8th Annual Book Report

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!

Book Report, Part 7

Once again, I read some books this year! If you're looking for something to read, read on.

For reference, more books I've read: (See: Year 1 | Year 2 | Year 3 | Year 4 | Year 5 | Year 6) A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith - I savored this. Its slow-paced descriptions of life in a Brooklyn that no longer exists, its portrayal of poverty and the small delights of children, and the heartbreaking characters were almost as good as the story of the main character, Francie. My only regret is that I hadn't read it sooner.  

The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang - This is the story of a girl with Asperger’s who is trying to learn how to date when she falls in love with her dating tutor. I am just not a romance novel person, and this is what this ended up being - many pages of belabored sex scenes and descriptions of muscles. We definitely need more books with people like Stella, the main character. But it should also come with good dialogue and a less predictable plot.

Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman - I completely enjoyed this book, its dark humor and unexpected Eleanor quips.

Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise by Ruth Reichl- The jury’s out on how much I like Ruth Reichl. Until I got to the acknowledgements at the end of this book, I was a bit shocked and put off by her burning-bridges approach to describing her former coworkers at the New York Times. But I think I see a part of myself in her, too, as she grapples with the snobbery of food criticism (and the audience it caters to) versus what brings us to the table in the first place: hunger and connection, followed by all the sensory experiences a good meal can bring. But her food writing in general irritates me, like the number of times she describes something as “laced with” another aroma or ingredient.  

Howards End by E.M. Forster - I am embarrassed that I didn’t realize, until the end of this book, that E.M. Forster is a man, perhaps because there were so many well-written, dominant female characters. Luscious writing turned a plot I didn’t think I cared about into something I ultimately devoured.

Long Life: Essays and Other Writings by Mary Oliver - This was the collection I turned to upon hearing of Mary Oliver’s death. “What does it mean, say the words, that the earth is so beautiful? And what shall I do about it? What is the gift that I should bring to the world? What is the life that I should live?”  

The Reporter’s Kitchen: Essays by Jane Kramer - I’ll take Jane Kramer over Ruth Reichl. I guess the main difference is that Jane is a reporter. She takes you places and introduces you to people and teaches you things - more objective, less subjective. Writing like this doesn’t leave me feeling like an inexperienced eater or an unprivileged Northwesterner - it makes me want to have adventures and live an interesting life.

When Strangers Meet: How People You Don’t Know Can Transform You by Kio Stark - This year I made a goal to talk to more strangers, to not be closed off when I sense someone wants to strike up a conversation, and to ask questions of people I don’t know. That’s why I read this, but to be honest I recommend just watching Stark’s TED talk, which is just as good.  

When We Were Orphans by Kazuo Ishiguro - This was the only Ishiguro book available at my library at the moment I wanted to read an Ishiguro book. I really enjoyed it for its briefly suspenseful moments, its reflections on the role of memory, and the fact that it took place in a part of the world (Shanghai) that I rarely read about in novels. That said, I am hoping his big ones (e.g., Remains of the Day, Never Let Me Go) are a little better.  

Educated: A Memoir by Tara Westover - It is what everyone said it would be - riveting, shocking, a page-turner.

Daisy Jones & The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid - I joined a book club this year and this was our first selection. It was the perfect way to begin because it was easy to get through, fun to imagine as an actual documentary (which was how it was written) and try to hear the music of the fictitious bands, and it spurred great conversation. That said, not my favorite, but I hope there's a movie.

Manhattan Beach by Jennifer Egan - This was such a slog by the end, though the premise is compelling, and certain passages were particularly beautiful.  

There There by Tommy Orange - Good lord, this was one of the best. I love when many storylines converge into one, and the moment they did was extremely powerful. There was so much to reflect on relating to the Native American experience in the 21st century, and each story had its own sense of deep-seated tragedy.

Save Me the Plums: My Gourmet Memoir by Ruth Reichl - Enjoyable enough. And an interesting view of the demise of Gourmet magazine.  

