Dee's 2019 Books Breakdown!
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| This is actually from New Year's Eve (I know, I'm a party animal.) |
Well, folks, here we are. Welcome to 2020! Before I even begin
to talk about the new year, my plans for it, or how I did with my resolutions for
last year (TLWR: Surprisingly well!) I want to talk about the one calming
constant that got my overly exhausted, panicking, sleep-deprived ass through
2019: Books.
Thanks in no small part to my new love of audiobooks, I read
(or read and/or ‘listened to’) 67 books in 2019. My community of bookworms may
shrug at this number, but for me it’s a huge leap from the 25 I read the
year prior. As a reader, I was frantic and insatiable. I read multiple books at
once (my favourite combos: 1 physical read and 1 audiobook, or 1 fiction and 1
nonfiction, or 1 SFW audiobook and one or two DEFINITELY NSFW quick reads.)
Fiction, non-fiction, any genre, any length, recommended or plucked from the
shelf, I didn’t care, I just needed to be reading. I read in bed while waiting to
see if stirring babes would go back down, I read e-books at 3am in the nursery
with my sleepless son snuggled on my chest, I listened to audiobooks while
cooking, sweeping, drawing, knitting. My thirst for escape could not be
quenched, and given my rather bleak political outlook for 2020, I doubt
anything is going to change in the coming year.
So, after that rather rocky preamble, let me gather up the
books I consumed and discuss some of them that stood out.
Theme of 2019
As I
mentioned, this year I was fairly indiscriminate in my reading. I read everything
from feminist essays and government documents (hello, Mueller Report,)
to memoirs of celebrities and farmers to high fantasy. I left no stone unturned.
However, at least toward the end of the year, I seem to have taken a dive into…er…anxiety-inducing
reads that undoubtedly aided my darker state of mind: Bleak and brutal
dystopias written in response to the rise of Trump, terrifying true stories about
domestic violence, memoirs about the maligned rural lower-middle class. You
know, all that sunny stuff. Overall, though, my theme was: Whatever I’m
Feeling!
The Best
Anyone
who knows me knows I absolutely cannot choose a favourite anything. I have
multiple favourite foods, colours, movies, books. But I’m going to put a gun to
my own head and try to choose just one overall Best of 2019.
I read a
lot of fascinating, stirring, and eye-opening books this past year, from many
different genres, so this is an incredibly difficult decision.
I’m going
to have to go with Circe, by Madeline Miller.
I have so,
so, so many recommendations from the books I read this year, and I have many
favourites. I chose Circe out of three top contenders, and it’s only
because Circe is new and the other two, while masterpieces, are older
and have most likely been read already.
Madeline
Miller only has two books out, but she’s already one of my favourite authors.
She writes retellings of Greek myths—her previous work being about Achilles and
his definitely-absolutely-totally-lover-and-not-just-a-really-good-friend,
Petroclus. Circe is about, well, Circe, the infamous evil witch that
turns Odysseus’ crew into pigs when they come upon her isolated island in The
Odyssey. The book follows Circe’s life, from the halls of her father,
Helios, to her solitary life as a powerful witch on her island. The prose is
lush and intoxicating—you will never be bored—but my favourite thing about
Miller is her ability to portray the Greek gods for what they were: Brash,
cruel, and shallow creatures who were simultaneously inhuman and all-too-human.
As a lifetime lover of Greek mythology, I love how Circe twists the
familiar story into something sharp, new, and relevant. Do yourself a favour
and read it—or listen to it—the audiobook is exquisite.
And because
I just can’t let it pass, here are my runners up—only cast aside because I’m
positive many of my invisible/imaginary readers have already read them.
American
Gods, by Neil Gaiman
The
Shining, by Stephen King
I know,
took me long enough to get to these, right? If you haven’t read them, do. Don’t
just watch the show or the movie. The books are brilliant.
The Worst
It’s
a tie, unfortunately. Exposed: The Secret Life of Jodi Arias is
definitely the worst, but I cannot let The Woman in the Window slide
because I was shocked to learn that they made a movie out of it starring some
big-name actors, including Amy Adams and my beloved chameleon, Gary Oldman. Why….?
Just why?!
