The Uncommon Reader, Alan Bennett I read this book in one sitting, the afternoon of New Year's Day. It's a cute, short read, wherein the Queen of England's yorkie runs off while she's taking it for a walk and she follows it into a book mobile that visits Buckingham Palace once a week for the kitchen staff. It's very sweet.
The appeal of reading, she thought, lay in its indifference: there was something undeferring about literature. Books did not care who was reading them or whether one read them or not. All readers were equal, herself included. Literature, she thought, is a commonwealth; letters a republic. Actually, she had heard this phrase, the republic of letters, used before, at graduation ceremonies, honorary degrees and the like, though without knowing quite what it meant. At that time talk of a republic of any sort she had thought mildly insulting and in her actual presence tactless, to say the least. It was only now she understood what it meant. Books did not defer. All readers were equal, and this took her back to the beginning of her life.
Going Postal, Terry Pratchett My first foray into the Discworld, but certainly not my last. I actually read 6 of the Discworld books this year, and loved them all, but decided to limit my list to just the first one, because choosing between them would be too difficult. If you haven't read Terry Pratchett, you really really should. Laugh out loud hilarity mixed with fantasy and social commentary. Delicious.
Atonement, Ian McEwan You'll notice that there are 3 different Ian McEwan novels on this list, because apparently this year I went on a bit of a binge. I actually started this book toward the end of 2007, got most of the way through it, saw the movie, and then didn't finish the book for another week or so. The first part was my favorite, and I had to drudge through the middle bit while Robbie is in France, but as a whole the book is beautifully written. I can certainly understand why Ian McEwan is often considered a man's writer, his details are sometimes almost clinically harsh, but that doesn't make the words any less lovely.
They stared at each other in confusion, unable to speak, sensing that something delicately established might slip from them. That they were old friends who had shared a childhood was now a barrier--they were embarrassed before their former selves. Their friendship had become vague and even constrained in recent years, but it was still an old habit, and to break it now in order to become strangers on intimate terms required a clarity of purpose which had temporarily deserted them. For the moment, there seemed no way out with words.
Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist, Rachel Cohn & David Levithan This is the only book I read twice this year, once in January and again right before the movie came out. It's like Before Sunrise for teenagers and very sweet.
Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë I did actually attempt to read this once before, when I was in fourth or fifth grade. I didn't really appreciate it then, though. My mother read it again earlier this year, for the first time since she was in high school, and so I picked it up after her. Of course I loved it. The story is equal parts empowering, heartbreaking, sweet, romantic and gothic. And my mother assures me that, when I'm her age, I'll find even more to appreciate in Jane's story.
The Eyre Affair, Jasper Fforde Of course I had to follow it up with this, which was hilarious and smart and did I mention hilarious? I had read The Fourth Bear and The Big Over Easy already, so I knew that his writing was witty and intricate, but not like this! I read the rest of the series, too (except I haven't really gotten into Thursday Next: First Among Sequels, yet), and loved each book more than the last, it seems, but again, I'm only listing one.
On Chesil Beach, Ian McEwan More Ian McEwan. Another perfect little book. I read it in a weekend, staying up late to finish it while all my roommates slept in our flat in London. I especially loved the way the last few pages spin the story out into the future and we see the paths these characters end up on.
Peter Pan, JM Barrie As you might have noticed, I had a bit of a literary love affair with the UK this year. 13 of these books are by British writers, and 13 are at least partially set in the UK (14 if you count Going Postal). This is largely because I was studying abroad in London last semester and falling desperately in love with the city and the country. I read a little more American fiction once I got back to the US, but that was hardly what I was most interested in. Peter Pan was one of the many books I purchased abroad, a £2, lime green Penguin Popular Classics copy from the Borders on Oxford Street. It's small, technically it's considered to be a children's book (though the only one I've ever seen that included the word "orgy"), and it's rife with murder and racism, but it's also maybe the sweetest book I've ever read. The language is playful and the story is wonderful. I've been fighting off the urge to read it again ever since I put it down April.
