On my last birthday, in May 2017, I decided I needed a project for the year ahead. A kind of low-stakes, easily achievable project. I was, after all, entering my thirties, and it seemed as though the time had come for something a little more sedate than writing dissertations or racing Ironmans. So—the solution was simple—I decided that I would keep track of all the books I read between that birthday and the next one. The year is now up, and the results are in!

It was an exciting year in my reading life, because for the first time in a long time, I was not totally committed to academic and work reading. Between my previous two birthdays (2016-17), I taught nine (9!) university literature classes, so almost all of my reading was class prep. This year, I taught just four classes, which just happened to involve much less reading. So I was free to meander! I was interested to note in retrospect, though, how much the list still shows the effects of my teaching: many of my favourite writers and time periods are absent, because I had already spent a lot of time with them in the classroom. More positively, the list shows the clear influence of some of my favourite book conversationalist friends. In a year when I was restless to wander and hungry for recommendations, I was more grateful than ever for their enthusiasms and insights.

The list below is also a little skewed because I only recorded full books; I also, of course, read many articles, essays, poems, and especially short stories, which I was not diligent enough to track. I often ramble in and out of story collections and The New Yorker in between more ambitious reads, and when chance or nostalgia leads me to poetry I greet it like an old friend or a favourite sweater in the fall.

I finished almost every book I started; a few unfinished titles are listed here but not included in my “statistics” for the year. I wrote a very brief and very rough comment for each book immediately upon finishing it, mostly intended as personal reminders of my own impressions. These are copied here almost directly, in their original fragmentary form (except for a few editorial comments in square brackets); this will probably make them distinctly unsatisfying to read, so feel free to ask for more fully formed thoughts if you’re interested. Keeping more cogent reviews will be a goal for another year.

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Some statistics:

–I read 62 full books this year. I also read one book (The Handmaid’s Tale) a second time in preparation to teach it. Three other books were for teaching, and three were in preparation to write a book review for Canadian Literature.

–The list includes 29 books by men (two by J.D. Salinger) and 33 books by women (four by Alice Munro, two by Rachel Cusk, and two by Heather O’Neill)

–I have read only books by women in 2018 so far—this started out as a coincidence, and became a goal. It was not at all hard to do.

–I read 46 books between May and December 2017 and 16 between January and May 2018. The biggest reading months were July 2017—eight books, probably because I spent two weeks alone at my parents’ house with no internet, patchy phone service, and a dock over a river on which to read in the sun—and November 2017, probably because I read four work-related books and several very short novels. The lightest reading month was March 2018, only two books, probably because I spent two weeks preoccupied by navigating the Toronto apartment rental market (the opposite of a dock in the sun).

–I read 19 books by Canadian authors this year.

–The list includes 48 books of fiction (nine of them short story collections), 4 books of non-fiction (including two memoirs; I did not include, however, the bulk of my class reading, which would fall into this category), 5 graphic novels, 3 collections of poetry, and 2 plays.

–The books were published between 1817 and 2017. There are 8 from the 1800s, 30 from the 1900s, and 24 from the 2000s.

My favourites? This is hard to say. I appreciate books for diverse reasons, usually to do with elegance, originality, precision, and big-heartedness. My preferred authors tend to be those who teach me something about writing. In any case, ten titles I’d definitely recommend, with few to no reservations, in no particular order, are:

Katherena Vermette, The Break
Rachel Cusk, Transit
Jay McInerney, Bright Lights, Big City
Garth Greenwell, What Belongs to You
Jane Austen, Persuasion
Alice Munro, Who Do You Think You Are?
James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room
J.D. Salinger, Nine Stories
Heather O’Neill, Lullabies for Little Criminals
Lydia Davis, Varieties of Disturbance

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And so, here are the books I read during my thirty-first journey around the sun. Tell me what you think! Have you read any of these titles? Do you want to? What else should I read? What should my reading goals be this year?

