2017 wasn't better than 2016, but I read some truly great books. I also read some mediocre books and some that were merely entertaining, but every now and then, I think that's okay. (Don't ask how I have "so much time" to read because I'll punch you in the throat. This is what I do. I haven't watched whatever everyone else has watched on TV this year, except for The Handmaid's Tale and Twin Peaks. I don't make crafty things. I don't bake. I don't go out much. I read at night when my kids are in bed, and I read in line at the store, and I read during soccer practice. Because that's what I do. That's how I keep breathing. That's how I keep learning how to be a better writer. Okay?)
What I read in 2017, not including rereads...
Today Will Be Different, by Maria Semple
I ended 2016 with some pretty heavy reading, so I was in the mood for something a little more fun for New Year's. This delivered exactly that. I enjoyed it in the same way I enjoyed Where'd You Go, Bernadette (and I loved the Seattle setting again, even when she's making fun of it), and I read it in a single day.
Let Me Be Frank With You, by Richard Ford
This is somewhat of a departure from the long, dense Bascombe trilogy; really this is four linked stories set in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. Frank Bascombe is now 68, musing on the "Default Period" of his life. I was glad to read it, especially having been as immersed as I was in his inner life just a week ago, and it felt like an appropriate closure (assuming this really is the last we'll hear from him). It's not a book to become wholly absorbed in -- there isn't enough for that -- but it seemed right for a few quiet winter evenings.
Running in the Family, by Michael Ondaatje
Gorgeously written, as is everything I've read by Ondaatje, but also unexpectedly funny. I read this in two sittings and practically ran a blue Papermate dry marking my favorite lines and writing notes in the margins. Brilliantly evocative.
Hillbilly Elegy, by J.D. Vance
I wonder if this would be a better book if Vance had waited a little longer to write it.
His Bloody Project, by Graeme Macrae Burnet
Solidly enjoyable. This was an interesting choice for the Booker Prize shortlist, which doesn't usually include crime novels. Although this isn't exactly the "historical thriller" it claims to be, simply because there is never any doubt that Roderick Macrae did, indeed, commit the three murders of which he is accused (and this is made clear from page one, so it's not a spoiler). The setting is the Scottish highlands in the 19th century, and the book is comprised of a series of "found" documents: statements made by witnesses and neighbors, writings by an expert in the "nascent discipline of Criminal Anthropology", an account of the trial, and Roddy Macrae's memoirs, written in prison. The way in which the story unfolds is fascinating, challenging our assumptions about the young prisoner's sanity and the motives for his crime as well as revealing layers of power and class struggle in a particular historical and geographical context. If that sounds heavy, it might be, but the story was engaging enough to keep me reading late into the night and I read it in a single weekend.
Love Warrior, by Glennon Doyle Melton
I thought I would enjoy this at least a little more than I did, but I need a memoir to ground me in someone's experience with a few more concrete details. This felt like a lot of rambling thoughts on love, a few passages I found poignant and appreciated, and a couple of descriptions of the softness of her baby's cheek and the ocean and hot yoga. I just couldn't with all the breathing and the hot yoga. Forty pages from the end I almost threw the book at the wall.
Swing Time, by Zadie Smith
This reminded me a little of reading Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Americanah in that it seemed to be about so MANY things: class, race, colonialism, to name a few. Which is something I liked, most of the time, but sometimes I felt that just as I was settling into one aspect of the story I was hurtled into another.
I didn't love this the way I loved White Teeth, but I did end up liking it quite a bit. I think the best parts are those that focus on the treacherous dynamics between Tracey and the unnamed narrator; friendships built on arbitrary commonalities in girlhood can be complicated and frankly inexplicable when they continue into adulthood.
Every Falling Star, by Sunju Lee
My daughter just finished this and immediately insisted I read it, too. I wish the epilogue would have been longer; I wanted to read more about the aftermath and how Lee went from kotjebi ("street boy") to educated activist in such a relatively short period of time, and I finished the book with so many questions remaining. Still, the story of his survival on the streets when he was hardly older than my own child is pretty compelling.
Pond, by Claire Louise Bennett
Readers looking for a plot won't encounter one here, but I found these meditations? musings? ramblings? delightfully absorbing. I love Bennett's language and the way she slips us into the ordinary circlings of a woman's mind, of the close attention paid to the most ordinary moments; these are what make a life.
