In which I read some good books in 2019, but...
But, if I'm honest, it feels as if, perhaps, I didn’t read as many books that truly wowed me as in previous years. Certainly, it was much easier to pick a top ten than in past years (although, OK, I cheated on one). The three bonus books I've added didn't really challenge the top ten at all, they're listed because they're by some favourite writers, and one isn't even published till next year anyway.
In stats, I read:
75 books
23 were by non-white authors (N.K Jemisin accounting for three of them)
40 were by women (one co-written)
17 were non-fiction
8 were books I'd read before (Little Women / Good Wives, Howl's Moving Castle, His Dark Materials, Angelmaker, and The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet)
The Top Ten books I read this year (note, read not that were published)
Pachinko - Min Jin Lee. One of my first books of the year, and it's really stayed with me. It's a story of generations of a Korean family caught up in the Japanese invasion and colonisation of Korea. It illustrates the painful reality of this world really well, but without ever being overwhelmingly bleak.
East of Eden - John Steinbeck. For some reason I'd put Steinbeck in a box marked, 'Warning: casually misogynistic hyper-masculinity here' and stayed away. I read East of Eden as part of a pact with a friend who'd also not read it, and - I LOVED IT. It completely transported and absorbed me, and I feel for Cal Trask with all of my tiny heart. Steinbeck, it turns out, does not belong in the box I'd put him in and I will be reading more.
Lanny - Max Porter. One of this year's new novels, which in my not so humble opinion deserved to boot some of the eventual Booker shortlist into touch and take their place for its imagination and ambition, not to mention its ability to realise those things in the atmosphere it manages to create for you as you read. And it is so English in a wonderful, non-terrible and nationalist, way, in its understanding of village life, the countryside and folk and myth.
Ghost Wall - Sarah Moss. This was my first Moss, and I will be reading more. Like Lanny, Ghost Wall has an English-ness bedded into its evocation of place and history, and an utter lack of sentimentality about those thingss or about family life. It was eerie, cruel, and in places, kind and hopeful.
Bells of Old Tokyo: Travels in Japanese Time - Anna Sherman. I picked this up on the strength of the cover and the fact that I'm intrigued by Japanese history and culture. I really enjoyed this exploration of Tokyo's history through its author's search for the bells that use to toll the time in the city. It's an approach that really brings out the weirdness and stretchiness of time, as well as some of the specificities of Tokyo, and the account of the fire-bombing of the city in WWII (not something I know enough about) was very well done.
Wolf Hall and Bring up the Bodies - Hilary Mantel. OK, yes, I'm cheating here but I read them at the start and end of the summer holiday, and they are united in my brain and my reading. They reminded me how good historical fiction can be and how engaging and fascinating I find Thomas Cromwell - and as a member of the Church of England, it was refreshing to be reminded of the realities of its establishment. I'm looking forward to the third of the set coming out in 2020.
Underland - Robert Macfarlane. I've really got into Macfarlane's nature writing in the past year (as has a large proportion of the British reading public, I think), and this was gorgeous. Again, it's rich on the subject of time and the place of humans in time, and somehow manages to make the underlands he's writing about both inviting and eerie. For my money, the best section is in Italy, exploring the contested landscape of an often overlooked part of world war two.
Nickel Boys - Colson Whitehead. Quite short, fairly straightforward (with a slight twist in the tale), and at times, simply brutal, this is the most 'realist' of the Whiteheads I've read so far. As such it didn't quite make me sing the way The Underground Railroad and The Intuitionist did, but it was an absorbing read - neither educational nor enlightening are quite the word for the way it makes you realise that you've some how alway known while not knowing or wanting to know the tale it is telling you.
An Orchestra of Minorities - Chigozie Obioma. I read this fairly late in the year, and while it's perhaps not my favourite read of the year, I think its one of the reading experiences that has been best for me, and not in a dull way. It was a reminder that keeping on keeping on with a book can be really worth while (it's taken me years to learn when to ditch a book, now I need to re-learn not to do it too much) and that reading something written in a completely different perspective can be good for the soul.
The Thousand Ships - Natalie Haynes. I read a lot of novels inspired by or re-writing classical stories, and Natalie Haynes has now produced two I have really enjoyed, proving the exception to the general rule that subject expert shouldn't write fiction about their thing (it perhaps helps that she's a classicist more than a historian). The Thousand Ships is definitely a better retelling of the Trojan War in a female voice than Pat Barker's more highly acclaimed Silence of the Girls, taking a wide scope and fully involving the gods. All of the characters she gives voice to feel like people, but my personal favourite may be Eris.
Someome sneaky extras:
Three from previous favourite writers, which are good books, if not the best of my year
Little Faith by Nickolas Butler. He may never write anything that matches Shotgun Lovesongs’ place in my heart, but that's ok, nor will a lot of people. This is lighter than In the Hearts of Men, his last, and I think the better for it - it doesn't run away from pain and difficult things, but it feels more hopeful about the people involved.
The Glass Hotel - Emily St John Mandel. Again, I didn't expect this to match the magical Station Eleven in my life, I just wanted it to be good and absorbing - and it was. It's really evocative of place and turned out to be interestingly about not what I expected it to be about. It's out in the spring in the UK, and I'd recommend it.
The Testaments - Margaret Atwood. A sequel to The Handmaid's Tale could have been terrible, and this wasn't. I hugely enjoyed reading it, but I'm not as convinced that it's spectactular as I was immediately after I finished (and I don't think it should have won the Booker). It's a fascinating look at the beginnings and ends of totalitarian states, but I think it suffers (a) from losing the claustrophic, first person perspective of the original and (b) from refusing to do damage to the continuity of the Gilead of both Handmaid's Tale's book and TV series, which means that if you've seen the second season of the show (at least) then you know something things before they're fully revealed in the book, and that's a shame.
And two non-fiction books you should own and refer to
Salt Fat Acid Heat - Samin Nosrat (and yes, watch the TV show too). This book is glorious and magical and has transformed how I think about cooking in so many ways, and Nosrat is a joyous kitchen companion.
Dreyer’s English - Benjamin Dreyer. I have the US edition of this, and I feel like I need the UK edition, for writing in my homeland - but this is smart and funny and made me laugh like a drain, and is thoroughly useful.