Favorite Books of 2025

I read over ninety books this year, and so many of them were excellent. Here is a list of my favorites—and my impressions of them.

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain (novel)
I first read this forty years ago, but this time I closely read the annotations that accompanied the novel and made some new discoveries. I loved it the second time around, for the most part, but the ending, when Tom Sawyer comes back into the narrative, always takes me for a little loop because it is difficult to understand Twain’s intentions: Has Huck gone through a transformation of self-discovery, as chapter XXXI would have you believe, and is the Tom Sawyer ending added to bring the novel back to the humorous satire that happens in the first part of the book, before Jim and the raft ride down the Mississippi? I think Twain, when he stopped writing Huck Finn for a spell, took the novel in a new direction, then did not know how to end it; he knew his audience and what they would love: hence the Tom Sawyer’s shenanigans (and I use that word disparagingly) at the end, which makes it seem all at the expense of Jim and not taking his desperate fight for freedom seriously. I think Twain kept things ambiguous because that is how he felt. He was becoming more woke, perhaps.

Any Person Is the Only Self, by Elisa Gabbert (essays)
Another stunning collection of essays from this poet. Trenchant and provocative observations limning dichotomies about the self vis-à-vis literature and the lives of writers. I, like her, love reading writers talk about writing and other writers. I felt connected to most of these essays, as if she were truly seeing me, and I starred many passages. I think now is the time to read her poetry.

Berlin, by Jason Lutes (graphic novel)
The sheer audacity and drive that had to exist inside this artist are evident in this astounding graphic novel. The city of Berlin is really the main character among the panoply of people who populate these pages. Even minor characters are expertly drawn, and we see what motivates them in their endeavors to make the city and its inhabitants what they want to make of them. Chilling in what is shown and also in light of the fucked-up fascistic age in which we live, this should be read in schools, followed by Maus.

Blackward, by Lawrence Lindell (graphic novel)
Blackward stands for Black and Awkward and is a zine fest started by four queer young adults calling themselves the Section 4. They also fight bullies. The humor is infectious, and I love the lingo. The artist employs comic manga style (using simplified faces and exaggerated expressions in moments to be emphasized or moments of high dudgeon). Very queer positive and perfect for teens.

Blah Blah Blah #4, by Juliette Collet (graphic stories)
A young woman struggles with identity and love in this third installment of cartoons from an extremely gifted cartoonist asking all the right questions. The last few are very telling, especially the ones about her father and his lack of compassion. I love how she feels compelled to fill every inch of space with doodles, and her occasional use of collage and photographs.

Blizzard, by Henri Cole (poetry)
I so enjoyed and was moved by many of these sonnets, which straddle the land of the living and memories of the dead, shedding light on the poet’s discord and empathy for people, things, and animals around him. Nature and the fucked-up leaders of our country are a recurring theme. “Haiku” was one of my favorite poems: The cycle of life breeds things unnatural, possibly abhorrent. But he always searches for the light even when darkness is the prevailing mood.

Bright, by Kiki Petrosino (poetry)
This slim poetic memoir sheds light on the intersectionality between being both Black and white, and how that plays into her feelings of belonging, autonomy, and being viewed by strangers. It is haunting, especially the last section where we witness a poem come to life, a poem sharing DNA from one white and one Black parent, to the gorgeous line “More than twenty thousand ancient stars deliberated on the child’s gifts before settling, at last, on all she would carry.” If we start the book over again, we can see that the “carry” is quite a burden.

Cecil and Jordan in New York, by Gabrielle Bell (graphic stories)
Graphic short stories about girls and young women who face life’s obstacles in sometimes unexpected ways, but always with the patriarchy looming. My favorite non-magical-realist cartoon is “Felix,” about a young artist who becomes and art teacher for the son of a famous artist (it’s also the longest). Some of the shorter ones, such as the title cartoon, are magical and wonderfully perverse. She draws characters in movement so well, with varying degrees of shading and some in full color. I love her style and sensibility and look forward to reading more from her.

Chiaroscuro: The Private Lives of Leonardo da Vinci, by Pat McGreal, David Rawson, Chaz Truog (pencil artist), Rafael Kayanan (ink artist) (graphic novel)
I adored this graphic novel about Salai, which focuses on his relationship with Leonardo da Vinci. It is drawn by Chaz Truog in superhero style, and it made the presentation of the story seem familiar, like going back in time to when I was younger and read Avengers comics. Much of it is speculative, but it is all based in fact. Poor Salai, Leonardo’s caretaker for thirty years. All he wants is to feel equal to and be sexually loved by Leonardo, but no one was equal to or sexually loved by Leonardo, so Salai let it eat himself up till he finally leaves him for Michelangelo (who then rejects him viciously). The ink and colors are spectacular, as are the layout and storytelling. What a fun but ultimately sad story. I am glad I watched the Ken Burns documentary about Leonardo, as many of the scenes from that are present in this graphic novel (published in serial three decades ago!).

Crapalachia: A Biography of Place, by Scott McClanahan (memoir in stories)
A memoir of a place and time for a young man growing up among his idiosyncratic family members and friends. The author uses vernacular a lot, which works wonders with his warts-and-all storytelling. He emphasizes that we all want witnesses to our lives, and when we don’t feel we have that, we do crazy things to get others’ attentions. He is mostly unsentimental, but when he waxes poetical at the end of some chapters, you can feel the emotions puling at your heart strings. But it works!

Dancing Girls and Other Stories, by Margaret Atwood (short stories)
I bought this book forty years ago. It’s the fourth Margaret Atwood book I’ve read, and it is fantastic. I probably would’ve gotten more out of it about ten years ago, but I’m always glad to read something as an older person. I get more out of it that way. Many of the stories are about doomed romance and feminism in despair. There’s a touch of the macabre. And the last story flirts with postmodernism. Every story was very good, if not excellent. I read that in the original publication, in 1977, the story “Rape Fantasies” appeared. I did read that story many years ago, and created an afternoon of theater games and improvisations with a group of six actors, based on it. I wish they had kept it in the story, although its substitute, “Betty,” was very good.

