2021 in Books

2021 hasn't been much better than 2020, but I read some great books. My beloved college professor and advisor Joan Buckley said, "We read to remind ourselves of our humanity." I think that matters. I'd say now more than ever, but it has always mattered.

This year's list:

Home Fire, by Kamila Shamsie
I read this in 2017 but I reread it this year because I added it to the IB Literature curriculum, paired with Antigone. This one absolutely rewarded rereading.

Jack, by Marilynne Robinson
I read this slowly, appreciating the return to the world of Robinson's Gilead (though this novel is set in St. Louis, not Iowa), this time to tell the story of Reverend Boughton's wayward son and the woman he loves. Like the other novels, this is a story of ideas rather than plot, but no less engaging (to this reader) because of that.

I love Robinson's fiction and her graceful prose, but I wouldn't try to read this without the context with the others. Even though I read Gilead years ago and my memory of specifics is less than perfectly clear, I was glad to have a little context.

How Much of These Hills Is Gold, by C Pam Zhang
I read this in two days. It's so interesting to read the reviews of others who claim they couldn't get into the story, which just goes to show how reading experiences can differ; I was hooked from the first sentence and found it both propulsive and deeply immersive, and Zhang's language is a wonder. It reminds me a bit of Téa Obreht's Inland in that it takes us to the American West -- but not in any way we're used to reading about it. Instead, Zhang elevates the stories of a Chinese immigrant family as they search for home in a land that is hostile to their culture and identity. I hesitate to say more about it, because so much of the magic, for me, happened when the story took a turn I didn't expect. The structure worked brilliantly, the characters were so compelling, and at every turn Zhang added a layer of poignant surprise that, in hindsight, was the heart of the story all along.

Caste, by Isabel Wilkerson

“Choose not to look, however, at your own peril. The owner of an old house knows that whatever you are ignoring will never go away. Whatever is lurking will fester whether you choose to look or not. Ignorance is no protection from the consequences of inaction. Whatever you are wishing away will gnaw at you until you gather the courage to face what you would rather not see.”

When I read The Warmth of Other Suns years ago, I knew it was one I would forever recommend to everyone. This isn't true of all the books I love, or find powerful or moving or beautifully written; reading experiences differ, blah blah whatever. I love a lot of books I wouldn't necessarily insist my mother or boss read immediately.

The same is true of Caste, only more urgently. I want everyone to read this. I love Wilkerson's writing: smooth and engaging without ever assuming her readers already know what she has to say. I read this because I loved her previous book, yes, but I also know I have a lot of anti-racist work to do, and this book made me look at race in this country in a way I honestly never really had: through the framework of a caste system. It knocked me flat, but not in a way that will shut down readers who most need to read this (which is...all of us in the dominant caste). This is essential reading.

The Secret Lives of Church Ladies, by Deesha Philyaw
Oh, this is just so good. I have my absolute favorites (as I usually do, in any story collection, and this is what makes the entire book tricky to rate), but they're all good. Read it. Read it.

Concrete Rose, by Angie Thomas
I loved everything about this and I read it in a single day. Thank goodness for Snow Days.

Read this after The Hate U Give, but read it. I love -- LOVE -- authors who show us their characters in a different light, from a different perspective, who take a supporting character from one story and let them take the stage in another. Madeleine L'Engle was a master at this. Tana French did it with the Dublin Murder Squad. And Angie Thomas does this with Garden Heights, the setting of The Hate U Give, seventeen years earlier. She doesn't miss a note.

A Promised Land, by Barack Obama
I read this a bit at a time for a long time, switching between the hardcover and audiobook. I love hearing his voice; I also love his writing voice. This book is dense but reads smoothly, and it's well worth the effort. I'll read the next installment when it comes, but I think it's going to be difficult, knowing where the country went in 2016. The contrast is still unbearable.

Don't Let Me Be Lonely: An American Lyric, by Claudia Rankine
I picked this up at Powell's last year, pre-Pandemic, and I realized that it's part of a trilogy -- that it belongs with Citizen: An American Lyric (which took my breath away five years ago) and Just Us: An American Conversation, which I bought as soon as it was published.

