Bookish: 2021 Bibliography

I thought I'd never finish this list this year and if I'm being honest, I am not really finished. I read about 8 or ten other books; some of which were re-reads, and a few of which I cannot remember at all, not one detail, and so I won't bother to list them here. After all, there's no rules around this thing. No one is going to audit my notebook and my Kindle library and fine me for omitting one or two books. I can do whatever I want. So without further ado, here is my close-to-complete 2021 book list. 

*****

Savage Beauty, by Nancy Mitford. I don't remember much about this book, having read it over a year ago. It is a biography of Edna St. Vincent Millay, who was sort of the Amanda Gorman of her time, except that Edna was a bit of a slut, but who am I to judge. Anyway, I always like reading biographies of early- and mid-20th century literary figures. This one has the advantage of having been written by another mid-20th century literary figure, who was arguably more famous than the person she was writing about. This year, I plan to read about the Mitfords. Maybe Amanda Gorman should write about them. I'd buy that book. 

The Little Drummer Girl, by John Le Carre. I had never read any John Le Carre, and this is probably his most famous, so I read it. It was very good. That's probably all I have to say about it except that I read this novel about the Cold War and 20th century Middle East violence and the rest of the chaotic, murderous, genocidal 20th century I couldn't help but think that in many ways, that was the good old days. 

Uncanny Valley (Anna Weiner)

Shuggie Bain (Douglas Stuart). I think this was my book of the year last year. I'm going to read it again soon. 

Let Me Tell You What I Mean (Joan Didion). I didn't write anything about Joan Didion when she died last year (and of COURSE Joan Didion died in 2021 because 2021 was a big fat jerk of a year). I never know what to say about her writing, except that she always seemed to know exactly what she meant, and exactly how to say it. 

Political Fictions (Joan Didion). This was a book of essays about American politics, the last of which was written in 2000; and yet, the whole book remains completely relevant for 2022. 20 years ago, Joan Didion predicted the widespread use of bad faith phony outrage as a tool for political division, and here we are.

Jesus and John Wayne (Kristin Du Mez).  I had to update this list to include this book, which I most assuredly read but forgot to include. I’m surprised at myself for having forgotten about this and also having neglected to write any of my impressions down when I was reading it because it definitely made an impression. Using John Wayne as the exemplar of white American mid-century conservative Republican masculinity, Du Mez deftly stirs up a pot of Reagan Republicanism, white Evangelical Christianity, purity culture, rigidly enforced gender roles enforced by male “headship,” and the prosperity Gospel and demonstrates how this toxic stew of quasi-Christian sludge led directly to the election of Donald J. Trump and the even more toxic sludge of Trumpism. Du Mez has made a lot of enemies among the retrograde misogynist Evangelical underworld, many of whom seem to have nothing better to do all day than to troll Du Mez and other Christian women on the Internet. Maybe they should try going to church once in a while. Maybe they should try praying. 

The Fran Lebowitz Reader (Fran Lebowitz)

Winter is Coming (Garry Kasparov). I keep reading Russian dissident authors' books about how awful Putin is. I don't know why. I'm already sold on this idea. No additional convincing is necessary. 

Nomadland (Jessica Bruder). I might have liked the movie even more than the book, but the book was very fine. 

Clothes...and Other Things that Matter (Rebecca Shulman)

A Paradise Made in Hell (Rebecca Solnit). I read this early last year and don't remember much about it except that it is a history of the aftermath of natural disasters (the San Francisco Earthquake of 1906 features heavily). More specifically, is is a story about the communities of mutual aid that quickly spring from the devastation of a natural disaster, and the fondness with which people who lived through the disaster remember those communities. Think of open air soup kitchens after a hurricane; the comfort of food and kindness combined with the euphoria of having survived a disaster not yet tempered with the sobering reality that you have to rebuild, and you'll get the idea. 

Girl Land (Caitlin Flanagan). I shared this little post on Twitter, and Caitlin Flanagan kindly acknowledged me and said something nice about the post. That was kind of a high point of my reading and writing  year. 

Notes from the Underwire (Quinn Cummings). Funny essays by Quinn Cummings, once a child actor (nominated for an Academy Award at age 11 for "The Goodbye Girl") and now a popular podcaster and Twitter personality. 

Why Didn't You Just Do What You Were Told? (Jenny Diski). I was just thinking about this book this morning only I couldn't remember what book it was, if that makes any sense. Jenny Diski was an English essayist, not well-known, but pretty extraordinary. In one of these essays, Diski writes about her near-paralyzing arachnophobia and I thought about this as I calmly smacked a giant spider with an old shoe, and then scooped up the remains to deposit in the trash. I have more ridiculous fears and anxieties than the DSM 5 even knows about but spiders? Big deal. 