Stars are beautiful, but they may not take an active part in anything, they must just look on for ever. It is a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star now knows what it was. So the older ones have become glassy-eyed and seldom speak (winking is the star language), but the little ones still wonder. They are not really friendly to Peter, who has a mischievous way of stealing up behind them and trying to blow them out; but they are so fond of fun that they were on his side to-night, and anxious to get the grownups out of the way. So as soon as the door of 27 closed on Mr. and Mrs. Darling there was a commotion in the firmament, and the smallest of the stars in the Milky Way screamed out:
"Now, Peter!"
Saturday, Ian McEwan The third and final of the McEwan books on this list. I bought my copy at a used bookstore in Brighton, and read the book with a map of London in front of me, tracing the main character's path across the city, just blocks away from my own flat in Bloomsbury. I think it may be the first novel I've read that takes place in a post 9/11 world, which isn't to say the first book I've read to take place after September of 2001, but the first to be so sure to remind me of that fact. It was interesting to see it from the perspective of someone that wasn't American. Also interesting was the fact that the whole book takes place on a day when my parents were working their way across London to Portabello Road, Americans trying to get from one side of the Anti-War march to the other.
The Buddha of Suburbia, Hanif Kureshi The first of these books that I read for school. I took a Novels of Britain and Ireland course while I was abroad. There were only 3 of us (all girls) in the class, and I've never had so much fun doing assigned reading. Each 2 and half hour class was just a long conversation, and I always came away from it feeling like a knew so much more about literature and about Britain. This book is largely about what it's like to be half English and half Pakistani (but born and raised in London) in a post-colonialist Britain. It's hilarious, but also touching. And I wrote one kick-butt essay on the book.
Eat Pray Love, Elizabeth Gilbert I made the mistake of starting this book on the way home from Europe. Of course, by the time our plane landed in Philadelphia all I wanted to do was turn around and fly to Italy for pizza in Naples. The book is, on the whole, inspirational, and not in the sappy/cheesy way. It also made me very, very hungry.
Neverwhere, Neil Gaiman I love Neil Gaiman. He mingles fantasy and reality so beautifully, so that you really believe that, if you looked hard enough, you might actually find the magic that permeates his books. It's the thing I've always loved about Harry Potter as well, the ability to transition between a real place (a tube stop, King's Cross Station) and somewhere that exists only in your imagination (London Below, the Leaky Cauldron).
The Hours, Michael Cunningham Mrs. Dalloway just missed this list (look for it below in the honorable mentions), but The Hours really stood out to me. It ties in with the book that inspired in so beautifully, while existing as its own story as well. And admittedly, it's a much easier read.
"As she rubs Louis's back, Clarissa thinks, Take me with you. I want a doomed love. I want streets at night, wind and rain, no one wondering where I am."
The Things They Carried, Tim O'Brien This is one of those books that left me totally unsettled, gave me bad dreams even--largely because I dozed off immediately after finishing it--and yet I still loved it. The writing is beautiful, and the stories are heartbreaking and sometimes funny.
Possession: A Romance, AS Byatt I don't really remember why I picked this up, but I had trouble putting it down once I had. It's a love story that literally spans centuries, and leads to another love story that's less romantic than neurotic, but still enticing. I haven't seen the movie adaptation, but I can't imagine it holds a candle to the book.
They took to silence. They touched each other without comment and without progression. A hand on a hand, a clothed arm, resting on an arm. An ankle overlapping an ankle, as they sat on a beach, and not removed.
One night they fell asleep, side by side, on Maud's bed, where they had been sharing a glass of Calvados. He slept curled against her back, a dark comma against her pale elegant phrase.
Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh I picked this up when I first saw the trailer for the new movie, because I very much love Matthew Goode, Haley Atwell and Emma Thompson. I hadn't anticipated loving the book quite so much, but the language (the sort of stylized speech of decades I wasn't alive for) drew me in and the characters (especially Sebastian) kept me reading. Of course, the movie was hardly true to it, and I haven't had a chance to watch the 1981 miniseries, yet, but it did introduce me to a new novel to love and cherish.
"What is it?"
"His heart; some long word at the heart. He is dying of a long word."
