2018 in Books

When I look back on 2018 I feel I didn't read nearly as much as I did in 2017, and overall I didn't read quite as many books that I loved (and did settle for too many "just okay" books when I thought I needed an escape, which left me feeling rather unsatisfied). That said, I did read some astonishingly good books, and I have high hopes for 2019 (and already a lengthy reading list, with some promising titles leftover from 2018 as well as a lot of exciting new ones).

What I read in 2018...

The Refugees, by Viet Thanh Nguyen
Beautifully written and important collection of stories about what it means to be a refugee in America. Viet Thanh Nguyen illuminates the hardships of his characters' lives without asking us to pity them; he asks only that we try to understand them, or empathize on a purely human level. And because he renders their humanity so fully, this isn't a stretch. It's a timely work, for sure, but I feel it's one that will transcend the year in which it was published.

Turtles All the Way Down, by John Green
This is John Green...being John Green. And it's great.

(It's funny, actually. I read his earlier works a decade or so ago, and I still love them. I gave them five stars. I feel like I liked this book more than I expected to, actually, and I wonder if it's not, in some ways, technically better than the books I enthusiastically gave ALL the stars to in the last ten years? But I'm not giving this one five stars. I very much enjoyed it, and it moved me to tears at the end. But I wonder if I was perhaps carried away in my twenties in a way that I'm not in my late thirties?)

Basically I'll read everything John Green writes, still. Always.

The History of Love, by Nicole Krauss
Nicole Krauss had been on my radar for awhile but I hadn't actually read her books when my friend Tara messaged me late last summer and asked if I'd read The History of Love. I needed to read it, she said, "more than anyone [she] knew." Then she said, "Kind of reminds me of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, though I couldn't tell you why."

"They were married..." I said.

"Who was married?"

"Those two authors!"

"New side literary career: finding obscure literary connections that are ridiculous and useless." We laughed about that today when I told her I'd finally read The History of Love. And I absolutely loved it. I wept at the end, not because it was devastating (as she often believes the books I recommend are), but because it was beautiful. And I love JSF, and maybe he's brilliant, but I'm here to tell you that Nicole Krauss is the superior writer. She won't get that credit, probably, but it's true.

New Boy, by Tracy Chevalier
I cringe giving one-star ratings, or even two-star ratings, and I've started to wonder whether I should only update this account to reflect the books I really enjoy. Because writing is hard work, and the literary world is honestly pretty mean. Also, tackling Shakespeare is an incredibly ambitious undertaking. But for now, I'm letting this stand, because I found this book to be pretty problematic.

After reading and enjoying Margaret Atwood's Hag-Seed last year, I was looking forward to this installment in the Hogarth Shakespeare Series. Othello is my favorite of Shakespeare's plays, likely because I think I've taught it more than I've taught any other single literary text in my teaching career. Unfortunately, this book didn't work for me at all. This was less a creative re-visioning than almost a literal translation, practically a line-by-line "modernization" in which the story is set in a 1970's era D.C. prep school. The effect was that I was completely bored. I stayed with the story because a.) it's short and I'm stubborn and b.) I wanted to see if the author would actually kill off 11-year-olds on a playground. I won't spoil that part, I guess?

But that's one of the problems: the characters (Osei or "O", Dee, Ian, Mimi, Casper, Blanca, Rod) are all eleven years old. My daughter was eleven when I read this, and I am a public high school teacher and none of the characters felt remotely authentic to me. (And "Dee" as Desdemona didn't work for me at all. I think this retelling got her character all wrong. "Mimi" as Emilia didn't work very well, either. I loved the relationship between Desdemona and Emilia in the play, and they are both fierce in their own ways, which doesn't come across at all here.) If I didn't know I was reading a "translation" of Othello I wouldn't have made it past the first chapter. As it was, I didn't forget for one second that I was reading a book that was trying to be a line-by-line translation of a play I really love. The other problem is that the racism is handled terribly...by a white lady. I never once forgot I was reading a novel written by a white lady who was obviously trying to portray the issues of race in the play. "Translating" the racism to the 1970's and trying to reflect the perspective of an African immigrant family while shining a light on the racism of the community in which they find themselves did not come across well. It's awkward at best, cringingly offensive at worst. I recognized the writer's intentions, but they're lost in the translation.

