Year in Reading, Part II
from friends and supporters of book(ish)
Welcome to part II of the book(ish) Year in Reading, from friends and supporters of the newsletter. If you haven’t, you might want to read part one to get the full experience. The prompt I sent around was open-ended. Write about your year with books—no dubious claims of objectivity, nothing beholden to internet buzz nor current publicity cycles. Instead, you’re getting stories of encounters with new books, old books, weird books, sexy fantasy, and beyond. You’re getting slices of life, suggestions of hardship or stress, some sly comedy, and some closer-to-the-bone missives that exhibit the vagaries of the mind. I’m so proud to call these guest contributors friends. I’m profoundly grateful to all who contributed here. I’ve linked to their work, writing, and, when applicable, their very own Substacks. There are buckets of books to discover here, of course, but even if you don’t feel like scratching down titles for your TBR list, there’s much to enjoy in the prose itself. I’ve done my best to link each book to Bookshop, but please, as always, support your local, independent booksellers if you can. And then, please, ask your booksellers what they’re excited about. I’m convinced they know everything. I’m grateful you’re here. I hope you enjoy these entries as much as I did.
- Josh
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I have Kim Gordon to thank for getting me out of the “self-help” abyss that bewitched my reading habits in the wake of 2020. Her book, Girl in a Band, checked all the boxes: memoir, California in the 60s & 70s, New York in the 80s & 90s, and a woman’s coming-of-age story in a male-dominated industry. If you’re a musichead, put this one on your list. Especially if you read Thurston Moore’s book that came out in 2023 and have yet to pick up Gordon’s.
I have to mention Rock ‘n’ Roll Book Club™ next. 2023 was the first full year I was in a book club, and it turned out to be one of the highlights of my year. (Thank you, Josh!) I had the most fun with these titles:
Love Goes to Buildings On Fire: Five Years In New York That Changed Music Forever by Will Hermes
Dilla Time: The Life and Afterlife of J Dilla, the Hip-Hop Producer Who Reinvented Rhythm by Dan Charnas
This Isn’t Happening: Radiohead’s “Kid A” and the Beginning of the 21st Century by Steven Hyden
Country: The Twisted Roots of Rock ’n’ Roll by Nick Tosches
I love my fellow musichead nerds, and it has been absolute joy to read and discuss these with them.
Another favorite from the year was Run Towards the Danger by Sarah Polley. She wrote and directed a film I love, Take This Waltz, and has a way of capturing complex human emotions and relationships in a relatable and thought-provoking way. I was elated to find out she wrote a book. “Run towards the danger” has become a mantra for me. This book is a reminder to have empathy for all of the “invisible” parts of the human experience that are often dismissed or overlooked, and that there is strength to be found in grief and pain.
What better way to welcome in a new year than to collectively scream “onward!” After all, the only way out is through.
— Kelsie Marie, artist (Minneapolis, MN)
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I recently caught myself being pretty uncharitable towards an old bookselling co-worker when he posted a year in reading of 10 books. I thought, “That isn’t very many.” And then I considered what an ugly idea that was, especially given that he was always kind and generous. Often misappropriated to the bible but, I believe, actually said by Teddy Roosevelt, “Comparison is the thief of joy” is an aphorism that in this case was true. Because a.) A book is not a book is not a book. This is someone who has read on Polish auto unions in Chicago, more plays and philosophy and critical theory than most anyone I know, and has compared teachings from Judaism, Islam and Yoruban faiths in ways that made sense—he dumbed them down for me. And b.) What is enough? What number would have not brought me pause?
I might have put the cart before the horse or buried the lede here by not stating that I myself have never set reading goals or resolutions. Goodreads lost me early on mostly because I felt like I was wasting time entering titles online and ranking them. What is the difference between 4.4, 4.6 and 4.7? I am not an Olympic gymnastics judge. Culturally we seem to have come to believe that metrics are necessary in most areas of life. Ounces of water drank, the Spotify year-end playlist, how many steps we take. We track and analyze, always thinking more/better/self-improvement! Those things all have their uses but I am glad to say that isn’t how I relate to books or reading. Some numbers just don’t matter.
2023 found me meandering more. Spending time with a Herter’s catalog from 1969($1): Is that reading? A few days ago my mom and I looked through Patrick Baty’s Nature’s Palette, trying to closely match the color of a piece of pottery to name. I read an Anne Tyler novel this year with an old friend and we hardly discussed the book, but that wasn’t the main point. All of those are versions of secular communion with art and often another human. One of us saying to the other, “What does this mean to you?” Or, “This means something to me.”
