A Year in Reading, and Some 2024 Literary Intentions
A bookworm contemplates the past and makes some concrete goals for the future
The year was 2023. I finally got my long-term UK visa. I finally became a child bride (at the age of 26). And I finally, finally delved back into the classics, kicking and screaming. I also caved into my guilty-ish pleasure of trashy thrillers with female protagonists who all seem to be journalists, graphic designers, archivists, or some other unconvincing career that they never actually seem to be doing but which I would kill (not in the literal way they do in the books) to have. I also eased off on the compulsion to devour non-fiction and re-learned that it’s okay to read books that make you feel things. So without further ado, here’s what I read in 2023, followed by a more specific breakdown of the disappoints and highlights, along with my reading goals for the year.
The Books I Read in 2023 (in no particular order, I cannot stress this enough)
The Disappointments
The Writing Retreat - Julia Bartz
This book is pandering to those who are starved of queer thrillers (read: everyone), and it is simply not hot enough to justify how horny it is. I went in expecting a spicy mystery about manic women with writers’ block, only to encounter a derivative, nouveau-witchcraft/Agatha Christie pastiche with a villain who I am convinced is modeled (kinda well actually) off Marina Abramović.
A Dog’s Ransom - Patricia Highsmith
The Talented Mr. Ripley brought us one of literature’s great characters, while Deep Water remains an underrated classic that was unforgivably adapted by one Ben Affleck and his pre-JoLo-reconciliation fling Ana de Armas (she deserved better). A Dog’s Ransom is a slog of a paperback, all the more disappointing because of how thoroughly it manages to bore you in so few pages. With soulless characters, a silly cop-out of a denouement, and a limp hero, it’s an unfortunate foray into Highsmith’s lesser work.
Truth and Consequence - Alison Lurie
I really enjoyed The War Between the Tates earlier in the year. Written in the 1970s by one of the most quietly savage comic writers of the era, it has all the mediocre family drama one could ask for (I love reading about mothers who secretly hate their children). But Truth and Consequences, written several decades later, really reminded me of the time my mom, brother, and I passed an outdoor Beach Boys concert in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania on our way back to grandma’s house from the library. They were playing the hits, but the acoustics were bad, the crowd was chatting, and there was only one of the original band members on stage. Truth and Consequences is a shadow of The War Between the Tates, and it really doesn’t help that Lurie tried to recycle what is essentially the same plot.
My Cousin Rachel - Daphne du Maurier
Ugh. This one hurt. I used to write out the first chapter of Rebecca in long hand, hoping to absorb some of Du Maurier’s genius. But my god. What was she playing at with this one? Published in the 1950s and set in the 1850s, it follows a young man who inherits his beloved uncle’s estate and becomes infatuated with Rachel, the woman his uncle married and later suspected of poisoning him. The main character is such a soggy piece of toast that you can hardly bare to hang out with him for more than a few minutes at a time. At first, you want to warn him. Then you want to scream at him in all caps. Then you just want to slink away silently and let him reap what he damn well sows.
The Highlights
Small Pleasures - Clare Chambers
Making 1950s England seem anything other than bleak and oppressive would be dishonest, and this book does not even try. Instead of creating a quaint, nostalgic fiction of picturesque cottages and geometric gardens, the setting is gray, smoggy, and just barely better than hopeless. The protagonist, Jean, is, by her own admission, a drab spinster nearing 40 who lives with her petty, hypochondriacal mother. When a Swiss woman contacts the newspaper Jean writes for, claiming her daughter is the product of a virgin birth, Jean’s life shakes off its dusty cardigan and emerges into a brighter, more fragile world where possibility, tenderness, and pain lie waiting. It’s a beautifully conceived story that treats all of its characters with dignity. I was surprised by how much it moved me and how well it pulled off its premise.
A spicy little number from one of the most prolific authors of the past half-century. Two men in their 60s, a composer and a tabloid editor, grapple with the death of their former lover, Molly. They rekindle their friendship, watch it fracture, and deal with the fallout in the worst ways possible. It’s short and bitterly funny, casting a merciless eye on its protagonists and the late ‘90s more broadly. The pettiness and specificity of the characters is an absolute delight, even if the ending falls a bit flat. I read a lot of thrillers last year, but this non-thriller was the most compulsive page-turner of them all.