May 2017:

Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep — [For my Twentieth-Century Novel class;] amazing similes which could be clunky and decadent but aren’t (“I was as empty of life as a scarecrow’s pockets.” “The purring voice was now as false as an usherette’s eyelashes and as slippery as a watermelon seed.” !)

James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room — Also for class; I want to write sentences as elegant as Baldwin’s [this has recently become the book I recommend to everyone when asked (and when not)]

 

June 2017:

Alice Munro, Who Do You Think You Are? — Rose is a remarkable central character; the early stories in the collection are better; Munro asks: what parts of our identity are “real,” and what parts are performed, and what if these are the same, in the end? [this is one of the enduring questions of her oeuvre]

Christopher Cameron, Dr. Bartolo’s Umbrella, and Other Tales from My Surprising Operatic Life — Read voraciously immediately after grading exams; beautiful similes; the word “stentorian” repeated several times (appropriately operatic); above all, the fleshing out of characters vaguely imagined in childhood; read with a spreading sense of relief that it [my father’s book] was as good as I assumed it would be

Patricia Highsmith, Strangers on a Train — Psychological thriller, less good—as in, less thrilling—than expected (only previously knowing Mr. Ripley); read at the cottage, on the deck at the new house under construction, finished in Nashville

William Faulkner, The Unvanquished — Read very vividly in Mississippi, at the bar (bartender said: “I’ve seen a lotta people reading a lotta Faulkner in here but I’ve never seen anyone reading that one”) and on a bench in the central square in Oxford (where Luster takes Benjy the wrong way around the monument), playing chicken with a thunderstorm to finish the penultimate story before the downpour, finished in a rocking chair on a porch by the tiger-lilies in front of the gothic Tennessee Williams inn [where I stayed] in Clarksdale

Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood — Encountering others’ skepticism while reading is an interesting experience—the boy in the airport, the boy in the bar, everyone who saw me reading it had an opinion and those opinions weren’t favourable (“it’s not my favourite Murakami” they both said; they probably use that on all the girls); read in San Francisco, including at the Vesuvio Café; absorbing, but his protagonist is too un-self-aware, and I’m not so sure the girl is believable (but maybe because she’s filtered through the un-self-aware protagonist’s gaze?)

*William Faulkner, The Hamlet — half-read in San Francisco, Toronto, and Montreal; very good but long and rambling; decided to take an indefinite hiatus while Ike Snopes pursues his cow (meticulously documented)

 

July 2017:

Alice Munro, Friend of My Youth — Alice Munro at middle age; stories of womanhood, affairs, and divorce; how can she feel so much and sweep it all into thirty pages?

J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey — Read quickly, marvelling at Salinger’s detailed blocking and conversation (as in, theatrical); Buddhism and finding Christ; I don’t mind the pretentiousness of the Glasses; a little boring while reading but strangely missed when finished

J.D. Salinger, Nine Stories – Hungry for more Salinger (see above); delightful effects, New Yorker story-style and thus maybe a little same-y and facile, but oh they do work

Leonard Cohen, The Favourite Game — Reread alone in Campbellford with no internet; looking for connections to “A Ballet of Lepers”; indeed there are many

Alice Munro, Lives of Girls and Women — Reread also alone in Campbellford with no internet and barely any phone, remembered little about it despite the first-year Canadian Studies essay; delightful old aunts reminiscent of Lucy Maud Montgomery stories; memories of first reading returned in grim sexual awakening stories; interesting female counterpart to Favourite Game

Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale — Read very quickly in two days (also alone in Campbellford, no contact with world etc.); surprisingly suspenseful; typical Atwood; some cheap insights and too-easy patterns but a good (and obviously important) story; to teach or not to teach?

Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca — Read v. quickly also isolated Campbellford etc.; annoying/frustrating narrator (worse because I knew I should like her) who lacks self-confidence (but of course this is the point; be more sympathetic?); despite this, the story lingered… haunting me for days, like… Rebecca herself (!)