Fire Sermon, by Jamie Quatro
Gorgeously written. I didn't write down my thoughts when I read this nearly a year ago, but I still remember appreciating Quatro's language and the tension she creates throughout the story.

The Child Finder, by Rene Denfield
I wasn't sure I'd have the stomach for this one, but I read in an interview with the author that she never writes anything graphic because she never wants to "exploit or violate the privacy of a victim, even if they are fictional." Sometimes I can handle graphic, but I struggle when horrible things happen to children. Anyway, she handled the subject well without traumatizing the reader or diluting the effect, and I appreciate the story she's telling -- it's important. I wasn't always in love with the writing or all the threads of her story, and I found it difficult to suspend my disbelief quite to the extent she required at times, but I read the book in two sittings, completely absorbed.

Love Medicine, by Louise Erdrich
I've read this a handful of times in the last ten years and returned to it before teaching it to my senior class. It absolutely rewards rereading and I still love it just as much as I did the first time I read it.

Winter, by Ali Smith
I enjoyed this as much as Autumn, for the same reasons. Since I read the first novel in this seasonal quartet fairly recently there was a certain satisfying continuity, although it's not necessary to read one to enjoy the other. I think I love Ali Smith. And it felt particularly lovely to read this on a day when the Pacific Northwest experienced a rare February snowfall. (The third volume of Smith's seasonal quartet will be released this spring and I am so here for it!)

Heart Berries, by Terese Marie Mailhot
Once I picked it up, I couldn't put it down. I'm still thinking about it.

There are certain words people will use to describe this kind of memoir: Raw. Heartbreaking. Powerful. Painful. Brilliant. And it is all of these things, but really it is a spectacular work of art, and I am in awe of this writer's craft.

City of God: Faith in the Streets, by Sara Miles
I appreciate Sara Miles. I didn't love this as much as Take This Bread, but it's still a good read. (I read it during Lent, which felt appropriate.)

The Left Hand of Darkness, by Ursula K. Le Guin
I've never really been interested in science fiction, but I thought it was high time I read Ursula K. Le Guin. And this was really brilliant. It wasn't a quick read for me, but it was thoroughly absorbing, and I wound up underlining so many things. I love her writing and her mind.

Educated: A Memoir, by Tara Westover
This is the rare book I recommended both to my husband and to my mother as soon as I finished it--a compelling memoir of a woman raised by survivalist parents deep in the mountains of Idaho, so isolated that when she finally manages to get to college she's never heard of the Holocaust. That she managed to get herself to college by teaching herself enough to pass the ACT is something. That she managed to go on to earn a phD and produce a book as well-written as this is nothing short of astonishing. I couldn't put it down. Westover tells her story with both unflinching honesty and deep love, even after years of abuse and ultimately estrangement, and I have tremendous respect for her.

Red Clocks, by Leni Zumas
This will draw inevitable comparisons to The Handmaid's Tale, and while it is equally timely, this novel stands alone on its own literary merit. Yes, we are asked to consider a future in which abortion and in-vitro fertilization are illegal, "witch hunts" are real, and the government is a frightening parallel to our own at the moment -- nothing seems so far-fetched that our current administration couldn't achieve it, and the setting (a coastal town in Oregon) is familiar enough to make this an even more unsettling read for me. But what makes this novel soar is the characterization and the author's language, because if a writer can't tell me a story in beautiful sentences, I'm not as invested in the story. I read this novel in a single weekend, and if I could have, I would have read from the first page to the last without closing the covers. It's lovely, frightening, triumphant, and important.

The Woman in the Window, by A. J. Finn
Unreliable narrator, check. A day of fun escapist reading, check. It reminded me a lot of The Girl on the Train, so if you liked that one, this is probably worth a read.

