Because ten reviews was just too damn long.
As we already know, I don’t keep up with the latest books. Hence my reading list this year has been all over the map, a mishmash of older and newer titles in genres from memoirs to YA LGBT fantasy/sci fi (it’s a thing, and I love it). In fact memoirs were what I seemed to have read the most of, and that’s great because it was my goal for the year to start reading memoirs, a genre I never explored before.
That said, here’s my list, in no particular order, accompanied by a quote I liked from each:
1. Not My Father’s Son by Alan Cumming.
It’s hard to explain how much that feeling of the bottom potentially falling out at any moment takes its toll. It makes you anxious, of course, and constant anxiety is impossible for the body to handle. So you develop a coping mechanism, and for us that meant shutting down. Everything we liked or wanted or felt joy in had to be hidden or suppressed. I’m sad to say that this method works.
I’ve been a fan of Alan since seeing him in the ’90s in Cabaret on Broadway and have always admired his versatility as an actor. I have to admit the subject matter of his memoir—his abusive childhood—gave me pause, as it’s a difficult one for me personally. But the writing is so well done, so thoughtful, it even gave me new insights into my own life. And isn’t that what good memoirs are supposed to do?
2. In the Pleasure Groove by John Taylor.
So I had been working on a new concept of God, with the intention of creating something that I would feel comfortable praying to, conversing with, trusting. Which had seemed heretical to the old Catholic in me, but the truth was, the old ideas had only been able to get me so far…. I chose to turn to a higher power that was filled with the generosity of spirit and unconditional love that my parents always had for me and was as supportive as my family now were. As loving as my wife, and as goodhearted as my bandmates. This God was on my side, had my back, and wanted the best for me.
Full disclosure: I have a tattoo of the cover of Rio on my arm. So just know that I went into this one with a bit of a bias.
If you were not as obsessed with Duran Duran in the ’80s as I was (okay, and as I continue to be to this day), John Taylor is the band’s bass player, and this is the story of his life. And while this might sound pretty yawn-worthy to someone who isn’t a fan, it honestly is just a good solid memoir. It’s funny, it’s touching, it’s got ups and downs and the obligatory addiction and recovery yet maintains an overall optimistic tone throughout. Mostly I was pleased to hear that he and his bandmates seem to be nice people.
PS, if you are a fan, listen to the audiobook. Hearing John talk for almost eight hours straight is swoon-worthy.
3. A Mother’s Reckoning: Living in the Aftermath of Tragedy by Sue Klebold.
As a mother, this was the most difficult prayer I had ever spoken in the silence of my thoughts, but in that instant I knew the greatest mercy I could pray for was not my son’s safety, but for his death.
Sue Klebold comes across as an intelligent, strong, and caring woman – none of which she really gets credit for as the mother of Dylan Klebold, one of the shooters in the Columbine school massacre. As evidenced in many reviews of this book, she is often seen simply as a bad mother who is culpable for what her son did. This, we find out here, is not truly the case. The truth is a whole lot more complicated than that, and I applaud Sue for allowing us to peer into her life and see who she really is beyond the news coverage, to witness her own struggle to come to terms with what her son did while also grieving for his death and for the violent, sudden loss of the son she knew.
4. Wonders of the Invisible World by Christopher Barzak.
The teller shapes the story. If you don’t tell it, the story shapes you.
I listened to the audiobook of this one, and let me tell you: The story, the writing, the narration by Michael Crouch. A perfect trifecta of perfection. The main character’s coming-of-age story is beautiful, translatable from the microcosm of his life to the macrocosm of society and the culture he lives in. He faces his vulnerabilities without fear and works to accept the people in his life and himself as they and he are. He doesn’t know how strong he is until he’s really tested, and then he finds out he’s stronger than he ever knew possible (a trope I generally hate when it’s included in a book’s description, but it works so well here).
5. The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger.
I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were coming or I’d have cleaned up a little more. My life, I mean, not just the apartment.
This was a reread for me—the third or fourth, I believe; it’s one of my favorite books—but this time I listened to the audiobook, which did not disappoint. Excellent narration by Fred Berman and Phoebe Strole, and even with my familiarity with the story, I was still moved by Henry’s inevitable, unstoppable downward spiral and his and Clare’s inability to do anything about it. Tragic love story at its finest. I can guarantee this won’t be the last time I read or listen to it.
6. Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body by Roxane Gay.
It took me a long time, but I prefer victim to survivor now. I don’t want to diminish the gravity of what happened. I don’t want to pretend I’m on some triumphant, uplifting journey. I don’t want to pretend that everything is okay. I’m living with what happened, moving forward without forgetting, moving forward without pretending I am unscarred.
One of the most honest memoirs I’ve read (well, listened to the audiobook of). There’s a level of candidness you don’t often see in memoirs, where the story generally revolves around the hardships the author has endured and how she overcame them. Instead this is an examination of one woman’s trials throughout her life and up through the present day; the ways in which trauma can shape a life; and the problematic ways our culture, our families and friends, and ourselves deal with those who are different or imperfect.
7. The Secret History by Donna Tartt.
“But how,” said Charles, who was close to tears, “how can you possibly justify cold-blooded murder?”
Henry lit a cigarette. “I prefer to think of it,” he had said, “as redistribution of matter.”
Another reread, this one for the fourth or maybe fifth time. Another of my favorite books. Donna Tartt’s world building is extraordinary, as is her talent for taking extraordinary circumstances and making them completely believable. With anyone else, the kind of insane characters in this book might have fallen flat, but she makes them deep and real, even sympathetic despite the vile situation they’re in. This review is sort of vague, but I don’t want to give away too much for those who haven’t read it. If you haven’t, be sure to put it on your list for 2018.
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