Every year that you read is a good reading year. It doesn’t matter the subject, the format, the setting, the circumstances, the quantities, maybe even the quality, the company (or not), any of that … just read. You’ll be better for it.
Of course, the company often makes a wonderful difference. Whether it’s in person, silently, with other readers, or virtually, with others sharing oh, say, their poetry picks … it all enhances the experience. Combine that with an attentive partner who finds you books you didn’t even know you needed, and add a dash, or two, or more, of whimsy … and you have another astonishing year of words on the page or in your ears, taking you to amazing places.
Oh, and it’s not a competition … even if I do kinda keep track, and do kinda think 100 is a cool number on which to land at the end of the year. Here are some other things I kept track of:
Poetry works read: 58
Fiction works read: 34
Non-fiction works read: 8
Works reread: 11
Works by Canadian authors: 68
Works in translation: 4
Graphic novels: 2
Works read aloud (with partner): 1
Audiobooks: 10
The silent book club reports I also feature on this blog always includes a combined list of what everyone in the group is reading. As I remark when I introduce those lists, every title on our group’s generous lists means that at least one (but usually more) readers have given that title thoughtful consideration. That doesn’t mean that every work on our lists is expressly recommended, of course. Without weighing in too heavily on my own list, I’ll just say the same: that inclusion on this list always means that I’ve devoted time and attention to a title. I think that means something, because for good or for bad (and we’ve discussed this a lot at sbc meetings), I rarely do not finish (DNF) a book I start. I know, I know … life’s too short, etc., etc. …
Anyhow, I’m just going to unfurl the list, in all its glory …
Looking back on my years in reading in 2020 and 2021 was challenging because those were uniquely challenging years for all of us, in all ways. Enough said.
Looking back on my year in reading in 2022 is also proving challenging. The third year into whatever-we’re-calling-this-stage-of-yes-it’s-still-a-pandemic, we’re all coping, semi-resuming pre-pandemic activities and practices and forging new versions of normal. Some of the challenges I’m finding are actually not so bad, like, say, this challenge to this bookish household:
Actually, Mavis (named after Staples, Gallant and Wilton) joined this household late in 2022, so she didn’t so much distract my reading as distract me from assembling my customary “year in reading” post this month. After work, playing with puppy, reading and hanging out virtually with book friends, writing about my reading feels kind of further down the list these days. And in all fairness to Mavis and her mentor, Tilly, our dogs are generally conducive to our reading, not a distraction. I am still feeling sharply the loss of a very dear reading companion, Jake, who was also a silent but influential presence at many of our silent book club zoom meetings.
Here are the books I read, reread and read aloud in 2022.
For each book on this year’s list, I’ve sought out links to reviews – not my own, but ones with which I concur – author interviews and/or publisher information. Hope this is helpful if you want to learn more about any of these titles.
I’ve remarked on the following in reference to our silent book club combined reading lists. I realize more and more that the same thing applies to me as a reader, one with a penchant for finishing all or most of what I start: Any title on any of our group’s lists means that at least one (often more) readers have given that title some consideration. That is encouragement, I’d say, for other readers reading our reports and lists to consider it, too. Is that a recommendation? It might be, but not exactly or necessarily. It always means that a title has been given attention and thought by our readers, which counts for a lot. So, that I have devoted my precious time as a reader to every book from the first page to the last means – at least to me, I hope to you too – that everything on my reading lists every year have been fully considered and overall, at least appreciated, often much more than that.
I’m also incorporating a feature in this year’s list that is perhaps as close as I’ll ever get to a “top x reads of the year” kind of distinction. As I was laying out this list of titles, some of them just glowed with memories of particularly satisfying or striking reads, likely paired with good settings, ideal company (or not), perfect timing and more. So, I’ve bolded those glowing titles. That’s it.
14. H of H Playbook, Euripides translated by Anne Carson
15. Gabriel by Edward Hirsch 16. Hotline by Dimitri Nasrallah
17. Mad Shadows by Marie-Claire Blais, translated by Merloyd Lawrence
In 2022, I read a total of 85 works. That’s down from the dramatic-for-me total of 102 works in 2021, but it’s still darned good. That total broke out as:
26 works of fiction (novels and short story collections)
49 poetry collections and
10 works of non-fiction.
I reread 13 books. (I’ll blog about it next – our silent book club inaugurated its new themed format meetings with a discussion about delights and pitfalls of rereading.) I read 7 works in translation, read 3 graphic works and read 52 works by Canadian authors. My husband and I read 5 books aloud to each other this year, a lively and intriguing cross section of subjects and authors:
The Storyteller by Dave Grohl
Erebus: The Story of a Ship by Michael Palin
Palaces for the People – How Social Infrastructure Can Help Fight Inequality, Polarization, and the Decline of Civic Life by Eric Klinenberg
On the Trail of the Jackalope by Michael P. Branch
The Year of the Puppy by Alexandra Horowitz
I also kept track again this year of the publication dates of the books I read. In 2022, the oldest book I read was published in 1816 (Emma by Jane Austen), and I read 8 books before 2000, improving on my intention in recent years to read more older books. More than half of the books I read this year were published in 2021 or 2022.
So far in 2022, I’ve read or have in progress:
The Descendants by Robert Chursinoff
The Thinking Heart: The Etty Drawings (1983-1984) Claire Wilks by Jessica Hiemstra
Towards a General Theory of Love by Clare Shaw
Walk the Blue Fields by Claire Keegan
Lessons by Ian McEwan
Young Skins by Colin Barrett
To wrap it up in consistently Groundhog Day-ish fashion (just barely before Groundhog Day, actually), here are my observations from the last couple of years, which are still very applicable again this year:
For yet another year, I’m looking back with quiet satisfaction (and with gratitude to the practices and people who helped and inspired) on my reading during an extraordinarily difficult year, and looking forward with quiet optimism to where my reading this new year will take me. I’m grateful to the writers, publishers, reviewers and fellow readers who have spurred on and broadened my reading. I’m thankful as always for the bounty of beautiful words that came to me via so many conduits, evoking such an array of ideas, trains of thought, memories and associations, providing so much off the page, too.