Strangers in Their Own Land, by Arlie Russell Hothschild
For me, this accomplished what Hillbilly Elegy did not. I appreciated Hochschild's tone; a Berkeley liberal, she forges real relationships with Tea Partiers in an attempt to cross the "empathy wall." I think I'm still a bit baffled by the attention we're suddenly given to the "loss" of the white working class; this drives home the point that we never had them to begin with. And it's not as though poor whites are the only folks who have a working class that feels forgotten or like "strangers in their own land." But she does explain their perspective in a way that I think more of us need to understand if we're going to have any hope of becoming less divided. Is that possible? I'm still not sure.
Giovanni's Room, by James Baldwin
Just devastatingly, astonishingly good. We should all read every single thing Baldwin ever wrote.
The Hunger Angel, by Herta Müller
Shortly before the end of WWII, Leo Auberg, a German Romanian, is deported to a Soviety labor camp. His story emerges through vignettes that are connected not so much by any sort of linear plot but with stunningly poetic language.
Lincoln in the Bardo, by George Saunders
Weird, wonderful, compulsively readable. Brilliant from start to finish.
Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea, by Barbara Demick
Barbara Demick follows the lives of six North Koreans who ended up defecting, and the stories that unfold give a clearer picture of the reality of North Korea than anything I've ever read. Gritty, intense, and heartbreaking. It's so strange to read these stories and think about what my life looked like at the very same time; it's difficult to believe a country like this exists now.
Good as Gone, by Amy Gentry
Possibly? Probably? inspired by the Elizabeth Smart story, with plenty of twists (mostly predictable, some not). A fairly entertaining one-day read when I needed a distraction after a grueling week.
The Small Backs of Children, by Lidia Yuknavitch
This book is stunning -- difficult to stomach, but difficult to put down. Yuknavitch takes us to the place where art meets violence, and the thing that cannot survive is our complacency. Many parts of it are reminiscent of her memoir, The Chronology of Water, a book I keep close to my writing desk.
If Yuknavitch were a man, its brilliance wouldn't even be questioned, but that's a different conversation.
History of Wolves, by Emily Fridlund
I read this book within 24 hours, completely absorbed, and I absolutely loved it.
Linda is a teenager living in the north woods of Minnesota, the only child of her parents who stayed behind in their primitive cabin after the other members of their failed commune left. Over the course of one summer she befriends the family who moves in on the other side of the lake, especially four-year-old Paul and his young mother. The effects of the events that unfold that summer follow Linda well into adulthood. This is all I knew of the book when I picked it up, and I think it's best to let the unease build without knowing much about it.
It's not a perfect book; I wished the two main threads of the story could have been connected a bit more smoothly. However, that didn't keep me from loving it. Fridlund's prose is gorgeous and absolutely precise, and that is what made the effect of the tragedy, when it finally hit, all the more devastating. When I finished I handed it immediately to my husband and said, "You need to read this."
Big Little Lies, by Liane Moriarty
Even though I've had several friends recommend this book, I had zero desire to pick it up before this week. I thought it was a book about a bunch of white ladies and, I don't know, mommy wars? Nope.
However, I bought it right before a flight home at the end of a trip; I was tired and didn't feel I could concentrate on the book I'd brought along, but I didn't feel like zoning out with a movie, either. Spending nine dollars on a mass-market paperback seemed reasonable, I thought, for a fun, mindless, two-star read. I like those sometimes.
But I actually had so much fun reading it. I hate flying, and I was sad for my flight to end because I was so absorbed. I stayed up late that night, even a bit jet-lagged, because I could not go to sleep until I'd finished. It was funny and sharp and poignant and I love what Liane Moriarty did with all of her characters. The satire was spot-on. I laughed a lot. And perhaps I was just feeling incredibly punchy by midnight, but I cried at one spot, too. I thought I could predict everything; I couldn't. I'm actually trying to convince my husband to read it. The cover does not appeal to him at all, but it didn't appeal to me either.
I realized I didn't actually know much about this book before I read it; I was sailing along on my assumptions. Later, I appreciated the fact that I had no idea what I was actually in for. Totally worth the nine dollars.