The God of Small Things, by Arundhati Roy
Another reread before teaching it in my senior class. I still love it. I picked up The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, or tried to, but I didn't get into that one and abandoned it, which makes me a little sad.

The Awakening, by Kate Chopin
And yet another reread...I taught this to seniors this spring and was surprised at how well they responded. And I hadn't read it in well over a decade. I appreciated it in my early twenties, but I love it even more now.

Grist Mill Road, by Christopher J. Yates
I really enjoy character-driven "literary" thrillers, and this definitely leans more towards, say, Tana French than the "Girl/Woman in/on the_______" books I tear through a few times a year, just because sometimes that's what I want on a Saturday.

(Tana French is still better than everyone else at this.)

The Perfect Nanny, by Leila Slimani
Tightly written and unsettling little book about a nanny who murders her two young charges. We learn this on the very first page; the rest of the book builds to that moment but never really gives us a clear-cut why, nor do we experience the actual moment. It works. More than just a "thriller" (and it really isn't that at all) it's an examination of class, race, immigration, and the expectations of motherhood.

Reservoir 13, by Jon McGregor
If I'd picked this up without having read Jon McGregor's If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things I'd probably have expected (and hoped for) something along the lines of Tana French. But while the premise of this story is grounded in the mystery of a thirteen-year-old girl who goes missing from her rural community, the story itself isn't about her -- it's an exploration of the community itself. Ultimately, it requires that we loosen our grip on the story we thought we were getting so that we can experience the stories we might otherwise miss.

A Kind of Freedom, by Margaret Wilkerson Sexton
This follows the story of three generations in New Orleans -- from Evelyn in 1944, to her daughter Jackie in the 80's, to her grandson T.C. in 2010. It reminded me a bit of Jesmyn Ward's Where the Line Bleeds. Sexton's characters are flawed but hopeful, and her storytelling is beautiful -- I loved the way she draws us into the story, showing us ways in which the characters are shaped by the setting and their circumstances, and capturing their voices in ways that feel authentic. I also love a writer who can make me taste what someone is eating, or feel the texture of the chair they're sitting on, in a way that doesn't seem overwritten; the details draw us more fully into her characters' moments. I also appreciate Sexton's ability to convey the sweep of history in such a compact novel (Yaa Gyasi's Homegoing also comes to mind).

Anne Frank: The Book, The Life, The Afterlife, by Francine Prose
The section about the play dragged a bit for me, but I actually really enjoyed this -- and it made me realize HOW MANY times I've read The Diary of Anne Frank (and watched the movie starring Millie Perkins) since I was eleven. And how much I still love it.

The Female Persuasion by Meg Wolitzer
I do love Meg Wolitzer's characters -- or at least the way she writes them. I loved this book slightly less than The Interestings because the ending felt rushed and unsatisfying; I didn't quite feel that the characters had their say. I still recommend it, because I still think Wolitzer writes every bit as well as and often better than the men with whom she is so often compared (Franzen and Updike come to mind).

California Calling: A Self-Interrogation, by Natalie Singer
What does it mean to call a place home? What does it mean to belong? I immersed myself in this beautifully written memoir over the course of a single weekend. I love everything Singer does with language and structure to tell her story, which reads like a coming-of-age story but also a bittersweet love letter to place and memory. It made me feel everything. I loved every word.

The Mars Room, by Rachel Kushner
I absolutely loved The Flamethrowers, so I had high expectations for this book. It met them (although it is a very different book). I think Rachel Kushner is brilliant. In this novel she gives a voice to people on the margins of society, evoking a sort of Orange is the New Black kind of story but offering a grittier, less funny (but still "darkly comic" as many reviewers have suggested) picture of prison life. It's not an easy story to swallow, but I couldn't put it down. Her narrator is real and complex: not entirely lovable, but human enough to make me root for her anyway. And I guess that's the takeaway for me: to what extent are we willing to grant humanity to those neglected and marginalized people in our society? How do we dehumanize the invisible? How much are we willing to really see each other?

