The Last Language, by Jennifer duBois: WOW. A whole gamut of emotions and responses while reading this, from intrigue to delight (at all of the linguistic tidbits) to shock to horror. I didn’t recognize the author’s name when I borrowed this; after looking her up I realized I read one of her other books, Cartwheel, and though I remember enjoying it, the experience didn’t compare to this one. Mesmerizing.

Waiting to Be Arrested at Night, by Tahir Hamut Izgil: The memoir of a Uighur poet and his family’s escape from China – difficult and important. There’s nothing flashy in his prose, but he perfectly demonstrates the quotidian torture of life as a minority under China’s current (and past) government.

Birnam Wood, by Eleanor Catton: So much of this is great. Catton’s satire has the sharpest, finest, most cutting point, and in many ways the book is quite funny. What I appreciated most, though, were the “minor” conversations between characters, those that didn’t advance the plot but which were more profound than the “big” takeaways. I did struggle with the cartoonish element of one character, and the ending left me in a bleak state.

The Snakehead, by Patrick Radden Keefe: I’ll read anything by Radden Keefe, and this was a fascinating examination immigration, corruption, human trafficking, and interconnectedness among different communities.

Penance, by Eliza Clark: I thought I would enjoy this more than I did, alas. The voice never quite landed for me, and the framing devices felt like gimmicks rather than additions that meaningfully affected the book. The story of a teenage British girl’s gruesome murder – by her classmates – this had more main characters than I could keep straight for the first half of the novel, and the ultimate narrator was unsatisfying.

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Fear is Just a Word, by Azam Ahmed: I’m glad I read this for its comprehensive background on the Zeta drug cartel and the terror the residents of San Fernando, Tamaulipas, Mexico, have faced. The primary story – of a woman who becomes an activist after her daughter is kidnapped and murdered by the Zetas, one of many such kidnappings – was compelling, but could have made a much more compelling long-form article. Unfortunately, in book-length, the writing felt repetitive, and the shifts between timelines felt random. I found myself wishing for the style and substance of some of the great nonfiction works I’ve read; this felt at times like a catalog of facts.

Tom Lake, by Ann Patchett: Initially I found this “nice” – a bit tepid. I grew to enjoy it more, though it’s not the most memorable or earth-shattering. That’s okay! It was a lovely read, albeit with a few underdeveloped themes (climate change…) and a somewhat aloof narrator.

Safe, by Mark Daley: The personal narrative of fostering children combined with a medium-depth look at child protective services and foster care in California. I think I would have preferred this either as a more in-depth examination of foster care – sans personal narrative – or a completely journalistic take on one family’s story, like Random Family or Invisible Child. But I may have enjoyed it more if I had been more engaged by the prose and the voice, which struck me as a bit cloying.

The Last Word, by Taylor Adams: This…was silly. A hokey thriller with one hundred false endings. Yes, I should have stopped reading it. But it went fast!

American Kingpin, by Nick Bilton: I have to confess that although I was vaguely aware of the dark web/black market website Silk Road back when the Gawker article about it was published, I didn’t know the trajectory of the site or its founder. This was very well told – tracing the actions of both the founder and the various law enforcement agencies working to track him down – and interesting.

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Hex, by Thomas Olde Heuvelt: Not sure why I finished this…it was over-written, nonsensical, tonally inconsistent, and completely devolved in its second half. Weird misogyny and other offenses, failed attempts at allegory. One interesting thing – it was originally written in Dutch, then when sold to the American market was rewritten by the author, rather than translated. Maybe the Dutch version is better? I’m not holding my breath.

None of This is True, by Lisa Jewell: I appreciated the twistiness of this and the parallel between the two primary characters – it was definitely hard to put down. I also enjoyed the structure of a mystery within a podcast within a Netflix show (the turducken of genres!) That said, I had some issues with the ending and the way some of the characters’ actions were portrayed…it felt like the author undercut some of what she had pulled off.

