Leif Enger. I read this shortly after graduating college, so 15 years ago? It still held up as a great story though slightly sentimental, one of those books that has a message.
Favorite new-to-me author (though unfortunately now dead): Mavis Gallant. I read two of her collections this year: The Other Paris and Across the Bridge. Her stories are ones I can really sink into. They're largely about nothing in particular, but her character development is so rich and surprising, sad and hilarious. She is a master of minute detail. If you are an internal processor, you might love her, too.
Books I felt the need to read and ultimately wished I hadn't: My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh and Normal People by Sally Rooney. I think I've aged out of whatever genre this is, or am just no longer drawn to drama of this sort.
Books about precocious children: How to Behave in a Crowd by Camille Bordas and Nothing to See Here by Kevin Wilson. How to Behave... was my favorite. Isadore is a 12-year-old youngest child who keeps running away from his super-smart family in France, but doesn't want to cause trouble. His perspective of the world and of people is so heartbreaking, insightful and true. The writing and the dialogue between siblings is smart and surprising and made for a joyful read (despite the darkness of the plot). The ending hit me hard. Nothing to See Here was a different kind of read, especially since I listened to the audiobook -- enjoyable but somewhat forgettable.
Books that were recommended to me: The Curse of the Boyfriend Sweater: Essays on Crafting by Alanna Okun; and No Baggage: A Minimalist Tale of Love and Wandering by Clara Bensen. Both were recommended to me by a longtime coworker who clearly gets me (thanks, Julie!). Reading Okun's essays felt like passages I might have written about crafting and anxiety and connection; Bensen reminded me of myself in my 20s when I had just begun to date a guy named Joel who made me feel adventurous and alive and willing to take a few risks.
Most rewarding fiction of the year: Flights by Olga Tokarczuk. This was a truly masterful work that completely surprised me. It's a book about the passage of time, of migration and travel, of the body, and to be honest, it was a good challenge for me. By the end I questioned what it was I had just been through, then I re-read the beginning and began to put the puzzle together.
Two very random audiobooks about death: Why Religion? A Personal Story by Elaine Pagels; and Sum: Forty Tales from the Afterlives by David Eagleman. I mean, you have to be in the mood for these. In the former, there's a lot of tragic and untimely death in this woman's life, and the woman also happens to be a religious scholar, but wasn't brought up in a religious home. The audiobook element didn't add anything to it. However, with Sum, another book about death, each tale was narrated by a different reader, which was probably the only reason I listened. I don't remember a single one now, though.
The book worth revisiting every four years or less: Hope in the Dark by Rebecca Solnit. I love that she points out that the word "emerge" is inside the word "emergency." I've thought about that a lot this year.
The best audiobook I've ever heard and this is not an overstatement: The Dutch House by Ann Patchett, read by Tom Hanks. The thing that's missing for me with audiobooks is that I rarely get that feeling I get with physical books of not wanting to put a book down, or looking forward to picking it back up again. Not with this one. I made sure I had it with me anytime I had time to listen -- on walks, on errands, while knitting. It was an excellent story, and I love Ann Patchett in general and the ways she writes about family, but with Tom Hanks in the mix, in the early throes of the pandemic, it was just a delight. I would listen to it again on my next roadtrip, whenever we do that again.
Escapist pandemic reads: The Altogether Unexpected Disappearance of Atticus Craftsman by Mamen Sanchez (a light-hearted mystery/love story set Madrid); L'Appart: The Delights and Disasters of Making My Paris Home by David Lebovitz (a memoir from one of my favorite food writers); Florence Adler Swims Forever by Rachel Beanland (imagining life in 1930s Atlantic City, based on a true story). I was happy to read all of these - none of them was heavy or complicated, just charming and enjoyable.
The one I read to see what the fuss was about: Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens. You must know that I am automatically skeptical when it comes to this kind of category, and there were a few things that bugged me about this book, plotwise, but I do know why it captured so many of us. It was a good book.