H is for Hawk, by Helen Macdonald
In my time with Mabel I've learned how you feel more human once you have known, even in your imagination, what it is like to be not.
This book made me care about falconry in the way that Pat Conroy makes me care about basketball and The Citadel. I likely wouldn't have picked it up on subject matter alone, but I was lured by the promise that this book is also about grieving and loving, and, yes, rediscovering what it means to feel human. It is one of the most beautifully written memoirs I have ever read. Macdonald also parallels her story with that of T.H. White, author of The Once and Future King and aspiring falconer himself. I kept thinking of this part of White's novel as I was drawn deeper into Macdonald's memoir:
“The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn.”And it seems to me that in this is a particularly fitting time and reason to read this book: to learn something, to fully immerse myself in a world completely unfamiliar to me, to believe that despite the horror and uncertainties of the world our ordinary lives can be works of artistry.
The Past by Tessa Hadley
Four siblings gather at their grandparents' old home for a three-week "vacation"--and to decide what to do about the house. Tessa Hadley slips us into the lives of these characters while they revisit memories and navigate their relationships with each other. Attempts to summarize this book make it sound either like it could be given to melodrama or just be really, really boring; happily, it is neither. This is the first I've read of Hadley's work, and I enjoyed it so much--her writing is so absorbing, and her prose is close to perfect.
Fever Dream, by Samanta Schweblin
Apologies to the students whose papers I'd intended to grade the evening I picked up this strange little novel...because this is a book that should be read straight through in one sitting. It's unsettling and frightening and lovely in the best of ways. The title is perfect.
Moonglow, by Michael Chabon
Is it fiction? Is it memoir? Does the line between them matter? However you want to categorize this book, Chabon's writing is brilliant, and I'm a sucker for stories like this--stories gleaned from his dying grandfather's bedside. It is everything you might imagine that to be.
Narrow River, Wide Sky, by Jenny Forrester
Jenny Forrester's new memoir is gorgeously written; she is both unflinchingly honest and generous of heart when she navigates the tricky territories of family and the ways in which place can shape our identities. And while her story is grounded in a very specific time and place, the truth of the story transcends it. I deeply appreciate a writer who can capture the beauty of a place without romanticizing it and write about people in all their messiness while still allowing them to be fully human.
Another Day in the Death of America, by Gary Younge
On November 23, 2013, I went out for a cozy pizza dinner with my family. Afterwards, my husband took our kids for ice cream and I sat in the cafe of a bookstore around the corner, writing in my journal. It was a perfectly ordinary Saturday. I recall it not because it was noteworthy or newsworthy; it was no Sandy Hook, after all. I simply happened to document it in my own quiet way. But it wasn't quiet for everyone. It was also a day in which ten kids in America lost their lives to gun violence. It could have been any day; Gary Younge chose it at random. This, obviously, is the point.
Younge shifts our focus from statistics to stories, putting a human face on each of these tragedies. And yes, no matter the circumstance, each death is a tragedy, leaving in its wake the same grief any mother of any child would feel were her child to die in her arms. These kids--ranging in age from 9 to 19--were black, white, and Latino. They lived in inner cities and in the rural Midwest. They defy easy categorization. This is not a book about gun control (although as Younge correctly states, it is a book made possible by the lack of it). These are stories of human beings, told with clear-eyed compassion. Younge is unflinching in his honest portrayal of each family; he doesn't shy away from conversations of race, class, crime, or "personal responsibility." It would be impossible to leave them out; each shooting happens in a specific context. In her review of this book for the NYT Jennifer Senior writes
Many of the kids in his book, maybe most of them, made bad decisions at some juncture. Mr. Younge acknowledges that. But making bad decisions is also what kids do, especially in adolescence. The difference is that some children are lucky enough to make mistakes in an environment that simply nudges them back on course. “That does not make you a better person,” Mr. Younge writes. “It simply makes you better equipped to be safe in a country where guns are in plentiful supply.”Younge's perspective is also interesting; he is a Briton, and he is also a black man, so he is well aware of the vast differences between America's gun culture and that of virtually every other "civilized" country. Add to that the fact that he is now raising black children in America--he has "skin in the game," as he rightly puts it.