I’ll simply conclude, once again …
It’s not how many books or works you read (in whatever form) that counts. It’s that you read that counts – and it counts so very much.
And I might add … If you can read in good company, be it a partner, a four-legged reading companion and/or a group of trusted bookish friends, your reading will always be imbued with a special, warm glow.
Coming round to another January, it occurs to me that the pandemic has turned entire years into Groundhog’s Day. I’m doing my usual ponder of my year in reading, taking a look at the reflections of other readers and the books and reading that filled their year … and it’s all feeling like, well, we’ve been here before, in almost exactly these same circumstances.
That’s not entirely a bad thing. As I remarked this time last year, reflecting on 2020, our reading then was a source of diversion, comfort, inspiration and more, and it was again – as it needed to be – again in 2021.
Early in 2021, I was delighted to team up with writer and blogger Liza Achilles to tackle the subject of how to maintain one’s enthusiasm and focus for reading (essentially, to keep the reading mojo workin’) during the pandemic. We exchanged blog posts, with Liza’s piece appearing here and my piece appearing on Liza’s blog – and what a revealing and energizing exercise that was.
Again in 2021, most of the events and gatherings normally enjoyed live and in-person were online. The silent book club groups in which I take part all moved online during the first wave of pandemic closures and lockdowns, and largely continued on as such this past year. Once again, the attendees of our silent book club gatherings collectively helped each other through struggles with our reading – intermittent concentration, flagging attention span, lessened energy, emotions triggered and so on – and I chronicled some of that in our reports. As I mentioned last year, I was determined to keep up our groups’ reports and not only did that throughout this year, but got many of our group members to write the introductions, all lively and interesting in their own fashions.
Respecting local guidelines and restrictions, our silent book club members still managed to meet for brief, physically distanced, but still heart lifting gatherings in the park … even as the weather grew colder again.
Along with silent book club meetings, most of the book launches and poetry readings I would normally enjoy in person were largely online again in 2021. Virtual gatherings are getting more sophisticated and are smoothing out the technical challenges (although some of the zoom oopsies occasionally add welcome whimsy to the occasion) … but still, nothing can compare to live events. How uplifting that the indefatigable poetry force knife | fork | book was able to present live readings in a singular setting in east end Toronto, as part of the launch of kfb’s retail presence at Great Escape Bookstore. I rhapsodized about it all on Twitter.
Again this year, I took up the somewhat intimidating but rewarding Sealey Challenge for reading yet more poetry. Started in 2017 by American poet and educator Nicole Sealey, and steered through social media with the hashtag #thesealeychallenge, the idea is to commit and do your best to read 31 works of poetry over the course of 31 days in August. I managed to do it again this year. I always have had a poetry collection on the go, but reading at this pace turns it into a whole new, mind-expanding experience – at times overwhelming but always exhilarating. Again, it was such a boost. Yes, I will aim to do it again. This past challenge, I roughly planned out a reading sequence of full works, chapbooks and a mix of new, new to me and rereads, and am already mapping out my August, 2022 poetry playlist.
I continued my commitment in 2021 to a daily devotion to at least one poem … and usually more, as friends on Twitter continued to generously share their poem choices and reflections via the #todayspoem hashtag. I have now completed 10 years of uninterrupted daily poetry tweets and am barrelling on into year 11.
Another practice that continues to enhance my weekly reading joy as I navigate through books is that of #sundaysentence, championed by author David Abrams. As I’ve observed before, seeking a beautifully or uniqued crafted sentence each week sharpens my attention when I’m reading. I also love discovering new works through the #sundaysentence choices of other readers.
In years past when I’ve looked back on my reading, I’ve reminisced about where I was when I was reading this or that, or I’ve linked to longer notes and reviews here on this blog, on Goodreads, etc. As I refrained in 2020, I’m not going to do that again this year. Somehow, in spite of it all, I had a bountiful year of reading by just ploughing ahead – with, of course, a little help from my bookish friends. I’m going to keep doing that again this upcoming year in reading, and wish the same for everyone.
Here are the books I read, reread and read aloud in 2021.
(For each book on this year’s list, I’ve sought out links to reviews – not my own, but ones with which I concur – author interviews and/or publisher information. Hope this is helpful if you want to learn more about any of these titles.)
In 2021, I read a total of 102 works. That broke out as:
27 works of fiction (novels and short story collections)
63 poetry collections and
12 works of non-fiction.
I reread 5 books. I read 5 works in translation, read one graphic work and read 64 works by Canadian authors. My husband and I read 2 books aloud to each other this year – A Promised Land by Barack Obama and Empire of Pain by Patrick Radden Keefe – both absorbing works that felt like long but very worthy journeys.
I also kept track again this year of the publication dates of the books I read. In 2021, the oldest book I read was published in 1925 (Gentlemen Prefer Blondes by Anita Loos), but only read four books before 2000, kind of backtracking on my intention in recent years to read more older books. More than half of the books I read this year were published in 2020 or 2021.