Dark Renaissance: The Dangerous Times and Fatal Genius of Shakespeare’s Greatest Rival, by Stephen Greenblatt (biography)
Speculative nonfiction evoking the times the subject lived in is an intriguing method to write a biography about someone there is very little known about, especially Christopher Marlowe, who led quite a remarkable life for someone who died so young. The book’s author pronounces Marlowe as the vanguard of new thought and ideas that changed the face of dramatic literature forever, especially for Shakespeare, who seemed to have learned a lot from working with Marlowe and reading his poems and seeing his other plays. The writing is thrilling at times, and I felt I was living in the late sixteenth century in the backward-looking London. Thankfully, we have most of his plays and poems published soon after his death.

The Eleventh Summer, by Carlo Gébler (novel)
This is one of the most sensuous novels I have ever read: It brims with the smells, sounds, and sights of everyday life, experienced by young Paul at the home of his grandparents. Paul does not speak all that much, but we are privy to his thoughts during the summer after his mother has committed suicide and his father has sent him to live with his in-laws in Western Ireland. What makes the novel so special is that Paul is so special: He is a dutiful and polite eleven-year-old who tries to understand why all the adults around him behave they way they do. He is sensitive and loves nature, and he misses his mum dearly. His grandfather is a drunk, so he naturally clings to his loving grandmother. It really is a tale of their relationship, and it is bittersweet and beautiful. The writing is gorgeous, and I look forward to reading the other book I have by this author, Work and Play.

Famous Builder, by Paul Lisicky (memoir)
Lisicky is one of my favorite memoirists. This tale of growing up in suburbia in a loving family that encourages the artistic was his first memoir, and it shines with authority. It’s easy to get caught up in his tales of being a lover of beautiful housing developments and a very young liturgical composer. But what happens when you eschew those first loves and are closeted, not knowing how you fit in? The writing abounds in perfect metaphors and similes, each chapter devoted to a single subject, whether a few pages or fifty. This is the sixth of his seven books I have read. I love his memoirs the best.

Galileo’s Daughter: A Historical Memoir of Science, Faith, and Love, by Dava Sobel (biography)
A wonderfully written and comprehensive history of Galileo, featuring the correspondences from his eldest daughter. The author focuses on Galileo’s brilliant mind and humanity. I felt I was right there struggling along with him and his daughter. The Catholic Church’s Pope Urban VIII was a narcissistic horror (which set the stage for more narcissistic popes), and ground Galileo into the ground. But Galileo’s spirit was indomitable, and he kept exploring his mind through science to the bitter end. Highly recommended. (My only caveat: I wish there were contemporary scientific renderings to aid in the understanding of the motion and planetary orbital concepts.)

Gliff, by Ali Smith (novel)
A frightening tale of a dystopic future that our country seems careering toward. I love Smith’s writing—and especially her love of words and wordplay, which takes center stage in the novel. The world building is intense and dominates most of the book. The final section, Lines, is where everything comes together and we understand almost completely the society we are now living in. Spoiler Alert: The narrator, Briar, we discover in the final section of the book is a trans woman; there were just a few clues alerting the reader to this fact, like Brice being an alternate name and an older teenage farm boy who looks at her funny. The sisters’ relationship is the main relationship in the book, a connection so strong that the book ends with Briar acting out a story in her mind of her sister, Rose, alive and thriving and giving hope and light wherever she walks with her horse, Gliff, and the younger farm boy, Colon.

How to Read a Poem and Fall in Love with Poetry, by Edward Hirsch (nonfiction)
I’ve always felt that I had just a tenuous grasp of poetry, of understanding and relating to metaphor. I’ve always been most attracted to the way a poem makes me feel. In this comprehensive study of all different types of poetry, the author offers cogent examples and interpretations of those poets and poems he treasures. This was actually a fun read, even when it got a bit lit-critty. It sparked my interest in many poets I’ve never read. The glossary section was just as informative and fun as the main body.

I’m So Glad We Had This Time Together, by Maurice Vellekoop (graphic memoir)
I love reading gay memoirs by late Baby Boomers/early Gen Xers. This one was special because it was a graphic novel, and the drawings, especially the facial emotions, and the storytelling were both superb. There is a lot to unpack in Vellekoop’s growing-up and living-life tale, but the focus is on his parents and how they, of course, fucked him up. The cure: therapy, and of course confronting your demons by talking to your parents and explaining why you are the way you are. Vellekoop is a sensitive artist, and these types have a more difficult time with parents who are emotionally cut off from themselves. As a result, the child believes they are responsible for their parent’s feelings. I breathed a sigh of relief at the end, after all the tension had dissipated.

James, by Percival Everett (novel)
A retelling of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn from the perspective of Jim, the slave. The narrative takes a turn from that of Huckleberry Finn after Jim and Huckleberry meet the Duke and the King. At first, I felt disoriented; then I realized that Everett had to do this because so much of the last third of Huckleberry Finn, especially the scenes with Tom Sawyer, is unconscionable. Everett allows Jim to have a narrative completely his own, and I love him for that. The ending almost brought me to tears, but in a good way. I will not include spoilers, as there are too many. Just read the book (maybe read Huck Finn first), and know that Everett has written a masterpiece of reinvention.

Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Brontë (novel)
I’m so glad I finally read this book after thirty-eighty years of owning it! It is magnificent and so modern for its time. What I love most is that Jane chooses to live her life in the manner she sees fit, and she sticks to her guns even when pushed to the brink of compromise. Yes, it is overwritten and purple, and the dialogue is insanely unrealistic, but that only adds to the excitement of reading this tale. I can certainly see why it has stood the test of time.

Keith Edmier and Farrah Fawcett: Recasting Pygmalion, essay by Lynn Zelevansky (art)
The collaboration between artist and subject is an unusual one when it transcends the artist-muse relationship, but one that pays off when the subject decides to create art too. Fawcett and Edmier produce life-size sculptures of each other, as well as other works, and they are terrific. We get to see the other side of Farrah, and she was such talented sculptor. The essay by Lynn Zelevansky’s sharp, informative, and not filled with art jargon that only art critics can understand.

Martyr!, by Kaveh Akbar (novel)
A pastiche-like novel, from many points of view (with one main thread in the present), dream sequences, and fantasias. The focus is on death (as the title suggests), and our poet hero, Cyrus, is caught between several dichotomous worlds. There is a life-changing revelation, which I figured out about two-thirds of the way through, but I think that was the author’s intention. And the story ends in love and the acceptance of love, which I love so much! The only issue was overpoetic or arcane similes that made me scratch my head. Nevertheless, a great read, with many on-point concepts, and fully realized characters. (I want to be friends with Zee!)