I believe with everything in me that we learn from each other by hearing each other's stories. As a mother, and as a teacher who can see her students reflected in these stories, I can tell you this book broke my heart. As a human being, I can tell you it's required reading.
The Republic of Imagination, by Azar Nafisi
I read this as I taught Reading Lolita in Tehran to my junior IB literature class for about the eighth time, so I couldn't help but compare the two. Where Reading Lolita in Tehran focuses on the lives of Nafisi and her students in Iran as they read works of western literature in secret, The Republic of Imagination shows us a view of America through the perspective of a new American citizen reading its literature. At times it felt as though she were trying to do too much with this book, and I'm not sure I was ever clear on what, exactly, it was supposed to be. It was a bit of preaching to the choir, I guess, and why was James Baldwin only given the epilogue, and not an entire section like Mark Twain, Sinclair Lewis, and Carson McCullers? All the same, the teacher in me appreciated much of it, and I definitely want to reread The Heart is a Lonely Hunter after reading her section on Carson McCullers (I read it when I was in my early twenties, and I think I'd read it differently now. Better).
This book wasn't quite as compelling as Reading Lolita in Tehran, but it made a nice companion.
The Givenness of Things, by Marilynne Robinson
First of all, I think Marilynne Robinson is brilliant. Brilliant novelist, brilliant essayist. But her novels, for me, are both intensely thought-provoking and deeply pleasurable reading; I was utterly absorbed in Gilead, Home, and Lila.
This essay collection is incredibly rich, but it is real work to read. It took me four months to make my way through the seventeen essays. I found myself underlining and making notes as I read, and ultimately it was absolutely worth the effort, but I didn't find myself excited to pick it up each time I did. (This is not vacation reading!) Still, I'm glad to have read this -- I think I'm better for it -- and it's one I'll be glad to keep on my shelf for now.
The Underworld, by Kevin Canty
The story is based on the fire that occurred in a silver mine in Idaho in the 1970's, a tragedy in which 91 miners lost their lives. More than that, though, it's the story about the bonds within a community and the dark underside of a small mining town. Canty writes about a place close to home for me; he goes right to its heart, and I think he gets it absolutely right. I actually think there's enough here for much more story to unfold, though, which is perhaps my only complaint. I read this in 24 hours, but would have stayed for much more.
Into the Water, by Paula Hawkins
I actually enjoyed this more than The Girl on the Train; there were parts that had me rolling my eyes and some of the dialogue was pretty ridiculous BUT WHATEVER I chose this book precisely because I needed a fun end-of-the-school-year mystery. This is a story told from multiple perspectives, which seems to be problematic for some folks, but I have to say -- I don't think any single character could have kept me engaged for the entire story, so it worked for me.
Anything is Possible, by Elizabeth Strout
This is a companion to My Name is Lucy Barton, fleshing out the stories of secondary characters in that novel. I suspect I appreciated this more because I read Lucy Barton first, although it's not strictly necessary. This book reminded me very much of Olive Kitteridge -- it's really a novel-in-stories. Each adds a layer to what came before, and the whole is sublime. I loved every moment of reading this.
4321, by Paul Auster
This was exactly the sort of wholly absorbing novel I wanted to read at the beginning of summer. This weighs in at a hefty 866 pages, and I loved every moment. As the novel opens, Auster lays the groundwork for Archibald Ferguson to enter the world in 1947 where, for a few seconds, he is "the youngest human being on the face of the earth."
From that point, the plot diverges, and we are given four parallel versions of Archie's life, with wildly varying outcomes but also with similar threads running through all of them--a tragedy at his father's business, a girl he loves and is doomed never to have, the enduring love of his mother, and the context of the postwar years through Vietnam. It's a look at the different paths a life can take, given the exact same origin story and the exact same genetic material.
Comparisons to Kate Atkinson's Life After Life are inevitable, but it's a distinctly different book, and I am in awe of Auster's achievement: the way he brings his characters thoroughly to life, how he shows the ways in which people can influence each other, and the force of the writing itself--it drew me in immediately and held me until the end.