So far in 2022, I’ve read or have in progress:
Hell Light Flesh by Klara du Plessis
Postcolonial Love Poem by Natalie Diaz
Undersong by Kathleen Winter
The Storyteller by Dave Grohl (read aloud)
To wrap it up in consistently Groundhog Day-ish fashion, here are my observations from a year ago, which are still very applicable again this year:
For yet another year, I’m looking back with quiet satisfaction (and with gratitude to the practices and people who helped and inspired) on my reading during an extraordinarily difficult year, and looking forward with quiet optimism to where my reading this new year will take me. I’m grateful to the writers, publishers, reviewers and fellow readers who have spurred on and broadened my reading. I’m thankful as always for the bounty of beautiful words that came to me via so many conduits, evoking such an array of ideas, trains of thought, memories and associations, providing so much off the page, too.
I’ll simply conclude …
It’s not how many books or works you read (in whatever form) that counts. It’s that you read that counts – and it counts so very much.
Early January, in that sweet cushion of time between post-holiday festivities and pre-back to work, has become a time I relish for contemplating my year past in reading and for absorbing and appreciating the musings of fellow readers as they share their own reflections. Interestingly, I find myself leaping/flipping/scrolling past the “best of” lists and instead gravitating more and more to the reflections about reading as exploration, revelation, often deliciously meandering journey, shared experience, opportunity to bust out of staid categories and forge new ones … and more.
Those who read steadily and think about reading inspire me, including Shawna Lemay, Kerry Clare, Tanis MacDonald (who, if you’re fortunate to be connected to her on Facebook, has done some mighty category-busting this year). Those who gather to share with delight and fervor their varied reading experiences, such as the generous attendees at two different silent book club gatherings I attended regularly this year, bring my reading enthusiasm and devotion to new levels every month.
Reading is not a competitive sport, but that doesn’t stop me from challenging myself (and, I hope not intimidatingly, others at times) … and this turned out to be a banner year, particularly after the struggles with which I contended in 2018. I read the most books ever in a year since I’ve been keeping track – 65 – and I came this close to considering posting a “10 best” list this year because some of the reading was that good. But I reminded myself that sometimes the setting and circumstances and company and more around each particular read often elevated what I was reading, and it’s those experiences I want to celebrate and strive to have more of in future.
In addition to my year’s reading list, I continued my commitment in 2019 to a daily devotion to at least one poem … and usually more, as friends on Twitter continued to generously share their poem choices and reflections via the #todayspoem hashtag. I’m now heading into my ninth uninterrupted year (that’s right, I have not missed a single day) of poetry tweets.
Another practice that heightens my weekly reading joy as I navigate through books is that of #sundaysentence, tirelessly championed and curated by author David Abrams. As I observed last year, seeking a weekly gem seems to sharpen my attention when I’m reading, and I love discovering new works through the #sundaysentence choices of other readers.
Last year, my husband arranged for my then 35-year-old book of books (in which I’ve recorded my reading since I graduated from university in 1983) to be beautifully rebound, by bookbinder Don Taylor. Now 36 years old, it is still the place I go to first to record my continued adventures in reading.
Here are the books I read and read aloud in 2019, with a few recollections of where I was when I was reading them.
“Knowledge didn’t guarantee power, safety and relief and often for some it meant the opposite of power, safety and relief – leaving no outlet for dispersal either, of all the heightened stimuli that had been built by being up on in the first place. Purposely not wanting to know therefore, was exactly what my reading-while-walking was about.”
I so enjoyed getting lost in the feisty and singular voice of reading-while-walking maybe-girlfriend middle sister in Anna Burns’ Milkman. This book was a steady companion for the first couple of weeks of the year, at home, on transit and at silent book club.
I remember reading this at home in a fairly swift and gorgeous swoosh. Helen Humphreys is consistently masterful at creating lush prose around sometimes unlikely subjects, this time the imagined life and thoughts of real life salmon-fly dresser, Megan Boyd, a craftswoman who worked for sixty years out of a bare-bones cottage in a small village in the north of Scotland. That remote cottage was visited by Prince Charles, an avid user of her uniquely crafted flies who made the trip there to present her with the British Empire Medal.
“He walks. That is his name and nature. / Rows of buildings, all alike, / doors and windows, people going in, looking out; / inside – halls and stairs, halls and stairs, / and more doors, opening and closing.”
Robin Robertson’s The Long Take is a singular and hypnotic blend of poetry and prose, sometimes starting as one and ending as the other in one paragraph, sentence or phrase.
From the very, very cold January night when Ian Williams launched his debut novel to a very cold night in November at the end of the Canadian literature awards season, it was a pleasure to cheer on Reproduction. The book is challenging in its experimental approach to how language on the page can evolve – clearly drawing on the poetry foundation of Williams’ oeuvre – and its cast of characters is thorny, but diligent readers are rewarded for giving this book full and concentrated attention.
Yes, dear readers, we read Wuthering Heights aloud … and its tempestuous plot and characters and often exquisitely overwrought prose made it a surprisingly entertaining experience from beginning to end. As the likes of Meghan Cox Gurdon contend – and my husband and I have known and appreciated for years – “Storytime isn’t just for young children”.
Can You Ever Forgive Me? Memoirs of a Literary Forger
Lee Israel
2008
In rapid succession, I read the book and then we saw the movie, where Lee Israel is portrayed unforgettably by Melissa McCarthy. Book and movie are an unusually well-matched pair of interpretations of an intriguing bookish tale and singular character.
Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk
Kathleen Rooney
2017
Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk made the rounds as a popular choice of our silent book club.
Nirliit
Juliana Leveille-Trudel, translated by Anita Anand
2018
Human Hours
Catherine Barnett
2018
This collection of sometimes rueful but always very grounded poems about everyday human frailties and foibles was one of my favourite poetry reads of the past year.