Memorial, by Bryan Washington (novel)
Two men who are living together and fucking and from different cultures try to find common ground and love, but is it possible? The author gives us two somewhat unlikable characters (actually, most of the characters have huge chips on their shoulders) who, by the end, after dealing with family and pain and death and lies, grow on us to the point that we truly care for them and their fates. Will they stay together or explore the budding relationships each has begun with an another man? The ending hangs on this question, and I am totally OK with that. Washington gives us just enough with his writing, asking all the right questions but in a mostly oblique manner. We have to work a little sometimes to figure out what is actually going on underneath it all. These people are real, and I dug this book.

The Night of the Iguana, by Tennessee Williams (play)
Everything about this play clicked for me: the mise en scène, the characters and their actions, the poetry in the writing. It’s a long play, but everything in it seems to matter. By the end, I was rooting for the two lead misfits, hoping they find strength in each other. It ends ambiguously (will Shannon walk into the ocean?), but the fact that they shared grace implies a possible happier outcome. The accompanying essays and short story were trenchant additions.

No More Mermaids, by Salvatore Marrone (graphic novel)
A young man has come out of the closet but is still filled with self-loathing as he tries to undo all the hate and rhetoric and fear accumulated from having grown up in a strict Italian family. The cartoons are in the style of manga and very well drawn. The talk of sex is frank. (He does not like touching or tasting cum—is repelled by it.) I like the artist’s storytelling and style, and his search for self-ownership is one gays of a certain age and background all have to face.

An Odyssey: A Father, a Son, and an Epic, by Daniel Mendelsohn (memoir and literary criticism)
Having recently read The Odyssey, I was ready for An Odyssey. I loved it so much I looked forward to reading it every day. If you’ve never read The Odyssey, you can still enjoy this because the author summarizes every major character and incident to a tee. He explains Greek words and concepts and then relates them to his life. And the parallels between his real life with his father and that between Telemachus and Odysseus in the epic astounded me, making me think of my dad and my relationship with him. It’s emotional, but not manipulative. Highly recommended!

The Odyssey, by Homer, translated by Emily Wilson (epic poetry)
As far as poetry goes, Wilson brings out the oral nature of this epic poem and makes it accessible to all. The metaphors and similes are straightforward, not disguised in purple prose, so connections are made with little effort. The Odyssey, after reading it, seems radical: It is told out of time and from so many different points of view, even though there is one narrator (storyteller) who seems to be addressing Odysseus’s swineherd, Eumaeus, who is loyal to Odysseus, even when he believes him to be dead. The actual odyssey comprises about seven of the twenty-four books (chapters), and most of the story focuses on the suitors who are plaguing Penelope and Telemachus, who are both fascinating characters. Murder and animal slaughter are once again rampant, so this book, like its companion The Iliad, is not for the fainthearted.

Par les Sillons, by Vincent Fortemps (story in drawings)
A wordless book about life cycles that seems to ask, Is war part of the cycle of life? The ending is more upsetting than the images of war. The artist drew these pictures using a grease marker on rhodoïd, the plastic film used in making cakes with soft layers so that they keep their shape. There are a lot of scratches and smudges (fingerprints are visible in some of the drawings). Love the use of close-ups. I would love to own own of the panels.

The Penguin Classics Book, by Henry Eliot (nonfiction)
This tome provided an overall fun way to read about classic texts and their authors. I enjoyed how they were broken down by time and country. My curiosity for so many of the books limned was piqued, and I added many to my “to buy” list. The cross-references were immensely helpful.

The Performance, by Claire Thomas (novel)
A quick but deep and remarkable read about the interior lives of its three main characters, all women, of varying ages, all watching a performance of Beckett’s Happy Days. It helps to know that play but not totally necessary because the writer offers enough dialogue and stage business to help the reader. What struck me most was the force and power that a play can have on the lives of its audience members, showing the human condition in all its minutiae. We think the same thoughts and in the same way these three women think while they are being triggered by the thoughts of the main character in the play, Winnie, who is immobile and by the end up to her neck in earth. We tend to overthink till we nauseate ourselves. Our only solace is a witness who can offer understanding.

Priest Turned Therapist Treats Fear of God, by Tony Hoagland (poetry)
The poet, in relatable language, writes about people, and himself, trying to find an understand one’s place in the universe. We are always searching. Some, if not most, are political, showing where we go wrong because of the enormity of our egos. I really enjoyed these and bought this, his penultimate collection before he died (several of the poems grapple with his illness), after reading a few in The Paris Review. He really understood the zeitgeist.

The Red House, by Mary Morris (novel)
Ultimately, a sad tale—an existential mystery, really, about a daughter’s search for the reasons her mother left the family—told in two narratives in different times, about betrayal, loss, and primarily abandonment. And because it is a mystery, shortish sentences told with just the right amount of information comprise the 143 chapters. What I love about Mary’s writing is you are right there with the characters: tasting what they are eating, smelling what they smell, seeing and feeling the world around them.

Self-Esteem and the End of the World, by Luke Healy (graphic novel)
I love a queer comic that is more than just about being queer. This one spans decades and ends showing America losing to global warming. Throughout, we follow a former cartoonist who suffers from severe anxiety, and a lot of the humor and pathos revolves around his trying to overcome it. There is a meta streak running through it, and it ends with a cartoon strip the author made in 2013 that became the focal point of the last portion of the book. I love the two colors (other than black) that he employed: coral and aqua.

Snake Pit’s Big Adventure, by Ben Snakepit (cartoon strips)
This cartoonist has been making daily three-panel cartoons since 2001, and this one covers his and his wife’s move from Austin to San Francisco—and then COVID hits. I love the simple drawings, sometimes meta, and the repetition he employs to show us that we are just like him on so many levels: going to work, eating dinner, watching TV. It’s mostly gentle and utterly relatable.

Tom Lake, by Ann Patchett (novel)
The author has written a love letter to Thornton Wilder and, tangentially, Anton Chekhov. Bouncing back and forth between 2020 pandemic summer in Northern Michigan and 1988 Tom Lake, also in Northern Michigan, a mother of three young women recounts her younger days, when she was an actress, and her tempestuous romance with a soon-to-be-famous actor. This storytelling device echoes Our Town and also at times directly quotes The Cherry Orchard. There is a lot of humor that pops up throughout, as it does in Our Town and The Cherry Orchard, although by the end I was weeping. The writing at that moment was at its most beautiful and melancholy. My first time reading Patchett, but not my last.