The Great Believers by Rebecca Makkai - Gut-wrenching, because the 1980s and AIDS. But such a good read and worth the tears.  

Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie - This was my epic of the year. I was forced to acknowledge how little I know about India, and about Great Britain’s messing with it, and the border it shares with China, and its relationship to Pakistan, and, and, and. It is so complex. Because there’s so much symbolism wrapped into this story, I am sure I didn’t appreciate it as much as I could, but novels like these are why I read. The writing was poetic, at times hilarious, and dense. I look at India with new eyes, with a heightened appreciation for its recent history, and an awareness of how much more I should learn.  

A Stash of One’s Own: Knitters on Loving, Living with, and Letting Go of Yarn by Clara Parkes - Books like these are like popcorn. This is a collection of essays by different knitters, and I treated myself to one each night for a week or so. I’d happily pick this up again from time to time.

City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert - I liked this, but it felt like I was hearing Elizabeth Gilbert’s voice the whole time. I do love her voice, but I wanted to hear someone else’s, to be honest. 

Behold the Dreamers by Imbolo Mbue - A story about the American dream and what we really want in life, through the perspective of two Cameroonians in New York during the Lehman Brothers episode. A random find at my local bookstore that I ended up really loving.

The Way We Eat Now by Bee Wilson - Wilson objectively but cunningly addresses all the food related subjects I have gotten preachy about over the last five years. Why are we eating so many protein bars? Why must it be so hard to invite over people for dinner? Is it truly healthy to view food as medicine? Would it be so bad if the only place you could eat a Neapolitan pizza was in Naples? Also, for the love of god, can we stop calling it “clean eating”? We are armed with perhaps too much information and given so many options, and in many ways we’re all still stumbling over our food choices, but I appreciated Wilson’s case for optimism that we are primed to enter the next stage of food, one in which our economy and lawmakers can support measures to ensure more people eat and desire the best food for our bodies, and that health is not only derived from the nutrients in our food, but also from our genuine enjoyment of it.  

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston - It was fun to read this again since my first reading in high school. Reading it as an adult, I have a heightened appreciation and sympathy for Janie’s motivations in life. And for the amazing woman that was Zora Neale Hurston.

Three Women by Lisa Taddeo - I picked this up at the library knowing it had some buzz but didn't know going in what exactly I was getting into. Subject-wise, this is a painful book to digest. I am sad and angry and feel ever more convicted about how we truly have no idea about people’s private lives, how we have no right to assume we know or understand the lives of others, and how women so often do not make the space to understand themselves and what they need and why. Not a book for people who would prefer not to read about a lot of sex. This is unlike any nonfiction I've read, so thoroughly reported (so it seems to me, at least) and yet feeling so unfinished, because these three women's lives go on after this book's publication.

 
The Overstory by Richard Powers - I will never look at trees the same way again. Humans are such blips on this planet. Trees are so everlasting in so many ways, even as we destroy them. Like other readers, I found the plot a little more tedious and slightly confusing toward the end, but the overstory of The Overstory was ultimately powerful.  

The Water Dancer by Ta-Nehisi Coates - This book is remarkable for its magical-realism take on the Underground Railroad. I loved the way Coates centered on the importance of memory as the bridge to the past and also a way to move forward.

Live with the beetle, and the wind.

On the day that Mary Oliver died, it was dark, damp and cold in Spokane. I thought of her: How would she have viewed the freezing rain that greeted me when Luna and I stepped out the front door that morning? These are the days I crave her poetry, her reminders that the world is teeming with life and beauty.

I spent my lunch hour that afternoon in the library, hunting for The Winter Hours, which I read last January, and was strangely delighted to find it had been checked out (someone new is about to discover it's the perfect thing to read in this season). Instead I took The Leaf and the Cloud and Long Life. I opened to this:

I rose this morning early as usual, and went to my desk.
But it's spring, 

and the thrush is in the woods,
somewhere in the twirled branches, and he is singing. 