Four good books about food and cooking: Consider the Fork by Bee Wilson; Home Cooking: A Writer in the Kitchen by Laurie Colwin; The Seven Culinary Wonders of the World by Jenny Linford; The Auberge of the Flowering Hearth by Roy Andries de Groot. As an avid bedtime cookbook reader, I find food books to be the easiest way for me to forget everything else and calm my mind - other than the times when I think, "Oh, I need to remember to try that!" Bee Wilson's book was a fascinating history of how we arrived at the conventions and tools we use today at the dinner table. The Seven Culinary Wonders was also in that vein, but looking at the history of the food itself and how it's been developed through different continents and cultures -- things like tomatoes and rice -- and it came with recipes (bonus!). Colwin's and de Groot's memoir-ish books were more for the eater in me. Colwin was so relatable and I hope to read more of her again soon, while de Groot was purely a trip to another time and place -- the 1970s and an inn in the French alps that served food you'll likely never find there again.
When I gave the author a second chance: A Handful of Dust by Evelyn Waugh. I was disappointed in Brideshead Revisited when I read it many years ago, but A Handful of Dust caught my eye in my digital library. I loved it. Loved it! The characters were despicable but so well developed, the dialogue was smart and often times hilarious. I'm not sure if I'll give Brideshead a second shot, but at least I have a better opinion now of Waugh.
The books to help you appreciate the present moment: What If This Were Enough?: Essays by Heather Havrilesky. We are all inextricably linked, she reminds us, and our survival depends on our ability to be compassionate with one another. And Intimations: Six Essays by Zadie Smith. I didn't think I'd want to read about this year right now, but the way Smith writes about it in these essays -- the pandemic, racism, being creative -- feels original and comforting and poignant.
Maybe a better read for a different kind of year: Weather by Jenny Offill. I loved the style of her writing in this, and I really did love this book, but thinking about climate change and emotional affairs was just too much on top of everything else going on in the world.
The book that firmed up my feelings on Michael Chabon: The Mysteries of Pittsburgh. I believe that Chabon is a gifted writer, but everything I've read by him, including this, just hasn't done it for me.
The most moving (illustrated) memoir: Belonging: A German Reckons with History and Home by Nora Krug. Gorgeous collages comprised of photographs, letters, and finds from the flea market build this scrapbook of Krug's German family history, on both sides. She expresses such tenderness and perspective as she unpacks upsetting details and the feelings of homesickness without a sense of home.
The two books I'd recommend to pretty much anyone: Why Fish Don't Exist: A Story of Loss, Love, and the Hidden Order of Life by Lulu Miller; Breath: The New Science of a Lost Art by James Nestor. These are both nonfiction. Lulu Miller is best known for her radio and podcast work, but here she has written a beautifully complicated biography of David Starr Jordan that is interwoven with her own life. And ever since reading Nestor's book, I've been so much more aware of the importance of my own breath and how much power it holds -- obviously breathing keeps me alive, but the ways in which we breathe are also important. Between COVID and the murder of George Floyd, breath has already been our minds. Both of these books have made me view the world differently. You should read them.
Good memoirs for perspective: The Yellow House by Sarah M. Broom; The Fixed Stars by Molly Wizenberg. Broom grew up in New Orleans East, and her memoir is a poignant portrait of place -- and devastating inequality -- as she maps her family tree and the house and neighborhood they called home. As for The Fixed Stars, I have read (and cooked) all things Wizenberg, and while this is nothing at all like her food memoirs, this was her way to process the changes in identity, love, and sexuality she's experienced in the last several years.
The heartbreaker (that also has an excellent movie adaptation): The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas. You know where this story is going to go before you even get too far into it, because it's the story we've heard so often of police violence against Black people. The young narrator's voice was so moving and strong.
The book I finally got around to: The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. I felt like I learned so much about the Congo and the politics there in the 1960s, and Kingsolver's writing made it come to life, as I knew it would. These characters were so well developed and memorable, and the foreshadowing and themes made it rich.
If you can get it from your library: Can't Even: How Millennials Became the Burnout Generation by Anne Helen Petersen. I don't want to have this book on my shelf because it would be a more frequent reminder of the things I already know. The way this country is set up leads to systemic burnout for not just my generation, but for the large majority of us. There are all sorts of reasons for this and it's going to take a long time to fix. Petersen didn't provide ideas for fixing it, but she did provide really good commentary and historical context.
Reading now: Circe by Madeline Miller.
Happy reading, y'all!
No comments:
Post a Comment