Let’s start
with Exposed, which is about the infamous murder of Travis Alexander. It
was my first review of the year, according to Goodreads, so I’ll just copy/paste
what I said on there because it sums everything up:
I was initially skeptical of this book due to the salacious title and description, but the author's status as an "award-winning journalist' gave me the impression that the content would be presented in an objective fashion. This was pure naivety on my part. While describing a person whose case was already fraught with sexism and slut-shaming, the author slathers on more layers of her own sexism, slut-shaming, and venomous speculations about everything from Arias' past relationships to what she was thinking at the trial (in a particularly egregious example, the author flat-out decides that Arias' smile when her own defense attorney said, "On most days, even I don't like Jodi Arias" was due to Arias' insatiable thirst for attention of any sort.)
If you're looking for an analysis of Arias' mental state,
skip this book. All it does is fling sensationalist dirt on a case already
caked in the same sexist speculations. If you're looking for a fresh
perspective on this case, skip this book. The author simply rehashes the public
opinion of the time with a few sprinklings of her own lazy vitriol.
Read this book, perhaps, if you're looking for a snapshot
of the public opinion of the time, or of a good example to showcase how sexism
plays out in our justice system,* or even a good example to showcase the mob
mentality of social media. But I still can't recommend it. There's little
benefit to gritting your teeth through this slog.
(For the record, I do believe Arias was rightfully convicted
of premeditated murder. That, however, doesn't excuse many irrelevant lines of
questioning and the prosecution's portrayal of her as an "evil
whore." There was ample evidence of her guilt. The prosecutor's maligning
her for her sexual relations is an old sexist tactic that needs to be put to
bed.)
On to The
Woman in the Window. Cards on the table: I’m not one for modern thrillers.
Most of the ones I’ve found are flimsy, formulaic quick-reads still riding on
the popularity of Gone Girl. They’re predictable and boring. I picked up
The Woman in the Window because it had gotten stellar reviews about its “gorgeous
writing” and “amazing twists.”
Spoiler
alert: It was predictable and boring.
I won’t
actually get into details in case anyone wants to see the movie, but…ugh. To
its credit, the writing was fine. Nothing spectacular, though, which makes me
wonder about the reviews praising its prose. I’m guessing it’s due to the
thriller market being so oversaturated that standard prose looks stellar compared
to the hundreds of hastily-published cash-grabs—all apparently with Girl
or Woman in the title in thin white font. There are two “big” twists in
this story, and I predicted the first one after two chapters. The second twist—whodunit—was
just…the biggest let-down. Once the murderer was revealed, and they gave their
whole moustache-twirling villain monologue, all I could think was, “…really?
That’s it?” Again, without going into detail, the motive was essentially: BECAUSE
I’M EEEVIIIIIIL!
I’m
intrigued by Gary Oldman’s casting (and Amy Adams, but I love me some
Gary,) but given the source material, I’ll be skipping this movie. Again, maybe
thrillers just aren’t my thing, so if it sounds good to you, read it, but I really
didn’t like it.
Must-Read
Oh,
gods, there are so many books I read that I desperately want everyone I know
to read (anyone up for a book club?!)
Heartland, by Sarah Smarsh,
is up there. It was a gut-wrenching memoir about generational poverty. Many
fellow progressives won’t even pick up the book because reading about “poor
whites” is apparently out of vogue, but I think it’s an extremely important
read and a much-needed lesson in empathy.
American
Nations, by Colin Woodard, is absolutely a must-read. It divides the United
States into eleven “nations” and discusses the history of each one, which Woodard
posits is the foundation for so much of the cultural differences and idealistic
divisions we experience today. It’s equal parts enlightening and disheartening.
It reminded me of how the US is truly still in its infancy compared to most of
the rest of the world’s countries, and how unique our origins make us on the world’s
stage. It also made me feel that we will never be a truly “united” country—our conflicting
ideals have always and will always divide us, because they seem irrevocably
entrenched in the very soil of each cultural “nation.” Whether or not the
latter is true is, luckily, up for debate, which is why I want everyone
to read this book.
Also,
Yankee Nation, represent!
No
Visible Bruises, by Rachel Louise Snyder, was one of my last reads in 2019 and
was the absolute hardest to get through. It was brilliantly written—one of the best
books of the year, hands down—but it ripped open old wounds pertaining to domestic
violence and dragged into the forefront of my mind every current abusive
relationship I’m aware of in my social circle (which are, sadly, multiple.) No
Visible Bruises will terrify you. The data about the prominence of, legal
treatment of, and attitudes toward domestic violence homicide are…I can’t find
the proper word. Somewhere between horrifying and physically sickening.