Land of Milk and Honey, by C Pam Zhang: I absolutely loved Zhang’s first novel, How Much of These Hills is Gold, but unfortunately this didn’t captivate me. The premise was intriguing – I kept picturing the bunker from A Murder at the End of the World – but it felt overwritten in the extreme, and I found myself gritting my teeth through some of the flowery descriptions. I’ll still be eager to read anything Zhang puts out, but this one just wasn’t for me. With that said…as I reached the final quarter of the book, I wondered how much of the overwriting – it felt like clutter, in which no single striking sentence had a chance of standing out among so much flash – was intentional, to mirror the setting. And I wondered if it would clear at some point, and it did. I found that I did appreciate the ending, even found that it redeemed the whole book to a degree.

Although the books themselves are completely different, reading Land of Milk and Honey was a similar experience to reading Hernan Diaz’s Trust: I loved each author’s first novel so deeply that some disappointment was inevitable, and I ultimately admired more than enjoyed them.

The Pull of the Stars, by Emma Donaghue: This was really lovely, albeit predictable. It was a toss-up for me whether it felt predictable in a slightly pejorative way or if I knew what was coming at every step because it could only have happened that way. It felt like a play in many ways, and I could see it adapted for the stage easily. Initially I wondered if the entire novel would take place in a single setting (like Room, which I haven’t read!), and in large part it did, to its benefit.

Moon of the Crusted Snow, by Waubgeshig Rice: I appreciated this as an allegory, but unfortunately the writing was overly expository, stilted and flat. The premise was good but the plot predictable.

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The Longest Race, by Kara Goucher: Oof this was so tough to read – I enjoy running memoirs in the same way that I love media about Mt. Everest (ie “living out vicariously things that I would never be able to do”), but it made me want to bang my head against the wall at every turn. Not because of the author’s actions; I fully understand how difficult it is to question someone (especially someone you initially trusted) who’s in a position of immense power over you. But I felt for her with every passing chapter in which she was treated so carelessly. The book definitely demonstrates how toxic power structures can be and how while narcissists and abusers might be dangerous on their own, that danger is amplified exponentially with systemic power imbalances. Having read Lauren Fleshman’s running memoir last year, I enjoyed seeing her name as their careers crossed paths.

The Rachel Incident, by Caroline O’Donoghue: Loved this – in some ways it reminded me of Lily King’s Writers and Lovers in its attention to the details of being a very young adult. A great depiction of codependence as well. Like a favorite from last year (They’re Going to Love You), I kept shaking my head at characters in their 30s/40s laying all culpability at the feet of the 21-year-old.

An American Marriage, by Tayari Jones: Wrenching…I knew the broad outlines of the plot before I started, but still a devastating read.

Bright Young Women, by Jessica Knoll: Fantastic. This is a fictionalized version of a woman who encounters Ted Bundy (who isn’t named in the book, as one of the points is that he wasn’t actually particularly interesting) but also has an entire plot outside of the Bundy murders. Scathing and galvanizing.

The Best Minds: Started this a few months ago, found it hard to concentrate on the first chapter, had to return it to the library, picked it up again and this time got a better foothold. What an absolute wallop of a book. Rigorously introspective, wide in its scope – the author’s relationship with his childhood friend, who develops schizophrenia after college, is the primary narrative, but the book also takes on America’s shifting attitudes toward institutionalization, deinstitutionalization, medication, and the portrayal of mental illness, all while also interrogating the character of the 1960s, 70s, and beyond – I found it completely mesmerizing. My (merely cosmetic) quibble is that while there were many beautiful and illuminating sentences, there were also some that bent so hard toward cleverness they ground the flow of language to a halt.

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Under the Harrow, by Flynn Berry: I had mixed feelings about this – it’s very atmospheric and surprising, but I struggled to remember the characters’ names and identities outside of the narrator and her sister. For some reason, they just wouldn’t stay with me. The ending was slightly abrupt but satisfying.

The Quickening: Creation and Community at the Ends of the Earth, by Elizabeth Rush: An entwined narrative about the Antarctic glaciers and the choice to become a parent – events that are more interrelated even than by the obvious thread of climate change and uncertainty. Fascinating and compelling, it gained an extra layer in the reasonable comparison between the first months of COVID isolation and life on the Antarctica-bound ship where the author spent six (?) weeks.