So I read it today. In a single day, almost a single sitting, just like Citizen. Rankine writes in that "unsettled territory" between poetry and prose (I can't remember where I read that, but that's what it is) and she does it brilliantly, weaving in mental health, pharmaceuticals, loneliness, culture, and politics that capture yet also transcend a very particular moment in America. Brilliant.

Who Will Be a Witness? Igniting Activitsm For God's Justice, Love, and Deliverance, by Drew G.I. Hart
Add this to the list of books I want every Christian to read, especially those who seek to move from being an ally to being a co-conspirator. I appreciate the mix of history and theology, as well as the necessary challenge to look at the way the church has often upheld white supremacy and shift to practicing "Jesus-shaped" justice.

A Year of Mr. Lucky, by Meg Weber

"I always feel like too much, except when I'm afraid I'm not enough."

This is a beautifully honest memoir about being human, vulnerable, and strong -- I believe that telling the truth about our own lives is some of the most important work we can do, and Meg Weber does this with fierce courage. (I've been incredibly lucky to write with Meg for the past several years, and she's the real deal.)

Long Bright River, by Liz Moore
This character-based mystery is more about the family dynamic, class, and the struggles of opioid addition than the mystery itself; it reminded me a bit of Tana French.

The Prophets, by Robert Jones, Jr.
I've been thinking about how to write about this devastating, beautiful, brilliant novel and I just don't know what to say that will capture how powerful it is. This novel soars. The characters, even -- especially? -- the secondary characters. The structure, which manages to tell an epic story from multiple perspectives but propel the reader forward. The sentences.

The author makes no secret about drawing inspiration from James Baldwin and Toni Morrison (among many other brilliant folks), and while he doesn't write "like" them, I think his work belongs alongside theirs. Still processing.

Infinite Country, by Patricia Engel
I read this book in a day, and I kept pausing to say to my husband, "This is just so good and so important and I want you to read it right now." Patricia Engel tells an immigration story that is both intimate and epic. The structure and pacing are perfect, the characters fully realized, and on a sentence level, it's just beautifully crafted. I can't believe anyone could tell this much story in under 200 pages. And this story does what the best stories do -- it humanizes what we try to "other" with our labels, political discourse, assumptions, biases, ignorance, and fear. Engel slips us into the perspective of a young couple trying to make their way in the world, their Columbian-born daughter raised in America, their American-born daughter coming of age in Columbia, and the brother between them -- all trying to survive, all trying to find their way back to each other, all grappling what it means to call a place home when your heart is somewhere else.

Milk Blood Heat, by Dantiel W. Moniz
I started reading and couldn't put this down. When I finished one story I immediately wanted more. I love everything about this book -- Moniz writes so beautifully and viscerally about girlhood, the complicated relationships between mothers and daughters and husbands and wives and siblings, and the intimate physicality of lived experience. So, so good.

Verge, by Lidia Yuknavitch
This book feels sort of impossible to rate. I think Lidia Yuknavitch is brilliant, full stop, and one of the bravest writers I've read. If you've read her other works and agree with me, or if you've enjoyed writers like Kelly Link and Carmen Maria Machado, read this one.

Mexican Gothic, by Silvia Moreno-Garcia
Fun and deliciously creepy gothic novel. Lots of fog, mysterious and sinister characters, a great big gloomy house, and a spunky protagonist determined not to let any of it scare her before she saves her cousin from some malevolent yet undefined force. This would have been a fantastic Halloween read, but I appreciated this literary escape over Spring Break, too.

The Underground Railroad, by Colson Whitehead
Another reread (this one from 2016), because the district gave me permission to teach it this year. It's brilliant. Colson Whitehead is everything.

What We Don't Talk About When We Talk About Fat, by Aubrey Gordon
I absolutely love Aubrey Gordon, and I think EVERYONE who has either been hurt by or perpetuated toxic diet culture and anti-fat bias, even inadvertently (which would literally be ALL of us), needs to read this. And I'm specifically eyeing...some of you whom I dearly love.

I also highly recommend the podcast "Maintenance Phase," hosted by Aubrey Gordon and Michael Hobbes. I'd listen to them talk about literally anything (Hobbes also hosts the podcast "You're Wrong About," which is also fabulous) but this one focuses on "[debunking] the junk science between health & wellness fads, and decode their cultural meaning."