Living Up To a Legend
Diana Bishop
2017
(read aloud)
These are not the potatoes of my youth
Matthew Walsh
2019
“I get so worried when I see space news. I heard astronauts
incinerate their underwear and the ash falls to Earth.”
Couch potato by Matthew Walsh from These are not the potatoes of my youth
Indisputably my favourite title of the year, this was also one of my favourite poetry reads of 2019.
Belonging – A German Reckons with History and Home
Nora Krug
2018
This book presents an intriguing approach to a non-fiction/memoir piece tackling troubling subject matter. Nora Krug uses a beautifully realized illustrated / graphic novel format to confront her family’s wartime past in Nazi Germany. I came to this book by way of a trusted recommendation from a silent book club friend.
No Bones
Anna Burns
2001
This early Anna Burns novel was also recommended to me by the silent book club friend from whom I learned about Nora Krug’s Belonging – A German Reckons with History and Home. It was interesting to see Anna Burns building her craft to what culminates so exquisitely in Milkman.
The Perseverance
Raymond Antrobus
2018
The Perseverance by Raymond Antrobus – moving, fierce, unforgettable – garnered awards and attention galore in 2019, particularly astonishing and gratifying for a debut collection. How wonderful that the work was shortlisted for the 2019 Griffin Poetry Prize, which means we got to see and capture a powerful presentation of his poems:
“You’ll know when the Queen of the Sea is here because she calms the waters and the clouds gather overhead.”
I enjoyed Michelle Kadarusman’s gorgeous middle grade novel Girl of the Southern Sea myself before giving it to a young friend. The book was a highly deserving finalist for the 2019 Governor General’s Literary Awards in the category of Young People’s Literature.
This book is astoundingly well-crafted, a perfect balance of contemporary family drama, intriguing and cautionary character study and flat-out pageturner suspense thriller. Lynn Coady has created something singular, giving us food for thought about how we care for each other and how life evolves and sometimes changes abruptly and demands that we cope – all while mining our deepest fears yet never losing sight of the value of human compassion and resilience.
There Are Not Enough Sad Songs
Marita Dachsel
2019
“Tell me, as we take in this splendour,
have we run out of firsts – the ones that glow,
that bring joy? Old friend, please say no.”
now is the season of open windows by Marita Dachsel from There Are Not Enough Sad Songs
"Tell me, as we take in this splendour, have we run out of firsts – the ones that glow, that bring joy? Old friend, please say no."#todayspoem now is the season of open windows by @MaritaDachsel from There Are Not Enough Sad Songs (2019 @UAlbertaPress) pic.twitter.com/lEOzybjRuX
Having just read Heave (again, another spot-on recommendation from a silent book club friend), it was a particular treat to then get an advance copy of Christy Ann Conlin’s riveting short story collection Watermark, in which one of the stories is a variation on the startling opening sequence of Heave (which, by the way, was written 17 years earlier).
Our annual cottage weekend with friends includes an evening of readings, for which I selected the Flannery O’Connor-esque story “Full Bleed” – whoa.
“For healing, esp asthma in a child: core out a hole in trunk, put lock of asthmatic’s hair in hole. Plug hole. When child has reached height of hole, asthma will be all gone.”
from Casting Deep Shade by C.D. Wright
At its very simplest a meditation on the power and presence of trees, C.D. Wright’s posthumously published Casting Deep Shade is a treasure with which to spend concentrated and devoted time as it runs the emotional and intellectual gamut and takes you through poetry, prose, folklore, technical and scientific discourse, history and much more.
“it’s no crime to resemble discarded inventory
not a crime to regard others
with what appears to be only basic species recognition”
An Unexpected Encounter with He Who Has Been Left Alone to His Perils by Karen Solie from The Caiplie Caves
"it's no crime to resemble discarded inventory not a crime to regard others with what appears to be only basic species recognition"#todayspoem An Unexpected Encounter with He Who Has Been Left Alone to His Perils by Karen Solie from The Caiplie Caves (2019 @HouseofAnansi) pic.twitter.com/FLKDRoxWPL
Spirited Janina is one of my favourite characters tromping determinedly out of the pages of another one of this year’s reading highlights. And again, it seems it was a great year for titles, too … this one stirs my blood!
“Air empties, but for the squeak of strings and the tap tap of wooden fists against the walls.”
And Yet, on Some Nights by Ilya Kaminsky from Deaf Republic
Unnerving, astounding, incredibly moving …
In My Own Moccasins – A Memoir of Resilience
Helen Knott
2019
Say Nothing – A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland
Patrick Radden Keefe
2019
(read aloud)
Patrick Radden Keefe has crafted an absorbing and compelling combination detective story and oral history out of one of the most heartrending of the unsolved murders during the Troubles in Northern Ireland. This was absolutely amazing to read aloud, too.
Ducks, Newburyport by Lucy Ellmann was not only the reading experience of the year for me, but it will remain as one of the most indelible of my life as a reader, I predict. The 1,000-page one-sentence tome capturing the rambling thoughts of a nervous pie-making mother and homemaker in contemporary Ohio could be dismissed and avoided on so many grounds, perhaps, but it is not to be missed. As she runs the gamut from recipes and grocery lists to concerns for her four children, love for her second husband, memories of her mother and other family members, anger and fear at the state of her home and nation under the odious shadow of Trump … and more … and more … and more … her voice doesn’t just remain in your head, it sinks into you at a cellular level. How her life seemingly inexplicably intertwines with that of a mountain lion tirelessly seeking the children that have been taken away from her turns the last pages of the book into a suspenseful ride that is almost unbearable … but by then, you simultaneously do not want it to end.