Leave the World Behind, by Rumaan Alam: I did not love this – alas, while I appreciate the intentions, the execution (without giving too much away) didn’t work for me; I’ve read other novels in which “precipitating incident” does not form the plot but simply forces a setting, and they did it better. The writing is sharp and witty but felt very same-level throughout – no beat more important than any other beat. (My family watched the movie over the holidays and I can’t recommend it either, although I did appreciate the less-coy level ofI exposition about “precipitating incident.”

Doppelganger, by Naomi Klein: Cannot say enough great things about this – it’s brilliant. Rigorous, inward- and outward-looking, incisive, creative. In some ways, quite depressing, but crucial.

Deadly Quiet City, by Murong Xuecun: Really stark nonfiction about the first weeks of the pandemic in Wuhan, which the author (and those whose stories he tells) undertook great risk to report on.

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The Women Could Fly, by Megan Giddings: A fun premise (though I was confused initially when I started reading it with no background and no physical copy with a back-jacket description to orient me), but somehow felt very juvenile to me and somewhat didactic.

Alone, by Daniel Schreiber: As I read this collection of essays on living alone and un-partnered/childfree, I couldn’t stop thinking about the author’s siblings – as an only child it’s very easy for me to romanticize having siblings, and I kept thinking, “but he’s one of seven!” I know sibling relationships aren’t always close, but the writer does have at least one sibling he’s close to.

They’re Going to Love You, by Meg Howrey: This was pretty much perfect in its execution. Set in the 80s during the HIV/AIDS crisis and in the present (roughly), the novel focuses on a woman, her mother, her father, and his partner, all who have deep connections to the ballet world. I loved it.

The Marigold, by Andrew F. Sullivan: I admired this more than I enjoyed it. For me there were too many different characters and plot threads, and although it was effectively creepy, it veered slightly silly at times. That said, I thought the overall message was compelling and well-executed.

Fire Weather, by John Vaillant: Terrifying, but captivating. It’s so gratifying to read the nonfiction of someone whose choices – about what to include and what to exclude, about how many people to focus on, about what seemingly unrelated concerns we should be thinking about – are so on point. The way Vaillant writes about fire itself is fascinating; the balance of history, chemistry, physics, meteorology, and the human stories of the Fort McMurray Fire in Alberta, Canada is deft; and the comparisons he draws among the rapaciousness of fire, corporations, and colonizers is amazing. The only thing I wanted more about was the indigenous community north of Fort McMurray (where many people from Fort McMurray fled), which seemed oddly absent from a book so cognizant of colonization. Overall, one of the best books I read this year.

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Hell Bent, by Leigh Bardugo: As someone admittedly not a frequent reader of fantasy, I suppose it makes sense that I enjoyed the first Alex Stern book – Ninth House – more than this one; this sequel goes full force into demons and devils and heaven and hell where the first dipped more of a toe in. It was generally fun, though.

Dirt Creek, by Haley Scrivenor: A quality mystery/examination of a small town, reminiscent of Jane Harper’s The Dry.

The Diamond Eye, by Kate Quinn: I loved Quinn’s The Rose Code, but this one felt both overwritten and overlong, with fifteen battles where five would have done for the plot and prose that shaded purple at times. I will say the conclusion was satisfying.

Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead, by Barbara Comyns: After reading Cursed Bread and loving it I saw this recommended as a comp – published almost forty years ago and set in England instead of France, but based on the same historical event. The writing is mesmerizing, an off-kilter Mother Goose rampaging through a demented watercolor painting of the countryside. Macabre and amazing even if it all ends a bit abruptly.

The Quiet Tenant, by Clémence Michallon: Oh boy did this one build tension effectively. We start with a woman who has been locked in a shed for five years and move from there to a setting with fewer physical bonds but just as many psychological ones.

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The Sun Walks Down, by Fiona McFarlane: Slow-paced but dreamy. I know have a predisposition toward books set in Australia, but this was especially appealing.

Natural Beauty, by Ling Ling Huang: The premise was great but everything did unravel after the setup was established, getting very silly in the end.