Salt Houses, by Hala Alyan
I read this novel, a story of a Palestinian family's displacement, in two days. Spanning four generations and three different continents, and told through multiple perspectives, the story is grounded in intimate moments between family members: mothers and daughters, mothers and sons, husbands and wives, siblings, grandparents and grandchildren. It's a story of what it means to lose one's homeland, and how that loss ripples through the generations that follow.
Alyan writes with the language of a poet--which makes sense, as she was that before she turned to prose--and while the story is often painful, it is also beautiful, even funny, and deeply human.
Idaho, by Emily Ruskovich
Devastatingly, staggeringly good. I will follow Emily Ruskovich anywhere after this.
Having only the barest idea of what this was about--some unspeakable tragedy that sends a mother to prison and destroys a family--I wasn't sure I would be able to stomach this. But it's not a mystery or a thriller; rather, it is a deeply moving exploration of memory and redemption. The force of the story lies in its language, which is exquisite, and its structure. Ruskovich takes us back and forth through time, from the mid-90s back to 1973 and forward to 2025, with stories folding in on themselves and then expanding again. She also tells the story through the perspectives of different characters, including Wade, the bereaved father who is losing his memory; Ann, who marries him within a year of the incident; Jenny, Wade's first wife who is now in prison; and May, Wade's murdered daughter.
This book doesn't provide answers, but it might reveal the ways in which it is possible to go on living with the questions.
Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body, by Roxane Gay
Courageous and compelling. I'd recommend it to anyone.
The Green Road, by Anne Enright
I love Irish literature, so how is it I've never read Anne Enright? I loved this novel, set in a small Irish coastal town. The first half focuses on each of the four Madigan siblings in turn, providing context for their lives--who left, and who stayed. The second half brings us into the present, when they are reunited at Christmas to discuss with their mother--every inch the Irish family matriarch, head of the dysfunctional family--the possibility of selling the family home. And I thought, of course, this tired old storyline. But in Enright's capable hands, the story is anything but tired. Her observations are clear and true, and her writing is precise, transcendent, reminiscent of Alice Munro. Gorgeous without ever sliding into sentimentality.
All the Missing Girls, by Megan Miranda
I read this entire book on my flight from Orlando to Seattle, and it was a perfect way to pass the hours: twisty and structurally interesting. I hate it when every new novel branded as a psychological thriller is "the next Gone Girl" or "the next Girl on the Train," but it's the same kind of reading experience for me (kind of terrible but fun...terribly fun?), and I did like that I became less and less sure of the characters as well as the narrator as I read on.
Pachinko, by Min Lee
This novel follows one Korean family through several generations as they are exiled from their homeland, telling the stories of humans struggling to find a home in the world, "caught in the indifferent arc of history." I read this book in just a few days, despite its length; the writing is smooth and unadorned, the plot never dragging. I particularly appreciate the women, who lend the story its real strength. A page-turner for sure, and a look into a historical context I knew little about.
The Bingo Palace, by Louise Erdrich
Beautiful novel about hope, dreams, the clash of the contemporary and the past, the sacred and the secular. I loved returning to the world Erdrich created in this cycle of novels. I've read Love Medicine a handful of times (I teach it in senior IB literature) and I will always revere it as one of her best, but I love reading beyond it as well, and I love the interconnectedness of stories and characters. Every time I read her work it feels like going home.
Furiously Happy: A Funny Book About Horrible Things, by Jenny Lawson
I like Jenny Lawson, but I like her blog better than her book. After awhile the writing in this one felt a bit wearying to me. I think I just appreciate her in smaller doses.
(Still like her better than Dooce.)
Alias Grace, by Margaret Atwood
This has been on my to-read list for a very, very long time. Why, why did this take me so long to pick up? This is one of Atwood's best. I like everything she writes and I often LOVE it, yes, IN ALL CAPS. I teach The Handmaid's Tale, and The Blind Assassin is at the top of the list of books I want to re-read. And even though I awarded a mere two stars to The Heart Goes Last, I still had fun reading that (as she must have had fun writing it, even though it was nowhere near her best work).
Anyhow, this novel is everything I love about Atwood: the sharp voice, the compelling plot, the characterization. And she's joined the ranks of writers who've made me fall in love with contemporary Victorian historical fiction. I spent an entire evening reading everything I could find about the case on which this novel is based: the story of Grace Marks, the Irish-Canadian maid who was convicted of murdering her employer and his mistress, and later pardoned.
