Favorite Books of 2023

Once again I cull from the books I read this year to find my favorites.

Acting Class, by Nick Drnaso (graphic novel)
Wonderfull creepy, like his other books Sabrina and Beverly, but the ambiguity in this one is what you are left with after finishing it, which adds to the creepiness and sense of dislocation. Acting classes do sometimes blur the lines between fiction and reality, but actors know how to distinguish between the two. The poor saps in this book are all looking for something to do on a Wednesday night and are troubled people to begin with. Are these acting classes a part of a larger cult? Maybe. I like how Drnaso weaves in and out of real (acting class) and unreal (where the improvs “take place”) when the students are performing improvs. The lines get blurry toward the end.

Beta Testing the Ongoing Apocalypse, by Tom Kaczynski (graphic stories)
Thought-provoking and, most important, entertaining graphic stories about scenarios depicting that the future is now. The artist is extremely erudite and loves to mess around with notions of capitalism and environmentalism. A must-read for all comics lovers and philosophers. Came with a signed print, plus a hand-drawn, signed comic on the front folio: “Enjoy the ongoing apocalypse.”

Blah Blah Blah, by Juliette Collet (graphic memoir)
(#1) A young woman draws cartoons about her sexuality. She is unabashedly slutty, but she also worries why she is the way she is: classic cartoon zine stuff, which I always like. The tabloid size is perfect for this because the characters have large heads and a lot can fit on a page. It was fun to read and look at. Even the lettering was creative. ¶ (#2) A young woman’s cartoon collages about her sexual relationships with men and her chats with girlfriends. It is brash and honest, and it comes with a two-sided foldout poster. I am very interested in seeing where she takes us next!

Bliss Montage, by Ling Ma (short stories)
A stunning collection by an author who has total control of her craft. There is a playfulness that permeates these stories: language and magic realism but not distractingly. Just strange enough to make things more interesting. I love how all the endings are left as cliffhangers.

A Bright Room Called Day, by Tony Kushner (play)
Tony Kushner was an incredible and provocative playwright before Angels in America. This play, written during the Reagan Era, is perfect for today as it expresses the same dread for encroaching and present fascism that is the zeitgeist of the twenty-first century. Chilling, especially because the lead character, a two-bit actress, does nothing and watches as Hitler rises while her friends fight or flee.

Brother & Sister Enter the Forest, by Richard Mirabella (novel)
In prose that Hemingway would have loved, the author conjures a world where victims do not want to be victims but don’t have the tools and language to extract themselves out of the muck and mire. I cared for all of these somewhat unlikeable characters, especially Justin (brother) and Willa (sister), the two main characters whose complicated relationship is constantly tested. Powerful, but never maudlin. It is told out of sequence, which is perfect in that it mimics Justin’s damaged mind.

Desperate Pleasures, by M. S. Harkness (graphic novel)
I especially loved the way the artist employs manga style, allowing the detail of the characters’ drawings to change based on emotions and exploring past memories. One moment made me gasp: the main character pictures herself as a stand-up comic and lets loose that her father molested her repeatedly, and then continues with her feelings and the story as every audience member leaves one by one—except for her estranged mom, who tells her she loves her. Wow.

Didn’t Nobody Give a Shit What Happened to Carlotta, by James Hannaham (novel)
A modern-day Ulysses with the backdrop of The Odyssey. I really dug this book and Hannaham’s writing. A trans woman’s odyssey after being paroled is the focus, and Fort Greene is the neighborhood. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be a trans Black-Latinx woman looking for a job after being incarcerated for twenty years, but Hannaham managed to reel me in, and I could not put this down. The stream of consciousness is smack dab in the middle of third-person sentences, and I loved the originality. A lot of humor, too, which I appreciated wholeheartedly.

The Drowned and the Saved, by Primo Levi, translated by Raymond Rosenthal (nonfiction)
This book should be required reading. Levi survived Auschwitz and in this philosophical and unapologetic meditation, he probes why the German people, among others, did not help the sufferers, trying to understand why they participated and who is complicit. Chilling and brilliant. Never forget.