The Uncensored Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde, edited by Nicholas Frankel (novel)
I loved reading this originally intended version of the novel; the references to the love that dare not speak its name were so much more unmistakable, especially when the three queer main characters are alone talking—there is no need to hide or speak in code. And there was no need for the character of James Vane, Sybil’s brother, really, although I did enjoy the version I read thirty-eight years ago in which he appears. (This time I read chapter nine, with all the descriptions of objects—but reading it still made me sleepy.)

Victory Parade, by Leela Corman (graphic novel)
An audacious and provocative graphic novel about Jewish women in New York during the Second World War and all the prejudices that they had to face. I loved primarily the drawings: The bodies are noodle-like and the faces are angular, and they are all colored in watercolors and pencil. The dead and the afterlife are a big part of this book; there is eye-for-an-eye vengeance, and the story does not end at all happily. But there is a lot of beauty in the images. This artists does not compromise her vision, and I love that.

Vintage Contemporaries, by Dan Kois (novel)
A character-driven novel about friendship during the nineties and aughts in NYC. The two leads are so vividly drawn (they even have the same name, which did not interfere at all because the author handled that so well). One works as a book editor and the other as a stage director, which were right up my alley and made it easier to understand all the name drops and show/book references. At times the style was arch, but not often enough to detract. A heartfelt novel with a bit of an edge.

A Visit from the Goon Squad, by Jennifer Egan (novel in stories)
Characters at various ages in their lives enter and exit with each chapter, pop up here and there, so by the end you have assembled a clear history of them. At times I gasped when I discovered in a later chapter what had happened to a character from seeds the author had planted in an earlier one. The writing is at times straightforward, other times poetic and richly metaphorical. I loved each of the thirteen story-chapters on their own, but together they make this book soar to wonderful and dizzying heights. Sasha is one of the characters we focus on, and her story is rich. She has affected many others within these pages, and I am glad I got to spend time with her at different points in her life, even though she is a kleptomaniac.

We the Animals, by Justin Torres (novel in stories)
A gorgeously realized queer Bildungsroman abounding with pathos, pathetic fallacy, and poetry. Each chapter is like an impressionist painting, as we stand back to view all the little pieces to obtain a radiant, albeit sometimes harrowing, whole. Magical.

Favorite Books of 2024

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 John 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 extols 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 begin 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 employing 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 it 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 bait 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 a 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.

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).

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)
Wonderfully 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 White, 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.

Favorite Books of 2022

A few years ago I decided to read my books in order of a set of genres, with categories such as short stories, novel, memoir, queer, general nonfiction, new release, and more. One of my favorite categories is random (it’s the last one on my list of twelve). Because I have all my books on an Excel spreadsheet I export from Libib, a site for those who want to catalog their home libraries, I let my computer choose the random book.

Last year I stuck to my twelve categories, but I also read a lot of graphic novels and books about art at the same time, as I am a big fan.

Here are some of my favorite books I read in 2022, and the notes I took after reading each of them.

32 Stories: The Complete Optic Nerve Mini-Comics, by Adrian Tomine (comics zines)
This artist-writer was brilliant at age seventeen, when he began these Optic Nerve zines. I love when he writes and renders a female protagonist. He played around with style in lettering and rendering over these four years. There was not a clunky issue among the seven, and I truly enjoyed the experience traveling back to the early nineties.

Afterparties, by Anthony Veasna So (short stories)
Nine remarkable short stories come to life in this late author’s collection. Every single one is magic. I even choked up reading the acknowledgments. What a gift this writer had.

Belonging, by Nora Krug (graphic memoir)
Heimat, or belonging, is a sense of loss one feels for one’s place or home. The author boldly tried to discover things about her family’s past during Nazi Germany so that she can understand and hopefully heal. The drawings—in pencil, colored pencil, marker, and collage—are spectacularly rendered to fit this story, and the writing is cogent and almost like a mystery. Excellent, loving, probing, moving.

Block Print for Beginners, by Elise Young (art technique)
Much better than I initially thought. Although the author is a novice, she packs a lot into the book and it is all very helpful—every little tip and trick is limned for the beginner to feel more comfortable approaching all the aspects of this art form. Her thick cardboard registration is something I will definitely try for multicolor prints.

The Book Tour, by Andi Watson (graphic novel)
A polite man’s book tour goes awry when the police start to suspect him of murder. Shades of Kafka abound in this graphic novel about a man whose book sells only because he has been suspected of murder and has signed a confession under false pretenses. The cartooning is simple; the dialogue, complex. I’m glad I sat down with this.

The Bradley of Him, by Connor Willumsen (graphic novel)
In this mesmerizing graphic novel, the runner is on a journey but not really one of self-awareness. He seems to be a famous person staying at a Las Vegas hotel. Is it supposed to be Bradley Cooper, who just won an Oscar playing Lance Armstrong, or is it Murray, the superwealthy alter-ego? The images are all rendered in graphite pencil, and the words seem to be in marker. There is linearity, but it is always being called into question with possible flashbacks (or are they fantasies?). All in all, I dug it and really grooved on the style.

Bread & Wine: An Erotic Tale of New York, by Samuel R. Delany, illustrated by Mia Wolff (graphic memoir)
A relationship is exquisitely illustrated in ink and lovingly written. I savored every word and explored every image. This memoir upturns all expectations about love, desire, homelessness, and friendship. And the author and his man are still together!

Companion Piece, by Ali Smith (novel)
After reading Ali Smith’s glorious four seasons novels, I felt I had to read this, her latest. Also glorious. She captures the zeitgeist to a tee by juxtaposing the current pandemic against the 17th-century plague. Magical and genius. Her wordplay is infectious. Some loose ends, but I did not mind a bit.

Dis-similarities, by Craig J Calhoun (art)
What a fantastic book of art photography by this estimable artist. Reality-bending images allow you to see things askew. Beautiful, with a thoughtful and provocative artist’s statement wending its way throughout.