This book had me completely absorbed throughout a flight from Seattle to Minneapolis and a few lovely afternoons at the lake, but it would also have been an absolutely delicious read on gusty, rainy nights or snowy afternoons. I loved it.
Chicago, by Brian Doyle
Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful.
I fell in love HARD with Mink River and knew then that I'd follow Brian Doyle anywhere. I read The Plover and loved it almost as much. Chicago falls in that tiny crack between the two. Mink River will always be my favorite of Brian Doyle's novels, but Chicago gave me everything I love in his writing. I really don't even know how to write about it. If you've never read anything by Doyle, read Mink River. Fall in love. Then read everything else. Chicago is absolutely transcendent, like all of his work. The folks who complain that there's not much in the way of plot aren't technically wrong, but still, I couldn't put it down. The characters are everything. His language is everything. There's a reason I shed true tears over Brian Doyle's death this year.
The Essex Serpent, by Sarah Perry
I picked this up because of its gorgeous cover and because I have a thing for good contemporary writers who evoke Victorian times, I guess. (And one reviewer's nod to Wilkie Collins helped, too. I do love an actual deliciously Gothic Victorian novel.) On the surface it's about the mystery of the Essex Serpent, a mythical creature terrifying the residents of a small village with rumors of its return. Enter Cora Seaborne, a widow and amateur naturalist, and Will Ransome, a devoted husband, father, and minister with a devotion to God and reason. An unlikely friendship blossoms between the two, and this relationship forms the true heart of the novel. But it's not just the two of them; through all of her characters Sarah Perry shows us a deep understanding of human nature in all its complexity. I was drawn completely into the story because of the plot, but eventually the plot was beside the point. Perry's writing is lovely. It's the perfect novel to wrap up with over a long, cozy weekend.
The Hate U Give, by Angie Thomas
It's not often that I would categorize a YA novel as Required Reading for everyone I know, but this one is pretty solidly exactly that.
The Way We Never Were: American Families and the Nostalgia Trap, by Stephanie Coontz
Nothing was terribly surprising for me here, but a thoroughly researched response to anyone who still holds this bizarre nostalgia for the 1950s, or anyone who believes that all of our country's problems can be traced back to some sort of moral breakdown of the family. I appreciated the 2016 update to the original, but the whole thing still reads as relevant and timely.
The Legacy of Lucy Little Bear, by Barbara Robidoux
I'd never have found this book if it weren't for a book club I'm a part of, as I think it's only available on Amazon? But I'm so glad I had the opportunity to read it. It's a story of life on the reservation, of the reality of missing and murdered women, of a beautiful yet unforgiving setting and deeply human characters. When I picked it up before bed one night I thought I'd read the first chapter; instead I read the entire thing. Parts reminded me of Louise Erdrich's Love Medicine.
We Crossed a Bridge and it Trembled: Voices from Syria, by Wendy Pearlman
This is the story of Syria's revolution and war, told entirely through the voices of Syrians themselves. Heart-stopping in its power. This was a library book, but I didn't want to return it after I finished, so I suspect this will be one I add to my personal collection. It's also one of the books I would unequivocally recommend to any human seeking to learn from other people's stories--and that should include every single one of us, by the way.
We Were Witches, by Ariel Gore
"If you don't like the fairy tales you've been handed, Ariel, you don't have to conform to them. You can reauthor them. You can write your story however you choose."
I thought nothing could top The End of Eve as my favorite work by Ariel Gore, but if this doesn't top it, it comes awfully close. I knew from page one that I was in, and from there the book just soared.
Also, I haven't read Tillie Olsen since college, but this book makes me think I need to rediscover her.
You Don't Have to Say You Love Me, by Sherman Alexie
I have loved Sherman Alexie's writing for my entire adult life. I don't even know what to say about this yet except that this is arguably his most powerful work so far.
The Husband's Secret, by Liane Moriarty
I never would have picked this up if I hadn't surprised myself by enjoying Big Little Lies on a flight several months ago. This weekend I was in the mood for that kind of reading experience--entertaining and absorbing, requiring little work or commitment on my end. This delivered, and I read it in a few sittings. The perfect book to curl up with after my first full week of the school year. I don't need to own this book or read it again, but it was pretty enjoyable in the moment.
