Well. Bye 2016. This year was tumultuous in affairs of the heart, rather than the workplace--unlike last year, I'm still at the same job as I was when I started 2016. My 5-year relationship with a man ended and I quickly fell for someone new, a girl who seemed to open up a new part of me that I hadn't really been sure was there. Things ended in flames, I threw myself into roller derby, went to playoffs with my team, and am now happily in a new relationship with a woman whom I'm pretty sure hung the moon. I am extraordinarily, sublimely happy. I have still been reading diligently and thinking a lot, but I have a lot of work to do, and I finally feel like I am in a place where I can confidently step forward and do it. Here's some recap thoughts about my fourth year of eclectic reading, y'all.
The Poet by Michael Connelly
January - serial killer thriller
I started 2016 by going back to a book I had started the year before, which, granted, is not the freshest way to start a new year, but I am relatively stubborn when it comes to finishing books.
The Poet was written 10 years prior and I got caught up in the different ways mystery fiction (and the world itself) have changed in a decade. This book intrigued me because it boasted threads of Edgar Allen Poe flair, but it made me incredibly uncomfortable as well, due to the serial killer and the pedophilia. It was the kind of twisty, genre-bending fiction I aspire to someday, and its humility reminded me that such aspirations are possible
The Island of Doctor Moreau by H.G. Wells
February - novel set on an island
Humans are messed upppp. The Island of Doctor Moreau is about a island where a man essentially plays God, cutting and prodding and putting together animals according to his whim. It is a slim classic that I have been telling myself to just devour in a weekend for years, but it has proved difficult to fit in, and this read was no exception. It took me a while, possibly because the outside world seemed more interesting than that of science fiction, but I made it through, and watching the end of this season of Orphan Black was all the richer for it. It is interesting to note, in retrospect, how many of my books were about creativity and possibility and how the human condition can send those things horribly horribly astray, and Doctor Moreau was the beginning of that trend. The doctor, after all, wanted to make something new and different and inspirational, but he was consumed by his madness and it became something dark.
Somewhere In Time by Richard Matheson
March - paranormal romance
This is a hella angsty book. Richard Collier is in love with an idea of a woman, and is so resolute in his love that he pretty much wills himself back in time to be with her. It is a story of desire, of longing, and above all, of timing. I'd had terrible luck with timing thus far in 2016, certain events not playing out entirely correctly because of impatience or a mismatch in timing. But as hard as those events were, and as angsty a slog as this book was to read, I would not change a single thing about it. It is done and over with, and I have learned, but I am glad that it happened, something I think (I hope) Richard Collier felt toward the conclusion of his lovelorn story.
Mad, Bad & Sad by Lisa Appignanesi
April - Psychology (non-fiction)
It is possibly (though unintentionally) apropos that I chose to follow the angst and sadness of March and Somewhere in Time with Mad, Bad & Sad. This book offered up a smattering of women in history and how they were diagnosed with various mental ailments, from hysteria to schizophrenia to depression, the ways that their eccentricity and differentness have been received by the world. I buried myself in the history this month, the stories of these women and their woes. I learned new things about women I love, Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolf, and I wondered a lot about their sadness and artistry and what it was that made them so alluring.
Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel
May - disaster fiction
One of my biggest takeaways from Station Eleven is the idea that art and language and creativity can survive in the face of utter oblivion. A contagion breaks out in the world of Station Eleven, and the book follows various important players and survivors as they prepare for and reminisce about the end of civilization as they know it. Kirsten was a child when disaster struck and she has largely grown up in the post-apocalyptic world, joining a traveling company that recites Shakespeare across the country, reminding everyone of the lasting power of art and words. Important to remember in these last weeks of the Obama administration.
The Secret of Lost Things by Sheridan Hay
June - books about books
I love books about books. I was very torn about this category. I started at least four options, until I nearly ran out of month to read and had to settle. I wish this had gone more into the mysterious book it sets up, instead of leaving it as a token, a foil to be traded amongst the characters. I still find myself gravitating toward stories about coming into one's own, finding one's own space and passion, and The Secret of Lost Things was certainly that.
The Mechanical by Ian Tregillis
July - steampunk sci-fi
Free will, fighting back, and the decisions you make are all paramount to The Mechanical, the first in a new steampunk sci-fi series. It felt good to lose myself in a new world, especially one so carefully and eloquently crafted. Jax's journey from duty-bound mechanical servant to free-willed automaton was an engrossing narrative that I am looking forward to following as the next books in the series come out.
My Lady Jane by Cynthia Hand, Brodi Ashton, and Jodi Meadows
August - Young Adult historical fiction
I really do enjoy when I get to incorporate young adult fiction into my year. Easy reads are just as important as high-flown and intellectual ones, and My Lady Jane was excellent. It was the mostly romanticized and fictionalized version of Lady Jane Grey's nine-day reign as Queen of England, another showcasing of coming into one's own, however supernaturally (Lady Jane realizes she is of a special sect of individuals who can transform into an animal at will). The revisionist history aspect of it made my heart happy, as well, because Lady Jane being executed after nine days of power has always broken my heart.
The Underground Girls of Kabul by Jenny Nordberg
September - Investigative journalism
I used to want to be something akin to an investigative journalist, but my primary shyness has made that a slightly difficult dream to achieve. The Underground Girls of Kabul tells of girls and women in Afghanistan who dress and live as boys for social benefits, and follows a number of cases, from those who give up their male guise at puberty to those who fight tooth and nail to remain androgynous into adulthood. I was struck by the visceral need to be who you are that the latter example of these people fit into, and it was striking to see into their world, even if I was unsure that I had the right to ask.
Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood
October - shortlist for the Man Booker Prize
Once again, we find humans playing God and we end with the undeniable tenet that humans are messed up. Oryx and Crake is slightly more apocalyptic than Island of Doctor Moreau, however, and it involves a premeditated end to the world as a result of the wielding of these powers. Margaret Atwood has a strange psyche, to say the least, but I am rarely disappointed when I take a trip with her. She has a way of laying out humanity that manages to transcend contemporariness to remain relevant for the reader whenever the text is consumed.
Americanah by Chimimanda Ngozi Adichie
November - immigrant experience fiction
In November, this country broke. Our electoral system allowed a racist, misogynistic, xenophobic bigot to ascend to the highest office, and it is galvanizing. I picked up Americanah among other texts to both educate myself and remind myself that I am not alone. Do the work. Observe. Speak out. This is going to be a huge responsibility in the next four years.
Sweetbitter by Stephanie Danler
December - debut author in 2016
I ended 2016 with a debut author's first work, another sort of coming-of-age tale set against a restaurant life backdrop. The poetry of description was as intoxicating as Tess's first year in the city. At the restaurant, they make a big deal about wine, especially its terroir, which is defined as the conglomeration of environmental and contextual situations that make up the character of a wine, and Danler extended this metaphor to suggest that people also have their own sort of terroir, based upon their experiences and history. Sweetbitter was arresting in that regard, asking me what sort of terroir do I have at this point in my life? Is it close to where I'd like it to be? How much more work do I have to get started on?
After all these books, all these pages, all these words, I am surely not the same person I was when I began 2016. My experiences this past year have been heavy and heady and eye-opening, and I feel full. Full of promise, of opportunity, of fight. I say again, goodbye 2016, and I hope that 2017 is not the end of the world as we know it.
{Link to my 2015 recap ~ Link to my 2014 recap ~ Link to my 2013 recap }