The Domesticated Afterlife, by Scott Finch (graphic novel)
The definition of original. I can’t say I understood it completely, but I understood it well enough to really dig this graphic novel about submission and spirituality. Our vulpine hero, Enaid, accepts a Faustian bargain to become domesticated in order to eat and sleep freely without care, but the bargain is not what it seemed like from the beginning. My god, what a world Finch creates. Truly one of a kind. Sui generis.

Elizabeth and Monty, by Charles Casillo (biography)
This account of their relationship is thorough, insightful, and generally well written. The author focuses on the psychology of his subjects, and this pays off in a huge way: it gives the book a sense of characterization, which is paramount in biographies. I learned so much. And his use of amalgamating quotations from other sources works to his advantage to help paint a complete picture. Very moving.

Falling Water, by John Koethe (poetry)
These poems about loneliness and feelings of displacement in middle age in an indifferent world reverberate strongly. I underlined so much that I felt attuned with, and they put me in a mood of uncertainty, which is what I think the poems are written to do. Philosophical and also heartfelt. The final poem, “Falling Water,” is the longest and encompasses life in a matter of pages. “Morning in America” resonates strongly, politically especially, today.

The Follies of Richard Wadsworth and Streakers, by Nick Maandag (graphic novellas)
Three graphic novellas: The Follies of Richard Farnsworth, Night School, The Disciple. The first was the best, but all of them have a wackiness and challenge political correctness in such a funny way: these characters cannot help themselves because they are so driven by lust. I really dig his work. ¶ Streakers is a hilarious graphic short story about a club for streakers. The three men currently involved are all working-class guys who are a bit creepy, but somehow Maandag makes us care for them. I love the renderings of body hair and genitals. Lovely pen and ink work.

Francis Bacon, by A. E. Bethea (graphic essays)
Francis Bacon is just the jumping-off point for this comic in which the artist/author philosophizes about their position in this world. They will mention something on one page, such as the moon, and riff on the moon landing on the next page. The drawings are jagged and febrile. A wonderful juxtaposition against the poetic and philosophical texts. I was smitten.

Gateway to the Moon, by Mary Morris (novel)
I love Morris’s writing: the five senses exploited to their fullest, characters fully developed who conjure instant faces in your mind, and plot devices that keep you turning the page. In 1992 small-town New Mexico, its denizens have had family there for over 400 years who do not eat pork and light candles every Friday. We trace the family from 1492 to the present to learn why. Breathtaking.

Index Cards, by Moira Davey (essays)
These interconnected essays seem desultory in their telling, but that is on purpose, allowing a cumulative effect that took my breath away at times. I feel a kinship with the author, especially in her essay “The Problem of Reading,” of what to read and the dilemma in choosing one’s next book to read. I love how reading and writing are forever linked, and how she quotes famous and not-so-famous authors regarding the subject. So many connections here, and she writes about those connections as though she read my mind.

The Journey, by Indira Ganesan (novel)
The word and world building are exquisite in this compact gem. Such a visual, sensual writer. I underlined many phrases and passages.

The Man without Talent, by Yoshiharu Tsuge, translated by Ryan Holmberg (graphic novel)
I could not out this down and read it in one sitting. Tsuge is a master of pen and ink, and he knows how to tell a story and use flashback and manga-style reactions. The ending made me laugh—so fitting—as the main character does not recognize he is like all those men without money (but he really does have talent!).

Maus: A Survivor’s Tale, by Art Spiegelman (graphic novels)
The first book, A Survivor’s Tale, was a devastating and emotional retelling of his father’s time during World War II. The narrative is meta, and works perfectly: the son in the present asking the father about his experiences, all while dealing with his father and his father wife’s matrimonial problems. ¶ Part II, And Here My Troubles Begin, is probably the best graphic novel ever written. The author struggles with his father’s story of surviving the Holocaust while dealing with his father’s old age and infirmities, and inner turmoil. The love/hate relationship between the two is what makes this brilliant. Also included is a chapbook/pamphlet of earlier works that inspired Maus.

My Dead Book, by Nate Lippens (novel)
Good things come in small packages. A novella about a hustler looking back on his life, remembering the dead who once breathed life into his world. Unsentimental, quietly philosophical, and lovingly told. I underlined and starred so many passages!

Pangs of Love, by David Wong Louie (short stories)
These stories pretty much keep you guessing till the end, where everything comes to gather not in a crystalline moment of understanding but in waves of increasing understanding. “Inheritance,” the last story, was deep, oh so deep, and excellent. Not all the stories are about the Chinese-American Experience; Louie was a writer first, and a man writing about his people, it seems, second. He could not be pigeon-holed: so many of the stories seems to emanate from different places. I remember buying this thirty years ago because one of the stories had a gay character. Only one. But I am so glad I bought it and had the chance to soak up the author’s talent.

Peculiar Heritage, by DeMisty D. Bellinger (poetry)
I loved this poetry collection. It is written by a Black woman who puts herself, her body, her mind in the bodies of other Black women, some of them slaves escaping to the north, as in her group of poems called Lunar Journey. These poems question everything—especially imbalance in our society—and are just magnificent and moving on many levels.

Please Continue, by Frank Basloe (play)
Remarkable and stunning play about the Milgram experiments at Yale in the early sixties. These scenes are interwoven with another storyline about a young teenager girls rape by a multitude of Yale men. It is unsettling and perfect. Themes of culpability and forgiveness abound.

The Pleasure of the Text, by Sami Alwani (graphic stories)
Anticapitalist cartooning at its finest: erudite, self-effacing, perpetually questioning, erotic, mundane, all using different styles and media but focusing on the artist–writer, as a dog! Brilliant!

Prayer to Saint Therese, by Alabaster Pizzo (graphic novella)
This is a beautifully written and thought-out graphic novella about the future (2040), the narrator an expat in Amsterdam, and how she seeks connection and meaning but is afraid of the things she wants. At its core, it’s about how bleak yet hopeful every moment is.

Rusty Brown, by Chris Ware (graphic novel)
This sad opus about unfulfilled lives is quite a journey, twenty years in the making. I was moved by all the characters, and all the little details in their hardscrabble lives make this opus soar. I so look forward to part two.

Staring at the Sun, by Julian Barnes (novel)
This book moved me on many levels: emotionally, philosophically, as literature. A woman who lives to be 100 questions her life from the moment her uncle gives her bulbs when she is ten, telling her that they will grow into flowers, but they are in fact golf tees. Fear, bravery, success, the meaning of life, the uncertainty of god and afterlife, the follow of religion, suicide—all and more are explored fully in only 197 pages. Barnes is a brilliant writer.

