A Year in Review through the Lens of the Best Book I Read Each Month

January:

Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader by Anne Fadiman

In January, while in Oregon watching misty rain, rain, and one day of sudden snow fall from the sky, I read this delightful book of essays about reading and books. I relate to many of the ideas such as how much one can learn about another by the books they keep on their shelves. Bookshelves are insightful. As are library book withdrawal lists. At one point, Fadiman says, “I have never been able to resist a book about books.” And I understand exactly what she means.

 

February:

The Emotional Craft of Fiction by Donald Maass

February, in Oregon, while slowly beginning to build an online tutoring business and trying to keep my writing and writing skills in a prominent place in my life I read books on writing craft. As I go, I copy out bits that stand out to me. This is one paragraph I write in my notebook: “Nothing builds reader involvement more surely than a character whose moral struggle pervades the tale. When readers hope, beg, and plead with you to let a character turn towards the light, you have readers where you want them. A character who is good is good; a character whom we want to be good is even better” (page 49).

During this month, the friend I’m staying with and I watch the show Cobra Kai (COBRA KAI NEVER DIES!) – the continued story of The Karate Kid (definitely worth the watch if for nothing but the hilarious 80s references). One of the most interesting characters is Robby who follows a winding path that takes him from rebellion, to trust, to having his trust betrayed. He ends up at a crossroads of choice, and chooses the worst possible route. As I watch, I realize I like Robby so much because he has a moral struggle and I want him so badly to be good, just like Maass said. So very badly. The season ends before this development is resolved, but I can hope for Robby’s ultimate redemption and joy. I can hope.

 

March:

Deep: Freediving, Renegade Science, and What the Ocean Tells Us About Ourselves by James Nestor

People do amazing things. One of those things is freediving. The Earth is an amazing place. One of those places is the ocean with all its mystery, terror, and beauty. Exploring the ocean depth by depth, Nestor takes me on an intriguing journey as he learns how to increase his lungs’ capacity and begins to freedive himself. As I read this book, I spend a lot of my time on the front porch of my friend’s house, catching occasional sunshine, watching hummingbird battles, and observing the Mystery Gardener’s mysterious ways, here in Oregon where I’ve established a daily rhythm of reading, writing, tutoring, and cooking. All the while, I dream of doing more amazing things myself. Though perhaps not freediving.  

 

April:

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

I’m always in search of a perfect book. This book is one of those. Relatively short, magical, heartbreaking, redeeming, lovely. Over the course of an afternoon, I follow Piranesi through the labyrinth of his House and watch as he comes into knowledge, acceptance, and peace. I add this book to the list of books I wish I’d written.  

 

[Here’s a nice article about Susanna Clarke and her work which includes a review of Piranesi: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/sep/12/susanna-clarke-i-was-cut-off-from-the-world-bound-in-one-place-by-illness]

 

May:

Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott

I begin to attend an 8-week online writing workshop. Bird by Bird is one of the books the instructor recommends. I’ve read it before, long ago. But it still holds nuggets and is worth a reread. It’s part instructional, part encouragement, part the speaking of the writer’s soul. I find myself reflected in many of her words. For instance, “You wouldn’t be a writer if reading hadn’t enriched your soul more than other pursuits” (page 170) and, “One can find in writing a perfect focus for life. It offers challenge and delight and agony and commitment. We see our work as a vocation, with the potential to be as rich and enlivening as the priesthood” (page 190). Oh yes, exactly.

 

June:

Battleborn: Stories by Claire Vaye Watkins

Bidding my friend (and the cats) many thanks for the company and the room, I’ve left Oregon and come to Colorado for the summer. I watch my friends’ dogs while they go away on vacation and divide my time between the house and the backyard. Nearing the end of the 8-week writing workshop, we’re assigned to read a short story called Man-O-War. It’s a vivid story with a setting in the desert that becomes in many ways as strong a character as the humans. I tell the instructor I enjoyed the story and she recommends I read the rest of Watkins’s stories in the book Man-O-War was taken from. So I do.

 

July:

Room by Emma Donaghue

I only read two books in July both by Emma Donaghue. My time is taken up with watching my friends’ kids, exploring Colorado, and prepping for an upcoming writers’ conference where I will pitch three separate novels to six different agents. Room is interesting in that it’s written from the point of view of five-year-old boy. If it weren’t, the horror of this story of kidnapping, imprisonment, and the beauty of a mother’s love might be too overwhelming.    