I read a small piece of Anne Morrow Lindbergh´s Gift From the Sea after visiting Charles A. Lindbergh State Park; she spends one exquisite page describing the shell of a whelk. I re-read it many times. Will I ever read that entire book? I’d guess less than 50/50 odds, yet that is one of my fond memories of this year in reading. House of Day, House of Night by Olga Tokarczuk is a book that baffled me and beat me up. I loved it. I flipped through Wildsam’s lovely little guide to Western Montana, dreaming of a trip I will likely never take. Obi Kaufmann has become a favorite artist in the past few years. I feel slightly bad that his paintings are so vivid that I frequently neglect his words. A book I’ve picked up as much as anything is a small book of grocery store signs. Reading? A stretch, probably. But that is if you–and I really mean I–ask that question from a strictly numerical qualitative perspective.
So my year ends with an apology to my friend Danowski. Our reading lives can be improved by some purpose, some consideration helping bring focus can enrich that part of what we choose to spend time with. I hope to continue forward with more kindness to others and myself in my framing of a year or a day that involves reading.
— Hans Weyandt, bookseller & curator (Minneapolis, MN)
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My reading life this year has been a sporadic mess. I wouldn't have read half the books I did without friendship and book clubs, but I did read through paired biographies of American men for the first half of the year:
Nicholas Black Elk, Buffalo Bill, and The White Man's Indian
William Jennings Bryan, Booker T. Washington, and a social history of Uncle Tom's Cabin
P.T. Barnum and Paul Robeson, and Hanif Abdurraqib's lyrical stunner on Black performance
I wanted to understand this country and the men it produces. To step outside of our present moment and see if I could reckon with some white male myths and sit at the feet of American leaders of color. Pairing these books felt like creating panel discussions across time: I'd pull up some chairs and look between two lives for what separates us and what draws us closer.
—Michael Wright, writer & teacher, author of “Still Life” (Minneapolis, MN)
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This year I read almost 60 books—mostly fiction, but also memoirs, graphic novels, a little poetry, and a collection of short stories. Reading remains my favorite pastime, despite the clamoring from louder media and the creative pull to bake and candle-make (not butchering – yet!). These books came to me in a variety of ways—friend recommendations, Instagram "friend" recommendations, Important Online Lists, podcast notes, and of course the overly-maligned recourse of judging a book by its cover:
Best "Lived Up to the Online Hype": Shark Heart by Emily Habeck
Wild and quirky with a bonkers premise. A newly-married man receives a dire medical diagnosis: he will gradually transform into a great white shark while retaining most of his original consciousness and memories. Extremely thoughtful and sweet, surprising details at every turn, incredible world building, and beautifully drawn characters.
Best "I Heard About it on a Podcast": I'm Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy
A child star memoir, one part Hollywood glitz, three parts complicated relationship with a controlling, overly-invested mother. At times tough to read, but well-written and vulnerable. The title and the cover image — Jennette grinning and holding a funeral urn — announce the frequently biting humor found within, but McCurdy balances this with love and compassion. This raises a lot of questions on how we memorialize the dead.
Best "Tell Me What to Read Next": The Book of Goose by Yiyun Li
I don't know what I expected going into this novel recommended by the book(ish) creator himself, but just going off the title, the cover image, and the author bio, it definitely wasn't this darkly charming tale of Agnès and Fabienne, childhood best friends in the French countryside. This story was utterly engaging and managed to be both quietly haunting and epic.
Best "I Did it for the Group Text": The A Court of Thorns and Roses series by Sarah J. Maas.
Fantasy romance novels aren't really my thing, and I wouldn't say reading this series has changed that. The pacing can be a bit slow, the usage of certain phrases ("my bowels turned watery"?) too repetitive, and the constant throwing together and pulling apart of romantic pairs is a little predictable. However, reading these books at the urging of my three sisters-in-law and then talking and texting about them together has been a delight. Inside jokes, character nicknames, next book predictions — all of it truly so fun and bonding.
Best "I Just Liked the Cover": Beasts of a Little Land by Juhea Kim.
I spotted this book stacked on a table at Next Chapter Booksellers in St. Paul, and I was immediately drawn to its gorgeous cover. Once I read the description that it was a tale of both love and war set on a backdrop of five decades of South Korean history, I was all in. There is so much to admire about this stunning debut novel. The scope is vast but the characters are so fully realized, their environments so finely crafted, the story so wisely and intricately woven that I was fully immersed from beginning to end.
