This is the first year I broke the 100 mark, having read all sorts of books and zines and graphic novels. And I read some tomes I have been putting off, some of them for years. I’ve also added four new categories to my book genre reading order: graphic novel, single-volume story/zine, art, and my choice. Currently that list now comprises the following:
short stories
grammar, writing, words, books
novel
general nonfiction
play, theatre
classic (more than forty years old)
queer
journal, literary magazine
memoir
newish release
poetry
graphic novel
single-volume story/zine
my choice
art
random (I let my computer pick from a database of books I own and have not read yet)
Here is a list of my favorites—and my impressions of them.
Adam, Eve, and the Serpent, by Elaine Pagels (nonfiction)
An in-depth and rather brilliant interpretation, but ultimately what is it for? Every religion is a construction. All texts can be interpreted. One can bend anything to one’s own interpretations. It’s really an exercise in futility. But fascinating. In my opinion, Genesis and all religious and creation myths were simple stories told for the masses; however, they have been manipulated by those in authority and those of higher learning to take advantage of the subservient.
Aya: Life in Yop City, by Marguerite Abouet, art by Clément Oubrerie, translated by Helge Dascher (graphic novel)
Great writing and wonderfully expressive drawings and coloring make reading this a most enjoyable experience. The author’s wry sense of humor and the artist’s showing expressions caught in the moment, along with all the interlocking plots and subplots, make this a page-turner. It also shows Africa in a different light, not one of suffering.
Camino Real, by Tennessee Williams (play)
The longer and rewritten version of this play is magnificent, a spectacle that explores the loneliness of humanity, where the world comprises a series of little to big negotiations and obstacles. Williams manages to find so much humor among the chaos and heartbreak. I really loved it. The earlier one act version seems like just a draft, but it is provocative, and I can understand why Williams wanted to expand it. I would love to see a full-scale production of this. (I skimmed the Juan Guare introduction; it seemed overwritten and too personal at times, though it did have wonderful little tidbits amassed from productions.)
The Company of Strangers, by Jen Michalski (short stories)
All of these stories, even the flash ones, are five stars. I can’t pick a favorite because they are all terrific, but the longest, “Scheherezade,” stands out as a story that should be studied for how to write a short story. Most of the stories had some queer element, which I truly appreciated. Michalski should be on everyone’s reading list—she’s a great American writer! The metaphors and similes were so apt, yet they did not stand out like purple thumbs but were integrated seamlessly within the storytelling.
The Complete Poems, by Walt Whitman
I never thought I would read this in its entirety, but I was determined at the start of 2024 that I would finish it before the end of July, including the prefaces and two letters. Whitman is hands down the greatest American poet, intertwining the self with the experiment known as the United States of America. Some of the poems are prescient; some speak to our zeitgeist. Many have inspired me to want to create art, using aphoristic lines to create minibooks. The prefaces were unnecessary, as Whitman is prone to bloviating, using extra long sentences that only iterate what the poetry already expresses. I bought this book forty years ago, and it has weathered over the decades, but remains intact, and I am happy to have it sit completed on my shelf among other great works of literature.
Curbside Boys: The New York Years, by Robert Kirby (comics)
These cartoon strips span six years (1996–2001) and show young gay life in NYC in all its joys and turmoil. It is character driven, and Kirby shows tremendous skill with bringing out subtle and no-so-subtle details that go along perfectly with the writing. What is fascinating is seeing how his style (especially his use of line—it shifts from thin, single lines with lots of hashing to fude nib and less detail), but this does not affect the story or characters at all. The economy of his line as the story progresses probably represents a cartoonist who has a hit on his hands who has to leave out detail because he has a deadline every fortnight or so—very smart). The characters all have their problems and their issues with one another but are all eminently likable.
A Dangerous Place, by Chelsea B. DesAutels (poetry)
I was putting off reading this because of the subject matter—cancer and the possibility of death. But I am so glad I have read it. This is not a maudlin collection of poems. They are vivid and powerful, and speak from the heart and mind and the body. The poet does is no shrinking violet. I would recommend reading in one or two sittings, as they have a cumulative trajectory. The last two poems, “Maybe You Should Write a Poem About Mercy” and “Annual Migration,” show the poet at her strongest, both in words and determination to win.