Sing, Unburied, Sing, by Jesmyn Ward
I have read some truly phenomenal books this year, so I don't say this lightly, but Sing, Unburied, Sing might be my favorite of 2017. It shattered me in every way I think it was intended to.
Ward returns to the Gulf Coast of Mississippi, to a farm near the fictional town of Bois Sauvage, the setting for her earlier novels (Where the Line Bleeds and Salvage the Bones). The story is told through the voices of Jojo, a thirteen-year-old boy; his mother, Leonie; and Richie, the ghost of a dead inmate from Parchman, the Mississippi State Penitentiary where Leonie heads with her children to collect their white father, Michael, upon his release. Equally important are River and Mam, Leonie's parents and the people who essentially raise Jojo and his baby sister Kayla, but her choice to tell the story through the perspectives of a young boy and his mother--not to mention a ghost from Riv's past--is brilliant and necessary. We love Pop and Mam from the beginning, but Leonie is more complicated, and the back-and-forth between Leonie and her son draws us not only into their worlds but the sweep of history. It's an important book, and a beautiful one, which is why Jesmyn Ward is possibly my favorite living writer. She tells the truth with a poet's prose, and when it matters most she makes it impossible to look away from the brutal weight of it.
Exit West, by Moshin Hamid
What is a homeland, and what is home? What Hamid does with language in this short novel is powerful; I found myself swept away by his sentences, though not a word is out of place. It's the story of migration and all the ways we lose each other. Timely, moving, strange, and lovely. This wasn't the book I was expecting, but I think it might be better.
Home Fire, by Kamila Shamsie
This is a modern re-visioning of Antigone, set in contemporary London, Amherst, Massachusetts, and the Middle East and featuring Isma, a young Muslim woman, and her younger twin siblings, Aneeka and Parvaiz. A working knowledge of Antigone isn't necessary; more important than the plot are the themes we are asked to grapple with: which is higher, duty to family or country? To follow man's law, or God's?
The thing I most admire in this novel is Shamsie's ability to humanize each character, the ones who might be most easily reduced to caricatures: Britain's Muslim home secretary, for instance. Parvaiz, the son who never knew his jihadist father, a loss that makes him vulnerable. Shamsie's prose, too, is lovely, especially in the last third of the book (when it truly takes flight, in my opinion), and it's a heartbreaking story gracefully told. And even though I'm familiar with the story of Antigone, I wasn't prepared for the ending, a stunner that happens on live television. This one will stay with me, I think.
Autumn, by Ali Smith
This is the first of Ali Smith's works I've read, but it won't be the last. I hadn't planned to pick this up, but I enjoyed so many of the Booker finalists this year that I thought I should finally read her as well. When I finished, I found myself thinking she probably should have won (despite my love for Lincoln in the Bardo). The book has been hailed as the first great "Brexit Novel," but I simply loved her language, her stream-of-consciousness storytelling, and the tenderness between Elisabeth and Daniel. It reminded me a bit of one of my favorite films, Lost in Translation. This is the first in a planned four-novel cycle, and I'm eager to read the rest.
The Good Daughter, by Karin Slaughter
I read Slaughter's Pretty Girls last year -- a gritty mystery novel that delivered a couple of days of pure escapism at the beginning of the school year. Her new novel intrigued me enough to put it on hold at the library months ago. I was expecting a similar experience, but instead this delivered a story with characters I'm still thinking about. The novel begins 28 years after a horrific crime was committed and takes the reader into a looping backwards narrative, connecting the past and present in increasingly layered ways. Karin Slaughter doesn't spare us any of the excruciating details, and I was unhappy about having to read about the same terrible event through multiple perspectives, even though I later understood that particular narrative choice, but what stuck with me were the characters. Karin Slaughter is not Tana French, but I think those who enjoy Tana French might enjoy this one.
