I did this book for A-level, and so read it many times in adolesence. Perhaps as a result, I have not read it in about 30 years. What I am struck by on this reading is how completely wrong Emma is on every level. It is a much funnier novel than I recall, and much more damning of Emma. It is not nearly so good as some of her others, but obviously still head and shoulders above 90% of all other books GOD this lady was talented.
MARTYR by Kaveh Akbar
Reviewers loved this book, calling it a ‘dazzling debut.’ I call it annoying. I feel bad to say it, because it is so hard to get published, and I don’t doubt it has many merits, but it just wasn’t for me. I pushed on for about 200 pages but then I just had to bail.
It’s about a man in Indiana who is loosely aspirational in academia but is not getting anywhere because he is drinking too much. He is toying -i n an annoying, apathetic way – with writing a book on martyrdom, because he wants his eventual death to ‘mean something.’ Leaving aside this is a stupid goal right off the bat, it is all wrapped up with the fact that he was born in Iran. He has never lived in Iran, mind you, but still much of the book is given over to his various thoughts about his ‘heritage,’ intercut with descriptions of the experience of his immediate family in Iran. Usually if you read a book about a country by someone from that country, it increases your understanding of it; this was just the reverse. I’m not sure I’ve ever read a book by someone ‘from’ a country that actually went ahead and exoticized that country. Perhaps it’s because that ‘from,’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting. Let me stop typing though, this post is already bad-tempered enough, which is probably not very fair.
RANDOM FAMILY by Adrian Nicole LeBlanc
I cannot now recall how I decided that what I needed to read was 400 pages of reportage of a family in 1980s Bronx, but I am glad I did. This was really banging, and unlike anything I have ever read.
The author embedded herself with a single family and tells about their day to day lives over the course of about a decade. I don’t think I’ve ever read a piece of non-fiction before that totally avoided commentary or context. It just plunges you right into the day-to-day of these peoples’ lives, and tries to very deeply understand the inter-personal dynamics that are driving the decisions they make. And by deeply, I mean DEEPLY. It’s clear she has interviewed people about stuff like how they first started having sex, and who was cheating on who and why, and so on. It’s interesting to read about any family’s interpersonal dynamics in this degree of objective detail, but this one is particularly so, because there is almost nothing else going on. Almost no one has a job, and many are in jail. All the family’s girls are pregnant at 14. 14! And then go on to have at least one more child before they are 18. They are caught in a very, very difficult spiral, and they handle it with extraordinary courage and good spirits. What I found particularly astonishing was how open they were to helping each other. One woman (Jessica) has 5 children before she is 21, and then goes to jail at 23. All of her children are absorbed by her family, rather than being put into care, despite the fact that her family really has no space or money for more. I was also astonished how appalling the prison system was. Apparently a single 15 minute call cost $4! And this for people who are often trying to make $10 do for two weeks of groceries.
One side point is I read this over the course of a delayed flight – MUC-LHR – and I note I read continuously for 4.5hrs. This makes me happy: clearly the phone has not totally eradicated my attention span.
FAT CITY by Leonard Gardner
I read this book because it was recommended by Denis Johnson, whose TRAIN DREAMS I so admired. It’s about small-time boxers, trying to ‘make it’ in the ring in the 1940s. I can’t deny it’s extraordinarily well-written. Characters are evoked in just a couple of lines of dialogue and the arc of boxing failure is heart-breaking. What I didn’t like about it though was exactly that: it was heart-breaking. There was not a single character who was not very obviously doomed to disappointment. It wasn’t just the boxers (who were going to fail + have brain injuries) but also their promoters, and their variously pregnant or alcoholic girlfriends, and also random people they met in bars. I mean: okay? I am not sure what I am supposed to get from this? It was just dreadful and sad.
WHAT I READ IN 2025
My blog alleges I read 73 books this year, which seems surprising, because it felt like kind of a slow year reading-wise. Shout-outs have to go to the amazing HEART THE LOVER by Lily King, which I read in one short sleepless night; to I WHO HAVE NEVER KNOWN MEN by Jacqueline Harpman, a post-apocalypse book that makes you wonder why we don’t wonder more at this pre-apocalypse world; and Gail Goodwin’s VIOLET CLAY, which most expertly and unpleasantly flashed me back to my twenties.