Enter Talking, by Joan Rivers (memoir)
I have always loved listening to Joan Rivers. She was the queen of timing, and the more provocative she was, the better. This memoir focused on her obsession to become a respected performer, which happened one night in 1964 when she appeared on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. That opened every door for her. She had always been erudite and aways out to please, but when she stopped trying to please everyone else and started to please herself, that’s when thing gelled. Your truth is what matters.

Flop Sweat, by Lance Ward (graphic memoir)
(#1) I first read Ward’s work in The Best American Comics 2016. His work was chosen by guest editor Roz Chast (both have very distinct, somewhat simplistic, cartooning styles). Ward is like sincere Chast, and that is a big compliment. He is so open about his life and he questions everything. It’s actually a breath of fresh air, and I look forward to reading the next Flop Sweat. ¶ (#2) This issue jumps around so much, with “Interesting Tidbits” interrupting the flow. Albeit, Ward always comes back to the main point: the start of his addiction. You always feel for the main character because he writes his emotions and feelings so well. It is engaging, and I look forward to the third issue. ¶ (#3) Lance is the king of second chances after a cocaine addiction and robbery land him in jail for two weeks. He gets to go back to high school and graduates! The only seemingly loving relationship he has is with his younger sister. Poor Lance. He is such a remarkable storyteller. The way he sets up how much he loves his father’s parents and then how they disown him on Christmas is heartbreaking. ¶ (#4) In this issue, although the timeline bounces around, Lance makes it clear that his family has no interest in him and want him gone, pretty much. Ward then, for the second half, introduces a mystery: How did Lance end up in a psych ward, losing his memory for over a fortnight? This is compelling stuff, and I love how simple he keeps the drawings, but always expressive and energetic.

H Day, by Renée French (graphic novel)
A wordless graphic double story about the artist’s migraines and an ant invasion, told metaphorically side by side, in gorgeous graphite. Upsetting to say the least. The release I felt at the end was a much needed balm.

In the Future, We Are Dead, by Eva Müller (graphic memoir)
Honest and provocative, this collection of graphic story memoirs are drawn using black, red, and blue pencils and have a haunting, magical quality. I totally dug this work about a subject very few of us deal with on a real level.

Inappropriate, by Gabrielle Bell (graphic stories)
Appropriately titled (the cover drew me in instantaneously). All are mostly character driven, which I like. The anthropomorphic comics made me howl. I’ll never look at Little Red Riding Hood the same way again. Not a weak one in the bunch of twenty-five. More, more, more, please!

Killing and Dying, by Adrian Tomine (graphic stories)
Six extremely well-written and rendered comics stories from a new master. Most are about people down on their luck who have, well, issues. I first read the title story in Best American Comics 2016 and loved it. The author is superb at dialogue. After I finish a Tomine book, I want to read another.

The Largesse of the Sea Maiden, by Denis Johnson (short stories)
This posthumous collection of short stories brims with death, but there is a humanity in his writing that makes you crave more. Five longish stories, all gems, especially the last and longest one, “Doppelgänger, Poltergeist,” which evokes Elvis and 9/11, teaching and conspiracy theory. This was my fourth Denis Johnson book.

The Man Who Ate Too Much: The Life of James Beard, by John Birdsall (biography)
An in-depth portrait of America’s most famous culinary expert, written by a James Beard Award–winning writer. Birdsall really brings out the queerness of Beard and reveals a lot of the warts in Beard’s life. The writing was cogent and wonderfully lush at times, especially in the early times of Beard’s life in and around Gearhart Park in Oregon. But ultimately this is a sad tale of someone reaching for the ring who never felt as though he got it.

Marry Me a Little, by Rob Kirby (graphic memoir)
A simple story about a gay marriage told in simple drawings, this emotionally and funny graphic memoir moved me deeply. At first I wondered about the splotches of mostly red and blue smudged throughout the drawings, but at some point you see the master plan in action—they really work! Kirby is a great storyteller, and his drawings reflect that. Excellent. I wish it were longer!