Dayspring, by Anthony Oliveira (poetic novel)
The apostle John recalls his relationship with Jesus in this poetic novel that defies genre classification and time (there are lots of contemporary references). It helps if you know the Bible and the stories surrounding Jesus, and also Lazarus and his two sisters, Mary and Martha (Lazarus at one point takes over as narrator). Ultimately, the book extolls that love is the answer, as it should be. Beautiful writing, and the sex scenes were some of the best I’ve ever read. A remarkable achievement, really, especially in how the author exposes the ugliness of false, hyped-up Christianity.
Drive Your Plow over the Bones of the Dead, by Olga Tokarczuk, translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones (novel)
Unfortunately [spoiler alert], I knew that the narrator was unreliable from reading an interview with the author in The Paris Review, but that did not interfere with my enjoyment seeing how she weaved all the pieces together. Two things I loved about the book: (1) it was antihunting and (2) the narrator was an elderly woman. I normally don’t read mysteries, but this one was literary: many references to Blake and science. It was easy to gloss over the astrology references, which I really have no interest in, just like the book’s character Deezy.
Ducks: Two Years in the Oil Sands, by Kate Beaton (graphic novel)
This is a straightforward comic about a young women in a hypermasculine society, who is raped twice, has to play along with the homosociality, and feels she has no recourse for her grievances. There are many jump cuts without time sequences; at first, this is jarring, but you being to realize that days are indistinguishable from the next for her. Most of the panels are of faces or three-quarter shots; however, the pages she devotes to landscapes are lovely in their pen and ink work. I think this is an important read, as it is about a young person who begins to grow a voice once she realizes the magnitude of injustices thrust upon her.
Erasure, by Percival Everett (novel)
About a fifth of the way through this book I realized how post-post-modern it is: The author is pooh-poohing the work of the postmodernists while the same time he employs their methods (some of the snippets seem unrelated to the main story, but they are indeed related on further inspection), and he comments that he is doing this and does not know exactly why. Until the end that is, when his identity has been erased. It’s a fascinating and brilliant novel, and I read the last one hundred pages in one sitting. The ending puzzled me a little [spoiler alert]: does Monk die a literal death as he goes on the stage to accept the book award as his alter Stagg R. Leigh, as is foreshadowed on the first page, or is it a figurative death of the self, or does he begin to lose his brain functions, as his mother had?
Everything I Learned, I Learned in a Chinese Restaurant, by Curtis Chin (memoir)
I so enjoyed this memoir about growing up closeted in a Chinese-American family in Detroit. The city seemed like another character, which I love. Chin is really engaging, discussing his journey from hiding and denial to acceptance, and the stories he weaves into the narrative are touching and funny and, because he is a contemporary, reminded me of many events, both happy and sad, during my formative years. One hundred percent relatable. (He loves to sprinkle song lyrics and other GenX references from commercials, TV shows, and movies in his reminiscences, which is kind of cute.)
Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic, by Alison Bechdel (graphic memoir)
Both artistic and erudite, this is a stunning graphic memoir about keeping secrets and self-discovery. The drawings were a perfect balance between realism and cartoons, and they propelled the story—they were not easily skimmable as with so many other comics—and are in inspiration to me. And I am glad I read Ulysses last year so I could be more in on the references and connections made between Alison and her father (Stephen Dedalus and Leopold Bloom). A stunning book.
The Future Was Color, by Patrick Nathan (novel)
This is literature with a capital L. It explores at depth, among a Hungarian immigrant and his circle of New York City and Los Angeles friends, a vast range of emotions and philosophies, and loneliness, annihilation, lust, art, culture, and so much more. Nathan is such a terrific writer. He manages to write about the zeitgeist, but using the past as his canvas. The novel should be depressing, but it’s not. Even though it brims with Thanatos, it is about life.
Holding Pattern, by Jenny Xie (novel)
The author weaves a fascinating tale of a young woman studying haptics who then finds a job touching for healing purposes, though she has been touched little in her life. There are beautiful turns of phrase that are arresting in their description. Mother-daughter stories have always intrigued me, and this had the special bonus of dealing with immigrants and role reversal. A terrific first novel.
The Iliad, by Homer, translated by Emily Wilson (epic poetry)
The introduction was extremely helpful, as was the pronunciation guide. Usually I like the cartography, but this time I barely looked at the maps. I skimmed the 100 pages of notes. The translation was powerful in that you definitely felt its oral tradition. The translator chose iambic pentameter, which is perfect for English. The words were mostly simple, everyday words, and certain phrases and words were oft repeated, but their impact was cumulative—you could almost see a poet or actor reciting all the lines, imploring the muse (Calliope, most likely) to imbue with with the power of epic poetry. All the characters, even the gods, felt “real.” I recommend this as the first Iliad translation a newbie should read. I looked forward to reading this every day.
