Well! 2016! Right? Right?
Books and I had an odd year.
I read my first full audiobook (Bush by Jean Edward Smith, which was a weird but ultimately interesting choice) and then tried one or two others but didn't stick with them. Nothing against them, just, podcasts became more my thing for the long daily commute.
I'm still a paper-book addict. But I did find a niche for myself where dipping into ebooks makes sense—poking away at various books about coding and such on my phone during the baby's nap time. Not too many books I actually finished, for various reasons, but these dark, quiet, snuggly hours do account for a fair number of pages.
I started off the year on a bad note, I think, picking things up and putting things down—according to my Goodreads profile I didn't actually finish a book until mid-February. And then there were a couple graphic novels. There were some slow stretches where I'd plod through a single book over the course of multiple weeks. And then later I fell into a 2.5 month stretch dedicated to two books (I mean, they were fat books, A Naked Singularity by Sergio de la Pava and The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson, but still) (I enjoyed them both, by the by).
And then things picked up weird, crazy steam in the home stretch. I finished 35 books in 2016; 12 of those came in November and December.
And I'm pretty sure 2016 was the first year I didn't post to this blog once since I started it. I did other blogging, elsewhere, about other things. But I sort of feel like I've forgotten how to write about books, how to write about what I'm reading.
How to write, really.
I ended on a high point with Whiskey Tango Foxtrot by David Shafer, a fast-moving tale of global paranoia that did just enough weird left turns to jazz up what could have been an otherwise fairly rote story. Oddly, I actually started this one earlier in the year, before falling into one of my reading funks; I'm glad I finally finished putting off finishing it off. It would have paired well with Cathy O'Neil's Weapons of Math Destruction, one of my semi-conscious attempts to dip into more strong non-fiction this year; I'm not necessarily sure it told me too much I hadn't already been aware of, or at least suspected, or at least would have pretended to have known about if you'd asked me about it at a party, but it pulled a lot of that stuff (the way mathematical models and/or data science-y stuff is used to manipulate and/or profit off individuals in frankly awful and often terrifying ways) together into a flowing, coherent, eye-opening narrative. The net effect is it makes you want to log off the Internet and move into a log cabin, immediately.
As has been a summer tradition for the last three years, I read a Gormenghast novel. This year's was the final novel, Titus Alone, by Mervyn Peake, and I'm already sad there aren't more novels to come. It's a fascinating series, a strange play on what "fantasy" is—I mean, not that I'm much an expert on fantasy, really, as I've only started dipping into it the last few years, but. The series feels like the closest I've come to finding that slow-burn, long-bath experience with a piece of literature in a while, which I've heard described but have rarely exactly felt myself—I really enjoyed how unhurried the prose and story felt in equal measure. I could sincerely imagine re-reading it, even though re-reading things seems like a terrible idea, what with all the still-to-be-read-once things waiting in all the wings.
I can also easily imagine re-reading the Expanse series, which I caught all the way up on this year, reading book five earlier in the year and then book six shortly after it came out, and now I have to wait for new books to come out, and it hurts. It hurts. But in the good way. Getting back in touch, at least a little, with sci-fi like this, has been good; brings back some of that childhood enthusiasm for writing that never exactly got lost along the way but which gets sort of sidetracked, or something. I hope to work another series or two into the mix in the coming years.
A handful of other books I liked, in various ways, this year, and which, if I had actually been blogging this year, I might have actually blogged about, but which now I'll just dump here in bullet form:
- To Walk the Night, by William Sloane
- The Story of a Brief Marriage, by Anuk Arudpragasam
- Beatrice, by Stephen Dixon
- S., J.J. Abrams
- The Great Fortune, by Olivia Manning
- The Man in the Picture, by Susan Hill
- The Tsar of Love and Techno, by Anthony Marra
- The Skies Belong to Us: Love and Terror in the Golden Age of Hijacking, by Brendan I. Koerner
- Masters of Doom: How Two Guys Created an Empire and Transformed Pop Culture, by David Kushner
- The Right Kind of Crazy: A True Story of Teamwork, Leadership, and High-Stakes Innovation, by Adam Steltzner
- The Design of Everyday Things, by Donald A. Norman
And, well, there's 2016, really. Good times.
Next up: going big, or going home.