It’s both humiliating and comforting to be a statistic; it shoots a hole clean through our perceived uniqueness. Whether it’s realising our symptomology is not so different from the next person’s after all (I’m a therapist, I routinely see, with bundles of compassion, how none of us are so different. I see it in myself when I am in therapy recirculating all manner of regular woes with my own twist), or writing yet another post on your favourite books of the year, or intentional word for the one after, there is both tedium and joy in being the next in line. Yes, you are not the first. But you are also shoulder to shoulder, or back to chest. There is warmth here.
My point is this is a post about my favourite books of the year. I make no apologies. I like the glow of communally-understood ritual.
I have read 36 books this year, which is somewhat under my usual target. A completely obnoxious statement, I know. Still, there it is.
I largely put this down to writing a book this year. While some people might read more as they write a book, I tend to pull away from the outer fields of influence, and move inwards to my own private terrains. This isn’t about reducing the influence of other writers on my thinking - for from it - it’s simply about minimising the distractions that I need to get words on the page. Reduced stimuli gets deadlines met. It’s a proximity thing. And besides, the influential reading has likely been done years prior.
Aside: I suppose, there is something of process here to mention - I like the way that influence softens and alchemises onto the page through recollection rather than citation. Though, it is not necessarily true in trauma work, in writing what we remember (without the source material in front of us), is often a sign of what made the biggest impact.
But I also put it down to the 3 months of travel I made this autumn. I thought I would read a lot, but in the end I was too busy absorbing the world in front of me, rather than off the page. At night I collapsed into the bed in my campervan, with no energy left for reading. I slept early, woke late. In between I walked mountains. That was it.
This year is the first that I have made notes alongside the books I’ve read. Why did I like it. What didn’t I like. What was it about. In previous years, and there have been many now, I have only noted their titles, authors and running order. This year, it was enjoyable to be a little more expansive, though my notes have not proven to be especially enlightening as I review them now for the purpose of writing this summary. And so I stand by my intuition two paragraphs back: the things we remember most keenly are the things that made the most impact. What follows then is a revised list based on a second pass, adjusted for vitality of memory.
My favourites books in 2023 (in chronological order of reading, rather than preference)
Stone Will Answer by Beatrice Searle - I read this in two days. Thoughtful, rock-inspired books don’t come along that often I can tell you that for nothing, so I had this one on pre-order from the moment I heard of its existence. I don’t often pre-order books, adding them to my hefty wish list instead, but I needed to know this would be delivered to me as soon as the ink was dry. It recalls the authors journey to Norway with a rock from Scotland, pulled by foot on a purpose-built cart. A stone-mason’s pilgrimage. This may sound niche, but it’s not. And it hit all sorts of loves of my own: travel by foot, rocks, pilgrimage, Scotland, Scandinavia (I was in fact, in Finland when it was delivered to my kindle at the stroke of midnight). I devoured it and that’s probably all I can say. It was 11 months ago now and what I remember is the feeling of home it gave me, rather than the specific details.
Hilma af Klint A Biography by Julia Voss - I very rarely read biographies (I don’t really care enough about most people that publishers seem to think I should, which is a grotty confession now I have typed it) but I adore Hilma’s artwork, and wanted to know more about her hitherto unacknowledged influence on some of our most modern abstract art. It was recently published in English from the original German, and for me tied in nicely with the arrival of Hilma af Klint’s exhibition at the Tate Modern this year (which was shared with Piet Mondrian and was astounding). It is a very readable and inspiring book: a testament to remaining true to one’s esoteric knowings, and while I think it will mostly interest those who already appreciate her work, it will definitely provoke interest in newbies who are looking for a new artistic hero. Her words are now epigraph in the opening of my own book.
Still Born by Guadalupe Nettel - I don’t read a lot of fiction anymore, but when I do it’s usually literature in translation ( a couple of years ago my reading goal was to only read foreign fiction - a glorious year!). This is a Fitzcorraldo Edition, cementing their brilliance in the quirky translation domain, and though it is fiction it felt like non-fiction, the characters were that real. It is a book about ambivalence around motherhood, which I always seek out as a way of finding myself in other people’s words, and at times it was brutal and harrowing. But it was also incredibly absorbing and smart and made some interesting commentary on the biological idea of ‘brood parasitism’ or rearing other people’s young. Read it.
Aurochs and Auks by John Burnside - Oh, how I loved this book length essay (well, four) on extinction and life told through two iconic lost animals, and the life of one poetic man. Beautiful but understated, quiet, gentle, intimate and passionate. This book looks at the extinctions that happen in our minds, but also the possibility of our personal extinction. The book was written after Burnside’s near death from covid, and this is the smartest book I have seen yet that weaves Covid into the fabric of our shared history without feeling token, central or obvious. This is the only male author on my favourite list this year (I only occasionally read books by men) but I adored his kindness and turn of phrase. One day I hope to write something of this ilk. A favourite favourite.
