It’s that time of the year again, the end (or near the end), when
we readers revisit the books that impacted us, the stories that made us
laugh and cry, shake our heads in wonder or bow down in respect. For me, the
year’s best were the ones that managed to break through and shake me up. It was
a tough year personally, lots of loss, turmoil and change. I spent the first few months of
2018 on a lifeboat, concentrating on breathing and keeping a firm grasp as the
waves bucked around me. There were long stretches during which I didn’t read at
all. When I finally put my feet on dry land, I realized that although many
foundations had been ripped from under me, reading was one I had taken from
myself. Because of course books are often the ballast keeping me
upright. So my list this year will have a chronological aspect, as I tell you
how and why each of these books was like a foothold in a storm.
I finished only 29 books this year. I used to average about
a book a week but for the past few tumultuous years, that number has dwindled. This year
was particularly low, unsurprisingly. I read 21 novels, 7
short story collections and one memoir. Of note: three of the books were
YA novels, research for a project I’m perpetually almost starting; also, two books that didn’t make the best list, Isadora
by Amelia Gray and The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller, have historical inspirations. One book
defies all genres perhaps. But here they are, my top five books for 2018, resonating
lifesavers one and all.
In January, I excitedly tore into Deborah Reed’s newest
novel, The Days When Birds Come Back (2018). Ms. Reed has been on my end of
year list before, in 2014 (and wow, what a year of books that was, now that I’m looking back), and she’s always been a
writer whose particular style and sensibilities hit me right in the heart. This
novel is my favorite she’s written. It’s the story of June Byrne and
Jamison Winters, two protagonists in a holding pattern caused by grief and
guilt. This is the story of their meeting, on the Oregon coast where June has hired
Jamison to renovate her grandparents’ bungalow. Here’s a bit from my initial
review, because I like this part: “She shines a warm
light on the profoundness of everyday existence, what the late writer Kent
Haruf called ‘the precious ordinary.’ As we follow these characters getting
through their days as we all do, we learn more about what they’ve lived through
as we experience their coming together at the perfect time, in the perfect
place. It seems a sort of miracle, like life itself.” Because I had been in a long state
of grief when this novel arrived, and also because Ms. Reed writes
like an angel, it moved me profoundly. This book will always hold a dear place
in my heart, like a childhood friend. 
In March, I attended the Master’s
Workshop held at the Tucson Festival of Books every year. I hadn’t been reading
(or writing) much, but the days amongst writers, talking about writing, were like a
shot in the arm. I took home a couple of books written by one of the workshop
leaders, Kevin Canty, and in May, I finally read one. His story collection,
Where the Money Went (2009), is a contemplation on love and the loss of it. His
characters are heavy with testosterone but also hope, and I think what struck
me to the core was the stubborn tendency they all had to pursue tenderness and
connection, even when it seemed it would most likely lead to pain and more emptiness.
Reviewers have compared Canty’s writing to O’Connor, to Carver, to Banks, and I
think the comparisons are quite justified. These are masterful stories.
In July, I cracked open another
eagerly-anticipated novel, Kudos (2018), the third in Rachel Cusk’s trilogy.
The second, Transit, was my very favorite read of 2017, and the first, Outline,
was an honorable mention in 2016. Those of us who worship Cusk’s trilogy—mostly
writers I know—have a hard time putting into words just what it is that
vibrates us so. As for form, the story is told through the protagonist’s interactions
with other people. She is merely an outline; we come to know her as she moves
through life. So there’s much to say about form and how it excites us writers
because of the newness and possibilities of what Cusk has done. But what makes
Kudos and the entire trilogy stand head and shoulders above so many other books,
for me, is probably because it traces the journey of a woman who is forging a
new reality and identity after loss. It’s about a woman building a new life
after a divorce, a mother trying to do right by her children, a person trying
to rediscover that lost, innate part of herself that ultimately, can fully embrace
life. Yeah. So it was personal for me, unsettling and deeply comforting at the
same time. Amazing books.
My Summer of Chabon had some rocky
moments, so I took a breather with Jamel Brinkley’s story collection, A Lucky
Man (2018). Like Canty’s stories, the characters in this debut have a decidedly
male perspective, for whatever that’s worth. But the writing is crisp,
purposeful and wise, never letting go for a moment. Brinkley writes
about characters growing up and navigating a world as boys and men of color, dealing
with race but mostly, with relationships and the longing and performance they
require. Brinkley’s vivid writing in these timely stories stayed with me a long
time; it’s a true sign of greatness when a writer can bring you to experiences
far outside your own and leave you with a feeling of understanding. If
anything, in this #Metoo time, these stories remind us that manhood is a
condition to be explored as well, particularly when boys are left adrift.
I’m happy to report that my reading
pace has picked up, and I hope to have a longer list to share in 2019. As always, I take notice when people tell me about their very favorite reads of the year, so please feel free to do just that below. And happy reading in the new year!