Read the book, and then check out the podcast.

Leave the World Behind, by Rumaan Alam
Quietly unsettling, beautifully written story about race, class, and the end of the world. I couldn't put it down.

Grounded, by Jon Tester
Jon Tester is a senior United States Senator from Big Sandy, Montana (near my own family's origins) and he still manages his farm full-time. I LIKE HIM SO DAMN MUCH and reading this sort of broke my heart. I wish it made me feel hopeful, because if anyone can communicate with Americans of differing beliefs, it's him. (I fall a little left of him on most things, for the record, but his story and his beliefs resonate hard with me. I wish everyone in my family would read this.) It was also interesting to read this at more or less the same time I read A Promised Land.

The Push, by Ashley Audrain
This reminded me a lot of We Need To Talk About Kevin, with a more nuanced and true portrayal of the darkness of new motherhood.

Detroit Fairy Tales, by Elisa Sinnett
Elisa Sinnett has written a love letter to a place without romanticizing it. She honors her roots without minimizing trauma. She writes about what drives human behavior -- class, family, sex, race -- without losing sight of the ways in which we are all messily human. I loved every single sentence of this book.

The Office of Historical Corrections, by Danielle Evans
This collection of short stories and a novella is brilliant. It's about, oh, everything. And it's just about perfect on the sentence level. Pretty much everything I want in a work of literature, and also, I couldn't put it down. Sometimes I like short story collections because I feel like I can read them while I read other things. Read a story here, with my morning coffee; read another one before bed, maybe while I'm also reading a novel. But this collection was so immersive; I read it straight through.

I know I haven't said anything specific about the stories themselves, but if you care about imaginative storylines, compelling characters, and beautifully crafted sentences, read this.

Maid: Hard Work, Low Pay, and a Mother's Will to Survive, by Jane Allison
Well, this book definitely reinforced my stance that I never want to live in a house that is too much for me to take care of on my own as long as I am able-bodied, and I continue to be unimpressed by the classic capitalist idea that we're supposed to want to upgrade and upgrade and accumulate more stuff and take up as much space as possible in the world and then someday downsize again, or whatever.

This is an engaging, well-written memoir, and I appreciate Land's voice in a larger conversation about poverty. I really appreciate the way she dismantles so much of the "bootstrap" narrative so many of us were raised with. I think it's important to remember, though, that this is one woman's story, not a work of research, and I think that basic fact gets lost in a lot of discussions of this book. This is not to diminish Land's experiences at all, but it's hard to read this without thinking of how her (real) poverty is temporary, and how her whiteness affords her privileges that are not accessible to many folks in similar situations. I wish she would have hit on that a little harder, but again, this is a memoir. I also think she leaves out some important pieces of her story (there are so many things I have questions about, things she skims over but clearly impact this story in profound ways) but I also know she doesn't owe me that, and the omissions may very well be intentional. I still recommend this one. (I read this before I watched the Netflix series. Which is also good...but it's incomplete.)

The Final Revival of Opal & Nev, by Dawnie Walton
This novel deserves every single accolade. It sings, it soars, it provokes. The oral history form works beautifully, and Dawnie Walton writes voice unlike anyone I've read. I think the audiobook would be fantastic, but as someone who also loves beautifully written literature on a sentence level, I cherish the hardcover. (Buy a hardcover so you can hug it.) I absolutely loved it.

How the Word Is Passed, by Clint Smith

“I think that history is the story of the past, using all the available facts, and that nostalgia is a fantasy about the past using no facts, and somewhere in between is memory, which is kind of this blend of history and a little bit of emotion…I mean, history is kind of about what you need to know…but nostalgia is what you want to hear.”

I make no secret of my love for Clint Smith, and this book is one I want literally everyone to read. I learned that he originally conceived of this project as a book of poetry, one in which each poem would address a different Confederate monument he visited. For the record, I think that would have been a brilliant collection. But this book soars as both an important and immersive history book and a stunning work of literature on the sentence level; Smith writes with a poet's ear to language. I read this one straight through, marking every chapter, unable to put it down.