A Thousand Acres, Jane Smiley Jane Smiley visited my school last semester, while I was abroad, and just a few weeks before I saw King Lear at the Globe. I'd never read any of her writing, but I was a little bummed about missing a visit from such a respected author. Then, this summer, I had the idea that I wanted to write some modernized version of King Lear. Of course, that was when my roommate told me it had already been done, by Jane Smiley. The book was even sitting on my bedside table, waiting for me in my To-Read pile. So I picked it up and fell in love and of course it broke my heart, but it was absolutely worth it.
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Dave Eggers Is it a bit pretentious? Sure, but it's also a beautifully, brilliantly written book about love, loss, responsibility, and trying to get cast on The Real World. I laughed, I cried, all that good stuff.
"They are gone and I am soaring. Those motherfuckers! My head is clear and muscular and filled with blood. Something has happened. We're alive, we've won! Powerful us! They were scared. We scared them off. They feared us. We won. We told them to go away and they did. I am the president. I am the Olympics."
Assassination Vacation, Sarah Vowell If I hadn't come to the conclusion that Sarah Vowell was stalking me, I don't know that I ever would have read this book. History? Presidential assassinations? Really? But her name started popping up everywhere, largely because I was binging on This American Life at the time, and it became clear that she was both hilarious and charming, so I picked this up at Barnes and Noble (pet peeve: there is no S at the end of Barnes and Noble, unless it's a plural--"there are two Barnes and Nobles in my area"--or possessive--"I prefer Barnes and Noble's Starbucks to the stand-alone Starbucks at my mall"--so Cashier-that-rung-me-up-the-other-day, take note!). For a book about murder and american history it's a surprisingly light, entertaining read. I picked up a copy of The Partly-Cloudly Patriot the other day and can't wait to read it.
The Tales of Beedle the Bard, JK Rowling This is mostly a sentimental addition to my list, because it's Harry Potter, but it was a fun, easy read, and some of Dumbledore's commentary was deliciously biting. I've missed the Potter-verse, so it was nice to step back into it for an afternoon.
This exchange marked the beginning of Mr. Malfoy's long campaign to have me removed from my post as headmaster of Hogwarts, and of mine to have him removed from his position as Lord Voldemort's Favorite Death Eater.
College Girls: Bluestockings, Sex Kittens, and Coeds, Then and Now by Lynn Peril - I asked for this for Christmas last year thinking I'd flip through it and read bits and pieces, but I ended up reading it cover to cover. It's a fascinating book about the evolution of the "College Girl."
Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson - Another book I read for Novels of Britain and Ireland. It's the bible without women, basically, and it's both touching and funny.
I learnt that it rains when clouds collide with a high building, like a steeple, or a cathedral; the impact punctures them, and everybody underneath gets wet. This was why, in the old days, when the only tall buildings were holy, people used to say cleanliness is next to godliness. The more godly your town, the more high buildings you'd have, and the more rain you'd get.
Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf - It was tough going at first, but I ended up really enjoying this book.
Ah dear, she remembered--it was Wednesday in Brook Street. Those kind good fellows, Richard Dalloway, Hugh Whitbread, had gone this hot day through the streets whose growl came up to her lying on the sofa. Power was hers, position, income. She had lived in the forefront of her time. She had had good friends; known the ablest men of her day. Murmuring London flowed up to her, and her hand, lying on the sofa back, curled upon some imaginary baton such as her grandfathers might have held, holding which she seemed, drowsy and heavy, to be commanding battalions marching to Canada, and those good fellows walking across London, that territory of theirs, that little bit of carpet, Mayfair.
And they went further and further from her, being attached to her by a thin thread (since they had lunched with her) which would stretch and stretch, get thinner and thinner as they walked across London; as if ones friends were attached to one's body, after lunching with them, by a thin thread, which (as she dozed there) became hazy with the sound of bells, striking the hour or ringing to service, as a single spider's thread is blotted with rain-drops, and, burdened, sags down. So she slept.
The Overwhelming by JT Rogers - I read this play about the genocide in Rwanda for my playwriting class, and then had the opportunity to sit down one-on-one with the playwright. It was an interesting play with a subject about which I knew very little.
Nory Ryan's Song by Patricia Reilly Giff - The only book from the Children's and Adolescent Lit class I took this semester to make top 25 (though Tuck Everlasting would have been top 10 if I hadn't already read it several years ago). It's sort of a miserable little book about the Irish potato famine, but I found it charming.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
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