Leaving Isn't the Hardest Part (Lauren Hough). “Upside of sisters: It doesn’t really matter what you just confessed to, as long as they were right.” This is Lauren Hough, describing her sister’s “I knew it!” reaction when she came out as a lesbian. Having sisters myself (and being one, if we’re honest), I know that this is one of the truest observations about siblings, especially sisters, ever put on paper. Leaving Isn’t the Hardest Part is a collection of essays about Lauren Hough's life as a child raised in an obscure quasi-Christian fundamentalist cult and her service in the Air Force until she was thrown out after landing on the wrong side of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, and her adult struggles to reconcile herself with the trauma and craziness of her early life; struggles that led to drug use and depression and panic attacks and even jail time. There’s a lot more to this deceptively simple book, written in a confessional, blunt, foul-mouthed style that critics would probably describe as “raw” or “searingly honest.” I don’t know why honesty should sear anything, but critics always seem convinced that too much truth can burn. But maybe it can. Maybe if you’re the controlling ex or the abusive parent or step-parent villain of a writer’s true-life narrative, then a few words of truthful recollection could roast the flesh right off your bones. Memoir is a complicated genre. This one is very good. 

Begin Again (Eddie Glaude, Jr.). I thought I'd written about this before, but I have nothing, not even a draft. This is the kind of book that crybaby conservatives who scream about "cancel culture" all day long are going to try to ban in public schools because oh my gosh critical race theory! I don't know a damn thing about critical race theory, except that I know that the idea that the United States was founded by benevolent idealists who envisioned a society in which all people were free and equal and that slavery and Jim Crow and westward expansion at the expense of Native Americans and internment camps for Japanese-Americans during WW 2 were all just anomalous incidents that don't reflect what America truly is is a big fat lie. The simple premise of this book is that we have to abandon our legends and re-examine our heroes and give up our comfortable belief in American exceptionalism and just start over if we really want to fulfill what we believe to be the ideals on which America was founded. It's a simple premise and not new (see my next two selections, which I read thanks to Dr. Glaude) but pretty radical. 

The Fire Next Time (James Baldwin). I read this in high school, and re-read it right after Begin Again. James Baldwin was pretty much right about everything. 

Go Tell it on the Mountain (James Baldwin). A beautiful and sad novel about John Grimes, the teenage son of a Black Christian preacher in 1930s New York. I think that Douglas Stuart must have read James Baldwin before he wrote Shuggie Bain. I'm going to look into that. 

Empire of Pain (Patrick Radden Keefe). This is the story of the corrupt and evil Sackler family and what should have been regarded as an international crime syndicate but that was instead considered a respectable, successful American corporation. Purdue Pharma created the opioid addiction epidemic and did everything in their considerable power to sustain it and worsen it and draw more unfortunate people into suffering and addiction, and Keefe demonstrates exactly how they did it and exactly how they got away with it. And they did get away with it. Infuriating. 

The Problem with Everything, Unspeakable, and My Life Would Be Perfect if I Lived in That House (Meghan Daum). I rediscovered Meghan Daum this year. In moments of weakness or boredom or sadness or just plain stupidity, I too think that my life would be perfect if I had that one thing--the right job, the right handbag, the right jacket, the right haircut or skincare product or whatever. Not so much the house. I like my house. 

Great Circle, Maggie Shipstead. One of the best of the year. 

Becoming Duchess Goldblatt (Duchess Goldblatt)

Feel Free (Zadie Smith)

Without a Doubt (Marcia Clark) and In Contempt (Christopher Darden). I almost completely forgot about these. Early in the year, I watched "The People vs. O.J. Simpson" and then I was obsessed with the O.J. case for about a week. So I read these books. The end. 

Goodbye, Columbus (Philip Roth). Zadie Smith convinced me that I should read Philip Roth, which I would never have done otherwise. I might read Portnoy's Complaint, but I don't know. I could barely tolerate Neil Klugman for 100 pages, so I'm not sure how I'd get through 500 or whatever number of pages of Portnoy complaining. But Zadie Smith is probably not wrong. Check back next year. Anything can happen. 

Broken (in the Best Possible Way) (Jenny Lawson). Jenny Lawson, also known as The Bloggess, has written several successful books that draw on material from her very popular blog.  She is one of the exceptions to my personal rule about avoiding books written by social media and internet personalities (Allie Brosh is the other one). I liked this one very much. 

Based on a True Story (Norm MacDonald)

I can't believe that I finally got to the end of this list. I wish I'd written a bit more about some of these books, but I have to put this to bed. It's President's Day now. It'll be March in a week. A week after that it'll be time to start thinking about next year's book list. Come back next February or so. I'll be reading and writing all year.