Tell Us No Secrets, by Siena Sterling: Was this YA? I don’t think it was intended to be, but…a very rote, highly on the nose, somewhat didactic entry to the “something bad happened at boarding school” genre (which does contain some great books). Nothing new is being said here, even if it’s geared toward a YA audience.

We Need New Names, by NoViolet Bulawayo: This is billed as a novel and does have a throughline, but felt very impressionistic and very much a set of thematically linked stories. It didn’t all quite hang together for me – amazing pieces that felt stronger on their own.

Prom Mom, by Laura Lippman: I never fail to be impressed by Laura Lippman’s writing and plotting. Initially I thought this was going to take a twist that disappointed me, but I should have known better. The characters were all unlikeable in various degrees and ways, which I’ve seen critiqued as a failure of the book, but seemed clearly intentional to me!

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Homegrown: Timothy McVeigh and the Rise of Right-Wing Extremism, by Jeffrey Toobin: This is a unique book in that (as I learned in the introduction) it’s incredibly uncommon for a complete set of court documents and communication between lawyer and client to be made publically available. As such, it’s very complete. But it’s almost exclusively focused on McVeigh and the Oklahoma City bombing, and I was hoping for more about the January 6th Capitol riots. There’s a connection drawn between them and frequent references to Jan. 6th, but very little about the day and event itself. This isn’t a fault of the book, but I was disappointed by the more circumscribed scope. (Also, I only realized half of the grossness of Jeffrey Toobin before I read this, and even that I was remembering partially wrong.)

Yellowface, by R.F. Kuang: A wild ride – funny and horrifying. Obviously there are some similarities in subject between this and Last Resort, but they’re also alike in causing me to audibly gasp and think no, no, no whenever the main character made one more awful decision. The ending strained at the boundaries of farce a bit; no matter.

Traffic, by Ben Smith: I knew far more about the early days, rise, and fall of Gawker than I did about the trajectory of Buzzfeed. Really interesting to read about the parallel but very different journeys of the founders, the writers in the early days, and the more recent events, especially since (in Gawker’s case) I watched it happen in real time and have met or am adjacent to some of the people involved.

Cursed Bread, by Sophie McIntosh: WOW. This was an incredible gut punch of a book. I had to laugh at a one-star Goodreads review that simply read “bread smut.” Not completely wrong, but I found this stunning. Definitely McIntosh’s best so far.

Pathogenesis: A History of the World in Eight Plagues, by Jonathan Kennedy: I’m never going to turn down a book about plagues! Loved the thoughtful structure of the book – which is not actually about eight distinct plagues but rather eight periods of history and the characteristic plagues that defined them – and most of the conclusions.

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Ninth House, by Leigh Bardugo: I wasn’t sure I would be able to buy into a mystery whose plot hinges on ghosts, demons, and magic, but dare I say this was a romp. Silly in places, but very atmospheric, and I’ll definitely pick up the sequel.

Small Game, by Blair Braverman: I found this fun and overall satisfying, and though I’ve seen some quibbles about the ending, it worked for me.

To Be Taught, if Fortunate, by Becky Chambers: More outer space, in this case quieter and consumed by the human elements and questions of ethics rather than technology. At times it felt slightly didactic, and the ending wasn’t especially satisfying, but the depictions of other worlds and of a crowd-funded version of NASA were engaging.

Everybody Knows, by Jordan Harper: Oof this was well-plotted but made me feel somewhat gross. Definitely a page turner, clearly inspired by real, horrific elements of Hollywood, and perhaps slightly less ambiguous about the two main characters’ moralities than it intended to be (a fair amount of posturing about “finally doing the right thing” that felt…insubstantial). The author is a man and the female narrator is written believably but the characterization of the teenage girl is laughable.

The Ferryman, by Justin Cronin: I’m sorry but this was so dumb. You might be thinking, well, Claire, what did you expect? I would answer…something more like The Passage, which has a much less silly plot (granted, mileage may vary) and, at least in my recollection, has totally fine prose. The writing here felt like it may have been aiming for “fable” but instead was simply bad. As for the plot, maybe it could have been redeemed with better writing – it’s nothing especially new, but I’ve enjoyed similar ideas in Black Mirror and some other books – but I’m doubtful.

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