Even with its heft and awkwardness, I couldn’t help taking it everywhere with me … which means I’ll associate it with reading on the subway, in bed, at the cottage, at the blood donor clinic … and being utterly absorbed and entranced, no matter where I was.
“By the Don, beneath the bridge, gargoyles brought to earth, scale-model dragons and angels of revisionist history, beasts of Bay Street brought low and eye to eye with ideology and staghorn sumac …” Jane and the Monsters for Beauty, Permanence, and Individuality by Tanis MacDonald from Mobile
Who better than a poet to orchestrate uncommon magic on a gray Saturday morning in the heart of noisy #Toronto? Read the whole story here.
I Am Sovereign
Nicola Barker
2019
A new Nicola Barker is always cause for celebration, at least by this reader. This novella is signature Barker brilliance, and another step in her experimentation with breaking down the walls between characters, reader and writer. Utterly fascinating!
This captures, by the way, one of my favourite places and times of the day to read – breakfast on a working weekday, after I’ve done my initial check-in for email and work-related social media updates and have my working day mapped out.
Deborah Levy’s interview with Eleanor Wachtel in November at Revival Bar was peculiar and strangely recalcitrant, but Wachtel’s team ably edited it for broadcast. I love Levy’s work, so I tried to block out the odd interview behaviour as I read The Man Who Saw Everything and enjoyed it immensely. It’s the sort of book that I suspect I will go back to and glean different gems of insight with each reread.
Renaissance Normcore
Adele Barclay
2019
My Father, Fortune-tellers & Me
Eufemia Fantetti
2019
Night Boat to Tangier
Kevin Barry
2019
Kevin Barry offered a lively reading and generous insights to interviewer Charles Foran at the Toronto Public Library in September, still fresh in my mind when I read and was utterly enthralled with the book in November.
One of three rereads this year, Marina Endicott’s Good to a Fault has been calling to me for a while, and I’m so glad I heeded the call. This was a wonderful, affecting revisit.
Crow Gulch
Douglas Walbourne-Gough
2019
“All this hard living just to stay alive.
Nice to escape, though. This feather bed.
Dream up whatever life you want.”
Escape by Douglas Walbourne-Gough from Crow Gulch
"All this hard living just to stay alive. Nice to escape, though. This feather bed. Dream up whatever life you want."#todayspoem Escape by Douglas Walbourne-Gough from Crow Gulch (2019 @goose_lane) pic.twitter.com/6PyXVNwiN7
Spent some lovely time this afternoon reading the Something to Write Home About script in conjunction with this screening and talk (including info on the Seamus Heaney HomePlace @SHHomePlace) @JaipurLitFest in 2018: https://t.co/AZ1tGoBpGj
Another of three rereads this year, a final silent book club meeting during the holiday season helped me to finish this hefty but absorbing read. I was inspired to reread it after binge watching the superbly realized mini-series of the book. The first time I read this book (the book was published in 1996 and I first read it in 2003), Margaret Atwood’s voice was the narrator in my head. This time, Sarah Gadon as Grace was the voice.
Worry
Jessica Westhead
2019
In 2019, I read a total of 65 works, a considerable leap from my challenging 2018 reading year:
33 works of fiction (novels and short story collections) – the exact same as my 2018 total
21 poetry collections and
11 works of non-fiction.
I reread 3 books, read 3 works in translation, read one graphic work (interestingly, not a novel but non-fiction) and read 36 works by Canadian authors (again, surprisingly, the exact same as my 2018 total). My husband and I read 3 books aloud to each other this year and have another one in progress as we greet the new year.
I also kept track again this year of the publication dates of the books I read. In 2019, the oldest book I read was published in 1847 (Wuthering Heights, which was also a read-aloud book and, oh my, quite the rereading experience), and I also read a number of books published in the 1990s, further fulfilling last year’s intention to read or reread some more older books (a yearly practice I intend to keep up). More than half of the books I read this year were published in 2018 or 2019.
Currently in progress, heading into 2020:
Grand Union
by Zadie Smith
Arias
by Sharon Olds
I’ll Take You There: Mavis Staples, the Staple Singers, and the March up Freedom’s Highway
by Greg Kot (reading aloud, with gusto!)
For yet another year, I’m looking back fondly and with great satisfaction on my 2019 reading and looking forward eagerly to where my 2020 reading will take me. I’m grateful to the writers, publishers, reviewers and fellow readers who have spurred on and broadened my reading. I’m thankful for the bounty of beautiful words that came to me via so many conduits, evoking such an array of ideas, trains of thought, memories and associations, providing so much off the page, too, from solace and companionship to challenges and even healthy discontent.
I’ll simply conclude (as I always do) …
It’s not how many you read that counts. It’s that you read that counts.
Most years, I try to do a little check-in partway through every year to see how my reading is going. As I’ve done in years past, I’m taking a look around the halfway point (ish) in the year at the books I’ve read so far, with links where they exist to books that I’ve reviewed or at least jotted a brief note or impression on Goodreads. As I’ve always pointed out, it’s a competition with no one but myself, but it is always useful and interesting to stop and reflect a bit where one is at with one’s reading, both quantitatively and qualitatively.
Here’s the quantitative part: Of the 38 books I’ve read so far this year, 6 were non-fiction, 14 were poetry and the balance of 18 were fiction (novels and short story collections). One book was a reread. Two books were works in translation. Twenty-one of the books were by Canadian writers. Three books were read aloud in their entirety (over a period of time, not in one sitting), which is a wonderful way to share the experience with another reader/listener.
I continue to keep track of my reading in my handwritten, 36-year-old, recently beautifully rejuvenated book of books. I’ll include some pictures of my 2019 pages in this blog post.