Evelyn Waugh, Scoop — Mean (!); how ironic is the racism?? (probably not ironic, which is rather troubling); but funny and entertaining (maybe Ricky Gervais-style, whom I have just seen at Massey Hall?); does William Boot come off okay in the end?; also read quickly in Campbellford, lying on the dock in the sun

*John Updike, Rabbit Run — unfinished; no sympathy whatsoever for Rabbit Angstrom, the high school cool kid gone to seed…

 

August 2017:

Mike Mignola, Hellboy (first volume) — Magic and mythology; I wish I could draw

Alan Moore, V for Vendetta — Very good, surprisingly literary, so much (!!) in common with Atwood (Handmaid’s Tale), too…

Jennifer Egan, A Visit from the Goon Squad — Read all in one go on the train back from New York; not as original as the reviews claim, but readable, smart; linked short stories (not a novel, despite marketing); memorable impressions, especially of the spaces, New York, apartments, offices…

*Henry James, Washington Square — unfinished… will it ever be?; persisted forever (read on a bench in Washington Square, but to no avail); Catherine is really a terribly dull character, whose redeeming qualities are hard to locate, for me, and Morris Townshend is (purposely, admittedly) inscrutable

Frank Miller, The Dark Knight Returns — Old Batman, a reluctant hero story; pretty-boy Superman and young-girl Robin; solid

Art Spiegelman, Maus I & II — Whoa; very depressing, good; engrossing; kind of amazing that he manages to capture all that in black and white mouse drawings (what are the effects of the mice? An easy question; but what were they, for me?)

 

September 2017:

Marjane Satrapi, Persepolis — Basically the same reaction as to Maus, very similar; left thinking: must learn more about Iran. Thus ends a series of graphic novels recommended by Claudine, must read more.

*Azar Nafisi, Reading Lolita in Tehran — unfinished; see ambition above [about Iran]; but actually so similar to Persepolis (and captured in graphic novel with greater impact) that it might have lost some of its effect

George Bernard Shaw, Mrs. Warren’s Profession — Who’s better (/worse), New Woman Virgie or her brothel-madam mother? Is Frank (suitor) likeable? Are any of them? Shaw’s strange spellings and the excessive stage directions: the playwright who wanted to be a novelist; satisfying chat with Alex, who noticed the emphasis on hands (significance? work and capitalism…)

Alice Munro, The Progress of Love — very very (very!) good; complex mature Munro with lots of jumps in time, lists of adjectives like brush strokes, big feelings; especially liked “Monsieur Les Deux Chapeaux”

George Gissing, The Odd Women — Rhoda and Monica were interesting enough characters; is it redeemed (or, gasp, ruined!—which of course would be missing the point) by the lack of marriage?

 

October 2017:

Thomas Hardy, Jude the Obscure — Not as depressing as everyone says? Or was I just over-prepared? Jude is a good character: Hardy has the (virtuosic) Faulkner ability to inspire sympathy, huge, gut-wrenching sympathy, satire and pathos at the same time. The story lingers, is memorable.

Madeleine Thien, Do Not Say We Have Nothing — Big, sprawling, impressive, sometimes beautiful; to think how much research she must have done, on music, on revolutionary China, and then folding it all in to a family saga with a million different kinds of love, heartbreak; some memorable moments, but perhaps in an impressionistic (rather than stark/vivid) way—like, who dies and when, who is related to whom; I can’t remember (the book is long), but this was okay

Bret Easton Ellis, American Psycho — Does he murder or not? A surprisingly sympathetic character; alas (like so many critics) I did not like the music chapters; but quite an achievement, a la Lolita; also, the 1990s version of Dorian Grey? (end-of-century decadence, criminal misfit… many parallels; read for this reason, with this in mind)

Bram Stoker, Dracula — Uneven, but actually pretty suspenseful; but why are all the women so excluded? Is that… the point? (I hope so! Otherwise… :/ )