The Marriage Portrait - Maggie O’Farrell
Revisionist history is a dangerous thing, even when it’s labeled fiction. This novel follows Lucrezia de Medici, who died in 1561 at the age of 16 after three harrowing years of marriage to the Duke of Ferrara. The facts are murky and there are huge swathes of fact that we do know that the author chose to change. However, the strength of this novel is bringing alive the feel of 16th-century Italy — its colors, its clothes, its grubby daily life — and creating believable characters within it. There is no romanticizing the era. Traveling short distances is physically arduous and at the mercy of weather. Marriage was an unequal contract that some women (like Lucrezia’s mother) learned to use to their advantage, while others (like Lucrezia) drowned in. It’s grimy and sad and gutsy, and completely transports you to another world, just as any good novel should.
The House of Mirth - Edith Wharton
A classic Gilded Age novel about the horrors of being single in your 20s, the poison of high society, and finding personal freedom at whatever cost. You can read my review here. I adored this slow-burn of a novel. Its protagonist is maddening and irresistible. It goes to dark places. It packages universal emotions into exquisite prose. This is one of those books that you absolutely must not consume as an audiobook. Words on the page only.
Reading intentions for 2024
My only resolution on January 1st was to get more sleep, and I’ve already failed, so I’m treading carefully with my language here. I am setting “intentions” not “resolutions” for reading. This may seem like a distinction without a difference, but an intention is a goal, an objective, whereas a resolution is a decision or a commitment. I’m not committing to anything, my friends. I am commitment averse. With those caveats under our belts, here are things I am “striving for” as a reader in 2024:
1. Read more books that aren’t on the bestseller list, NPR’s Book Concierge, or anywhere on the first page of a Google search that begins with “best books of [year]” or “best books about [...]”
I already have two books lined up that fit this description (more on that in future posts, no doubt), and the one I have started is already one of the best I’ve read in months.
2. Read some poetry.
Before you roll your eyes (too late?), I promise I am not virtue signaling here. Notice I wrote “read some poetry” rather than “read more poetry.” I do not read poetry. I’ve seen the anthologies. I’ve discarded them. I’ve smiled pleasantly through an e e cummings poem or two. I’ve raised my eyebrows at Sylvia Plath. I’ve had brief literary flings with Anne Sexton (whose work, if I’m honest, I do really love). I am not well versed – as it were – in short-format wordsmithing and can’t help but feel that a lot of it is overtly pretentious and not at all good. And yet, there were a few times last year (thanks in large part to Saeed Jones and his recommendations at the end of each episode of the Vibe Check podcast), when my day was transformed by a good poem. I would like to seek out more poetry this year. It’s so easy to do and the return on investment can be huge.
3. Read an entire science fiction novel and enjoy it.
I do not like sci-fi. I’m sorry. I just don’t. Isaac Asimov? I got through two pages of Foundations. The Three-Body Problem? I quit on the first page when they started describing the murder of a 15-year-old girl in pornographic detail. THE HANDMAID’S TALE? Sorry. Couldn’t hack that one either. In fact, my favorite sci-fi novel, Ministry For the Future, can’t even really be described as sci-fi because it takes place in the immediate future. It’s basically a journalistic account of tomorrow. So yeah, this one may be the hardest bar to clear, but I’m going to try.
So there you have it. We’ll check back in next year if the world is still standing. As a book nerd, I crave the wisdom and mistakes of fellow travelers, so if you have any recommendations/words of warning/resolutions (sorry–intentions) of your own, tell me!
In keeping with intention 2, I’m going to close this with a poem by Danez Smith that I came across a couple weeks ago and keep coming back to.
I’M GOING BACK TO MINNESOTA WHERE SADNESS MAKES SENSE
By Danez Smith
O California, don’t you know the sun is only a god
if you learn to starve for him? I’m bored with the ocean
I stood at the lip of it, dressed in down, praying for snow
I know, I’m strange, too much light makes me nervous
at least in this land where the trees always bear green.
I know something that doesn’t die can’t be beautiful.
Have you ever stood on a frozen lake, California?
The sun above you, the snow & stalled sea—a field of mirror
all demanding to be the sun too, everything around you
is light & it’s gorgeous & if you stay too long it will kill you
& it’s so sad, you know? You’re the only warm thing for miles
& the only thing that can’t shine.