Do Not Say We Have Nothing, by Madeleine Thien
I admit that I didn't read The Sellout, and maybe it's spectacular, but after reading Do Not Say We Have Nothing I feel Thien should have taken the 2016 Booker. This is a masterpiece. Reading it reminded me so much of reading Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Half of a Yellow Sun, not only because of the way it brought me into the history of something about which I knew very little (in this case, Mao's Cultural Revolution and the later Tiananmen Square protests) but because of the way she shows this sweeping history through the particular dreams, fears, friendships, and secrets of interconnected families over three generations. Stunning from start to finish, and well worth the time I took with it.
Future Home of the Living God, by Louise Erdrich
This is definitely not Erdrich's masterpiece, although I didn't expect that so soon after her brilliant LaRose. For the first third of the novel, I wasn't sure I even liked it; I don't love the epistolary format, the writing seemed clunkier than the Erdrich I love, and I had a hard time feeling for the characters. But I won't abandon an Erdrich novel. It read quickly, and around 100 pages in I found myself much more invested--at that point I didn't stop reading until I finished. And even Erdrich at her not-best is worth reading. The plot is fascinating, even if it does feel like it's trying too hard to be The Handmaid's Tale, and there are moments when the writing I love shines through. And I still liked it better than Shadow Tag.
Trouble I've Seen: Changing the Way the Church Views Racism, by Drew G.I. Hart
I wish I could convince every single (white) Christian to read this book. Or every single person who loves Jesus and isn't sure what it even means to be a Christian in America anymore (I think I might fall into this category).
But for real, white Christians, we have some WORK to do. This book delivers a lot of truth and some concrete "what to do" baby steps. I love the reviewers who share that this book genuinely shifted their perspective. Hart is brilliant, thoughtful, graceful. Read it, share it.
The Lying Game, by Ruth Ware
I think I liked it slightly better than In a Dark, Dark Wood but maybe slightly less than The Woman in Cabin 10. It served up what I was expecting (and maybe even looking for) during a weekend in which everything was overwhelming and sort of terrible and I wanted a distraction. Not a bad way to hide from the world when the news is serving up so much garbage.
Here I Am, by Jonathan Safran Foer
I had to think about this for a few days after I finished reading, and I'm still not entirely sure how I feel. I was hesitant to pick this one up; I read a few too many unfavorable reviews, I suppose, and it's pretty massive. But I took it along on our anniversary getaway at the ocean, and it was perfect. I didn't want to put it down. It's been several years since I've read anything by Jonathan Safran Foer, but this seems like a departure from his previous work (which I love). It's somewhat less experimental and precious. It's sad in a way I wasn't expecting, and raw, and, for me, just deeply, humanly relatable. I suppose one could argue that he tries to do too much--write this intimate and raw family story set in a historical context much too large to combine them effectively--but it resonated powerfully for me. And his writing is still his writing, which is stunning.
Circadian, by Chelsea Clammer
I have Ariel Gore to thank for this; she shared the first essay, and I bought the book immediately after reading it. This is possibly one of the most brilliant collections of essays I've ever read. Chelsey Clammer is a master of language and form. Every piece awed me. Every one. Stunning.
A Book of Uncommon Prayer, by Brian Doyle
I carried this around with me for months, just to pull out and read when I had a moment. So touchingly human, so funny, so poignant. Brian Doyle breaks my heart with how he transforms every ordinary moment into something worthy of prayer and praise. I don't feel hopeful very often these days, but when I read him, I do. And my heart breaks for the fact that all of his words that will ever be in the world already are.
Little Fires Everywhere, by Celeste Ng
This is a fast, plot-driven read that I tore through in one day; it's pretty impossible to put down once the story starts turning. And the story itself is complex, ambitious, tightly-woven, and brought to an impressively crafted end (I was skeptical that could be done, and there are still a few threads that bother me a bit, but that's literature, and that's life). I think the characterization suffered a bit at the hands of the plot, though, and I'm sort of surprised that so many people are ready to call this their favorite of the year. I might be the only reader who prefers Ng's first novel over this one.
We Were Eight Years in Power: An American Tragedy, by Ta-Nehisi Coates
I'd read much of this collection of essays, as they were originally published in The Atlantic and I think Ta-Nehisi Coates is brilliant, but here they are brought together in a single, immensely powerful volume, one essay for each year of Obama's presidency, each accompanied by a more recent reflection (and those are, honestly, what make this book so poignant and timely). More Required Reading for America.
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