 

 

August:

Bridge of Spies: A True Story of the Cold War by Giles Whittell

I pitch my novels at the online conference, finish up my summer job, visit as many places in Colorado as I can manage, prep for leaving the state, and, ever interested in Cold War history, read about the events and people that led up to the exchange of spies that happened at Berlin’s Glienicke Bridge and Checkpoint Charlie in 1962. As I read, I take a quick trip down memory lane to 2015 when my older sister and I met up with my Swedish friend in Berlin and went, among other places, to Checkpoint Charlie and what’s left of the Berlin Wall. Back in current time, the summer has sped by and I’m feeling reluctant to leave the mountains.

 

September:

All Systems Red by Martha Wells

Suddenly, I’m in Texas, dog sitting for my aunt and uncle, worrying about my next thing, applying for the Peace Corps and a volunteer position for a winter stay at some trailhead at some National Park, working on a short story that comes one slow sentence at a time. As I always do, I stalk a few friends’ Goodreads book lists and recommendations and in doing so see one friend’s four-star review of Network Effect by Martha Wells. When I look it up, I see it’s the 5^th in a series. So I start at the beginning and am pulled completely, delightedly, and utterly into The Murderbot Diaries. I inhale the entire series and want to start them right over again when I’ve finished. If you haven’t read these books, you should. My recommendation is to read all the novellas first and save Network Effect for last (for after you’ve finished Fugitive Telemetry). It works better chronologically that way.  

 

October:

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern

After I’ve completed my dog sitting gig and while I’m putting Next Plans into motion and waiting for something to catch, my parents graciously let me stay with them. Continuing with my online tutoring, I make myself read a handful of other books and finish the short story I’ve been pulling out of my imagination like deep-rooted teeth before I allow myself to settle into the complete joy of The Murderbot Diaries again. One of those other books is Morgenstern’s The Starless Sea. I’m not sure I like the book. It has a slow, slow start and I keep wondering how the author has gotten away with it (perhaps because she had a very successful book with The Night Circus). Maybe the book needs the slow build and I am just feeling impatient after the perfectly paced intensity of The Murderbot Diaries. Even so, even now, I can’t quite remember the point of the story, though I remember the honey sea and the stickiness of pages and the image of doors. Doors are powerful in books. So maybe it is a good book because it has left me still on the shore of that almost horrifying honey sea.

  

November:

A Really Good Day: How Microdosing Made a Mega Difference in My Mood, My Marriage, and My Life by Ayelet Waldman

This has been a rough year in many ways for me. I’ve struggled with a fairly deep depression, chronic pain, and a sense of hopelessness that while I know is not true still feels real. I’ve done a lot this year to get my body back to a healthy place, to adjust my thinking, my emotions, and my forward thinking. It’s slow going. I’m still a work in progress, but I am taking deliberate steps to be the person I want to be. While neither condoning nor condemning microdosing at this point in time, I do, however, want what Waldman wanted; to have more really good days than otherwise. It’s not an unreasonable desire. I trust I’ll get there again myself.  

At some point in November, I realize I’ve read 81 books so far this year. With the stabilizing need for a solid goal, I decide to read 100 before the year is out. I’ve got 50-something days to read 19 books. It’s not impossible, but it will be a push.

 

December:

Cold Moons by Magnús Sigurđsson (Translated from the Icelandic by Meg Matich)

While shopping for Christmas gifts at ½ Price Books, a little book of poetry catches my eyes. I’m on the search for some poetry for my older sister and I’m looking for a certain feel, a certain Rilke-esqueness. How many books do I reject for their cover or thickness? For their titles, their author, for the fact they’re on the top shelf and I can’t quite reach? This one stands out thinly on the shelf between others of greater thickness. This book I love for its littleness, the simplicity of the cover, that it was written by an Icelander, and that both the Icelandic and the translations are included. I’m drawn to cold places. I love languages. I love the minimalistic style of the poems. I skim through it and wonder if I’m going to buy this for myself or for my sister. At the house, I read the entire book savoring each poem as much as I can before wrapping it in Christmas paper and sending it off to my sister. The second poem reminds me of that honey sea from The Starless Sea (though there were no bears to enjoy the honey in that world).

 

Honey

Ursin’s Astronomy: Appendix

 

Imagine

the Earth

immersed

in honey.

 

Its rotation

trailing

honey strands.

 

As with

time

and space,

 

in Einstein’s

universe.

      

I meet my 100 book goal (and even make it to 102 by the writing of this post which includes a third read of All Systems Red by Martha Wells because, well, Murderbot).