Books I loved in 2023, in 10 words or less

And the best of January so far

I’m happy to be back here after a hiatus spent managing life and finishing a writing project. Life in 2023 was incredibly challenging and also beautiful. I feel more alive than ever to the abyssal darkness in our world as well as to moments of poignancy and joy. (Is this aging?) Of course, the drumbeat of war makes it hard to find joy, or mediates what there is to be found. I’m enraged, ashamed, tired, sad, confused, as I know so many of us are. Experiencing the dissonance of believing it important to channel my feelings into action while not believing the psychotic men in power even momentarily take notice. I imagine an aide showing Biden an image of Saturday’s protest on a phone. Sir, they’ve shut down the port in Oakland, California? Biden glances, snickers. Don’t worry about it, he says.

But: back to books, I suppose, the putative subject of this newsletter and, as usual, the thing getting me through. Because I was writing — and commuting, moving, mothering, more — I read less than I planned to in 2023, although the goal I set for myself was, admittedly, absurd. Most of what I did read was good. I’ll share my top 10 here.

For fun, I’ve set myself the challenge of describing each one in 10 words or less. They’re like headlines!

Eastbound by Maylis De Kerangal, translated by Jessica Moore: Russian conscript deserts while on moody, bumpy Trans-Siberian rail ride

Western Lane by Chetna Maroo: Girlhood devastated by grief, aided by practicing squash

Boulder by Eva Baltasar, translated by Julia Sanches: Must the birth of a child ruin new love? Yes.

Mrs. S by K Patrick: At English boarding school, stylish, forbidden desire lurks

The Wren, The Wren by Anne Enright: Irish mother-daughter struggle in shadow of quasi-literary grandfather

Big Swiss by Jen Beagin: Hipster Hudson hosts outrageous, ill-advised lesbian relationship

Animal by Lisa Taddeo: The childhood-trauma-to-hot-mess pipeline (plus misandry!)

The Morning Star by Karl Ove Knausgaard: Spectral mystery prompts spiritual reckoning for taciturn Norwegians

Maame by Jessica George: Clever, lovable virgin must shirk family obligation to become self

My Phantoms by Gwendoline Riley: They fuck you up, your mum and dad — especially mum

Not included is the mystery series I’m currently besotted with, The Thursday Murder Club Mystery Series by British TV writer and personality Richard Osman. (I don’t know why, but I feel compelled to mention that his brother is Mat Osman, the bassist of Suede.) They’re cozy mysteries set in a retirement community (yes, I’m ninety years of age) and they’re extremely funny and charming. I’ve read the first two and I wish there were a dozen more. No doubt there will be; for now, I have only a couple to go.

So far, my January reading has been underwhelming. I enjoyed The Three of Us by Ore Abgade-Williams. I found Little Monsters by Adrienne Brodeur entertaining enough but ultimately saccharine and risk-averse. Cursed Bunny by Bora Chung blew my mind with weirdness (often menstrual or scatological — really not my fave), but I felt little for the sentences. Central Places by Delia Cai was a serviceable coming-of-age meditation on home and belonging.

To date, the best has been The Other Mothers by Katherine Vaughn, a thriller about a circle of posh British moms with a dead nanny at its center. It’s an engrossing book that knows exactly where it fits in its genre and gives you just what you came for. It reminded me of The Anniversary by Stephanie Bishop, which I also really liked. I am always taking recommendations for books in this vein — domestic thrillers filled with rain, cliffs, tea, and all that.

I’m already into some very good new books, so I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, happy reading ☕️📖🫖