In 2019, I committed to read 36 books on the Goodreads Reading Challenge. I simply decided to add one to the number of books I read in 2018. I beat my goal by 6 books, but it must be acknowledged that some of these books were really small and one I did not complete in entirety (a text book), so a tiny bit of cheating! One reason why I found this meme so amusing:
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‘That
still only counts as one!’ (Funko POP Gimli and Legolas). Reprinted from
Writing About Writing in Facebook,
November 18, 2019.
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Rejoining the local library in 2018 reinvigorated my
excitement for browsing and reading more randomly and freely (in more ways than
one). For a long while I had been buying, borrowing or re-reading books from my
shelf, so my interests were narrowed. I have been trying to broaden my reading.
(A few weeks ago: ‘I have broken my rule that I pick up one book from the
sci-fi fantasy shelves and one from the general shelves.’ M shook his head and
said, ‘Self-imposed rules.’)
Between required texts for uni and catching up on
old works by much-loved authors, I have managed to read a lot of great and a
lot of mediocre books. I have also read a number of anthologies and short story
collections (including such things as Island
magazine). Here are some of the highlights and low-lights of my 2019
reading:
Classics
For these purposes I will identify a ‘classic’ as
an ‘older’ book, including ones by my favourite authors.
Wizard of the Pigeons, Megan Lindholm
I have yet to nab all of Lindholm’s (aka Robin
Hobb) early works; nevertheless this one is a standout.
This is not your everyday fantasy novel, and yet it is exactly that. An unassuming
homeless man who has an affinity with pigeons spirals into a state of mind and
situation that seems impossible to escape. The magic and the depiction of the
homeless folk in this book is delivered with such realism and empathy. This
book also deals with trauma in a sensitive and creative way that has you
questioning and yet accepting the reality of the narrative through to the end.
One of my five star reads from the year.
A portrait of the artist as a young man, James Joyce
Baffled yet somewhat entertained by the ‘moocow’
and the stream-of-consciousness of early childhood, fighting my way through the
endless hellfire sermon (all so especially endless reading it foolishly on my
iPhone 4S – a download from the
Gutenberg Project), and ultimately confused by where and when and who his
girl is, somehow I still wrote an essay. What I found most interesting in the
end was a discussion about how the dangers
of walking in the urban environment figured into Joyce’s writing.
Reading Joyce for my Irish Literature unit also gave
me a special appreciation of T.I.S.M.’s reference in ‘whatareya’. Is Joyce
genius or wanker? I suppose narcissism follows both those options and this book
is certainly narcissistic – even the walking figures into that. Is it worth
reading? I would say so, as a lighter experience Joyce’s major work that goes
further than Dubliners into
stream-of-consciousness but not so far as Ulysses.
Myth
Weight, Jeanette Winterson
I purchased Weight
at the same time as The passion of new
Eve, clearly on a feminist buying bent to use a voucher at Dymocks.
The reviews on Goodreads of Weight are at two ends of the pendulum: people that hated it citing
vulgarity, people that loved it citing Winterson’s endless poeticism. This is
not high on my list of loved Winterson books. I did find the crudity distasteful,
but perhaps that was simply a clever method of creating a dislikeable character
in Heracles, but also in exposing the narcissism of gods and demi-gods alike
and thus creating a contrast to Atlas’ character.
Circe, Madeline Miller
Miller’s writing is accessible and her beautiful
imagery evokes the poeticism of imagery in classical myth. This book was more
enjoyable than Weight. Cleverly
building in a host of stories about the gods that Circe became involved in, the
story mostly focuses on her island exile for aeons. Unlovely and unpopular,
Circe must discover and develop her own abilities and her self through her
exile. Over time she also discovers the truths of those whose paths crossed
hers, such as Odysseus, her father, Helios, and Scylla, the nymph-turned-monster.
Sci-fi fantasy
The companions, Sheri S. Tepper
Probably only second to the other Sheri S. Tepper
novel I read in length in 2019 (The
Margarets, at 528 pages), The
companions was another revelation of female sci-fi writing.
This book was lush in description and culture.
Perhaps the villains were the clichéd anti-human in sci-fi and some of the
discoveries related to them predictable or too obvious. I found the protagonist
near-unlikeable, despite her love of animals in an almost animal-free earth and
her disappointed ‘marriage’ (to another unlikeable character), the lushness of
the settings and back-story and the action kept me hooked. The story is a
suitably grand-opera style one for such a long sci-fi novel with the fate of
humanity and the universe at risk, but the planetary mysteries at the heart of
the back-story were much more engaging and well-imagined and written. I loved
the richness and vastness of this novel, my first taste of Tepper, despite the
latent hollowness of its protagonist.
Dystopia
Cat’s Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut
I recall attempting to read Slaughterhouse five once and putting it down because it felt like
derivative humour: who could beat Douglas Adams at that particular satirical
style? I do realise Vonnegut predates Adams, so this is an anachronous complaint.
Cat’s Cradle hit the spot with
journalistic veracity. The protagonist, a writer, was conducting research for a
story that connected with his own history. The father of the atom bomb was a
composite of facts and fictions that simply rang true. This set a steady
platform for the more ridiculous elements of the plot to play out, so in a
sense they became less shaky. The religious quotes - and calypsos – from Bokononism
added to this bizarre veracity too. As did the flawed nature of the writer
becoming more and more evident as the story went along.
Vox, Christine Dalcher
Vox is a dystopian novel that
featured on all the lists in 2018, frequently with the blurb suggesting it was
the new The handmaid’s tale. In this,
the oppression of women occurs swiftly after the far-right president’s
election. All women are fitted with wristbands that electrocute them if they
speak over 100 words in a day.
I always admire the author that has the ability to
lead the reader to the assumptions they seem to push into your head, but some
authors haven’t yet got the subtlety of this. I figured out Dalcher’s sting
pretty early in the piece and wondered why her smart protagonist had not yet
worked it out.
Possibly most disturbing is the relatable actions
of the male characters in the protagonist’s life, especially her son. The
actions are not subtle and they are somehow not surprising. The fear and impact
on her young daughter’s life is also effective. Is it a feminine cliché if the
smartness of this particular protagonist is drowned out by her emotional
reactions?
Similar reads: The
testaments, Margaret Atwood (for which I have written a review elsewhere); The
shining wall, Melissa Ferguson; Woman
on the edge of time, Marge Piercy; The
core of the sun, Johanna Sinisalo. This post was getting far too long, so some more mini-reviews will be in Part 2...
Read My year in books 2019, Part 2.
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