Tags
2023 reading goals, 2023 wrapup, Afrikas Kampf um seine Kunst, Andrew Miller, Art in Nature, Bénédicte Savoy, Blutbuch, Chouette, Claire Oshetzky, Confessions of an English Opium Eater, Daniel Schreiber, David Grann, Frankenstein, Herman Melville, Jenny Odell, Joan Didion, Judith Schalansky, Kim de l'Horizon, Mary Shelley, Now We Shall Be Entirely Free, Pierre, read in 2023, reading, Robert Macfarlane, Slouching Towards Bethlehem, The Old Ways, The Wager, The Year of Magical Thinking, Thomas de Quincey, Tove Jansson, Verzeichnis einiger Verluste, Zuhause
At the beginning of every new year, there is a sudden flurry of action on this blog when I catch up with and reflect on my reading during the preceding twelve months. This post is part of that reflective series, although the ‘flurry’ is much more of a protracted crawl this year. I do plan on writing about my goals for 2024, too, but as of right now, I have no idea when that will happen, so I’ve decided to include a couple of statistics about my reading year in this post. Mix it up a bit from previous years, yes?
For the last couple of years (since 2020, to be precise, and 2023 was no exception), I’ve been fairly consistent with my reading pace, usually ending up at around 45 finished books. That seems to be a good pace for me, making it not quite a book per week, which accounts for the occasional slump – and the occasional book over 350 pages. In fact, 200 to 350 pages seems to be my preferred length for books, but I do pick up longer titles every once in a while.
I’ve also been fairly successful with sticking with my other reading goals – to read at least 12 non-fiction books, to read at least 12 owned books, and to read at least 12 German books. In the end, a full half of all the books I read were non-fiction, and I managed to check off 12 owned books, too. I did miss out on the 12 German titles, but I did finish six, which is fine. The main reason I made that goal at the beginning of 2023 was that I wanted to get down the number of unread German titles I own and any small step towards that counts.
In terms of quality, 2023 was not quite as successful. As it turns out, I read a lot of mediocre books this year, which is also why you’re getting my favourite fiction and non-fiction titles in one post again. With the non-fiction in particular, there were a lot of self-help books in the mix because apparently that was The Mood for the second half of the year, and none of those made the cut I’m afraid. In the end, I barely came up with seven or eight favourites in each category, so splitting them up into two posts didn’t make a lot of sense. Instead, just like last year, I’ve arranged them in the order that I read them. I’ve also added a couple of thoughts below and linked reviews wherever I’ve written them. (Several of these are still outstanding, though.)
Jenny Odell – How to Do Nothing (non-fiction, cultural criticism)
Out of all the non-fiction marketed as ‘self-help’ that I read this year, this book is the only one that stuck with me – probably because it isn’t really a self-help manual but more of a cultural critique of capitalism and the culture of overwork. (Much more my kind of thing, tbh.) In fact, I read this as an ebook but would like to get my own physical copy at some point because I can see myself rereading this title, and I would like to get to Odell’s new book some time soon, too.
Herman Melville – Pierre, or: The Ambiguities (fiction, gothic fiction)
I know I only gave Pierre 3.5 stars when I read it, but the thing is: I can’t stop thinking about this book. That doesn’t change the fact that it was a bit all over the place and at times difficult and exhausting to get through, but a book I keep thinking about several months later deserves a spot on this list. I am also still, and probably forever, fascinated by how Herman Melville’s brain works.
Bénédicte Savoy – Afrikas Kampf um seine Kunst (non-fiction, museum studies)
Often infuriating, this investigation into the first wave of restitution attempts from European museums in the 1970s and 80s is a must-read for anyone intersted in museum studies and restitution. I was aware of some parts of the discourse and am subject-adjacent by academic background, but Savoy’s thorough study was still highly enlightening. Definitely a recommendation!
Robert Macfarlane – The Old Ways (non-fiction, nature writing, travel writing)
Although The Old Ways is not my favourite of Macfarlane’s works (that would be Underland and Mountains of the Mind), I can count on any work in the author’s oevre being thoroughly entertaining, informative, and guided by empathy and curiosity. If you are in any way interested in nature writing and path-making, I recommend picking up this title.
Daniel Schreiber – Zuhause (non-fiction, memoir)
I wish more of Daniel Schreiber’s books would be translated into English because he’s an author I’d recommend to fans of Olivia Laing and Rebecca Solnit. In Zuhause, Schreiber investigates the concepts of ‘home’ and ‘belonging’ both as personal experiences and cultural phenomena.