My only “criticism”
of this book is the focus on male perpetrators and female victims, however, I can’t
really fault the book for that because 1. Something like 95% of cases of
domestic violence homicide consist of those demographics, and 2. The cultural
gender dynamics at work in these cases were therefore a major point of the
book. Men will absolutely get defensive reading this book, even
relatively open-minded ones. And male victims of female domestic violence (and,
side note, LGBTQIA victims,) though mentioned in the book, will feel erased, as
they always do. This is not due to a prejudice of the book or the
author, but of the data we keep on domestic violence, which is far and away
comprised of these demographics, and yes, that is an issue in and of itself,
but not the one raised in this book, though mentioned. If I find a good book on
male victims of female domestic violence, or violence in LGBTQIA relationships,
I will recommend it in 2020, but don’t hold your breath. If the US doesn’t care
about domestic violence—which this book strongly suggests—then it cares far,
far less about male and LGBTQIA victims. Shocker, right?
Anyway, I have
to TRIGGER WARNING the shit out of this book. Domestic violence, details
of abuse/torture/murder, rape, molestation, and familicide run rampant. This
book triggered the hell out of me and was quite possibly the worst thing for me
to read with my depression looming over the end of the year, and with my
current preoccupation with a few friends in abusive relationships. But it was a
vital read. If everyone in the US read this book, the entire legal system’s
treatment of domestic violence would change. Period. Read it. Read it, read it,
read it. But if you’ve suffered trauma in your life and/or know a victim of
domestic violence, proceed with extreme caution.
Funniest
Um…okay.
So, according to my Goodreads log, I read three humour books this year.
Three. Out of sixty-seven. So, I’m thinking maybe some of my extreme stress
this year might have been a bit self-induced.
Maybe.
2019 was the
year I finally read the entirety of Good Omens, having picked it up and
put it down multiple times in the past, and I have to give this one the prize
for the funniest. It isn’t entirely my humour style, but I was giggling the
whole way through.
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| Also the show was AMAZING. |
Equal Rites, by Terry
Pratchet, came highly recommended by multiple friends, so I read that, as well,
but…guys, I just…it was so. British. I know, surprise, but sweet
Satan. Good Omens was really British, too (as it was written by two
Brits,) but apparently Neil Gaiman tempers Pratchet’s style just enough to get
me through. British humour really isn’t my thing, and I didn’t love Terry Pratchet
any more than I love Monty Python.
Take me to
the guillotine.
Guilty Pleasure
Guilty
pleasures really aren’t a thing with me. I mean, I have books that I know are
bad, fluffy, and/or “problematic” in some way (Okay, so it’s mostly manga. Hello,
My Dear Cold-Blooded King,) but I don’t actually feel guilty enjoying
these reads.
Um…hm…okay,
how about…I read the 15th book from Janet Evonovich’s Stephanie
Plum series this year to get back into the vibe of writing comedy. I adored
the series in high school, but a few of the characters—Lula in particular—lean fairly
heavily on rather uncomfortable social or racial stereotypes, but I still like
them just fine, so…there we go. Closest thing to a guilty pleasure I’m going to
get, I think.
Best Audiobook
American
Gods, the 10th anniversary edition. No preamble required. It’s
the book, but with different actors playing each role, and it’s brilliant. I couldn’t
have asked for a better introduction into Gaiman’s world and cannot recommend
it more.
I do,
however, have a few runner-ups:
Audible.com
has an edition of Dracula that similarly uses actors while reading the
actual text, and Alan Cumming plays Dr. Seward…and Tim Curry plays Van Helsing.
Yeah. Go listen to it.
In another
Audible shoutout, I have to give it to their radio drama version of Carmilla,
starring Rose Leslie (Igrit from Game of Thrones!) and featuring David
Tennant, who goes all out with his small role and it as absolute
delight. This is a radio drama, not just a reading of the book, and it is…just…gorgeous.
Sensual. Beautiful. I adore it. 2 hours well spent. Treat yourself.
Skip it
I
finally dove into Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake series, basically
reading one of the books when I couldn’t find anything else but was dying for
an audiobook. As one of the series that pioneered the urban fantasy and paranormal
romance genres, as well as a series adored by many of my Goth Tribe, it’s been
on my list for quite some time. I discovered Hamilton’s Merry Gentry
series in middle school—a tad early, given the amount of sex in the books, but
hey—and I still sort of enjoy them to this day, though Hamilton’s tendency to
repeat things, contradict her own plotlines, and Mary Sue the shit out
of her main protagonist dampens the reading experience considerably.
