Tuesday, December 31, 2024

Reading Update plus What I Read in 2024

Book #73 of the year was The Cliffs, by J. Courtney Sullivan. I really enjoyed this book about family history, inheritance, houses, alcoholism, and other things. It was quite woo-woo.


Book #74 was Counting Miracles, by Nicholas Sparks. This was my first Sparks novel, and I read it with my book group. Prior to this, I had read one of Sparks' books, but a non-fiction one, Three Weeks with My Brother (the link is to what I wrote about it at the time, in 2009). The story was a little slight (it felt as though the conflict was manufactured just to keep the plot going), and the back-story was super-traumatic (wait, I though this was just going to be a fun read!), but overall it was entertaining. Plus, our discussions are always great, no matter what we read. Looking forward to another year of reading with my book group buds!


Book #75 was The Unwedding, by Ally Condie. It was a murder mystery set at a wedding, and I do seem to have read a lot of this kind of thing this year, rather forgettable page-turners. Maybe time for a little upgrade in 2025?


Book #76 was Playground, by Richard Powers. I've never read a Richard Powers book that wasn't very much worth reading. I think maybe my favorite is still the first one I read, The Echo Maker. But this one was terrific too. It's about the ocean, AI, long friendships, and climate change. Highly recommended.


Book #77 was The Five-Star Weekend, by Elin Hilderbrand. This was my third Hilderbrand book. They are all beach-y books, but with something a bit more, making them less forgettable. This one is definitely fluffy, but I can't stop reading books about friendships.


Book #78 was in our library at school. It's out of print, and I enjoyed it a lot, so I'm including it even though it took me less than half an hour to read. It was Have You Ever Heard of a Kangaroo Bird?, by Barbara Brenner.

 

Book #79 was The Lioness, by Chris Bohjalian. This was probably not the best book to read right before going on safari. It's about an actress in the 1960s who goes on safari in Kenya, taking a collection of her favorite people. Dreadful things ensue. 

 

Book #80 was Home Front, by Kristin Hannah. Jolene flies helicopters for the National Guard, and her husband isn't supportive. He's especially not supportive when she gets deployed to Iraq. The family (which includes two kids) suffers horrendously but the book is ultimately redemptive. This was my fifth Hannah book. I think three of them were this year.


Book #81 was How to Stay Married, by Harrison Scott Key. The subtitle is "The Most Insane Love Story Ever Told," which is a lot to live up to, but it is definitely an insane love story. I really couldn't believe his wife was OK with him telling all these details, but he says she was. It's a good read.


Book #82 was Absolution, by Alice McDermott. McDermott wrote one of my all-time favorite books, That Night, but I'm pretty sure I haven't read anything else she's written. This was very good. Set mostly in Saigon, different points of view, looking back over life - just very good.


Book #83 was Chanson Douce, by Leïla Slimani. I read the English translation of this, The Perfect Nanny, back in 2019. At the time I said what I liked best about it was the setting in Paris. I'm not sure why I liked that best, since it's definitely the underside of Paris, what it's like for people who can't afford the good life. It's just a horrid story, given that the first line is: "Le bébé est mort." (The baby is dead.) It's well-written, though. 


Books #84 and 85 are ones I've read every year for a while, Savor, by Shauna Niequist and You are the Beloved, by Henri Nouwen. 


I think that's it for this year, though I'm in the middle of a couple of books, so the first update of the new year is probably coming soon. I've already mentioned in this post that I'd like to read fewer forgettable books in 2025. I did read a lot of good stuff (see below), but there were quite a few I wouldn't even know I'd read if I hadn't posted about them. I'd also like to read more paper books. Practically everything I've read this year has been on my Kindle. I like reading on my Kindle, but I'm accumulating paper books that I just never pick up. Yes, in spite of vowing not to buy more books, I have bought more than intended. It's a sickness. But I'm not ever again going to reach the enormous number of books we had in Haiti. At least, that's my resolution. 


Here's the rest of what I read this year. 


Books #1-6

Books #7-12 

Books #13-20

Books #21-26 

Books #27-32

Books #33-47 

Books #48-60

Books #61-72 

Wednesday, December 04, 2024

SJT and Poetry Friday: Wintering

This month's SJT theme, from our host Kim, is Wintering. I read Katherine May's book by that title last year. In the book, winter is a metaphor for difficult times (it's there in the subtitle, "The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times"), but it's also a literal season. Katherine May hibernates, reads differently from the way she does in summer, and even swims in icy cold water. Here's a quote from the book: "However it arrives, wintering is usually involuntary, lonely, and deeply painful. Yet it’s also inevitable. We like to imagine that it’s possible for life to be one eternal summer and that we have uniquely failed to achieve that for ourselves. We dream of an equatorial habitat, forever close to the sun, an endless, unvarying high season."  

 

I only have one problem with the book. While I appreciate a good metaphor, and I love thinking about seasons and vicariously enjoying them through friends' postings on social media, I live near to the equator, in Kampala, Uganda. I really do have that "equatorial habitat" of the quote. I reflected on this back in 2019 from another tropical home. It's not that there aren't seasons, but winter really isn't one of them. Right now it's the rainy season, and I bundle up in a cardigan every morning, but today there was a high of 85 degrees Fahrenheit (29 Celsius), so it wasn't exactly cold. (Even if it were, I assure you that I would not swim in icy water like Katherine May.) When you live in the tropics, sadness and melancholy, as well as joy and delight, are accompanied by bright blue skies and warm temperatures. Life isn’t a constant beach vacation, wherever you live. The equator, that nearby imaginary line, doesn’t cross out grief; every part of the planet is filled with people who feel all the same emotions, whatever the weather. You have to find a different metaphor here, because winter isn’t coming. Still, as the book suggests, I need to rest, be kind to myself, recognize that my energy fluctuates and take a break. That's why I put aside the ninth grade exams I was grading and worked on this post instead. I decided to write a haibun, using some winter photos sent by friends from the US earlier this week.

 

Photo Credit: Matsu


Wintering

How surprised and shocked we’d be if a sudden snowfall covered our bougainvillea and our jacaranda tree, here in our tropical garden! Friends seven thousand miles away sent photos of how it looks when seasons clash, chilling bright blooms. So tonight we’ll hibernate in spirit, looking at the cold they have shared with us, who don’t have our own. We’ll drink hot tea, imagining that bare feet on the cool tile floor are actually freezing. We’ll turn on a fan and sleep under a blanket.

Snow engulfs roses
In a garden far away
A borrowed winter  


©Ruth Bowen Hersey



Our Poetry Friday roundup this week will be at Carol's place.