My "blue-ribbon" high school education (and all the years before and many since) had some gaps, to put it mildly. We need this book.

Noopiming: The Cure for White Ladies, by Leanne Betasamosake Simpson
I absolutely love this book.

It wasn't written for me or my understanding (and likely that will apply to you, too).

Read a little about the book, maybe.

Let the poetry break you a bit. Laugh out loud sometimes (because it's also funny sometimes). Let it break your heart, too, make you think, make you wonder. Be willing to do a little work to understand, or try. Be open.

Long Way Down, by Jason Reynolds
I don't love all YA novels-in-verse but this one leveled me with the power of its language -- the economy of it, the power, the care given to rhythm and sound.

I finished it and immediately handed it to my teenaged daughter. I want more copies in my classroom. The story itself is powerful, but the writing sends it soaring.

We Want to Do More Than Survive: Abolitionist Teaching and the Pursuit of Educational Freedom, by Bettina L. Love
I want every teacher teacher to read this.

I had the phenomenal privilege of hearing Dr. Love speak this year, and in my journal I wrote, "I want every teacher to hear her. Actually, every human." That's exactly how I feel about her book.

The Chosen and the Beautiful, by Nghi Vo
Retellings of well-known stories don't always work for me, but I couldn't pass up the story of The Great Gatsby told from Jordan's perspective. Jordan as queer, adopted, and Asian -- I'm here for it. Right before I picked this up, I had a conversation with a friend about the value of "American Literature" courses in high school, and I said that the only way I would ever want to teach a class with that title again is by focusing on whose stories weren't told in those red hardcover anthologies so many of us marched through. But that's a larger conversation.

Anyway, maybe the premise is ridiculous -- there is also magic, demon's blood (demoniac) added to many, many cocktails, and cut paper figures that come eerily to life -- but Vo's telling of this story is transformative and it works beautifully. I suppose it could stand on its own, but I think I appreciated it so much more more because I've read Fitzgerald's novel many times (and I can't deny that I love it, mostly for the cadence of his sentences). Vo perfectly captures the essence of Fitzgerald's story and the way he can draw a reader so fully into a moment, but her command of language is also very much her own, and I was completely enthralled from start to finish. I knew what was coming, but I couldn't put it down, and with Jordan at the center the story soars in a dark and dreamy new way.

The Shadow King, by Maaza Mengiste
This book is stunning, and it's also the best war novel I've ever read, telling the story of Italy's second invasion of Ethiopia. Most war novels relegate women to the margins, if they are present at all; they are flimsy plot devices, or sexual objects, or props. This novel centers them; women have always been there.

The characters are all multifaceted, complicated, and human. The writing is gorgeous at the sentence level and brilliant in the bigger picture -- structure, plot, theme. I couldn't put it down, but I also wanted to read it slowly. It's a nearly perfect novel.

Things We Lost to the Water, by Eric Nguyen
This is a story of Huong, a refugee from Vietnam, who arrives in New Orleans with her two very young sons in 1979, and the novel follows their lives through the next few decades, ending with Hurricane Katrina. I wanted to love it -- the motif of water is (clearly) an important thread, and the novel grapples with the themes of memory, loss, belonging, and how we find and define home (one of my favorite literary themes). But I wanted more from each of the characters' stories -- so much potential for development. Still, this is one I'll keep in my classroom and happily share.

Great Circle, by Maggie Shipstead
I loved this book more than I can put into words. Finely honed at the sentence level, perfectly paced and plotted, and characters I can't stop thinking about. It spoke to my soul in ways I can't articulate yet. Definitely one of my favorites this year.

Local Woman Missing, by Mary Kubica
I know I listen to too much true crime, but this irritated me so much. At the end I both wanted to laugh and throw the book at the wall. The multiple perspectives also didn't work for me because the voices all read exactly the same to me -- I'd have lost track of who was talking (the little brother of the missing girl, one of the missing women, the woman next door, etc.) if each section wasn't clearly labeled with a name and "NOW" or "ELEVEN YEARS AGO." On the positive side, it was a FAST read (started it at dinner, finished it after breakfast the next morning, did NOT stay up all night breathlessly turning pages) and I did finish it, because in spite of myself, I wanted to know what happened.