Black Butterflies by Priscilla Morris - When I read fiction, I generally opt for shorter works, favouring the novella form above all else. I rarely read fiction over 300 pages. This was less than 200 and was a perfect example of the form, charting one woman’s life through the first year of the Siege of Sarajevo. Many of my readers will know I have a special love for Bosnia Herzegovina, so along with rock books I also devour anything that even makes a passing glance at this part of the Balkans and point in history. A complex time made simple through one person’s experience. Easy, but sharp prose. I will read this again because it takes me back to a city I fell in love with, and because it is a masterclass of the genre. Great craft always warrants a second look.
A Flat Place by Noreen Masud - One of the best nature, place and body books that I have ever read and one that will go onto my recommendation list for my own mentoring group. As a writer of uplands and hilly places, I was fascinated to read about someone else’s take on the opposite: flat places, and I was taken aback by the convergence on many of our ideas around place as metaphor. For an outdoor therapist, her rendering of complex PTSD and place was insightful in ways that may well prove instructive professionally, and that’s pretty special for me to find. This book hit so many bases. It was sharp, vulnerable and searing at times: as a woman of colour Masud shines a bright light on white entitlement in the landscape (one experience at Morecambe bay in the queue for the loos sticks out in my mind to this day!), and generally I just loved her mind on the job. Truly exemplary place-based writing.
The Best of Brevity: Twenty Groundbreaking Years of Flash Nonfiction edited by Zoe Bossiere and Dinty W Moore - I wouldn’t generally put an anthology on a favourite list because it feels like cheating somehow, but I have been hugely inspired by this compendium of excellent pieces published by the journal Brevity for those who like to write non-fiction in 750 word or less. This is a must-read for anyone interested in the vignette form of essays, and for those who want a deep, true, hit of real with a touch of the poetic. I have taken it in slowly, trying to learn as I go, and I know I will return to it again for craft lessons held within the pieces, but also as a resource for finding new writers. I want to write a lot more short pieces next year, so this was a great book to finally finish at the end of the year.
Other vigorous nods
Aside from those mentioned above, I read all of Tove Ditlevsen’s work in translation, and loved them all for their domestic claustrophobia. Autofiction at its best. There was also Sarah Thomas’s impressively self-aware The Raven’s Nest about life and declining love in Iceland. And Tanya Shadrick’s The Cure for Sleep, a memoir of stunning exposure in its ubiquitous and familiar normality. Then there was Summer Brennan’s High Heel - a pacy, fantastic and feminist short-work focused on one ‘object’ across a set of braided fragments. And Esme Weijun Wang’s The Collected Schizophrenias - harrowing, compelling and mind-expanding essays on the author’s experience of living with and between schizoaffective disorder.
All fantastic and memorable. Rigorously inspiring.
I have also read some frighting and illuminating books on the Israeli occupation of Palestine and persecution of her people. These were excellent, but feel too big and necessary to have on a ‘favourite’ list. Though not academic, they feel to me akin to academic books; books you should and must read, though you don’t necessarily do so for pleasure. These are the books that would warrant a separate list, or sit in with ‘Work’ books for which I keep yet another list for myself.
I should say that I tend to read comfortably, by which I mean I select books that I know I will probably like. They will often challenge me in some way, but predictably so. Therefore, I can’t say there was anything on my list this year that I didn’t like. Most of them I loved. There was nothing I didn’t finish. Nothing I hated. I found a few things underwhelming but I wouldn’t dare speak those out loud after all I know how hard it is to write a book, and who am I to judge? My taste is only mine.
Lastly, there are the books that arrived late into my year but are not yet finished. These will be accounted for in 2024, when I will write another one of these predictable posts. A year when my next book will publish. Perhaps I will read fewer books next year then, perhaps I will read more as a way of hiding. I don’t know yet, but accounting for my reads is perhaps one of the most evergreen joys of life in an upsetting world; an anchor I have no intention of pulling out of the ground.
What were your favourite books? Do we share any? Is there anything you recommend? If you are a paid subscriber then let me know in the comments. Alternatively, drop me a Note in the Substack app.
just ordered The Best Of Brevity from my local bookstore 👏🏻 ... and now I have to wait ... I’m excited to get into it. gracias
Enchantment by Katherine May, and Raynor Winn's trilogy of memoirs I found really enjoyable. Definitely want to read Flat Places. Currently enjoying the Tidal Year by Freya Bromley and getting lots of swimming inspiration!