Potentially though even more shout-outs have to go to non-fiction this year. I don’t know what’s happening: I never used to read non-fiction, and now second year in a row it’s been killing me. NOBODY’S GIRL by Epstein survivor Virginia Roberts Giuffre, which makes you ashamed of every time you have called something ‘too hard,’ the anonymously written A WOMAN IN BERLIN, the real diaries of a woman who survived rounds of gang rape when that city fell in WWII, and found the dignity and even the comedy in it; and Erik Larson’s THE DEVIL IN THE WHITE CITY, about the World’s Fair in Chicago in 1893 (I can’t believe this was even interesting, but don’t even get me going on how the Ferris Wheel was invented because I am a FOUNT of information). Some books I can tell I liked because I am just dying to tell unwilling audiences all about them. Don’t mention Peru or Spain or colonialism near me unless you really do want to hear a summary of Kim McQuarrie’s THE LAST DAYS OF THE INCAS, and don’t mention the Nile or Victorians or the Kama Sutra unless you are ready for my enthusiasm for Candice Millard’s THE RIVER OF THE GODS.
I also re-read PERSUASION this year, but I do not intend to insult Austen by including it on some ‘best of the year ‘ list, when it needs to be on some as yet un-written lifetime list.
These books so shaped and coloured my experience of the year it makes me wonder what it is like to be someone who doesn’t read. Of course non-readers must have as full a life as readers, but I wonder what their lives are full of? Their own thoughts? I honestly can’t even imagine. Anyway here’s the list:
- I DELIVER PARCELS IN BEIJING by Hu Anyan
- THE EVENING OF THE HOLIDAY by Shirley Hazzard
- THE LAST SAMURAI by Helen DeWitt
- THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN by Thomas Mann
- A MOTHER’S RECKONING by Sue Klebold
- PIRANESI by Susanna Clark
- STOP TIME by Frank Conroy
- TRAIN DREAMS by Denis Johnson
- DADDY ISSUES by Kate Goldbeck
- A SUPPOSEDLY FUN THING I’LL NEVER DO AGAIN by David Foster Wallace
- THE REST OF OUR LIVES by Ben Markovitz
- A WOMAN IN BERLIN by Anonymous
- BUCKEYE by Patrick Ryan
- NOBODY’S GIRL by Virginia Roberts Giuffre
- HEART THE LOVER by Lily King
- FAN SERVICE by Rosie Danan
- WHAT WE CAN KNOW by Ian McEwan
- BIRD BY BIRD by Anne Lamott
- JOURNEYS OF A GERMAN IN ENGLAND: A WALKING TOUR OF ENGLAND IN 1782 by Carl Philip Moritz
- YOU, AGAIN by Kate Goldbeck
- JOE CINQUE’S CONSOLATION by Helen Garner
- GHOSTROOTS by Pemi Aguda
- THIS HOUSE OF GRIEF by Helen Garner
- DOOMSDAY BOOK by Connie Willis
- ALL THE WORST HUMANS by Phil Elwood
- STARTER FOR TEN by David Nicholls
- THE FRIENDZONE by Abby Jimenez
- LIFE’S TOO SHORT by Abby Jimenez
- MARTIN DRESSLER by Steven Millhauser
- FINGERSMITH by Sarah Waters
- WORRY by Alexandra Tanner
- THREE CAME HOME by Agnes Keith
- AS I WALKED OUT ONE MIDSUMMER MORNING by Laurie Lee
- YOU ARE HERE by David Nicholls
- THE MISSIONARY’S WIFE by Tim Jeal
- I HOPE THIS FINDS YOU WELL by Natalie Sue
- I WHO HAVE NEVER KNOWN MEN by Jacqueline Harpman
- NAPLES ’44 by Norman Lewis
- THE HEART’S INVISIBLE FURIES by John Byrne
- BORED GAY WEREWOLF by Tony Santorella
- THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SEA by Ray Nayler
- LOVE AND SUMMER by William Trevor