Jane Austen, Persuasion — At last!! [supposed to read in class in 2010, didn’t; supposed to read in class in 2011, didn’t; promised self to read by Anne Elliot’s age of 27 or by end of PhD, didn’t, so, too old & two years past PhD, at last] Occasionally a little boring, but very good tension between Anne and Wentworth—how does Austen do it?; first reactions were to wonder about the point of Lady Russell and to appreciate, perhaps despite myself, Captain Benwick; very good discussion with Megan, who talks so fluidly of Austen and answered many questions (ie. point of Lady Russell, problems with Captain Benwick, pronounced “Bennick”…)

 

November 2017:

Oscar Wilde, Salome — Interesting, liberated, short, Biblical

Sheri Fink, Five Days at Memorial: Life and Death in a Storm-Ravaged Hospital — To teach in the Business Writing course. A mammoth account of the events that transpired at Memorial Hospital in New Orleans—alleged euthanasia (or, lethal doses of morphine) of the sickest patients—in the desperate aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Too big and unwieldy as a book (too many characters), but it sets out to raise big ethical questions, and the unwieldiness is part of that

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and the Damned — Such lovely writing, as always; Fitzgerald has a big heart; though maybe lacks range—Anthony basically is Dick [Diver]. This one ranks after Tender and Gatsby; while enjoyable, also so depressing it’s hard to read at times…

Kurt Vonnegut, Cat’s Cradle — Recommended by Claudine as My First Vonnegut (!); fast-paced, ironic, often funny; Bokononism; the cat’s cradle is the meaninglessness of everything. Is there hope??

Garth Greenwell, What Belongs to You — Recommended by Toby (fastest following up of a recommendation ever: bought and begun next day, finished three days later); lyrical; the intense connection between the narrator and Mitko beautifully rendered; Greenwell makes us urge him out of his situation as we would a friend—we sympathize—and we feel his pain as he tries so hard to be kind; very [James] Baldwin, very much a contemporary Giovanni’s Room, right down to the American abroad trying to shake his past

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein — As with Persuasion: at last! + another excellent discussion with Megan whose thoughts open doors; best part definitely the Creature’s story in the middle; easier to read than I expected: easy to see why it’s taught all the time: defining Romanticism… Also, read on the first properly wintry weekend of the year, on couch, under duvet.

Shane Neilson, Complete Physical, On Shaving Off His Face, Dysphoria — Three volumes of poetry for a Canadian Literature review. Interesting experiments writing about illness and grief, giving eloquent voice to patients, sometimes in counterpoint with doctors.

H.G. Wells, The War of the Worlds — Not very memorable; also not what I was expecting (not Tom Cruise—why was I expecting this??); but impressive considering the originality at the time—imagine imagining aliens in the 1890s, and describing them for the first time ever, no movies for reference…

Zadie Smith, Swing Time — Compelling, but too long ([successful] contemporary novelists need harsher editors! No need to write so much!), occasionally heavy-handed; vivid descriptions of Africa and pop culture redeem it; she gets away with too long because she’s a good storyteller

 

December 2017:

Octavia Butler, Kindred — Very interesting concept—time-travelling to the era of slavery, as a black woman—and compelling, but much more YA than I was expecting; also very 70s/80s, had the feeling of a Raymond Carver / John Updike / Stephen King story, but with feminism. Good for high school students.

Philip Roth, American Pastoral — Also too long, too many long confused meditations; seems obvious we should not side with the Swede, but then, how many Americans probably would? Interesting that it can probably be read straight or ironically, to totally different effect; wondering, thinking of [student] Emily’s essay, are accusations of misogyny fair? [no conclusive answer, but her essay on the topic was well done] As with the Fitzgerald, the big heart behind the story is palpable; it feels as though these characters have real lives

Muriel Spark, A Far Cry from Kensington — So delightful, sarcastic; there’s a sort of cheap surface-level mystery story but lots more besides that too; above all the novel is interested in judgment (literary and personal—more importantly personal): what does it mean to form judgments of others?

Teju Cole, Open City — Meditative, often interesting, but (too) often lost me, very dark; about genocide, pain; very interesting decision that Julius did a terrible thing and forgot about it, and Cole leaves this quite un-dealt with, which made the ending unexpectedly impactful

Jay McInerney, Bright Lights, Big City — Quite good; (impressive) second-person narration; the world of American Psycho but a more (obviously) sympathetic protagonist (with a cool fact-checking job…); left wondering: how do they all have enough money for so much cocaine???