Intimations, by Zadie Smith (essays)
Short essays about life in 2020, when the world changed and were were forced to be by ourselves and do some hard thinking. The best and deepest are “A Provocation in the Park” and “Postscript: Contempt as a Virus” in which the author discusses the perniciousness of systemic racism. She knows how to put things into perspective and make us see things in manners we never knew or just ignored.
My Favorite Thing Is Monsters: Book Two, by Emil Ferris (graphic novel)
This volume was just as spectacular as the first. It was a pleasure to read slowly, to savor every detailed drawing. A lot of loose ends were not tied up neatly, but that did not bother me one bit. Perhaps there will be a third book. One can only hope.
No One Else, by R. Kikuo Johnson (graphic novel)
The opening sequence, before the title page, should be a lesson in how to tell stories effectively, with as much info as you can without overwhelming the reader, in each panel. There are not a lot of words in this graphic novelette, because the storytelling is so strong. You have to look and react to every image before moving on to the next. There is no great epiphany or reconciliation or climax at the end, but there is a sense that things will get better for this family. The Hawaiian way of life is very strong in some sequences, like honking haole motorists in a rush, and the burning of sugar cane, which was stopped in 2016. The most interesting aspect is that when you begin the story, you think that the mother, Charlene, will be the protagonist along with her young son, but it is the “prodigal son,” her brother, Robbie, who turns out to be the hero. I came to love that bate and switch. Great young writer-artist.
Paul Goes Fishing, by Michel Rabagliatai, translated by Helge Dascher (graphic novel)
The first half explores a fishing trip with Paul’s wife Lucie and her sister’s family; the second half explores Lucie’s miscarriages and the ultimate birth of her and Paul’s daughter. There is a lot of sincerity and everyday human behavior and actions in this graphic novel. Paul’s going to talk to Jesus at a church seems out of place for him, bit it works in the context of the story. He is a flawed and fascinating average everyman.
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, by Muriel Spark (novel)
Although this is a short novel and it repeats itself quite bit, it is rather a brilliant character study of a woman in her prime and her six pupils she leads through life; however, we are left with the question, Do we really know who Jean Brodie is? A lot is being satirized here, and I appreciated this approach. I also loved knowing the fates of the girls and Jean Brodie, and some of the other characters, beforehand, as this eliminates any trace of sentimentality. I had never read any Spark before, and reading this made my want to read more.
Rebel with a Clause, by Ellen Jovin (grammar)
A unique grammar book comprised mostly of conversations the author and her filmmaking husband had with the public while on the road. An utter delight. What I especially loved was Jovin’s sardonic wit, offset against her love of wordplay. She clearly loves what she does, and that made me smile widely. I found myself agreeing with on most notions and rules of grammar. She says it’s OK to correct members of your family, but I have found that may not work for your immediate family, who may be threatened by your knowledge.
Sinking Bell, by Bojan Louis (short stories)
Eight stories, all around twenty pages each (which I like), all set around Flagstaff, and all involving Diné characters. I thought each one was a gem. Even though these main characters are down on their luck, the fire of hope burns deep within them as they each try to find their deserved place in the world. If I had to choose a favorite, it would be “A Place to Hide,” followed by “Silence.” I read all these stories quickly, in two days.
The Soul of Kindness, by Elizabeth Taylor (novel)
A keenly observed and brilliant character study of a woman who lives life with blinders on and those who are caught in her wake of self-delusion and self-love. The author’s use of pathetic fallacy resonates throughout and informs the characters feelings and emotions. Everything in this novel is written with dreary and threatening words. It affected me deeply and am glad to have finished it just so I can raise myself from its shadow of despair.
Splice of Life, by Charles Jensen (memoir in essays)
I loved the concept of this book (showing how the themes of certain genres of movies parallel our lives), and the author succeeds both in telling his personal accounts and in analyzing the films he is comparing moments of his life to. The more successful ones were in the first half of the book, when he was a child, teen, and young man. A lot of the second half focused on situations where he was utterly depressed and sobbing a lot. All in all, I would recommend this to film lovers and gay Gen Xers and Millennials. But, my god, it desperately needed a copy editor—or even just a proofreader. The glaring errors accumulated like a rolling stone gathering endless layers of moss.