- WE HEXED THE MOON by Mollyhall Seeley
- THE POWER OF NOW by Eckhart Tolle
- VIOLET CLAY by Gail Goodwin
- THE SAILOR WHO FELL FROM GRACE WITH THE SEA by Yukio Mishima
- MONKEY GRIP by Helen Garner
- GREAT BIG BEAUTIFUL LIFE by Emily Henry
- ADELAIDE by Genevieve Wheeler
- THE PLACES IN BETWEEN by Rory Stewart
- KINGFISHER by Rozie Kelly
- OH THE GLORY OF IT ALL by Sean Wiley
- PERSUASION by Jane Austen
- FOURTH WING by Rebecca Yarros
- DREAMSTATE by Eric Puchner
- SAO BERNARDO by Graciliano Ramos
- PLAYWORLD by Adam Ross
- THE DEVIL IN THE WHITE CITY by Erik Larson
- A STOLEN LIFE by Jaycee Dugard
- IN CHANCERY by John Galsworthy
- YOU, AGAIN by Kate Goldbeck
- HAPPY PLACE by Emily Henry
- FUNNY STORY by Emily Henry
- BOOK LOVERS by Emily Henry
- BEACH READ by Emily Henry
- ME AND YOU ON VACATION by Emily Henry
- RIVER OF THE GODS by Candice Millard
- YOU DREAMED OF EMPIRES by Alvaro Enrigue
- I’LL BE GONE IN THE DARK by Michelle McNamara
- SUMMER OF BLOOD by Dan Jones
- THE LAST DAYS OF THE INCAS by Kim McQuarrie
- BASTARD OUT OF CAROLINA by Dorothy Allison
- FELICIA’S JOURNEY by William Trevor
I DELIVER PARCELS IN BEIJING by Hu Anyan
I am always surprised there a so few books about working life, given that by some measures it is the majority of many peoples’ lives. But here is one. And work is definitely the majority of this guy’s life. It’s a memoir of him trying to find a way to make a living at the bottom end of the economy in China. He has done many roles: not just parcels, but nightshift in a sort center, selling bubble tea and bikes, etc.
He doesn’t complain, but he does drop some horrifying facts, in an almost off-hand way. E.g.: he has to deliver a parcel every 4 minutes to cover his expenses; he only gets the Spring Festival off (I don’t know what the Spring Festival is, but it doesn’t sound long); and in one mall job he had for two years he only saw daylight for 15 mins a day.
It’s unclear to me if he actually thinks this is bad, or if he just thinks it is what it is. Maybe both. One thing I found interesting, and I remember from when I was a new immigrant, is how he knows the price of everything, and feels telling you about it is important information. In this day of nepo-babies, it’s incredibly refreshing to read a book where you are never unaware of what his rent is at any time. And I get it: I guess I’ve never thought about it before, but the amount of the rent is probably the single most defining piece of information about what your life will be like. In his case, it means he has to work his ass off.
I loved this little part:
“I would while away the remaining hours at the Jingtong Roosevelt Plaza, to take advantage of the air conditioning. I liked to sit in the employee dining area, behind the Acasia Food Court on the basement floor, where delivery drivers waited to pick up order and take breaks. The mall stacked spare tables and chairs there, as it was a dead end only dimly lit with what little daylight filtered in through the south-facing wall. After being under the glaring lights of the shopping area, entering that space was like stepping backstage, with the curtains drawn. The time I spent back there was very meaningful to me. I will always remember it and how I felt then.”