Monsters, by Claire Dederer (nonfiction)
Steve (my man) and I are always asking the question: “Can we love the art by someone who is a monster?” The author tells us it’s complicated. We cannot separate the artist’s biography from their art—it’s impossible. So we have to find a way to discuss, and eventually live with, this dilemma. I love Dederer’s writing: her style, her approach, her examples (including herself). A provocative and essential read.

Mr. Lightbulb, by Wojtek Wawszczyk, translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones (graphic novel)
A fantastical tale about sacrifice and coming into one’s own when one accepts oneself as one learns to help others. I loved the thick- and thin-lined, inked cartooning: ragged and rough and energetic, perfect for this tale.

My Favorite Thing Is Monsters: Book One, by Emil Ferris (graphic memoir)
Brilliant is not a good enough word to describe this graphic novel. Many of these ballpoint and ink drawings are stunning works of art in themselves, and so detailed; others are roughly drawn but still propel the story. It’s smart and transgressive, and I can’t wait for Book Two!

Nicosia in Dark and Light, by Thodoris Tzalavras (photography)
A remarkably powerful book of photographs showing decaying interiors along the Green Line in Cyprus’s capital. Haunting and brilliant representation of light and shadow and texture. Came with a limited edition zine by Ioanna Mavrou called “On Your Fiftieth Anniversary.”

Orlando, by Virginia Woolf (novel)
Gender-bending Orlando becomes a women halfway through this novel that has very little plot, but so much happens. It’s as if Woolf were writing about the history of England and society, especially its writers, as Orlando lives for centuries, from the Elizabethan Age up to the present (1928). Gorgeous writing. So much interiority within as the title character tries to figure out the meaning of life. At the end, idealized love seems to triumph.

The Parrot and the Igloo, by David Lipsky (nonfiction)
Superb research in this book about the history of global-warming denial. I will forever be angered by our elected Congress members and presidents who over the years chose capitalism and who fueled the egos of the deniers, thus dooming humanity. This should be required reading and should be translated into every single language on this doomed planet.

Pascin, by Joann Sfar, translated by Edward Gauvin (graphic novel)
Refreshingly dirty and inked in a manner concomitant. Some would have called Jules Pascin morally degenerate; others, genius. I liked how the comics author rendered him and others differently depending on the mood but always using ink (and sometimes ink wash) to create the tableaux. Wry humor!

Paying for It, by Chester Brown (graphic memoir)
The cartooning is straightforward, and the characters’ expressions never change (we never see the prostitutes’ faces), the dialogue is pretty flat and polemical, but all this combined works magic. I learned so much about the ins and outs of the business, from the moment Chet starts seeing the ladies, then, as the decade progresses, how he sees only one; but also I learned what most people think about prostitution (not positive at all). Brown provides a positive counterpoint: he does not subscribe to romantic love so he has sex exclusively with prostitutes. The book ends with a series of appendices to provide historical and social context, plus endnotes to further convey his feelings and knowledge. I looked forward to reading this every time I picked it up. Even though there are many panels showing him fucking or getting a blow job or hand job, this was not a prurient experience.

Punks, by John Keene (poetry)
Poems about being black, being gay, language, black history, some extremely powerful, some erudite, some wordplayful. My favorite sections were “Playland,” “The Lost World, ” “Dark to Themselves,” and “Words.” After reading most of the relatable ones, ones I could understand in one reading, I thought, “If I were a poet, this is the poetry I would like to write.”

Ruined by Reading, by Lynne Sharon Schwartz (nonfiction)
What a delightful book on the phenomenology of reading. I found myself agreeing with her a lot, and also feeling like I was walking in her shoes regarding books and everything associated with them. We read as children to please adults; we read as adults to please ourselves. Good writers develop a language all their own.

Six Hundred and Seventy-Six Apparitions of Killoffer, by Killoffer (graphic novel)
Perverse and magnificent. A French artist explores self-loathing, narcissism, and misogyny, while visiting Montreal. His imagination runs wild as he multiplies and wreaks havoc on himself and those around him. disturbing and beautiful. Solipsism at its finest.

