the reading year

I read thirty-three books this year, about ten thousand pages, which is a typical, if slightly low, number for me. But this year was anything but typical.

2019 began with a migraine so intense I was well past longing for those little Anodynes that deaden suffering and most of the way to yearning for the liberty to die. Ten points if you can name that poet.

(It’s funny, the poetry that comes into your head when you’re bent over the commode in the middle of the night. Also: There’s a Martin Luther joke here somewhere.)

That migraine lasted well into February—I had perhaps two or three symptom-free days each week. Not ideal conditions for reading, with eyes or ears. And I am a slow reader, anyway.

Occasionally I am jealous of my pals who rip though hundreds of volumes in a year. But that road is silly. And I did read War & Peace this year, sixty-four hours, which is no small thing.

So let’s break it down:

nonfiction

Only a few this year.

Brain Food, by Lisa Mosconi. I picked this up after reading an article about the author’s research into the connection between menopause and Alzheimers. Her newest book wasn’t out yet—it’s on my list for this year. I didn’t love the tone of Brain Food—it felt like an editor had asked her to be more conversational, less science-y at moments—but overall, fascinating.

Give War & Peace a Chance: Tolstoyan Wisdom for Troubled Times, by Andrew D. Kaufman. I loved this.

Platform: Get Noticed in a Noisy World, by Michael Hyatt & Necessary Endings: The Employees, Businesses, and Relationships That All of Us Have to Give Up in Order to Move Forward, by Henry Cloud. Both of these were helpful in my discernment process about good work.

notable fiction

War & Peace, by Leo Tolstoy, read by Neville Jason. This is the Louise and Aylmer Maude translation, which I generally do not see recommended. But whenever I looked up a passage I loved in my print copy, the Pevear and Volokhonsky, which I do see recommended, it was not as lovely as the Maude. Whatever. Pick one and read it. It is like candy. Delicious.

Wuthering Heights, by Emily Brontë. I don’t know why I picked this up, but, gosh, I enjoyed hating it. One line, though, struck me, and I jotted it down on the back of an envelope and pinned it on my fridge. Ellen (I think) is describing her grief for a long lost (I think), now (assuredly) dead Linton: “…for ancient associations lingered upon my heart.” The heart and its tender geographies interest me these days.

The Custard Protocol series, by Gail Carriger, beginning with Competence. I learned about this author when she linked a few of my Book Riot articles on her website, calling one a “tisane of smart.” Who IS this woman, I wondered. Victorian werewolves and vampires? They are delightful, well-researched, finely-written adventures, and good medicine after reading emotionally difficult novels.

There, There, by Tommy Orange & Heart Berries, by Terese Marie Mailhot, which is a memoir, not fiction, but a good companion read with There, There. Both important and haunting. I listened to the latter straight through while I was painting the bathroom into the wee hours of the night during the plumbing disaster and in a state of high distress. I will never forget it.

A Sport and a Pastime, by James Salter. Exquisitely beautiful writing, possibly the finest Dick Lit I have read. Chronicles the various ways and means of accessing all the female orifices. My Stockholm Syndrome read of the year. I admired the writing so much that I couldn’t look away, and yet I hated it with a purple passion and finished feeling dirty.

The Silence of the Girls, by Pat Barker. Good God. Devastating and beautiful. I’m glad I waited a year after reading Madeline Miller’s books to tackle this one.

I’ve already discussed my possibly-concerning obsession, so I hardly need mention that I listened to A Gentleman in Moscow four or five times between these others.

A few duds this year, too. Good Omens does not hold up, feels dated, but the TV show is fantastic. I keep trying to like Neil Gaiman, but I just do not. A Single Thread is well-researched and competently written, but it did not sing for me.

So far, no health disasters, so crossing fingers it will be a banner reading year.

6 thoughts on “the reading year”

  1. This is great. I’m listening to BRIDESHEAD REVISITED right now, but I’ll download WAR AND PEACE for my next listen while cleaning toilets in paradise. I read it so long ago I hardly remember it, anyway.

    1. Do I remember that you checked out a Tolstoy from the library that summer in Aspen, and that you were several chapters in before you realized you were reading the second of two volumes? I don’t remember the book, but I do remember your face when you realized. Gold.

      War & Peace will be perfect for housekeeping!

      Also, Cleaning Toilets in Paradise should be the title of your memoir.

      1. That was ANNA KARENINA, but I had forgotten about starting with volume 2!

        Also, I was thinking, “Wow, what a clever title that is [CTinP]!” Then I reread my comment.

        Steel trap, as they say.

  2. P.S. I didn’t get the poet thing, but I totally got the Martin Luther thing. Being a cradle Lutheran and all.

    1. Did I tell you about the time I accidentally told the boys about Luther’s toilet trouble? This was when they were young enough that our schooling involved coloring. Seth had a picture of dear Martin to color, and when he showed it to me, he said, “See what I did? I didn’t color his face because he spent so much time on the pot, I bet he didn’t get any sun.” Then he paused and said, “I bet he wished he could come up with 95 feces instead.”

      1. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

        Also, I, a cradle Lutheran, have not taught my children about Martin Luther. Oh gosh.

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