They’re Going to Love You, by Meg Howrey (novel)
Another stellar novel by Howrey, and this time she returns to the milieu of ballet. A family drama that runs very deep and bounces around in time. I was spellbound by her narrator’s interiority and would have underlined half the passages in the book if I had read with a highlighter. All the characters are indelibly imprinted in my mind. I wept several times at the beauty of the passages; from the joy, longing, pain, and forgiveness; and especially from Carlisle’s self-discoveries she makes along the way. This should be required reading.

Tooth Box, by Jenny Irish (poetry)
These prose poems pack gigantic punches. Girlhood, dislocation, the feeling of not belonging or fitting in, women and their relationship with their bodies—I was mesmerized. So much in thirty-one poems. The last line of “Wolves” made me gasp and nod.

Favorite Books of 2021

For every book I read, I read with the intention of falling in love with it. It would be silly to say this happens all the time, but it happens more often than not. The books in the list that follows were standouts this year, and I did fall in love many times. Also, this was the year I added lots of graphic novels and memoirs to my reading list. Cheers!

All the Way to the Tigers, by Mary Morris (memoir)
A memoir that bounces back and forth in time, from the moment the author broke her ankle in seven places to the time she spent in India, searching for an encounter with a tiger. In between she recalls troubling times with her mother and how, as her ankle started to heal, she tried to heal her relationship with her not-so-motherly mother. It’s quite a page-turner, and Morris knows how to describe everything using all the senses. Love her writing. It’s also about privilege and understanding how injustice permeates all our lives regardless of status.

Am I Alone Here?, by Peter Orner (essays)
I thoroughly enjoyed these short essays (felt like a new genre). He is painfully, sometimes brutally, honest when he relates books and the stories he’s read to his own life. The ones about his dad left me breathless. Middle-aged never felt so relatable.

Appleseed, by Matt Bell (novel)
Ambitious in its scope and agenda, this novel is unlike anything I’ve read before: magical, mythological, radical, genre bending. One of the main characters is a faun, so that sets the stage right there. Bell’s writing allows for this (although he loves to repeat himself in different ways, but that is part of the fabric of this novel). Fascinating that the most human and fully realized character is C, remade 433 times and now “living” one thousand years in the future. The will to live is strong. Humanity cannot fix the climate mistakes made. But life will go on.

Beverly, by Nick Drnaso (graphic stories)
Six creepy interlocked stories about the banality of evil, white middle-class anxiety, and racism. Nick Drnaso sure knows how to write dialogue and shape a story. You can feel the seeds of his next work, Sabrina, being planted in this collection. Riveting. His simplistic style fits the dialogue and storylines to a tee.

The Cranes Dance, by Meg Howrey (novel)
Another robust novel from Howrey. She writes about performance so cleverly and emotionally. I loved this one because of the world it presents: ballet. The author was a great ballerina and actor, and she combines the two here. A novel about finding oneself when you’ve been strapped to a sibling your whole life. I could have read hundreds of more pages of this.

Days without End, by Sebastian Barry (novel)
This novel is magical. The writing is poetry, both epic and personal. Thomas, a starving teen Irish immigrant, befriends another lost boy, an American named John Cole, and the two fight wars and make love together. My favorite line: “And then we quietly fucked and then we slept.” Thomas identifies more comfortably as a woman, and feels more at home in women’s clothing, having had a revelation after seeing the berdache during one of their campaigns. Spoiler alert: I love a happy ending. So much love for this book.

I Contain Multitudes, by Ed Yong (science)
You can’t help but think about your own body and what microbes are lurking within when reading this book. The author is a terrific writer and really makes his point without using too much scientific jargon. His tone is appealing and refreshing. This is the kind of science book I love. And I learned so much. It seems revolutionary.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, by Maya Angelou (memoir)
A great American book written by a great American writer. I first learned about her when I was young but never read the entire book. So I got this copy and started savoring every word, then started gulping toward the end. Every word was chosen with love, pain, erudition, and emotion. Once, I sat next to her at a bar in Princeton. I wish I had the balls to buy her a round, but I was poor. But I like to think that the light emanating from her seeped into my body and made me a better thinker.

I Never Promised You a Rose Garden, by Mannie Murphy (graphic memoir)
What a brilliant approach to writing about the growth of white nationalism in Portland from an artist who limits their palette to black and gray watercolor on cheap student-ruled elementary school paper. Perfect read for the times in which we live.

If I Had Two Wings, by Randall Kenan (short stories)
The best stories are at the beginning and end of this collection of ten, some containing magic realism, all lively and filled with characters on the brink of self-discovery and catharsis, usually with a gay male in his later forties or fifties. It’s such a pity that the author died the month this published. It is a book filled with surprises.

The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Cartoonist, by Adrian Tomine (graphic memoir)
This memoir is written and drawn classically. Each scenario starts with joy and hope and ends with the cartoonist being put in his place or undermined. It is a classic and funny device and works perfectly for this graphic memoir, which ends with the idea for the cartoonist to write a graphic memoir. A circle.

Lot, by Bryan Washington (short stories)
Characters on the brink of self-revelation and self-determination struggle to find their places in a world that is hostile. Is love possible? All the stories take place in Houston, and as a white reader I was definitely the other, which always fascinates me and makes me turn the page even more. The whole point of reading is to feel the experiences of the characters, and when they don’t look like you or patronize the same places or do the same things, you learn more about yourself through learning about otherness and oppression. There was not one bad apple in the bunch. You get used to his nonuse of quotation marks. I would definitely read his novel.

Love and Other Poems, by Alex Dimitrov (poetry)
A paean to the comforting and smothering city of New York. A young gay man’s musings on life, love, death, the City, and the Cosmos. He cries a lot and it is cathartic. Lots of meta narration. The last poem, written during three cab rides on an iPhone, is stupendous.

Monkey Bay, by Elaine Ford (novel)
I waited thirty-two years to read the now-yellowing pages of this short but mighty novel about the denizens of a north Maine coastal town living hardscrabble lives. Love and honesty seem impossible, but this character study packs a powerful punch. Maine slang! The cover seems a little too eighties cozy. So I was not expecting the fall-to-winter landscapes Elaine Ford so brilliantly captures. The cover must represent that impossible thing we all strive to obtain, which wends its way through Monkey Bay like a venomous snake.