Well, the Anita
Blake series is pretty much everything I hate about Hamilton’s writing and far
less of what I love (the world-building and lush descriptive prose.) Because a
series is often slow to start before it hits its signature “groove,” I read
about ten of these books (it’s a long, long series,) but it really, really wasn’t
for me. Anita starts out as an anti-feminine, “I’m not like the other girls”
stereotype that I despise. Though she grows out of that as she and the
author mature, she almost immediately becomes the Mary Sue Hamilton loves
to write about, where she constantly obtains untold power and wins countless
hearts because…because. These tropes don’t always bother me (again, hello, My
Dear Cold-Blooded King,) but the way Hamilton goes about it has never struck
a chord in me.
Apparently Anita Blake is
doing something for a lot of people, but I guess it’s not for me. For my money,
if you want to experience Hamilton’s amazing ability to build a world within a
world (urban fantasy,) and her signature harem of gorgeous preternatural men,
stick with her Merry Gentry series. At least, until Divine Misdemeanors. I’d
abandon ship before that.
Most Feels
Ooh,
feels. Full disclosure: I’m a crier. I cry during books, movies, songs. I sometimes
cry during the “sad” low points in comedy films. Fuck, I cry during most movie
trailers. I give it up easily. I’m going to stick to fiction, because for me, “feels”
are not synonymous with what non-fiction books give me (which in 2019 was
mostly impotent rage and sickening dread.)
I read both
books from the Orisha series by Tomi Ayedemi: Children of Blood and
Bone and Children of Virtue and Vengeance. These are phenomenal
reads and phenomenal audiobooks thanks to the truly outstanding talent of voice
actor Bahni Turpin. The first book, especially, had me in tears more often than
not. I was crying, giggling, clutching my chest, and occasionally yelling at
the characters out loud in my living room like a madwoman. Children of
Virtue and Vengeance was similarly emotional, though, in my opinion, not as
strong as its predecessor. I still recommend it, though be prepared to be
irritated by a few decisions and happenstances that happen “Because plot.”
The
Water Dancer, the fiction debut of angel-too-good-for-this-world Ta-Nehisi
Coates, just…wrecked me. It is the story of a slave turned free man in the
South, plus magic. And because it’s actually written by a black man—an advocate
journalist, no less—it is powerful, painful, transcendent. Though the story isn’t
a tragedy (a slave story that doesn’t romanticize the tragedy of it all?! How
novel!) the aura of the pain of oppression and the consequences that reverberate
though the generations left me emotionally bleeding all over the floor. Coates
is a true genius: This story is painful without being brutal or masochistic,
angry without being vengeful, and delivers accountability without hatred. Read
it.
Biggest Surprise
The
Broken Girls, by Simone St. James, was an audiobook I selected on a whim
during one of the many times this year where I finished a book and was absolutely
desperate to escape into another one (probably because some political
catastrophe was happening and I just can’t handle those without literary
escape.) The summary of the book, which promises a ghost story of sorts, didn’t
exactly grab me, but I thought, Eh, it’s around Halloween. Why not?
What began
as a well-written but ho-hum ghost story/murder mystery turned out to be a
gut-wrenching look at the treatment of teenaged women over generations. It fell
apart for me during the end—mostly because the last two chapters were of
characters sitting down and monologuing every detail of their lives and motivations,
a trope I despise—but I still consider it worth a read, and I was
completely surprised by how much I liked a story I randomly plucked from the
digital shelves up to that point.
I also discovered Seanan McGuire’s
Wayward Children series, a series that on its face has just about
nothing for me. It’s fantasy series (I’m not too big on the genre,) of novellas
(too short!) about kids with fantastical circumstances in a school for
fantastical people (Overdone! Harry Potter, X-Men, Miss Peregrine…etc!)
And I fucking
love them.
The Wayward
Children series books are written in the tone of fairy tales, but they
bounce from our world to fantastical worlds. I cannot truly emphasize how well
McGuire nailed the fairy tale tone. It’s…it’s just perfect. I accidentally read
them out of order, starting with “Jack and Jill’s” story, Down Among the
Sticks and Bones instead of the actual first book, Every Heart a Doorway.