—Sarah Hadley, artist (Minneapolis, MN)
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I love a good love story. A rom-com, a we’ve-just-begun, a society-has-no-script-but-we-love-each-other-anyway, a we're-old-and-tired-but-still-want-to-try story; I want texture, complexity and depth, and if not those three things, then at least a solid page turner. Here are the most memorable love stories I read this year.
Friendship: Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Garielle Zevin. It isn’t just a love story between friends but the love of good, joyful creative work, the 90’s, video games. Dogs. Grandparents. Children.
First blush of love: Romantic Comedy Curtis Sittenfeld and Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros. In Romantic Comedy, a self-described plain-in-appearance writer for a late-night comedy show (based on SNL) falls for a famous (handsome) musician. The novel follows them from first meeting, a late-night connection over writing, fall-out from her assumptions, and then through reconnecting (via email!) during COVID time. It’s delightful in all the ways a good romance and literary novel can be. In July I downloaded a sample of the then #1 NYT’s book, Fourth Wing, was immediately hooked, and came out of a woozy reader-haze three days later to find I had somehow just read a 400+ page fantasy dragon-smut book.
Making Marriage Work Through Tough Stuff: Lynette Reini-Grandell's Wild Things: A Trans-Glam-Punk-Rock Love Story is a memoir about her long-term marriage to her trans spouse. She identifies as cis-gender, and this book is a lovely and compelling homage to love of a person rather than just the package. How to Stay Married: The Most Insane Love Story Ever by Harrison Scott Key is a memoir of infidelity. Of anger and fear. And it’s funny. Wellness by Nathan Hill is a satirical novel on the wellness industry, but it’s also about middle-aged artists, middle-aged marriages, and faking it and prairie fires and the Facebook algorithm.
—Melody Heide, writer & teacher, author of “A New American Dream” (Minneapolis, MN)
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I have always loved a good memoir audiobook. I feel so connected to the author as I’m chopping vegetables, driving around for work, or waiting at kid activities. This year I embraced audiobooks more than ever as one of my kids got a dyslexia diagnosis. Reading with our ears has suddenly become the learning modification for book loving. We are so lucky to live in a time where audiobooks are a few clicks away. The Libby app from the library is such a big part of my life. Here are two of the books I am still thinking about as we leave 2023 behind:
Lucinda Williams is a national treasure, and her memoir, Don’t Tell Anybody the Secrets I Told You, is full of gritty and vulnerable stories. She was kicked out of high school in New Orleans for protesting in the 70’s. Her dad was a poet and college professor. She was a musician from a young age but she didn’t actually become successful until she was in her forties. Her forties! Who does that? And then she won three Grammys. I loved her rock and roll romance stories: making out with a famous rocker dude twenty years younger than her in one chapter, and lighting candles in her hotel room and dressing up fancy to seduce a guitar player who misses her bid for romance in another chapter. I appreciated her stories about Minneapolis—recording, romantic encounters, and getting married at First Avenue in the middle of a show. She talks a lot about her creative process and the recording process, which has changed so much in the span of her career. In a male-dominated industry, Lucinda pissed a lot of people off for staying true to her creative vision.
All in all, memoirs, fiction, and intersectional feminist books inspire me to keep going. In Real Self-Care (Crystals, Cleanses, and Bubble Baths Not Included), Pooja Lakshmin lays out a plan for how to do transformative work in an individualized way. Self-care is sold to women in America as a solution to a lack of social infrastructure. We can’t meditate our way out of a lack of child care. When Lakshmin, a psychiatrist, was finishing medical school in her twenties, she joined a group in San Francisco that focused on women’s orgasmic meditation, leaving her marriage and medical career for what turned out to be a cult. She talks about burning everything down in the name of smashing the patriarchy, and how she learned this is not the way to create sustainable change. Instead, we change our culture with actionable framework—setting boundaries, compassionate self-talk, identifying personal values, and asserting power. I read this book when it came out in March and had big intentions of going through the framework with a friend to ward off burnout. It hasn’t happened yet, but I hope it happens in 2024. This book made me hopeful about how small steps can collectively create a much-needed revolution. Lovely as an audiobook, I also enjoyed the hardcover for writing prompts and framework creation steps.
—Nell Graham, Childhood Special Education Teacher, crop artist (St. Paul, MN)
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See you next week for the final installment of the Year in Reading entries. I should also mention, if you’re into audio, like Nell, to check out the Libro.fm app, an alternative to Audible, which allows you to support an independent bookstore of your choosing. I use it and love it. Thanks, as always, for reading.
Loved all of these, thanks for putting them together Josh! Also, am glad Melody loved T & T & T 😬