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. 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 novel)
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, are 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, or at least have sex with him!
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.