Elizabeth Taylor, Angel — Didn’t terribly like it, much to my disappointment; read at Christmas and kept failing to focus; Angel was annoying, but not in a way that really inspired sympathy—just a sad story of a sad person who lives in a fantasy world and fails to connect with anyone… (is this assessment inspired by my own mood?)

 

January 2018:

Heather O’Neill, The Lonely Hearts Hotel — Not sure what I think; incredible similes, as ever with O’Neill; the story didn’t really hold my attention, perhaps because Pierrot and Rose were such fairy-tale characters; but the end packs three quick punches—last 70 pages read breathlessly under a too-bright light in a chain coffee shop in Quebec City while the snow fell outside, kept meaning to leave but kept turning pages, which must mean it was good; recall connections with The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, watched at the same time as reading

Rachel Cusk, Outline — Very smart; like short stories—the writer listening (that old advice: writers must listen!!) to others around Athens; her plane neighbour, too trusting going on boat rides with him (would I go on a boat ride with a strange man all alone in a different country? kind of wish I would), her students; a very interesting narrative mode, never seen before—this is impressive

Rachel Cusk, Transit — Better than Outline (which is to say, quite good); wondering if the ending is resolved when she drives away from the house, the fog having lifted; all about families in houses (and “renovating” both), the relationship between renovations and fate (to what extent can lives and selves, like houses, be renovated?), also about the life of a novelist—reading, teaching (Jane the student was a memorable character); and about translations—of books and lives and experiences; Cusk’s mode of narration is itself a translation, a filtering through the narrator-author’s perception

Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life — So long! 814 pages… (see above about contemporary novelists needing editors / editors needing to be hard[er] on contemporary novelists… be more like Rachel Cusk!)—didn’t like it, though found it very readable nevertheless; poor Jude, but his misfortune is extravagant (…like Jude the Obscure); but she writes herself into corners, there isn’t really any way for the ending not to be what it is; also very flawed in that JB and Malcolm largely disappear, after appearing like main characters in the first 50 pages… I’d like to read a novel that is actually about male friendship (which this one seemed at first to be), not just about Jude; that said, interesting echoes of O’Neill here, orphans, abuse, overcoming (or not) extraordinary circumstances (O’Neill and of course Dickens et al)

Eden Robinson, Son of a Trickster — Entertaining but far too much like the first in a trilogy (which it is), so doesn’t stand alone effectively; Jared is a typical Robinson character, tempted by ordinary adolescent desires but mature beyond his years, “keeping it all together” (as Claudine says—excellent discussion over eggs and coffee at Universel) for his troubled family and community; curious to see where she’s going with him

Joan Didion, South and West — Bought in City Lights bookstore in San Francisco in the summer, seemed appropriate as I was at that point West after having been South. Even Didion’s rough notes are poetry; I wish I had written down such observations while in the South (“The endless green of the Delta, the flatness, the haze in the mornings. The algae-covered ditches alive with mosquitoes.” That was pretty well exactly my impression too, only I didn’t write it.)

Patti Smith, Just Kids — Quite beautiful, and very moving, especially the end when he [Robert Mapplethorpe] is dying (read vividly under dim lights in a coffee shop armchair while rain fell outside in Vancouver after a nearly-all-day-long walk, waiting for dinner, rapt and racing phone clock to cram in last pages); so amazing that they had artistic communities like that in the sixties, where everyone important knew each other (as discussed with Adrian, do such communities exist now? What are artistic communities now?); the importance of play in art-making, too, is vividly clear here

 

February 2018:

Katherena Vermette, The Break — Very good after a slow start; worthy of all accolades it received; important book about women’s stories, women’s communities, but also their complicated dynamics (they are not blameless or unfailingly supportive of one another); cycles of violence (and the tragedy of Indigenous communities); the overwhelming importance of grandmothers and children (listen to them!); vivid winter descriptions; to teach, if opportunity arises