Cultivating Genius: An Equity Framework for Culturally and Historically Responsive Literacy, by Gholdy Mohammaed
Another absolutely essential book for educators.

The 57 Bus, by Dashka Slater
I'm excited to add this to my sophomore curriculum.

This is the summary from goodreads.com:

One teenager in a skirt.
One teenager with a lighter.
One moment that changes both of their lives forever.

If it weren't for the 57 bus, Sasha and Richard never would have met. Both were high school students from Oakland, California, one of the most diverse cities in the country, but they inhabited different worlds. Sasha, a white teen, lived in the middle-class foothills and attended a small private school. Richard, a black teen, lived in the crime-plagued flatlands and attended a large public one. Each day, their paths overlapped for a mere eight minutes. But one afternoon on the bus ride home from school, a single reckless act left Sasha severely burned, and Richard charged with two hate crimes and facing life imprisonment. The case garnered international attention, thrusting both teenagers into the spotlight.

This is a story that fosters empathy and understanding, elevates marginalized voices we need to hear, and, yes, reminds us of our own humanity. I hope.

Behind Closed Doors, by B.A. Paris
So this isn't great literature, but I couldn't put it down and the ending was pretty great. It's exactly what I needed to read over Labor Day weekend after the most chaotic return to school I've ever experienced (fully in-person after 18 months AND in a brand-new building). Glad it was a library book because it was no Tana French, but no regrets.

Somebody's Daughter, by Ashley C. Ford
Ashley C. Ford is a beautiful writer, and this memoir is one I'll recommend (and add to my classroom shelves).

It's a different story than the one I thought I was going to read -- maybe that's a marketing issue, but there were so many places where she brushed over stories I wanted so much more of, especially in her adulthood. But they're hers to tell as she wishes, and this is still a complex, nuanced, important read.

The Living Sea of Waking Dreams, by Richard Flanagan
This strange, dreamy, devastating, beautiful book cut straight to my core.

I love this quote from Damien Cave's review in The New York Times: "If there is hope in 'The Living Sea of Waking Dreams' — and in interviews, Flanagan has said there is — it may be found in that simple admonition. Look extinction in the face and find meaning in what we have left. Human failure cannot be solved when we’re scrolling, lost in our dreams, or when the air is tobacco brown. What we see, stream and share will never matter as much as the lives and landscapes we can observe, contemplate and touch."

The Other Black Girl, by Zakiya Dalila Harris
I picked this up because it was getting a lot of literary buzz and it was categorized (by some) as a "thriller," which is what I'm often in the mood for in the fall. But this book defies easy categorization. It's not really a thriller -- at least not the fun, read-in-one-sitting kind of books I indulge in over the weekend when I'm stressed -- but it also doesn't read (to me) like a "dark comedy" or one reminiscent of The Devil Wears Prada, which is how it's marketed. It's much deeper than that, and the writing is so much more than I usually expect from my fun mystery reads. Maybe that's actually why this isn't the book for some folks. I suppose it's a slow burn in terms of "thrillers" (although the writing and characterization had me hooked from page one, and I didn't want to put it down), but I trusted this writer from the beginning, and when I understood where she was taking her readers I wanted to go back and reread parts just to appreciate how skillfully she steered the story. I suspect I'll be thinking about this one for awhile.

A Slow Fire Burning, by Paula Hawkins
Fun in the way Paula Hawkins's books are. A good way to spend a vacation day. Probably it's predictable, but I never try too hard to solve the mystery when I'm only spending one or two cozy, chilly afternoons with a book. (I think I like Ruth Ware better, but both writers are ones whose books I happily check out of the library when they're available.)

Filthy Animals, by Brandon Taylor
I think Brandon Taylor is a brilliant writer and I loved his novel Real Life last year. These stories are also well crafted and beautifully written, but they didn't hold me like his longer fiction. I enjoyed the book every time I picked it up to read a story, but I never felt compelled to go back to it, and in the end I read the last three together so I could add it to my 2021 list -- I'd almost forgotten I was reading it at all. I wonder if I would have been more drawn to it if it had been a collection of distinct stories or a novel-in-stories featuring Lionel, Charlie, and Sophie instead of a mix of stories featuring those characters and a few that seemed entirely disconnected.