Montana Diary, by Whit Taylor (graphic memoir)
In simple yet multilayered renderings, the author explores what it means to be a person of color while exploring big sky country. We learn about York, a slave who traveled with Lewis and Clark, and about the Native Americans who still live on the land of their ancestors. Subtle and at times breathtaking.

The Office of Historical Corrections, by Danielle Evans (short stories)
Resplendent writing, every story a diamond. The author acknowledges the zeitgeist by fictionalizing current events about race and self-determination and societal acceptance. I loved this and want to read more by her.

Packing My Library, by Alberto Manguel (essays)
Some short books are perfect, such as this one. The author had to pack up his library after collecting books for twenty years (a lifetime, really). He moves to NYC, then back to Argentina, where he becomes the head of the National Library. His personal accounts of growing up and his books and library are interspersed between philosophical digressions reacting to the personal counts. I felt a kinship. The last essay was magnificent, about what libraries are for and why we need them on a national and universal level. Reading makes us more empathetic and less selfish.

Pastel & Pen: Travels in Europe, by Carol M. Cram, art by Gregg Simpson (essays and art)
Lovely juxtaposition of Carol’s writing and Gregg’s abstract art. Many of the essays share negative stories, but they add to the fun. One of them, about Carol’s great-grandfather, made me cry. Some made my laugh out loud. I envy their gumption to live abroad for weeks and months to pursue their arts.

Paul at Home, by Michel Rabagliati, translated by Helge Dascher and Rob Aspinall (graphic novel)
This graphic novel about a fiftysomething Montrealer really spoke to me. Paul is not having a good time as his world around him and his body seem to fall apart. I cringed at times, but I also was deeply moved by not only the words but the images and metaphors. A slap in the face, but funny. I want to read the earlier works in this series.

Pencil Revolution, by Johnny Gamber (zines)
A monthly zine from the man who first started a pencil blog of the same name. Who knew that pencils were an inexhaustible topic? I’ve always loved pencils and have over a thousand in my and Steve’s collection. Johnny juxtaposes seriousness and his wry sense of humor to make a point (pun intended).

Persepolis and Persepolis 2: The Story of a Return, by Marjane Satrapi (graphic memoirs)
This graphic memoir is excellent: Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi. A girl grows up in war-torn Iran before and during the Shah’s reign in the 70s. At times it’s harrowing, but what makes it truly special is the wry humor that I welcomed with open arms. Can’t wait to read the sequel. ¶ Sometimes the sequel is better than the first iteration. Don’t get me wrong: I adored Persepolis, but Persepolis 2: The Story of a Return is richer and digs deeper; our heroine grows up before our eyes and is exposed to more cruelties in our ugly world.

Pittsburgh and Pompeii, by Frank Santoro (graphic memoir and graphic novel)
From the first image I was in awe of this memoir about growing up in Pittsburgh with parents who divorced once the grandparents moved to Las Vegas. The narrator/artist tries to figure out what happened and why, tracing everything back to his grandparents and how they handled the rift between the families. The art is simple and colorful but with intense perspective. I tried to figure out what kind of paper he used for the main panels and think it is a velum or tracing paper, as it appears the images come through in a faded quality on the other side. Brilliant! ¶ I love Frank Santoro’s work because you see the process along with the storytelling. In one shade, ash-brown red, he captures the feeling of people living their lives when disaster strikes. Very moving and loving portrayal of an artist’s apprentice and his lady embracing as the ash descends. I think Santoro based these on actual lovers found, who turned out to be two men!

The Queen of Tuesday, by Darin Strauss (novel)
The author’s hybrid novel/memoir sparkles and pops with scintillating language and characters in search of more than life is throwing them. Bebop tempi reverberate throughout the pages. We are privy to so much inner life that Lucille Ball became a real person for me. I love his writing.

Shakespeare Our Contemporary, by Jan Kott (theatre essays)
A deep dive into the plays of Shakespeare, Kott posits that we need to look at modern life in order to understand the Elizabethan world and stage of Shakespeare if we want to get it right. I loved his observations and innately have felt many of them, especially in my handling of the endings of Romeo and Juliet and What You Will, or Twelfth Night. I like how he explains how the post-Elizabethan theatre and how directors now fall into traps, rendering the plays something other than what Shakespeare had intended.

Summer, by Ali Smith (novel)
How I adored this novel and the series it is a part of. This edition unites many of the characters in the prior books and captures the zeitgeist to a tee. I love the author's writing and what makes her juices flow. I will have to read more of her work.

Swimming in the Dark, by Tomasz Jedrowski (novel)
A slim and compelling novel about ultimately standing up for what you believe in in order to maintain your sanity and identity. A young gay man falls in love in 1980 pre–martial law Poland only to come to terms with hypocrisy and the lack of self-determination. Written in a formal manner, in the second person (to his ex lover), and that seemed the right tone. I think this would make a riveting miniseries. I love how he describes the songs that are playing without having to rely on the lyrics and the reader’s knowing them. I always try to convey this to writers whose work I am editing. Looking forward to more by him.

This Is Paradise, by Kristiana Kahakauwila (short stories)
One of the best short story collections I have ever read. There is so much heart and humanity among these six longish stories. Each one moved me in its own way. The last story, “The Old Paniolo Way,” is masterful in its depiction of Big Island life and accretion of isolation and longing for acceptance with the main gay character. I will never forget this one.

The Transit of Venus, by Shirley Hazzard (novel)
I wept at the end when I figured out what happened based on earlier narration. What an original story about love, but mainly about self-determination (sovereign power). The last forty pages I read through apace because everything that had been set up was finally being revealed. Many times as I read this, I thought, How can Hazzard get away with writing like this? But she did, and it was a beautiful, emotional ride.

The Unreality of Memory, by Elisa Gabbert (essays)
Brilliant, powerful essays about how we react to and deal with disasters and other life-changing events. Gabbert's erudition and turns of phrase are commanding, and quite frankly a joy to read. This book is all about paradoxes. I dug it!

Whatsa Paintoonist?, by Jerry Moriarty (graphic memoir)
The layers upon layers of narrative beautifully show how artists create and why they make choices they do. I loved how Moriarty includes ink sketches for his main narrative, and watercolor sketches for his layout, and then his final paintings for each section of the book. I must learn more about this artist I have a deep fondness for.