The Perfect Mother, by Aimee Molloy
"An addictive psychological thriller about a group of women whose lives become unexpectedly connected when one of their newborns goes missing"? Count me in. I put this on hold at library, hoping it would arrive just in time for summer. It did. Lovely way to spend my first full day at home after the end of the school year, when I needed exactly this sort of distraction from my feelings. I read it in one day, and it was fun. There you go.

Neverworld Wake, by Marisha Pessl
I'm still thinking about this one. It's a little like Groundhog Day, only darker, and more poignant. I went into this novel knowing really nothing about it, and I liked it that way, so I'll leave it at that.

Sometimes I love Marisha Pessl. I really adored Special Topics in Calamity Physics. (I wonder how that would hold up to rereading?) I devoured Night Film into the wee hours, too frightened to move from my chair well past midnight, and I loved the experience of reading it, but I thought the writing wasn't wonderful. This novel is interesting; it's her first YA novel, but her writing seems more controlled and precise while still evoking exactly the feeling I think she intends. And it's strange and lovely and imaginative. Some parts in the middle seemed to lose momentum, but I was all in at the ending.

The Largesse of the Sea Maiden, by Denis Johnson
I've never read Denis Johnson before I picked up his posthumously published collection of stories. What a writer. I understand those who mourn the fact that the world will never see another one of his new stories, but his last work is brilliant. (And now that he's on my radar, I'm sure I'll find my way to some of his earlier work as well.)

A Gentleman in Moscow, by Amor Towles
This is quite simply one of the best books I've read (and I don't say that lightly, because I love a lot of books). I read it slowly, not because it's a slow book -- although it seems like it might be, reading the plot summary -- but because I wanted to remain immersed in the world of the Metropol for as long as possible. I loved every single thing about it! The characters in all their humanity and charm, the absolutely wonderful writing, the humor, the scope of it. All of it. I didn't know much about this book when I started, other than it came with the highest of recommendations from a couple of people whose opinions I respect. And I wasn't sure it would make the best airplane book, because again, I thought it might be a bit slow, but it's what I had with me. Turns out it was the perfect airplane book, because I was enthralled from the very first page, and the hours passed smoothly. I hate flying, but I love reading, and this has to be up there on my list of Best Reading Experiences Ever.

Don't Skip Out On Me, by Willy Vlautin
This book quietly broke my heart. I love Mr. Reese so much. It's a book about loneliness, and people who live on the margins and "whose stories stay close to the dirt," as Lidia Yuknavitch said. But it's also a book about love, huge and unconditional love, and also grace and tenderness. I love the way Willy Vlautin humanizes all the forlorn folks at the edges of society and makes us really see them.

Slave Old Man, by Patrick Chamoiseau
I read this story of a slave who escapes from a plantation in Martinique into the jungle, pursued by his master and hound, in a single afternoon. The shifting perspectives and "hallucinatory prose" read like a fever dream. Let yourself fall into the language, let it carry you. It's a beautiful and terrible, thrilling and strange.

The Great Believers, Rebecca Makkai
This isn't a perfect novel, but after I finished it I couldn't stop thinking about it, so it gets five stars. It's such a big-hearted novel. I loved reading it, and it broke my heart, as the best books tend to do.

Rebecca Makkai takes us into the AIDS epidemic in Chicago in the 1980's, and the story centers around a group of friends who live through it -- or don't. And then we find ourselves propelled ahead to Paris in 2015...

The two threads are shown through the perspectives of Yale Tishman, who works for an art gallery in Chicago, and Fiona, the younger sister of Yale's friend Nico, whose funeral opens the novel. I was immediately invested in the Chicago story, but gradually, more and more connections are revealed until the threads come together in surprising, beautiful, and not entirely resolved ways. I fell in love with the characters, even the characters I didn't particularly like, because they're all so messily human. I understand the comparisons to A Little Life, a book I also love, but I think the comparison is misplaced. A Little Life is also gorgeous and heartbreaking but highlights every atrocity a human being can inflict upon another. The Great Believers is largely a story about the ways in which we show up for each other in great love, even when it hurts, even when we get it wrong, even when it doesn't work, and it's somehow beautifully redemptive.