Tove Jansson – Art in Nature (short stories)
It is very rare that a short story collection makes my favourites list because I find most of them a bit uneven, but this one definitely wasn’t that. The unifying concept of Art in Nature, if such a thing exists, is creation and imagination. The short stories themselves cover a variety of characters and situations, but what they have in common is Jansson’s beautiful and precise language.
Joan Didion – The Year of Magical Thinking (non-fiction, memoir)
A couple of years ago, I read Didion’s Blue Nights and liked it, but felt like I was missing a bit of context. Impulse-buying this title early in 2023 filled some of those gaps. I don’t know what it is, but Didion’s way of describing and reckoning with the huge loss that was her husband’s death made immediate sense to me. I don’t think ‘enjoy’ is the right verb when describing reading a book about grief, but I really liked Didion allowing me to live in her head for a while.
Kim de l’Horizon – Blutbuch (literary fiction, queer fiction)
Easily the most experimental, most unashamedly queer book I’ve read this year. Highly recommend if you read German, are interested in stories about family, identity, and history, and like experimental, creative, gender-bending use of (a highly gendered) language.
Andrew Miller – Now We Shall Be Entirely Free (historical fiction)
Somehow exactly the perfect kind of historical fiction for me, both in style and in subject matter. This story about a Peninsular War veteran is dreamlike and hopeful with beautiful language and complex, complicated characters who furiously cling to hope in the face of adversity.
Joan Didion – Slouching Towards Bethlehem (non-fiction, essays)
Didion happens to be the only author who makes my favourites list twice this year. After reading The Year of Magical Thinking (and, admittedly, Daniel Schreiber singing her praises), I turned to Didion a second time when I was in the mood for more non-fiction. This collection covers a number of essays Didion published in various magazines between 1961 and 1967 and showcases both Didion’s intersts and her unique style. In addition, Slouching Towards Bethlehem is also a fascinating look at 1960s American culture and politics, if you happen to be intersted in that sort of thing.
Mary Shelley – Frankenstein (reread, fiction, gothic fiction, horror)
I swear I didn’t put this on the list to fill a gap; I just genuinely love the layered questions this book raises and Mary Shelley’s use of nature descriptions. Also, the last time I read this was over ten years ago. My memory isn’t that good, and I’m glad my reread gave me a chance to pay attention to a couple of themes and features – the overall structure of the novel, the frame narrative, Victor and the creature’s circle of pain – that I have more context for now.
David Grann – The Wager (non-fiction, history)
Some books have your name written all over it, and this is one of mine. I wouldn’t say that The Wager is necessarily a perfect book and I have thoughts about it as someone whose research focuses on the late 17th century Caribbean and Spanish American colonies, but in subject matter? Right up my alley. This is one of those books that I will draw on when I need an example of how to write accessible popular history that is nevertheless well-researched and meticulously sourced.
Thomas de Quincey – Confessions of an English Opium Eater (non-fiction, essays, memoir)
I won’t lie, the second part of the Confessions – Suspiria de Profundis – was exhausting to get through, but parts one (the actual Confessions of an English Opium Eater) and three (The English Mail Coach, or: The Glory of Motion) fully made up for that. Turns out Thomas de Quincey is one of the most charming and entertaining 19th century gentlemen I’ve encountered in a long time. I can absolutely see why the Confessions were genre-defining, and why de Quincey was a favourite of Herman Melville’s.
Claire Oshetzky – Chouette (literary fiction)
If you’re in the mood for a weird, literary tale of motherhood and (neuro)divergence reminiscent of Han Kang’s The Vegetarian and Sayaka Murata’s Earthlings, I recommend picking up Oshetzky’s Chouette. Narrated from the perspective of Tiny, who learns to fiercely protect her non-conforming owlchild Chouette, the novel is stylistically inventive, narratively fascinating, and unexpectedly queer.
Judith Schalansky – Verzeichnis einiger Verluste (genre-defying, essays, short stories)
Maybe it’s recency bias, maybe it’s because this book is quite unique and physically beautiful – at any rate, I enjoyed Verzeichnis einiger Verluste immensely. It’s by no means a perfect book – I found the individual stories a bit uneven – but it is one where the underlying idea fascinated me to such an extend that I keep thinking about it.
***
What were your favourites of 2023? And did you read and enjoy any of the above? Let me know!