Lydia Davis, Varieties of Disturbance — Short stories that remind you anything is possible as a subject; interesting women, lots of mothers and babies and elderly people (who keep on having stories!); the one with Helen and Vi was good, as was the one with the letters from school children, and Kafka getting ready for a dinner date, and also (of course) the tiny ones that say so much

Stella Gibbons, Cold Comfort Farm — Delightfully written, amusing; thought it would be more like Northanger Abbey, but she treats the heroine more straight (as in, this heroine has less to learn than Catherine does); straight-up enjoyable

 

March 2018:

Dorothy Sayers, Murder Must Advertise — “Easy” was my adjective; though Sayers goes on too long (ah, my penchant for brief, impressionistic modernist novels)—was it really necessary to dedicate A WHOLE CHAPTER to a cricket match?; but of course Peter Wimsey is an easily graspable character; the murderer is more or less who you think it’s going to be; read largely in Toronto while apartment-hunting

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Americanah — Didactic… but a good story; big, both warm and angry (this is an achievement); I like Obinze’s sections much better than Ifemelu’s, because Adichie’s own voice (the didacticism) is less loud/obvious

 

April 2018:

Clarice Lispector, two books (Family Ties and The Foreign Legion) and scattered stories in The Collected Stories [compromise: counted as “one full book” here] — So many vivid, precise emotions, so meticulously rendered! Like she has an emotional magnifying glass; language is for her an emotional magnifying glass. Do we really feel all that? Yes! Similar to Virginia Woolf, Katherine Mansfield, Eudora Welty, Elizabeth Bowen, Mavis Gallant, Ethel Wilson—interesting all these mid-20^th-c. women in different parts of the world were writing and thinking along similar lines

Kathleen Winter, Lost in September — The protagonist is not James Wolfe… much better read with this in mind; an interesting concept/conceit (contemporary Jimmy thinks he’s 18^th-c James Wolfe), but sometimes clunky—better in idea than in execution, maybe; it is a lovely and troubling meditation on PTSD, though, and very vividly Montreal: important to read before and while moving away…

Amy Jones, We’re All in This Together — A solid story; she seemed to identify most with Finn; the shifts in focalization worked with the compressed time frame (though maybe too many minor characters had their own chapters?); Katriina’s story was interesting, as was Shawn’s (more compelling, to me, than Finn’s sections); the shark symbolism makes sense—the power we all have, the feelings we all feel, shadow lives, just below the surface…

 

May 2018:

Heather O’Neill, Lullabies for Little Criminals — Heather O’Neill makes me want to write; when you read her and then look up, the orange in the fruit bowl seems a little brighter than it was before (to paraphrase Lisa Moore, whose writing has the same effect; also my favourite way of defining what makes a story work); I liked this one less than The Girl Who Was Saturday Night, which felt tighter; but then this was the original, and she is doing something no one else does (a little like Mordecai Richler but not at all Mordecai Richler); she knows how to pack a sentimental punch, especially about missing mothers.

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And that’s it!

Are there any broad patterns or trends in this list? It’s hard to say; the randomness of my selections was part of the point. I’m interested to see that contemporary fiction drew me back in the second half of the year. In the fall there was a strange conglomeration of troubled young men wandering city streets (Ellis, Greenwell, Cole, McInerney; also Salinger, Fitzgerald, Baldwin, and Hardy in their ways). In the winter there were a lot of stories told from interesting or fragmented points of view (Cusk, Vermette, Lispector, Winter, Jones). I read with a particular kind of focused attention when I travel, especially alone; the importance of place—where I read the book—in my experience and memory of a particular text comes across in my notes (this year: Mississippi, San Francisco, Montreal, Toronto, Quebec City, Vancouver, rural Ontario). My reading over the past twelve months has been eclectic and open-minded, although I think there’s room for much more geographic and generic variety; more translations, more nonfiction, might take me there in the coming year.

To be continued!