I turned 40 this year. And with age, I am trying to move on from delusions of grandeur to accepting the grandeur that is my life. A tall and kind husband, two healthy kids, and a home in a walkable city with good public schools.
This life has also afforded me some basic pleasures, including a trip to Las Vegas as my husband’s plue-one at the World of Concrete and a 40th birthday trip with 13 other women to what was effectively Las Vegas, Mexico—that is, an all-inclusive resort on the Pacific Coast. I learned nothing about myself or the world on these vacations, just had a good time. When I was younger, I might have objected. But who am I to look down on eating a sushi burrito while watching a syndicated Friends episode or drinking fresh-squeezed juice with a view of the Pacific?
I read during these trips, and all year round. To be honest, I was surprised that I had read so many books this year. Most nights, I can stay awake for approximately 94-seconds after putting the kids down. But I gave up on many of these books about halfway through and I did it without shame. There’s only so much time left for reading, maybe just 40 more years, and I won’t waste any of what’s left on the mediocre.
The Palace Papers, Tina Brown
Read by the author, this gossipy morsel went down easy on the long drive to and from Laramie, Wyoming. As a second child with a penchant for existential drama, I’m Team Harry, but I still enjoyed this institutionalist romp through recent monarch history.
Beautiful World, Where Are You, Sally Rooney
Shout out to the Montclair Rec Center’s free library, where I found this gem and Between the World and Me.
I Feel Bad About My Neck, Nora Ephron
I think a Nora Ephron born in 2000 would still find success. She’s so authentically herself, unembarrassed by her proclivities, vanities, and insecurities. Narrated by the author, this book made good company while shoveling the sidewalk.
The End of Vandalism, Tom Drury
Last year ended with the suicide of a friend. Instead of being sad in a non-specific way, I read this book; it was one of his favorites. I liked it too. Tom Drury’s sensibility is so funny and dry, and I also appreciate a romance between adult characters who know what real companionship looks like. I emailed Tom Drury about why he uses the word davenports so much. Apparently, it was just what they called sofas in his childhood. Toward the end of his life, my friend had a manic correspondence with Noam Chomsky. You can email anyone you want these days, and often they’ll email you back. Unfortunately, there still isn’t technology for emailing the dead.
Drury curious? An excerpt of this novel was on the New Yorker fiction podcast in 2015; it’s a delight!
Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates
Hunts in Dreams, Tom Drury
Strangers to Ourselves, Rachel Aviv
I had a bad listening experience on the 15L with this one, but generally I love Rachel Aviv. Her profile of the philosopher Agnes Collard, who lives with her current husband and her ex-husband, was one of the best things I read this year.
Mr. Bridge, Evan S. O’Connell
If you’re still open to novels about the quiet desperation of straight, white men, Mr. Bridge is a true gem.
Flowers on Fire, Hawon Jung
I Have Some Questions for You, Rebecca Makkai
A Swim in a Pound in the Rain, George Saunders
Barbarian Days, William Finnegan
The Fourth Child, Jessica Winter
Disappear Doppelgänger Disappear, Matthew Salesses
Euphoria, Lily King
Basically, and in the best possible way, anthropology fan fic. Bring it on a plane or give it to the anthropology major in your life.
White Teeth, Zadie Smith
I’m doing a slow re-read of the Zadie Smith oeuvre, and man, I cannot believe she wrote this in her 20s. It’s maybe a little long, maybe a little didactic, but it’s also fun and sweeping and full of interesting characters, beautiful sentences, and captivating scenes.
The Guest, Emma Kline
Yellowface, R.F. Kuang
Deep Work, Cal Newport
I’ve listened to this book before and honestly, self-help is just the wisdom of the obvious. I already know that I should block out time to focus, email is a scam, and the best work comes without distraction. Still, it’s good to be reminded.
What finally got me to drop some of my bad habits, like listening to music while writing, was learning about Zadie Smith’s good habits. She listens to brown noise and makes a list of topics to Google after her writing session. I don’t listen to brown noise, but I don’t have live concerts streaming on my second screen anymore.
Related: Zadie Smith on the Toure Show
Autograph Man, Zadie Smith
Nudge, Richard H. Thaler and Cass R. Sunstein
Intimations, Zadie Smith
This was quick and fun and curious. If like me, you’ve blocked out those early, dark days of the pandemic, Zadie Smith has recorded what a total bananas time that was to be alive.
Related: Zadie Smith on Call Your Girlfriend
Tom Lake, Ann Patchett
What can I say about Ann Patchett that your local librarian hasn’t already said? This book is about the difference between love in your 20s and love as an adult, with some narrative tricks and compelling descriptions of northern Michigan in the summer. Mostly, Patchett is good company on the page, and there’s no greater compliment than that.
Demon Copperhead, Barbara Kingsolver
David Copperfield, Charles Dickens
The Fraud, Zadie Smith
I listened to like 800 interviews with Zadie Smith this year, and they were all in anticipation of this book. I was perhaps too poised to like it. While there were some tricky spots—all the jumps in timelines didn’t make this an easy read—The Fraud is such a rich and interesting book. She’s written a deconstructed 19th century novel and who can object to experimentation? Take my recommendation with a grain of salt, I would read 10,000 words of her on almost any topic.
Related: Zadie Smith on The Talk Easy Podcast and Desert Island Discs
My Ántonia, Willa Cather
We went to a wedding in August where the grooms gave out copies of their favorite books as wedding favors. I got this book and oh my, what a delight to uncover a classic that was so engrossing. If you haven’t read this one, do. You won’t have to write an essay about what the Nebraska prairie symbolizes, you can just enjoy it. And there’s a lot to enjoy.
The Woman in Me, Britney Spears
Spare, Prince Harry
Greenlights, Matthew McConaughey
I listened to these three memoirs in a row, but I could only finish Greenlights. Britney Spears and Prince Harry have not had easy lives. Their books almost felt like catalogues of their despair, more bullet points of injuries than plot. In its title alone, Greenlights is more optimistic. The frame of “greenlights” gives McConaughey a focus that serves him and the reader well. I imagine I’ll be saying “greenlight” in McConaughey’s twang for some time.
Even though I couldn’t get through the Woman in Me, Michelle Williams’s reading was magical and now Britney Spears sounds like Michelle Williams to me.
Roman Stories, Jhumpa Lahiri
I’m too close to Jhumpa Lahiri, not personally, just in my head, to give an accurate assessment of this book. Lahiri was the first contemporary writer I really loved. As an adult, my affection for her is still in the high school crush register. On a sentence level, she remains a master. But she’s uninterested in narrative. One of the stories is just a series of very sharp character studies. Even in the Italian language, her preoccupations haven’t changed. Still, my best reading experience of the year was waking up before the rest of the house and reading the last story in this collection with my first cup of coffee.
Less, Andrew Sean Greer
This is delightful and fun, but like Less himself might fear, I have trouble empathizing with the main character’s anxieties around his middling literary success—that is, success beyond what I could reasonably dream of.