And so, now, I am standing by the open door.
And now I am stepping down onto the grass. 

I am touching a few leaves.
I am noticing the way the yellow butterflies
move together, in a twinkling cloud, over the field. 

And I am thinking: maybe just looking and listening
is the real work. 

Maybe the world, without us,
is the real poem.

(excerpted from "The Book of Time," The Leaf and the Cloud)

Looking and listening is the real work: actively noticing the everyday things that we take for granted or let sit in the background of our lives, and considering our place in the universe. Part of the beauty of her writing is that her observations of life are also ones of death. We must take the time now to appreciate what is here.

When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider
the orderliness of the world. Notice
something you have never noticed before, 

like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb. 

Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,
shaking the water-sparks from its wings. 

Let grief be your sister, she will whether or no.
Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
like the diligent leaves. 

A lifetime isn't long enough for the beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life. 

Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance. 

In the glare of your mind, be modest.
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling. 

Live with the beetle, and the wind. 

This is the dark bread of the poem.
This is the dark and nourishing bread of the poem. 

("Flare," verse 12, The Leaf and the Cloud)

When I read back through some of my posts here, I am struck by how her writing has resonated so deeply in my adult life.

Not to mention how her devotion to her dogs has reminded me of the unique joy and heartbreaking love they bring to us (and believe me, I've needed these reminders). I've tried reading a few selections of Dog Songs aloud to Joel and found my throat catching each time.

What do you say, Percy? I am thinking
of sitting out on the sand to watch
the moon rise. It's full tonight.
So we go 

and the moon rises, so beautiful it
makes me shudder, makes me think about
time and space, makes me take
measure of myself: one iota
pondering heaven. Thus we sit, myself 

thinking how grateful I am for the moon's
perfect beauty and also, oh! how rich
it is to love the world. Percy, meanwhile,
leans against me and gazes up
into my face. As though I were just as wonderful
as the perfect moon.

("The Sweetness of Dogs," from Dog Songs)

Joel and I have a running list of writers, actors, musicians and public figures whose deaths we know will in some way shake us. Mary Oliver belongs on that list for me, though I didn't realize it until it happened. But mourning her loss means celebrating the world she illuminated for me and so many others, and there's no sadness in that. Her words bring me back to life.

(Further reading: Mary Oliver's Poems Taught Me How to Live)

Book Report v.6

It's time for my self-imposed October book report (a couple days late), and it wasn't until now that I realized I read 25 books in 10 months (I was late in posting last year's report, too, in December, hence the shorter time period). That's probably a record for me. Some of these books were fairly short, some were skimmable, a couple were audio books. Still, the fact that I read the complete Neapolitan Novels by Elena Ferrante in addition to all these others is both a testament to how sucked in I was by that series and also how much time I diverted my attention from other things. That's kind of glorious.

(See: Year 1 | Year 2 | Year 3 | Year 4 | Year 5)

A theme that emerges in this list is powerful female friendships. This was, of course, at the heart of the Neapolitan Novels, but also was crucial to Swing Time, Girls Burn Brighter and The Color Purple.  I read a lot of short stories this year, too, but the only collection I read fervently from cover to cover was The Interpreter of Maladies. This may be one of my favorite books ever.

Also, God bless the library. I possess only 5 of the books below. The rest were checked out from the library. I feel much more inspired to read going there - even moreso than when I go to bookstores. There's less pressure at the library to pick out something you know you'll like. I never would have read a third of the books below if not for the gamble the library affords me.

Here's what I read.

1. Do Unto Animals: A friendly Guide to How Animals Live, and How We Can Make Their Lives Better by Tracey Stewart: I confess I bought this because I am in love with the illustrations by Lisel Jane Ashlock, and only after I purchased it did I realize it was written by Tracey Stewart, who is married to television host John Stewart. I found her writing to be delightful and thought it might be a lovely book to share with younger animal lovers as it contains fun recipes for homemade treats and cute craft tutorials.