Sunday, by Olivier Schrauwen (graphic novel, originally in four installments)
For two hours we get inside the head of a major procrastinator: a man who has a client deadline he is ignoring, and a man whose wife, Migali, is returning later from Africa—but he does not know when—and he keeps typing new text messages so he does not give away he does not know (it’s been a week since communicating with her). He takes a bath and finally sends a nothing text saying he misses her and when is she coming home. Everything is rendered in navy blue and pink, a lovely combo. The drawings are simple but the narrative is strong, as are his imaginings of the neighbors and his gross cousin Rik. This was such a creative series, and I looked forward to each issue. The cumulative effect of Migali returning from Africa for Thibault’s birthday surprise keeps us wondering if she is going to make it. The whole series seems to be characters trying to flee the bourgeoisie, some more successfully than others. The juxtaposing of banality with insight is a marvel, both textually and pictorially (sequentially). The use of just two colors sometimes overlapping (different in each installment) was perfect. I would like to read more of this artist’s work.
Today Is the Last Day of the Rest of Your Life, by Ulli Lust, translated by Kim Thompson (graphic novel)
Odysseys are the perfect device to tell a story, especially a graphic novel where the main character is thrust into an unknown world, where danger lurks around every corner. This graphic novel fulfills that premise, and the drawings, in black and white, plus olive, with their loose and emanata-filled inking, add to the reader’s feeling of unease. This young rebel just wants to be a punk and roam Italy for a few years, something completely different from her bourgeois Vienna upbringing, and she discovers quickly that men cannot be trusted. There are many scenes that are difficult to read, but the author handles all this with very little self-pity. The translation worked perfectly, and the book’s length pays off because we really feel that she is gone for a long time. A must-read for all graphic novel aficionados.
Wellness, by Nathan Hill (novel)
A most excellent character study about a marriage and what happens when key, horrifying elements from each partner’s past are left unsaid. I love how the author weaves scholarly studies in these characters’ stories. The chapters showing how people get caught up in social media and become believers in false claims should be read by every person in the world. Hill is truly a great writer. He may be a genius.
Ways of Seeing, by John Berger (essays)
What astute essays (a foundational text, really) that hold up all these decades later, although many of the assumptions and notions discussed are being challenged by artists today. And quite cynical (it did come out in the early seventies, after all). A must-read for all critical thinkers and lovers of art and the visual.
Why Don’t You Love Me?, by Paul B. Rainey (graphic novel)
What a journey. I had no idea what the experience of reading this would be. At first, you think it’s a comic strip, with each page being an entry, but what follows is an engrossing portrait of fucked-up parents in a fucked-up family. But something seems off. About halfway through, the narrative changes and events from the first half start coming into focus. It’s actually ultimately terrifying and sad, but hope still remains as a tiny, glowing light. The pen-and-ink drawings with limited detail, some rendered as gestures, are perfect.
The Wild Iris, by Louise Glück (poetry)
Flowers and the atmosphere are the subjects and the narrators, along with the poet and possibly god, in these poems that read like a life cycle. The first one, the title poem, sets the tone for all that follow, as flowers and their life cycles become metaphors for our lives, our deaths, our rebirths, our suffering, our resentments, our fears. It’s quite a collection, and I am left a little speechless. I'm going to read more by this author.
The World of Normal Boys, by K. M. Soehnlein (novel)
This is by far one of the best gay coming-of-age novels I have ever read. The author does not shy away from the events he has thrust into these characters lives, and our young hero, Robin, navigates this rugged terrain with conflicting thoughts about he should act when he feels just the opposite of what he is told to do. The writing felt so on-the-mark; I could not put this book down. The ending ended openly, and I admire that.
The Year of the Flood, by Margaret Atwood (novel)
Another dystopian page-turner from the master of speculative fiction. One can take this seriously, at face value; however, I think Atwood has thrown in a little satire, what with all the corporate names and the hymns, and especially the way organized religion and god are viewed. I read the last 150 pages in a day—I was so swept up in finding out what would happen. The plotting is a bit contrived, but the characters are well drawn and the story, about a plague wiping out most of humanity, eerily prescient. I was glad to have read another Atwood book and am curious about the other two books in the MaddAddam trilogy (this was the second).
No comments:
Post a Comment