His parents can’t help him financially, but more than that they also can’t help him with advice. He tells us they have spent all their lives in the managed economy, so how he should survive ‘capitalism’ is something they can’t help him with. He does not (of course) make any commentary on what life was like under communism but still there are some interesting pieces. Let’s end with this part, where we can ponder our own ‘freedom’:
“Consumerism is the new ideology, a different kind of lifelong imprisonment, which only gives the appearance of freedom. Compared with restricting you from doing everything you want, it is certainly the more stable and lasting way to maintain social order – instilling in you a sense of what you need and providing the means to achieve it. But this is still a form of enslavement, one in which the individual’s main route to self-realization remains through work. ”
THE EVENING OF THE HOLIDAY by Shirley Hazzard
I really hated this book. Why did I finish it? I guess it was only 149pages. And I have been feeling guilty about how many books I have given up on this year. But god I should have given up on this one. It was some kind of love story where a married (but separated) Italian man has an affair with an English woman on holiday. They part because they cannot face the difficulties of his not being able to divorce. I mean I guess that’s why they part? I don’t know, because most of the novel was descriptions. Descriptions of landscape (bad) but also descriptions of unimportant moments (e.g., woman gets briefly lost in church). I fear this was supposed to be poetic but I just found it DUMB.
THE LAST SAMURAI by Helen DeWitt
This is a famous book I had never heard of. First off, this is not the (I have never seen it, but probably) problematic film with Tom Cruise. It is about as far from Hollywood as you can get. The author is a total rebuke to all of us weak people, having half-written an astonishing ~50 other novels before finally completing this one. During that time she worked as doughnut salesperson, dictionary text tagger, copytaker, fundraiser, night secretary etc.
The book was a huge hit, being a crazy, baggy, comic story about a single mother with high ideals. She got pregnant on a one night stand, and refuses to tell the father because she does not admire his writing. She manages the heating bills by spending their days riding the Circle line.
I found it funny and clever, but I gave up about 300 pages in. We got to a part where the child was trying to find his father and it became kind of like a series of short stories about the various potential fathers, and it just felt like it wasn’t going anywhere. I felt bad, because I just love this author’s guts. She went on to write other strange books, and struggle to find a publisher, eventually only publishing one twenty years later. What a life!
THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN by Thomas Mann
I thought I would give myself the challenge of this 700pg nineteenth century novel. Well, challenge failed. I got about 250pgs in before I decided to bail. There was just way too much undirected babbling about some seriously bullsh*t theories and I just couldn’t handle it. This sort of thing is fun at a party when you are drunk and you are doing the babbling but listening to someone else: no thank you.
I’m disappointed, because I enjoyed his other book, BUDDENBROOKS. It was his first, and seethes with the kind of rage at the bourgeois you only have when you are extremely bourgeois. I read it by the pool in Jordan, and maybe that was what I needed for this book too – long uninterrupted stretches of time where I could get into whatever nonsense everyone wants to talk about ‘art’ or whatever. But I didn’t have that kind of time.
One thing I did enjoy was being reminded of the horrors of TB. It takes place in a TB sanitorium, when they had no treatment other than ‘better air’. I just want to say how EXTREMELY PRO-VAX I am.
A MOTHER’S RECKONING by Sue Klebold
Not sure how I got into this, but here is a memoir by the mother of one of the shooters at Columbine High School, Dylan Klebold. First thing to note, which really astonished me, was that school shootings were extremely uncommon at the time of Columbine. Imagine how bad it would be to find out that your son is a school shooter, without even having a model of what a ‘school shooter’ is.
This woman’s experience is truly jaw-dropping. Dylan, far from the bullied outcast I always thought he was (trenchcoat mafia etc), had in fact a bunch of friends and had been to the prom a few days before. He was also a perfectionist who was the child they ‘never had to worry about’. I guess I should not be surprised: teenagers lie to their parents. It is just astonishing how people do not know each other, even if they see each other every day.
What struck me particularly was that Dylan was not just a murderer, but also a suicide. When they eventually found his journals and went through them, it turns out he had been thinking of ending his life for at least two years. Even the week before the shooting he had been debating with his father on what dorm room to choose. Apparently this kind of apparent ‘planning’ is common in suicides – something for us to bear in mind when deciding how worried to be about someone. Her main takeaway after a decade of agonising is the simple one, that she wished she had listened more and talked less. Poor lady.
I cannot imagine how she survived this level of shock and bereavement. It puts one’s own problems very much into perspective i.e., they are minor.