Year of the Rabbit, by Tian Veasna (graphic memoir)
I was so moved by the images in this harrowing and hectic graphic memoir about the author’s family’s experiences living through the Khmer Rouge. A difficult read but filled with love and hope. Very timely.

Favorite Books of 2020

These books stood out for me in 2020. Here are the notes I wrote after finishing each one. (It was difficult to start reading fiction again after lockdown, but after reading some memoirs and nonfiction, I was able to get back to reading novels and short stories. Whew!)

The Art of Noticing, by Rob Walker (personal growth)
Lots of inspired and inspiring ideas here to jump-start your creativity, many of which I have been employing over the years. A balm during difficult times.

Blind Spot, by Teju Cole (essays and photographs)
This collection is a beautiful meditation on how pictures and place trigger memories, sensations, and connections with other places, ideas, and forms. I felt I was in the hands of a caring and loving world guide. It is brilliant. A must-read.

Cleanness, by Garth Greenwell (short stories)
The last story, “An Evening Out,” ends perfectly, with a gesture that sums up this golden book. I felt like the dog Mama, in the narrator’s arms, feeling treated to something so pure and loving. First-person narration doesn’t get any better.

Deaf Republic, by Ilya Kaminsky (poetry)
Wow. I was blown away by the first poem in this book: it distilled America down to its current essence, and it’s grim, because we are satisfied consumers. What follows is a parable about State oppression and protest—a rally cry for the fuckedupedness that’s happening right now as the GOP continues to impose its menace. Do read this! Find the beauty.

Don’t Call Us Dead, by Danez Smith (poetry)
A deep and upsetting and elegiac collection of poems by the brilliant poet. Should be required reading, especially the opening poem, “summer, somewhere.”

Fiskadoro, by Denis Johnson (novel)
I love Johnson’ writing: a tour de force of language and storytelling set in postapocalyptic Key West, where survivors and progeny of nuclear war try to create meaning in their new world. The beauty in his sentences slowed down my reading and made me sigh and mark passages.

500 Handmade Books Volume 2, curated by Julie Chen (art)
What a source of inspiration! So many ideas now bouncing around in my head for book-making ideas. I have been wanting to make a book for over thirty years. It’s time.

Housekeeping, by Marilynne Robinson (novel)
I love this book. I saw the movie Housekeeping over thirty years ago, but nothing prepared me for the beauty and poetry of this word conjurer’s novel. One of the best novels I’ve read. Is it too soon to reread it? (All hashtags are rendered useless and reductive.)

In Awe, by Scott Heim (novel)
I was blown away by the poetry in the writing in this deep, deep character study. Everyday objects and nature are personified, as if each thing has a spirit and will. The last fifty pages set my heart apace: so much beauty in agony. Macabre, but truly about how one survives abuse and creates a sense of family and love where none exist.

Inside/Out, by Joseph Osmundson (memoir)
It took a lot of courage to write this brief but powerful memoir about his psychologically abusive relationship. Many of us have been through what he experienced; it’s hard to break free but so liberating and empowering once the strings are cut.

Just Kids: Illustrated Edition, by Patti Smith (memoir)
I read this nine years ago and loved it deeply. I remember her emerging in the ’70s and was captivated by her androgyny and voice. I would stare at her photos at the record store. In the ’80s I became enraptured by Robert Mapplethorpe’s photographs.

Later, by Paul Lisicky (memoir)
This is a memoir of place and contagion, a deep study of the self, as a gay man navigates life, love, and AIDS in Provincetown (a main character) during the early ’90s. I love Lisicky’s writing, his ability to keenly analyze every breath, every glance. This man is not afraid to hold a mirror up to himself. He navigates his own queerness through a lens of disease and self-worth. The writing is brilliant at times, probing the microaggressions that others impose on us and we impose on ourselves. Communication is never easy. For older queers, it is a long journey to know/love thyself.

My Struggle: Book 6, by Karl Ove Knausgaard (fiction/memoir)
I brought this longest and final My Struggle with me to Hawaii. Read the last words upon touchdown in NYC. This memoir/novel of ideas and searching for authenticity moved me on so many levels. The Hitler section is riveting. Knausgaard integrates his own life and past with Hitler’s life story. He deals with his wife’s mania and learns to find love. I was fascinated the whole time. Moving. A man grows up. Grateful to have read all six books. Defies genre.

On Writing: Tenth Anniversary Edition, by Stephen King (craft of writing)
I liked this so much. Very practical. He is definitely not boring. He is a writer for the people, but he does not abase himself. He also is not trying to be a writer he is not. I like his turns of phrase and his potty mouth at times. His advice is practical and he tells is like it is: not everyone can be a great—or even good—writer. The memoir portions interspersed were terrific! Time to read another of his novels. Perhaps Christine, but Misery keeps calling.

Runaway, by Alice Munro (short stories)
I identified with so many of the main characters in this collection of longish short stories of people dissatisfied with the status quo and what is expected of them. Each story a lifetime of searching for something “other,” “better,” “truthful,” “fulfilling.” Deep. What a probing and gifted writer.

Spring, by Ali Smith (novel)
Ah, spring. In which a girl tries to aid detainees interred in horrible conditions in the UK while the world stands around watching. Another brilliant novel from Ali Smith. This one will get your dander up. I love Smith’s style. It’s all her own and bloody readably good. And the novel is told out of time, which is wonderfully jarring at times.

Telling Stories, by Lee Martin (craft of writing)
Attention fiction writers and memoirists. Have you read this remarkable book? Martin’s insight into writing has inspired me to start short story writing again. The exercises—to energize your writing and get you back on track while providing examples for literature and his own writing—work wonders if you are stuck. Time to lift myself out of the muck and into the light.

The Urban Sketching Handbook: Understanding Perspective, by Stephanie Bower (art technique)
Helpful for the newbie, a refresher for the skilled. I tried a perspective drawing using this book; it helped. I was actually gobsmacked by how much it helped!

The Written Word, by Martin Puchner (nonfiction)
What a delightful journey through the history of foundational texts, such as The Iliad, The Epic of Gilgamesh, holy scriptures, The Tale of Genji, One Thousand and One Nights, Popol Vuh, The Communist Manifesto, The Epic of Sunjata, and Omeros. Fun and scholarly.