(And seriously, the characters. I couldn't stop myself from scrawling, "I love you, Dr. Cheng" in the margin while I read on the airplane.)

Freshwater, by Akwaeke Emezi
This book is stunning, shattering, gorgeously written, and unlike anything I've ever read.

The Death of Mrs. Westaway, by Ruth Ware
My favorite of Ruth Ware's books so far, which surprised me because it didn't sound like something I'd find terribly interesting...I didn't love the ending, but the pervasive sense of dread and unease throughout the story made it a fun way to spend a hot summer day. (Especially because it's set during the winter in a dreary old house. Lots of drafty windows and ominous snowstorms.)

The Last Mrs. Parrish, by Liv Constantine
So this is actually kind of a terrible book on so many levels but I also read all 390 pages in basically two sittings, so. (I can't really explain my feelings any further without spoiling the book.)

Death Comes for the Archbishop, by Willa Cather
This is really a collection of vignettes more than a plot-driven novel, but it is beautiful and utterly absorbing and I loved every single word. Cather's prose is both gorgeous and clear. Precise. I love work grounded in place, too, and this is absolutely stunning. The last section brought me to tears.

Upstream, by Mary Oliver
Whether Mary Oliver is writing about Walt Whitman, Edgar Allan Poe, nursing an injured gull in her bathtub, or observing a spider in her web in the corner of a rental home, I love every single word. She reminds me to stay awake to the world, to pay attention, to notice, to care.

I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter, by Erika Sanchez
This book accomplishes what Sherman Alexie did with The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian -- but better. I want to replace Part-Time Indian with this novel in our sophomore curriculum, or at least offer it as a better alternative. In the spring of 2018, Sherman Alexie faced multiple allegations of sexual harassment, especially against Native American authors. Since then, he has had many awards reconsidered or outright rescinded. While one can still appreciate the literary merits of his work, we can we can do better than to present it as THE work that students find engaging and culturally relevant when there are so many other voices that do not diminish, marginalize, or threaten.

Julia, the protagonist of I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter, experiences the effects of similar societal expectations and the pull between family, culture, and society. This novel addresses issues that are relevant and timely, and elevating other voices, rather than subscribing to the narrative that a particular book is the best or only way to lead our students into grappling with these deeper questions, is important.

And it's just really damn good.

The Reservoir Tapes, by Jon McGregor
Read Reservoir 13 first and then read this. They go together, in that order.

My Exaggerated Life, by Katherine Clark (and Pat Conroy)
Anyone who knows me well knows that Pat Conroy is absolutely, no question, my favorite writer. This book isn't a book you start with if you haven't read his work, though; this is a book you read after you've already fallen in love with his storytelling and after you've heard his voice, literally. Immediately after Pat Conroy died in 2016, my husband downloaded podcasts for me, mostly Pat Conroy speaking to Terry Gross on NPR's "Fresh Air." For the past couple of years I've listened to them whenever I just need to be a little quiet. I'll go on a walk through my neighborhood and listen to his voice for a half-hour or so. I mean, I have every word memorized, and his voice is familiar and comforting to me.

And that's what you really need to appreciate this book, I think, or to love it like I do. You need to hear Conroy's voice. I read this entire book, the product of hundreds of hours of recording conversations with Katherine Clark, and I heard his voice on every page. I read it a little at a time before I went to sleep at night. I could have read it in a day, but I didn't ever want to come to the last page, because I know I'll never hear a new word from him again. I loved every single word of this book and every single moment of reading it and I'm brokenhearted all over again now that it is finished.

Lethal White, by Robert Galbraith
I've grown attached to these (rather, I've grown attached to Cormoran and Robin). I almost gave this one 3 stars because I had to wait THREE YEARS for it and I didn't love it QUITE as much as I loved Career of Evil (my favorite of the Cormoran Strike mysteries so far), but it was still purely enjoyable and exactly what I needed during an intensely stressful month. Four stars it is, because now I'm invested in the characters and I still love the storytelling.