2. Winter Hours: Prose, Prose Poems and Poems by Mary Oliver: This collection was solace in January. Her words on hope resonated deeply. Her depiction of being out with her dogs in the dark morning hours, and her short poem, "The Storm," about her dog making exuberant tracks in the snow, deepened my feelings of kinship with her. I might go back and purchase this one so I have it every January. 

3. On Such a Full Sea by Chang-rae Lee: This dystopian journey was a good stretch of my imagination. 

4. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey: I'm glad I finally read this. It definitely felt of an era to me, and I'm not so sure it's held up over time. But the characters were so memorable and have stuck with me, which is not something I can say about a lot of novels. 

5. Why Sinatra Matters by Pete Hamill: If you want the reason why Sinatra matters, you won't find it in this book, until the author's last memory of Sinatra on the final page - and it was pretty underwhelming. I appreciated that this book wasn't an accounting of Sinatra's wives or an assortment of celebrity gossip, but a good general framing of the world Sinatra entered before he added his piece to it. For unabashed Sinatra superfans like me, it was an enjoyable, quick reminder of Sinatra's rise, fall, comeback and lasting impact.

6. Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri: Best thing I read this year. All nine of these stories were intimately told and stirred my soul, and several brought me to tears. I gained an appreciation for the Indian-American experience and the experiences and feelings that are universal to anyone who is assimilating into a new culture or environment. I still get chills thinking about "A Temporary Matter."

7. Rabbit, Run by John Updike: This is a book in which I had to remind myself that I don't need to sympathize with the main character, or any character at all. I enjoyed Updike's style but hated Rabbit Angstrom.

8. Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver: I love Kingsolver's way of writing about family - the families we have by birth and those we gain through our experiences. And she always weaves in themes of our natural environment and human rights, and while verging on preachy, she does make you consider all sides.

9. Idaho by Emily Ruskovich: I really loved this one. The writing was gorgeous. It felt like a puzzle with missing pieces, and some pieces that fit in different ways. It caused me to imagine different scenarios for how the plot played out. It was a beautiful portrayal of love in all its complicated forms, and also an interesting study in how personal narrative can both empower and betray us. I also loved the role that music played throughout the book, particularly the song at its core, which, I learned, was written by the author's father.

10. My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante: When you open a book and some of the preface pages are devoted to family trees, you know you're in for a real saga. I tore through it. So different, so shocking (violent children!), and the different kind of read I needed. The ending made it impossible for me to not continue. This is not the most flattering depiction of friendship, but it felt honest and daring.

11. News of the World by Paulette Jiles:  A quick read and not my usual genre...I glazed over some of the Civil War description but generally I enjoyed the sweet story of the old man Captain Kidd ("Kepp-dun") and the young Johanna, a former captive of the Kiowa tribe he is charged with returning to her German family. And, you know, things happen along the way. 

12. Swing Time by Zadie Smith: I loved it at first, but it became a tedious read and I no longer cared much about the characters by the end. I love you Zadie, but not this book.

13. Girls Burn Brighter by Shobha Rao: Another top book of the year. Not for the faint of heart due to details of human trafficking and sexual abuse, but a powerful story about friendship. 

14. Story of a New Name by Elena Ferrante: I read this one in Italy, appropriately, and I was on the plane home when I got to the ending and realized I couldn't quit. 

15. Swearing is Good for You: The Amazing Science of Bad Language by Emma Byrne: Basically, swearing is good for you. You probably don't need to read a whole book about it, but it was a fun diversion. 

16. The Happiness Equation: Want Nothing + Do Anything = Have Everything by Neil Pasricha: Never retire. Figure out what your ikigai is, also known as the reason you get up in the morning. Stop wearing out your brain with decision making. Nothing new, but some good reminders and visualizations.

17. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury: Cried in the car listening to Tim Robbins read this one on the audiobook.

18. The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion: Another audio book, another cry.

19. Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay by Elena Ferrante: This one was not terribly plot-driven. I started to lose steam but tried to appreciate Ferrante's way of illuminating the quieter details of the main character's thoughts.

20. The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald: Sweet and sad, but Fitzgerald's writing is delightful. I'd love to read more of her work.

21. Lancelot by Walker Percy: I am still wondering why I had never heard of Walker Percy before this book. It was such a different kind of read for me - it did feel a little dated and it did get pretty weird in the end, the narrative style was effective.

22. Mrs. Fletcher by Tom Perrotta: Toward the bottom of the stack. The characters didn't really seem to grow, and they really needed to. 

23. Less by Andrew Sean Greer: A joy. 

24. The Story of the Lost Child by Elena Ferrante: After the slower third book, it was exciting to read this conclusion where so many things happened! Loose ends were tied, but some mysteries remained, and that felt very appropriate. Ultimately, a beautiful saga of a deeply entwined community, how one contends with or rises from that community and how it forms a sense of identity, and how a complicated friendship can divide and unite. I'm not doing it justice here at all. 

25. The Color Purple by Alice Walker: A contemporary classic for a reason. Such a beautiful story of perseverance, self-discovery, and love between sisters.

Plus selected chapters/stories from...

Enormous Changes at the Last Minute by Grace Paley

How Should a Person Be? by Sheila Heti

Ninety Nine Stories of God by Joy Williams

The Collected Stories of Mavis Gallant

Book Report the Fifth

Because I completely forgot about this tradition until...well...now, I am upsetting my usual pattern of posting my annual book report in October. Which makes this more like an end-of-the-year kind of list, which is what I purposely tried to avoid when I began posting these lists in October (I have to be different!).

But there's nothing I can do about it now, except to set a reminder for myself next October and avoid this non-dilemma in the future. This year's list will be called Books I Read in the First Year of Trump Reality, which covers November and December of 2016 in addition to this entire year.

This year my descriptions are a bit more brief than usual and not very reflective, in part because I'm doing this in a rush. If you want to chat more about any of these, I'd love to do that.

So without further ado, the books I've read since Book Report IV, Book Report III, Book Report II and Book Report I:

1. Becoming Wise by Krista Tippett: I finished reading this book the day before the 2016 presidential election. I am grateful I did. Krista's interviews have provided great insight and solace for my soul. This book was a reminder that there are reasons to be hopeful and to have faith in our fellow humans, and in ourselves.

2. Today Will Be Different by Maria Semple: A quick read that gave me a mental break of sorts. I don't think it was any better or even much different from Where'd You Go Bernadette, so ultimately this one was just "meh" for me, since I felt Bernadette was over-hyped.
3. Great House by Nicole Krauss: I honestly don't remember reading this book, but Goodreads says I did. Am I getting old? Or was I just stressed? I loved Krauss' History of Love years ago, too, and don't really remember much of that, either; but in both cases, I do remember it's a multi-generational plot. So...if you like that sort of thing...

4. The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins: A book I read because everyone was reading it and the movie was out. I totally suspected the ending before I got there, but that didn't keep me from enjoying it.
5. The Portable Veblen by Elizabeth McKenzie: I loved this one. A love story of sorts that didn't take itself too seriously and features a squirrel! I laughed out loud throughout and was sad when it ended.

6. The Lost Wife by Alyson Richman: A compelling WW2 love story, but my biggest beef was that the story started at the end, which in this case kind of took away a bit of the drama and amazement. Still, a beautiful story.
7. Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel: I normally don't read books about plagues wiping out civilization, but this one was so fun to read and different from what I expected that I highly recommend it.

8. Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier: A classic that is now one of my favorites. I read a copy from the 1930s and I think it helped me appreciate how thrilling it must have been when it was published because it holds up, seven decades later. I read this on the plane to Buenos Aires, and while I normally have a fairly short attention span for books on plans (so much in-flight entertainment temptation!), this was one I had a hard time putting down.
9. Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders: One of the most lovely, inventive, strange and poignant things I've read in years. This book is not for everyone, and there are times when you just have to ride it out until you catch on, but it was so rewarding to enter this bardo-universe and consider grief and love and life.

10. High Tide in Tucson by Barbara Kingsolver: I'd eventually like to read all of Kingsolver's books and essays. This is the furthest back I've gone yet, and she's consistently steadfast in her concern for the environment, thoughtfulness of nature, and appreciation of our own biology.
11. East of Eden by John Steinbeck: I could cry just thinking about the ending of this book. I wish it hadn't taken me so many years to get to it. I hope to read it again at least once before I reach 60.

12. You Don't Have to Say You Love Me by Sherman Alexie: People say grief is not linear. Sherman Alexie added this beauty to that idea, in describing what he has experienced in grieving - in a most complicated way - the death of his mother: "Great pain is repetitive. Grief is repetitive. And maybe, this repetition can become a chant inside a healing ceremony."
13. Commonweath by Ann Patchett: I tried out the audiobook version for this, and I learned more about myself in the process than I retained about the plot of this novel. Throughout the listening experience I felt really disappointed and bored by the plot but somehow listened to the entire thing. Then I went to Goodreads to see what others thought. While many of them said it was not Patchett's best, I began reading passages some had posted as favorites from the book. I couldn't remember hearing a single one of them. My listening comprehension is bad, but I didn't think it was that bad. I got the plot but missed the beauty on this one. Either the audiobook reader was less-than-great (and I think that was true) or I simply need to read words on a page to let the words really sit with me and sink in. So I'm not sure what to say about this one.

14. I Feel Bad About My Neck by Nora Ephron: After feeling bad about my listening comprehension, I tried once more to listen to an audiobook, this time read by the author herself, and it was much, much better. Nora Ephron was one of the best. I laughed out loud, cried a little, and am determined to one day try cabbage strudel. Loved it.
15. Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver: I want to live in the woods. The end. ...Okay, not really, but boy did I crave some time in nature after reading this book. I feel so out of touch for not knowing about birds, trees, bugs, and the life cycles and food chains that surround me. This is probably one of my favorite Kingsolver books to date. It's a little sexy, which, depending on your taste, may scare you away. But I found each storyline compelling if a little preachy (it's Kingsolver, what do you expect?).

16. Bored and Brilliant by Manoush Zomorodi: It's not a year in books without a little self-help. In this case, I was convicted to read this to help tame my phone habits and reclaim time to do absolutely nothing and spur on a bit of creativity. Zomorodi is the host of a program called "Note to Self" and I found her writing style to be a bit like reading a radio transcript, which is to say a little tedious. But the main points of the book were good. I have never been all that addicted to my phone, but I think part of that is because I'm on the computer so much of my day that I don't feel as much of a need to constantly check updates. But I did end up deleting the Facebook app from my phone after feeling inspired by what I read. Instagram is still where I spend the majority of my phone time, but I've weaned myself off of that a bit, too. It's hard! But probably worth it for my sanity and creativity.
17. Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis by J.D. Vance: This was hard and it was good. This was just one perspective, of course, and it was, at times, fairly harsh, but also full of love and pride for family. It made me look around at my own neighbors who may be going through similar issues of drug abuse, lack of social support/capital, and living in destructive cycles. It felt like a good bookend to this list. I can't be in denial about the world I live in. At Thanksgiving this year, we went around the table asking each other some fairly deep questions, and the one that stuck with me was about what each of us feels is our highest obligation to our country. My 17-year-old niece was the first to answer, and in my opinion, her answer trumped them all: Get to know your neighbors. How can we help if we don't understand?