I recommend reading them in true order, but I’m honestly glad I accidentally
grabbed Jack and Jill’s story because their world is so delightfully dark—vampires
in castles wreaking havoc on villagers, a mad scientist in a windmill, monsters
creeping out after dark. Since this book is exclusively their story and doesn’t
really involve any other series characters, I wasn’t thrown off kilter or
confused, and it really hooked me into accepting the “special kids go to a
special school because special” narrative I’m usually tired of.
The worlds
are ingeniously structured, the tone is perfect, and, I’m not going to lie, the
fact that there are plus-size, LGBTQIA, and characters of colour in this series
about children and teens is a big draw for me. Representation matters,
and this series does it so well.
Biggest Let-Down
I
will be cannibalized by my fellow feminists for this, but The Testaments,
Margaret Atwood’s surprise sequel to her legendary The Handmaid’s Tale, was
such a massive let-down
for me. The Handmaid’s Tale book was a masterpiece and would be
incredibly difficult to follow up, for sure. I especially loved its fable-like
tone that kept the anonymous, ‘this could happen to anyone’ feeling of the
story juxtaposed with Atwood’s deeply personal prose and glimpses into Offred’s
rich inner life. While The
Testaments has Atwood’s gorgeous
prose, it wasn’t so much a sequel to her 1985 magnum opus as a sequel to the second
season of its TV show spinoff. It mentions Offred by her past name, her
pregnancy, rebellion, and child smuggled into Canada, all of which are TV show
originals. It wasn’t bad, and I was mother-fucking
delighted to hear Ann Dowd reprise her role as Aunt Lydia in the audiobook,
but I personally really wanted—and was expecting—a return to Book Gilead, which
was far more silent, paranoid, totalitarian, and truly frightening. Instead I got
the flashy, easy-to-escape-and-poke-holes-into Gilead of the show. I like the show just fine (though I haven’t
had the strength to watch the third season,) but the book has my little black
heart, and I wanted that world, that story, that warning. Instead,
I got Hulu.
Finally Got to It
The
Hunger Games trilogy! I finally shrugged off my distaste for YA and read The
Hunger Games. I’m so, so glad I did. The movies are fine and follow the
books fairly well, but Katniss’ journey is so deeply internal in the books in a
way the medium of film just can’t portray. I would argue that the entire
trilogy is about enduring trauma, as well as how someone lives with and after
being used as propaganda. The Hunger Games is truly a masterful trilogy,
and I highly recommend it.
Abandoned
I did, unfortunately, have to drop
out of more than a few books this year, for any number of reasons. Here are a
few:
Do Androids Dream of Electric
Sheep, by Philip K. Dick: It was just never the right time for me to dive
into something this bleak, albeit brilliant. I was always too stressed, or suffering
through depression, or too sleepy to focus on it (because twins!) I will be
picking this up again…maybe if by some miracle Trump doesn’t get reelected
and we swear in a sane president, I’ll be in the right mind-frame to read this
in 2021.
John Dies at the End, by David Wong: This book
had me laughing my ass off, but for some reason I kept wanting to put it down
during the particularly gruesome parts, and I finally set it aside in my “back-burner”
pile.
The Hidden Power of Fucking Up,
by the Try Guys: Uuuugh. So, I absolutely adore The Try Guys on YouTube. I’ve
been watching them since they started the series on Buzzfeed. So when they
announced they had written a book, I used my Audible credit to grab it
immediately. That was when I learned that just because you have a YouTube channel,
a podcast, and act doesn’t mean you aren’t going to be a horrible audiobook
narrator. Oh, sweet Satan, you guys, I could not bear listening to them
read their book. They sounded so stilted and obnoxious that it threw me right
back to junior high English class when the teacher calls on the kid who’s
terrified of public speaking to read a chapter. I will read this one someday,
but physically. Eugene, Ned, Zach, Keith, I love you boys, but maybe steer
clear of audiobook narration.
Narcissus in Chains, by Laurell K. Hamilton: This
was the Anita Blake book that made me throw up my hands in defeat. The balance
between what I love and what I hate about Hamilton’s writing took a swift shift
to the bad and I just couldn’t continue. I didn’t care about a single
character, plot thread, or moment, so I waved the white flag.
Well, kids, there you have it: My
quick and dirty breakdown of some of the 67 books I read last year. For a
complete list of what I read and if you’d like to see what I’m currently reading,
feel free to follow me on Goodreads!
Happy 2020, my darlings!
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