So You Want To Talk About Race, by Ijeoma Oluo
Add this to everyone's "Required Reading" list. I want to leave copies everywhere.

The Haunting of Hill House, by Shirley Jackson
I've never read this! But I did this year, on Halloween, which was just about perfect. And it's scarier than most of the psychological thrillers I check out from the library. You just have to have a little more patience to read this, I think, and a deep love of language, because that's what gives this story its power.

The Overstory, by Richard Powers
I started this book on a short flight home from Montana in early September and was immediately enthralled. This novel is stunning. One night I sat on the couch reading it and suddenly called to my husband, "This book makes me see the world so differently. I mean it makes me want to see. The world." I couldn't explain any further what that meant, but if he reads it (I think he will, and I think he'll love it) he'll understand. I couldn't read this without a pen in my hand, underlining and making notes in the margins. I feel sure this is a work that will reward rereading.

I feel like so many novels I love focus on the individual pain, triumph, and daily artistry of humans' lives; this novel is less about individual characters (though all the characters are finely drawn and, to me, wholly believable and complex) than about the ways in which we fit into a picture much bigger than one we can see. I love the way Powers spins the stories of so many individuals and shows the ways in which they intersect. The story is about the ways we communicate with each other, yes, but also about the ways in which our world communicates. The trees are as important as the people: as they should be. The scope of this work is ambitious, but I also love the texture and cadence of Richard Powers's sentences. Why haven't I read him before?

Elmet, by Fiona Mozley
This was gorgeously written, and I particularly love writing that evokes a strong sense of place. Elmet is a sanctuary in Northern England, a setting so beautifully drawn it seems as important as any character. Daniel, the narrator, lives in the woods with his resourceful older sister Cathy and his father, John, a man who serves as protector and provider. Their lives would seem almost idyllic, except that a pervasive sense of dread threads itself throughout the entire story, resulting in its inevitable violent end. It raises questions of who can own land? Who can own a man? What does it mean to be free? The message isn't subtle, but the storytelling is beautiful.

The Witch Elm, by Tana French
I read mysteries for "fun," when I need an escape, something I don't have to invest in emotionally but also won't make me feel like I've wasted my time. I check out most of these from the library. I read them in a couple of sittings over a weekend and enjoy them, but I don't need to own them, don't need to return to them every now and then. Tana French is different. Her mysteries are (usually) satisfying, but they're not the main event. Her character studies and her fantastic sentences are why I show up at the bookstore as soon as she releases a new novel.

This time, I was admittedly nervous about her departure from my beloved Dublin Murder Squad. Still, as a reader, I trust her, and I wasn't wrong to this time. This stand-alone novel absolutely works on its own (although I really wished I could get inside the perspectives of the detectives who investigate the murder of the man whose skull was found inside a hollow tree). I didn't like the protagonist, but I didn't think I was particularly supposed to -- liking him wasn't the point. Understanding him was. And I loved one of the characters enough to invest in whatever happened, even if the ending left me feeling a bit wrung-out.

I was wholly absorbed in reading for two days over the long Thanksgiving weekend, and this one might be my favorite of Tana French's novels so far.

The Mere Wife, by Maria Dahvana Headley
"Beowulf in the suburbs" is what I keep reading about this book, probably because that's a pretty good hook, but it's so much more than that. This revisioning of Beowulf is stunning and the language is unstoppable in its power.

The Labyrinth of the Spirits, by Carlos Ruiz Zafón
A story has no beginning and no end, only points of entry.

I have been waiting for this for SIX YEARS and I actually shrieked and hugged this massive 800-page book in the bookstore when I saw it. This was a fabulous vacation read, and it brings the Cemetery of Forgotten Books to a beautiful conclusion. It also reveals just how perfectly The Angel's Game and The Prisoner of Heaven fit into the story, even if I found them slightly less satisfying than The Shadow of the Wind. As a whole, these four books -- The Shadow of the Wind, The Angel's Game, The Prisoner of Heaven, and now The Labyrinth of the Spirits -- comprise one of the best, most immersive reading experiences of my life.