Qualitatively, it’s definitely another good year. There are some selections on this year inspired by book club recommendations, particularly from our much beloved local silent book club here in east end Toronto, which you know I go on and on about. I’ve been privileged to read some more books in advance of their release and hope to share some enthusiastic reviews of them in the late summer / early fall.
I always have multiple books on the go, with me wherever I go, and I am one happy reader so far in 2019. Hope you are too!
As I confessed recently, 2018 was a challenging reading year for me. I read some great books and attended some memorable readings and book events, but how I read (mostly books, sometimes on screen) and my normal reading tempo was impeded by vision problems. My vision deteriorated in an alarmingly short period of time due to the swift and severe onset of cataracts. (I didn’t mind being told I was too young to be experiencing this problem so acutely, but that was the only meagre comfort at the time.)
For a time, I didn’t know if these vision problems would be protracted or even permanent. If it was, I knew I had to accept changing how I read and would have to adapt accordingly. Other readers read in other ways, and I could too if I had to. As it turns out, surgery and support from excellent professionals means I’ll be able to continue casting my gaze on the printed page, my preferred way of reading. I’m grateful I have that option, and have heightened respect for those who come to the written word with patience and resourcefulness in other ways.
Because I was tussling just to read, I didn’t write about my reading much this year – except, as you may have noticed, about our beloved silent book club. Still, I did my best to share a few thoughts on my reading as I went along, and managed to put up some snippets on Goodreads, Twitter and even Instagram. Sometimes those wee comments sparked a bit of conversation with fellow readers, which was nice and some continued reassurance that not all of social media is a relentless dumpster fire.
I continued my commitment in 2018 to a daily devotion to at least one poem … and usually more, as friends on Twitter continued to generously share their poem choices and reflections via the #todayspoem hashtag. I’m now heading into my eighth uninterrupted year of poetry tweets. In 2017, I gathered up all my tweets here. I’ll try to do something similar with my 2018 #todayspoem tweets in the near future.
Another reading practice that sparks joy (ahem) as I navigate through books is that of #sundaysentence, tirelessly championed and curated by author David Abrams. Seeking a weekly gem seems to sharpen my attention when I’m reading, and I love discovering new works through the #sundaysentence choices of other readers.
An important milestone this reading year just past is that my treasured but admittedly battered, over 35-year-old book of books got a much needed restoration.
My husband arranged for the book (in which I’ve recorded my reading since I graduated from university in 1983) to be beautifully rebound, by bookbinder Don Taylor. If you need something that further sparks reading joy, get yourself a gorgeous book in which to record your reading – you won’t regret it.
Here are the books I read and read aloud in 2018, with a few recollections of where I was when I was reading them.
This was the only book I reread this year, but it was a splendid one to revisit. As I remarked at the time, it’s a moving, intimate and instructive look at how women can be each other’s best allies and worst enemies.
Scarborough, by Catherine Hernandez
The Finest Supermarket in Kabul, by Ele Pawelski
This book was good company during my subway travels.
I very much enjoyed this introduction to Louise Penny and Chief Inspector Armand Gamache thanks to enthusiastic recommendations from my silent book club friends.
Not only was the book captivating, but it was great to hear about it firsthand from Aitken and Anne Carson (gasp!) about a month later at the Toronto Reference Library.
Collected Tarts & Other Indelicacies, by Tabatha Southey
My husband and I read this book aloud. Much, much laughter …!
Ties, by Domenico Starnone, translated by Jhumpa Lahiri
Muskoka Holiday, by Joyce Boyle
My husband and I read this book aloud at the cottage. I remember quite vividly that this was when my vision was just about at its worst, about a month before the first of two eye surgeries. I was pleased to be able to read this book, though, because of its large print.
If you’ve read them both, you might not think Lynn Crosbie’s Chicken and Pamela Mulloy’s The Deserters have much in common. I gathered notes for, but my weary eyes never allowed me to complete a review comparing the two books on the theme of troubled relationships.
As I remarked when I finished it, Transcription‘s Juliet is an endlessly fascinating creature – who, of course, we still don’t entirely know in the end – and her adventures and dilemmas are absorbing and, at times, horrifying. This incredible book was a favourite amongst the readers in our silent book club, and a bunch of us went to here her read from it and converse with Rachel Giese at the lovely Church of the Holy Trinity in downtown Toronto.
The Blue Clerk, by Dionne Brand
Both a stunning book and a gorgeous book object, this was one of the most pleasurable reading experiences of my year.
We read this aloud – voraciously and with immense delight – and finished it on New Year’s Eve, which felt rather perfect.
In 2018, I read a total of 54 works: 33 works of fiction (novels and short story collections), 16 poetry collections and 5 works of non-fiction. I reread one book, read 4 works in translation, and read 36 works by Canadian authors. My husband and I read three books aloud to each other this year and have another one in progress as we greet the new year.
I also kept track this year of the publication dates of the books I read. In 2018, the oldest book I read was published in 1953, and I also read books published in 1967, 1987 and 1988, fulfilling last year’s intention to read some more older books. Exactly half of the books I read in 2018 were published in 20 18.
Currently in progress, heading into 2019:
Milkman
by Anna Burns
Voodoo Hypothesis
by Canisia Lubrin
Wuthering Heights
by Emily Brontë (reread and … read aloud!)
For yet another year, I’m looking back fondly on my 2018 reading, looking forward eagerly, with anticipation and even some curiosity to my 2019 reading, I’ll simply conclude (as I always do) …
It’s not how many you read that counts. It’s that you read that counts.
When I graduated from university, I started to keep track of my books read in this wee diary that was a gift from my roommate.