Stuck Rubber Baby, by Howard Cruse (graphic novel)
One of the best graphic novels ever—a wonder to behold. Racism and homophobia in the early ’60s are brought to the fore in this emotional saga of the Deep South. The characters are all multidimensional and at times say the wrong thing, especially Toland, out narrator. It was quite an emotional journey for me, as I empathized with so many of these people. The hash work to render shading is nonpareil. This should be required reading in high schools and colleges.

The Sweetness of Water, by Nathan Harris (novel)
I so loved this page-turner and deep character study of people in a rural Georgia town right after the emancipation. Poetic, but not overly so, with plot twists that are earned and sometimes unexpected. How does a first novel achieve such thrilling greatness?

They Called Us Enemy, by George Takei, with Justin Eisinger, Steven Scott, and Harmony Becker (illustrator) (graphic memoir)
The art is straightforward, but the storytelling packs a lot into these 200 pages. George Takei is an American icon and his story is for all ages. It is essential reading and should be taught in schools. Unfortunately we do not learn from history as our collective memories span only minutes, it seems. I love how it ends with Justice Sotomayor being the voice of reason and compassion.

Timebends, by Arthur Miller (memoir)
Yes, Marilyn comes up a lot in this memoir, and also all the plays, but the thrust of it is political, or psychopolitical, and I learned a lot about how politics and the times shape us and all the decisions we make, and that even when confronted with reality, or the “truth,” we sometimes try to maintain our old beliefs and shibboleths. And although the writing was at times opaque, I still give it a hearty thumbs-up because of its honesty (except for not revealing he has a son with Down Syndrome). It ends with him beleiveing that everyone is conected, even to the trees!

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, by Gabrielle Zevin (novel)
I know very little about gaming, having only played as a boy and copyedited one novel, with it as subject matter, as an adult. I became enraptured by the creation of these games in this novel, and their creators, and enjoyed the storytelling and plotting. What does it mean to be in love but not lovers with someone? These characters are afraid of love and commitment and it takes them decades to sort out their issues. The chapter that takes place in a live pioneer game was beautifully handled. The final scene was lovely and perfect.

Tongues of Fire, by Seán Hewitt (poetry)
A heartfelt and beautiful meditation on nature and love and the poet’s father, who recently passed. From Two Reflections, poem ii: “It is only where the darkness travels that we picture depth, the silt and the truth of it.” Honestly, I was not expecting the poems of death and decay surroundings father, but they were the best parts.

Uncomfortably Happily, by Yeon-sik Hong, translated by Hellen Jo (graphic memoir)
A most excellent graphic memoir that can be used as a “what to do, what not to do” for those considering moving from the city to a more bucolic setting. I grew to love the main characters and there pets. I covet their garden and admire their gumption. Also, a keen meditation on art, self-expression, and art mentoring. I dissolved when the husband realizes that he has been mentoring his wife all wrong after she's the one who wins a huge prize!) Highly recommended!

Who Is Rich?, by Matthew Klam (novel)
What drew me to this satire was the premise: a well-known cartoonist who hasn’t published a book in years after his initial success is teaching at a summer art camp for a long weekend. Rich, our narrator, makes you feel uncomfortable the way he talks about his family and friends and Amy, the superrich woman he is having an affair with—and that is a good thing. It ends on a slightly sour note, which seems right for this novel. I thoroughly enjoyed it and it got me thinking about my life and its direction or lack thereof. Highly recommended for people who need a poking.

Witness, by Jamel Brinkley (short stories)
Another brilliant collection of short stories by one of my favorite writers. Every story was pretty much spot-on and perfect. I had read the last story before, in The Paris Review, and it gutted me the same way it did when I first read it. He writes so precisely but not in a terse way. Everything leads to a well-deserved and sometimes unsettling conclusion. I did not have a favorite story; they all lit up both sides of my brain.