Harlem Shuffle, by Colson Whitehead
Five stars because Colson Whitehead is a genius. I would probably not have been drawn to a novel described "a gloriously entertaining novel of heists, shakedowns, and rip-offs set in Harlem in the 1960s" -- sounds fun, but my reading list is long -- except that Colson Whitehead wrote it. I know I need to go back and read his earlier work, because the versatility of his writing is astonishing. The characterization in this story is phenomenal, as well as the brilliant evocation of a particular time and place. And it turned out to be exactly the book I needed to read to take me out of my own particular time and place, at the moment.

Crossroads, by Jonathan Franzen
Listen, I know we're supposed to hate Jonathan Franzen, and despite the fact that The Corrections is a book that lingers with me sixteen years after I read it, I was ready to be done with him myself after reading Purity (which wasn't an awful book, but I thought, you know, I don't need to be loyal to this writer). But when I read the synopsis of Crossroads, and when I picked it up in a bookstore and skimmed the first few paragraphs, I bought it. And when I sat down to read in earnest, it grabbed me exactly like The Corrections did, and I really, really loved it for all the reasons I loved The Corrections and there you go.

Begin Again: James Baldwin's America and Its Urgent Lessons For Our Own, by Eddie S. Glaude Jr.
I'm including this in my 2021 list because I'm closer to the end than the beginning. I came to James Baldwin rather late in my life and I'm still discovering him -- but teaching his essays to my juniors requires that I think beyond what personally resonates for me, too, and this book sets his work in the context of our own. I have so much more of Baldwin to read (and more is definitely on my list for 2022), and I'm glad to have this book alongside me as I do.

The Lincoln Highway, by Amor Towles
I'm also including this on my 2021 list even though I haven't quite finished, although I still might by tomorrow night. I couldn't wait to get my hands on this one after absolutely loving A Gentleman in Moscow, which remains one of the most immersive, satisfying reads of my life. This one, I am happy to report, lives up to my expectations. Absolutely wonderful characters, beautifully crafted sentences, and a story I just want to curl up with forever. It's been perfect for our snow days this week.

Note: I don't usually include audiobooks, because they're not my favorite. It's not that I don't consider them "real" reading (I do!) but they don't work for me in the same way; I can't fully appreciate the language and craft of stories I really love when I can't see the sentences. But that's not to say that I don't enjoy audiobooks in my own particular context: extended time on the road, and occasionally, on my daily walks (though I prefer podcasts for those).

Here are my top audiobooks for 2021:

American Predator: The Hunt for the Most Meticulous Serial Killer of the 21st Century, by Maureen Callahan
My favorite true crime podcast let me to want to learn more about Israel Keyes. Why didn't we ever hear about Israel Keyes? He's terrifying. He also probably killed someone wherever you live, by the way. And he spent plenty of time in Washington state (as do most serial killers, it seems), so I continued to be amazed that I haven't either been murdered or tripped over a human femur on one of my walks.

Anxious People, by Fredrick Backman
I LOVED THIS BOOK SO MUCH. As in, I might actually buy it just to have a hard copy to hug. I listened to the last 90 minutes on a 6-mile walk, tears streaming down my face the entire time. I recommend this book to literally everyone.

An American Marriage, by Tayari Jones
I think I'd have appreciated this a great deal if I'd read the physical book, but it worked well as an audiobook too. I loved the characters' voices, the structure, and their story. It was heartbreaking and tender even at its most painful moments.

Beartown, by Fredrick Backman
I'm currently listening to this one after a couple of short(ish) road trips over winter break; I have a bit left. It's powerful and intense, and the storytelling is what I've come to appreciate form Backman. I pretty much recommend his books to anyone, audiobooks or otherwise.

As always, I've already started a list for 2022, and I'm looking forward to the Most Anticipated Books of 2022 from Lithub and The Millions in the coming days. If you've made your way through my list, I assume you're reading your way through your own. And I believe reading matters, so: love and solidarity, Friends.