I started the books diary in 1983. It’s coming apart at the seams a bit. Over the years, I’ve backed up my list in databases, spreadsheets, Goodreads and other book apps du jour … but I’ve always updated this little diary as part of my reading routine. Yes, this book and this part of my reading ritual is getting on 34 years …
Here are the books I read in 2016 – once again, diligently recorded in my book diary, along with a backup spreadsheet and Goodreads – with links to reviews where I have them. By the way, this is an exhaustive, “all of” list, not a “best of” list.
I continued my commitment in 2016 to a daily devotion to at least one poem … and usually more, as friends on Twitter continued to generously share their poem choices and reflections via the #todayspoem hashtag. Now five years in, I still haven’t missed a day, both contributing and enjoying selections from others in this edifying, often spirit-lifting and vital communal experience. I’ve now pondered the works of close to 1,000 unique poets, writers, translators, songsmiths and wordsmiths I’ve revisited or unearthed myself, and countless more via others wielding that often revelatory hashtag. On into its sixth year, I’m continuing with my #todayspoem habit every day heading into 2017. I hope many contributors will continue or join anew.
I welcomed some wonderful and insightful guest reviewers and correspondents to this blog in 2016. I’m so grateful for the time and thought they spent on their pieces, from which I learned a lot and hope you did, too. Let’s revisit them again:
Here are the books I read, reread and read aloud in 2016. Wherever I go, I try to carry a book with me, so for each book, I’m also going to try to recall where I was when I was reading it.
Hope Makes Love
by Trevor Cole
I vividly recall reading this book at the cottage during the wintry first days of the new year.
I was reading this amazing book while waiting for a friend who was arriving by GO Train at Toronto’s Union Station. We were meeting another friend to go to a poetry reading – how perfect is that?
I went through a protracted period of insomnia last winter and if, after trying to relax and consciously breathe myself back to sleep, I was still wide-eyed in the dark, I would turn on my little book-light and read. This book actually didn’t help get me back to sleep – quite the contrary – but it was stunningly memorable company during those sleepless hours. What an unforgettable wallop of a reading experience.
The Mark and the Void
by Paul Murray
I read this two-volume paperback (a very interesting packaging of the story) mostly at our dining room table. It was February, when this household observes a month of abstinence from alcohol, so the accompanying beverages were likely tea and coffee.
"Loneliness is one of the few growth areas these days." Paul Murray, The Mark and the Void #sundaysentence
Just Watch Me – The Life of Pierre Elliott Trudeau (1968-2000)
by John English (read aloud)
A lot of our reading aloud takes place in the kitchen, with my talented husband cooking and me singing for my supper. We actually read a lot of this book during the interminable 2015 Canadian federal election and it was a great reminder that there were dedicated, thoughtful and honorable politicians of all political stripes as recently as just a generation or two ago.
This poetry collection was company on several subway rides.
Birdie
by Tracey Lindberg
This book was warm and fascinating company on streetcar rides to physiotherapy appointments.
Innocents and Others
by Dana Spiotta
Among his many talents, my husband is a great seeker and finder of first editions of books. When I fell in love with author Dana Spiotta on the basis of this intriguing New York Times Magazine interview, he made it his mission to find all of her novels for me. And then I read them all this year. To a book, they were amazing. I already can’t wait for what she’ll do next.
Don’t Be Interesting
by Jacob McArthur Mooney
I read this collection (which had me at the John Darnielle references) at home and on public transit.
You know what? I was so wrapped up in the entrancing, often horrifying but also heartwrenchingly beautiful world of this collection that I in fact don’t recall a specific place or moment when I was reading it. What does that say?
Lightning Field
by Dana Spiotta
I read this book at home, probably mostly at my desk and the dining room table.
Providence
by Anita Brookner (reread)
I read this tiny, battered, much loved paperback on the subway, where a fellow passenger remarked that it was her favourite Brookner.
Frayed Opus for Strings & Wind Instruments
by Ulrikka S. Gernes, translated by Per Brask and Patrick Friesen
This poetry collection accompanied me on more than one road trip.
This one took a while to read – which was fine, as it was a read to savour and get immersed in – so I had it with me everywhere. It’s another book that a fellow subway rider remarked on, most enthusiastically.
I’m thinking of ending things
by Iain Reid
I had the good sense to only read this book during daylight hours.
We read this book aloud – and learned a lot about greater and lesser known historical figures – during cozy reading sessions at home and at the cottage.
The Cauliflower
by Nicola Barker
Not my favourite Barker, although Barker remains one of my favourite writers … I read this book while on my own for a working week at the cottage.
I will remember The Clay Girl and the next book on this list, Still Mine, side by side and as my constant companions everywhere (home, out and about, cottage) for two or three weeks. I had the honour in 2016 of moderating a couple of special book club events for the Toronto Word on the Street Festival. Selected contest winners qualified for small, private book club meetings with authors Heather Tucker and Amy Stuart, and it was my job to introduce them to their book fans and keep the conversations going with pertinent questions about their respective books. I prepared exhaustively with questions and observations … but then didn’t need a lot of those preps because those book fans showed up excited, motivated and brimming with their own wide-ranging queries and reflections. It was really rewarding to see such warm and dynamic meetings of readers and writers – truly wonderful!
Still Mine
Amy Stuart
See my comments about The Clay Girl … I also recall enjoying Still Mine on a coffee shop patio on a sunny Saturday morning while waiting for my husband.
The Tobacconist
by Robert Seethaler, translated by Charlotte Collins
I read this fascinating and rather prophetic book at my desk in my home office, as I prepared the readers’ guide / book club questions for this book, offered by House of Anansi Press.
