I started off with Tomorrow Tomorrow and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin, which I couldn’t put down because it gave me a reading bug. I was like, could I become a gamer? The answer is no, and probably, never, but the way Zevin depicts the craft of video games, play, and friendship made me consider a new life holding a controller.
As the winter thawed out I read Jaw Bone by Mónica Ojeda (translated by Sarah Booker) and felt like my boobs were being torn off while I was chugging raw milk. My boyfriend gifted me Our Share of Night by Mariana Enriquez (translated by Megan McDowell) for Christmas, but I had held off on it because I had heard so many mixed reviews. After a friend at Alejandro Varela’s release for The People Who Report More Stress told me that it “fucking slapped” and that it “made them sob,” I decided to crack it open. I lugged this 608-page book around for the better part of a month entranced by the disgusting, sensual world Enriquez created. It’s A Little Life but with cults and the horrors of Latin America. It’s about how so much of being a parent is lying to your children. It was maximalist and hammy in a Stephen King way (there’s even a character named Stephen who walks down King road), and I love that. Next I read Raw Dog by Jamie Loftus, which is like if Anthony Bourdain made love to a beautiful union organizer in a hot dog costume. I learned so much from this book and laughed out loud. It is perfect.
On a train ride from Rome to Naples I finished White Cat, Black Dog by Kelly Link as the Italian country side zipped by me and the sun shone on my sleeping friend’s faces. It was one of the most magical ways to finish a book. I was in awe when I finished it and like most Link stories, I found it impossible to describe, so I was lonely in my wonder once my friends and boyfriend woke up. I finished The Guest by Emma Cline (I’m a girls’ girl!) on the beach with sand sprinkled on the pages as was intended. I read most of Great Expectations, Ghostland, and Pure Colour, and will return to them soon. I read Flux by Jinwoo Chong and loved every ticking second of it. A wonderful time travel book if you’re in search of new one. I tore through The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin and thought about love and land and how you change everyone you meet.
In the fall I read Killers of the Flower Moon in a matter of days, once again horrified by our country but also feeling a newfound respect for journalists. Right now I’m listening to 11/22/63 by Stephen King and reading The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolaño (translated by Natasha Wimmer). I’m not sure why I decided to end the year with two gargantuan books by superfluous, histrionic men. I know it has something to do with grief (my friend was buried with Detectives) and setting unrealistic expectations with yourself while you’re still alive, but sometimes dudes rock, and that’s that. I hope in the next year we can make reading as sexy as possible because critical thinking skills are at an all time low. Reading in public is now a public service. If you’re reading this, your new year’s resolution is to look as hot as you can while you read. I believe in you.
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