The Emily Valentine Poems
by Zoe Whittall
A squirrel jumped up next to me on the park bench I was sitting on as I read this while waiting for a friend in a parkette outside her office in downtown Toronto.
Wenjack
by Joseph Boyden
I read this small, moving book in one sitting at home.
I treasure this quirky read, a spontaneous gift from a lovely colleague.
The Albertine Workout
by Anne Carson
Another Christmas gift, I read this poetry pamphlet pretty much in one gulp while sitting at my home office desk.
In 2016, I read a total of 54 works: 32 works of fiction (novels and short story collections), 15 poetry collections and 7 works of non-fiction. I re-read one book, read 4 works in translation, and read 35 works by Canadian authors. My husband and I read two books aloud to each other this year and have a third in progress as we greet the new year.
Looking back fondly on my 2016 reading, looking forward eagerly and with anticipation to my 2017 reading, I’ll simply conclude (as I’ve done in previous years) …
It’s not how many you read that counts. It’s that you read that counts.
Postscript (added January 11, 2017)
I love the discussion this post has sparked, both here and on social media, including some debate about whether or not such list-keeping is usual or kind of nutty/anal-retentive. Obviously, keeping these lists every year is part of enjoying my reading. I’ve added a bit more to my scrutiny of what I’ve read every year, not so much with a view to altering the flow of what I decide to pick up and read every year as to just be aware if there was more or different directions in which I should explore. So, for example, I’ve looked in recent years at how much fiction vs non-fiction vs poetry I read, and how many works in translation, how much Canadian versus international literature, how many rereads, read-alouds, etc, etc, etc. Because the lists are easy to scan, I can quickly figure out the author gender mix every year … just to see how I’m doing, usually not to be corrective in my reading habits.
One thing I’ve decided to add to my record-keeping in 2017 is the publication year of each book read, to gauge how much current/hot-off-the-press vs back catalogue/older stuff I’m reading. I love that everyone who has joined this conversation loves their reading, loves to examine it to some extent and loves to share it. We all learn and benefit from that.
Another postscript (added March 17, 2017)
Sarah Emsley has segued a career teaching writing at Harvard University to her beautiful blog, where she writes about Jane Austen, Jane Austen for kids, Edith Wharton, Lucy Maud Montgomery and other writers, and about places she loves (especially Nova Scotia and Alberta). I am thrilled that she has taken a cue from this blog post to restart her own handwritten “books read” journal … and oh my, her journal and mine are twins!
I like to do a little check-in partway through every year to see how my reading is going. As I’ve done in years past, I’m taking a look around the halfway point (ish) in the year at the books I’ve read so far, with links where they exist to books that I’ve reviewed (either here on this blog or briefly on Goodreads). As I’ve always pointed out, it’s a competition with no one but myself, but it is always useful and interesting to stop and reflect a bit where one is at with one’s reading, both quantitatively and qualitatively.
Here’s the quantitative part: Of the 34 books I’ve read so far this year, 7 were non-fiction, 9 were poetry and the balance of 18 were fiction (novels and short story collections). One book was a reread. One book was a work in translation. Twenty of the books were by Canadian writers. Two books were read aloud in their entirety (er, over a period of time, not in one sitting), which is a wonderful way to share the experience with another reader/listener.
On the qualitative front, I think it’s been especially good year so far. Apart from where I’ve reviewed a particular work, I can say in broad terms that I’ve enjoyed and can enthusiastically recommend everything I’ve read so far this year (with perhaps some qualifications for subject matter with which individual readers might be uncomfortable). Could this be why my overall reading count seems to be up so far this year? A happy reader is a prolific reader? Well then, here’s to happy reading!
“Although most of us will never see a Wolverine, the knowledge that it maintains a hold in remote forests may reassure us that expanses of wilderness still exist.”
from Mammals of Ontario by Tamara Eder
(2002 Lone Pine Publishing)
My Sunday sentence comes from one of many vibrant sentences read aloud on Saturday night. Four longtime friends gathered at a cottage by a lake, comfortably tired after a sunny day of swimming, dogwalking, birdwatching and more, comfortably full after a delicious and lovingly prepared meal, to read aloud to each other. The reading selections came from a charmingly eclectic range of sources:
March 6, 2013, is World Read Aloud Day, an awareness day advocating for literacy as a human right. The event is championed by LitWorld, a non-profit literacy organization fostering resilience, hope, and joy through the power of story. Since 2010, the organization has been encouraging people worldwide to celebrate by reading aloud, giving away a book, or taking action in any way you can to “Read It Forward” on behalf of the 793 million people who cannot yet read or write.
As LitWorld describes it, World Read Aloud Day creates a community of people who are advocating for every child’s right to learn to read and technology that will make them lifelong readers. Read It Forward creates a ripple effect that resonates around the world with the power of story and shared words.
LitWorld invites everyone to visit them online to join the Read It Forward movement. They offer free downloadable activity kits full of ideas for children, teens, families, educators, and professionals. You can also follow LitWorld on Facebook and Twitter.
Countless articles and studies tout the many benefits of reading aloud – of teachers, parents and caregivers reading to children, children to adults, children to each other, aspiring writers of any age reading aloud to themselves. Less documented, perhaps, but equally enjoyable and potent, is adults celebrating the joys of reading with each other. Here among my book blog reviews, I’ve noted that most satisfying practice as enhancing and even markedly improving upon the reading experience with some books, including:
All pretty varied subjects and subject matter, but what they share and what makes them all great are passionate narrators telling lively, vibrant stories with arresting characters (in these cases, all real life) … which makes it a rewarding experience to bring them to life with your own voice and to share them with others.
However you choose to observe World Read Aloud Day, do it with gusto!
