Bluestalking

A Preponderance of Pondering: or, Curiouser and Curiouser.

No time to pursue this week, but once I'm home from Booktopia with fellow blogger Bibliosue expect me to run off at the keyboard about this brilliant article from The Atlantic:

 

http://tinyurl.com/6m3fzxe

 

It's from 2001, and I've probably read it before, actually, but it's particularly striking now because the issue of literary/genre fiction continues to be debated - which is a good thing. It's given me much to ponder. It will probably resonate with lots of you, as well, unless you're unlike me and have waking moments in which you are not thinking about books. Or Sebastian Barry. Or books by Sebastian Barry. (SEE: Barry, Sebastian)

It's led me to wonder if a massive book blogger pow wow (I have NA genes, so don't EVEN think of going PC on me) isn't in order, a cross-blogular examination of what IS and IS NOT considered LITERARY, as well as how one determines QUALITY in BOOKS (perhaps a few HOURS spend on random CAPitalization would not be amiss, EITHER) . But this week I'm making like the White Rabbit so there's no time to go into any depth, especially on a subject as complex as this.

My head's stuck on the topic of packing: specifically, what clothing one needs for three days in the Deep South and how many books one needs to pack for two overnight train trips; minus what one buys while there; times hours spent conscious; minus trips to the bathroom and time wasted eating, looking out the window, noticing my environment, surreptitiously kicking obnoxious children, sounding an air horn in the ears of obnoxious children every time they nod off and conversing.

Sad news all around - I don't think I'll bring my laptop along, though the urge to live blog does pull strongly. Seeing as I often come  home with lighter loads than I leave - due to my unfortunate tendency to "hide things away" in hotel rooms, for purposes of "safety," then forget to find them again - I think it may be best I leave my poor pet at home. And, while I can blog from my Kindle it's unwieldy and frustrating. Something tells me by the time Suzanne and I make it back to the hotel at night we'll be half-dead, anyway, and while it could be fun to read a blog post written while I'm falling asleep I can see potential drawbacks to that as well. Like the lack of a sane reason for doing so.*

I may be able to hop past again before I'm off on our Wild Ride but if I do not please be safe while I'm gone. And, for the love of all that's holy, STAY INSIDE WITH THE AIR CONDITIONING BLASTING.

God bless us, everyone.

 

*I am in no way advocating the abuse of alcohol but it has crossed my mind live blogging while intermittently drinking shots of alcohol, over a set period of time, could produce truly entertaining reading. If by "entertaining" one means "humiliating" and "potentially fired from one's place of employment." Not to mention "evicted from one's home."

**This blogging methodology is otherwise known as "Ernest Hemingway."

Slow to the Finish, Though I Eats Me Spinach: January reading, etc...

I haven't finished one book yet in 2012. Not one. I've started a few, and made some good progress but I keep getting distracted by other books and can't finish a single one. It's getting a little frustrating, especially seeing so many other book bloggers joyously declaring they're ready to post their first - or even second, the over-achievers! - review of the year, then here's me - six days into Apocalypse 2012 without a single finish to call my own.

I hang my head in shame.

 

I'm just over halfway in A Long Long Way, Mr. Sebastian Barry's previous Booker nominee. It tells the tale of Willie Dunne, of the recurring Dunne family, and his experiences in WW I. Positively gut-wrenching stuff. The description of death by mustard gas was an agony to read. How could human beings be so cruel to each other?

It's not all horrific, thankfully, but much of it is dedicated to expressing the brutality - and frustrations - of war. Impossible not to love Willie Dunne and wish him anywhere but along the front lines. Also difficult not to feel enraged when his superior officer denigrates the Irish, putting them down as stupid for going and getting themselves killed. As if they'd done so on purpose? I could have slapped the man which goes to show you how Mr. Barry creates such emotion in - in this case - a more stripped-down example of his prose, a less-poetic book than On Canaan's Side but powerful nonetheless.

During Willie's visit home on leave it feels so easy identifying with the glory of being bathed for the first time in ages, though I've never been that dirty I assure you. Reading it made me feel the itch of the nits (I'm scratching my head as I type this!) and the relief after the scrub down by his father, while Willie stood in the tin tub shivering but enjoying the personal attention from the parent who'd always found him lacking before. Such a simple scene, really, though not simple at all from the standpoint of their fraught relationship. Having been tested and coming through one stage of the war raised the boy in the opinion of his father, disappointed as he'd been by his son's short stature and inability to prove himself strong and manly otherwise. Sad knowing it took so much to get his father's attention though Willie himself seems proud enough of the fact. 

 

In a nonfiction work for review it's the story of Victoria and Albert, specifically Victoria's obsession with death and mourning, contrasted with Albert's complete resignation he had no doubt he would die young. Many readers will find it eerie how accepting of death Albert was, though Rappaport does a brilliant job explaining reasons for it. For one, he was a German having to live away from his homeland and all his family. For another, when he married Victoria he was discriminated against for being foreign and also emasculated for his status as mere husband of the monarch, until made Prince Consort.

Ironically, it turns out he's the one who put the ramrod iron in Victoria's spine, disciplining her from a silly thing (Victoria?!) into a serious ruler. But even then he was every inch the king, though not in name. He answered official correspondence, heavily influencing the direction Britain took, necessarily using his persuasion on Victoria herself, as well.

My idea of the romance between Victoria and Albert was smashed by the reading of this book. Certainly, they loved each other, and when Albert died Victoria was devastated. Only, she was one for indulging herself in deep mourning, almost taking pleasure in its austerity, judging from her reactions to other deaths in the family. It's all riveting and shocking, not at all the story I was expecting. Fascinating stuff. During this year of the celebration of Dickens's 200th it's a wonderful addition to my reading, thanks to Library Journal!

And should you read an LJ blurb on the back of the finished U.S. edition that would be ME. The first time I saw a quotation from myself in the guise of Library Journal (individuals aren't credited) I was taken aback, I was so impressed. I told the person I was with, "I wrote this review, so I know I said this, but I don't remember it!"

So it goes as a review churner-outer. I expect I'm all over the place and don't know it. I'm too focused on what's next I seldom look back, though I may wish otherwise someday. Ah, but it will still be there now, won't it.

 

On to Dickens (happy birthday in a month and a day, old chap!) and Bleak House! It's a huge, huge book - weighing in between 900 + and 1,000 + pages depending on the edition - and I'm just past the middle reading it on my new Kindle Fire.

Until last night I was so proud I'd been keeping all 5,000 characters straight, then I hit a scene in which I had no concept on earth what had just happened, nor did I recognize to whom it did. I soldiered on, hoping it would come clear but then it never did after another 50 or so pages.

The remedy for that will be a quick look at Spark Notes or the equivalent, which I believe an excellent resource when you're actually reading - or have read - the primary work and have a question to be answered. Because falling behind in a Dickens novel is a serious thing, indeed.

This is at least my second read of BH, if not my third. I can't keep anything straight I live in such a muddle of books. I'm not as irritated with Esther Summerson this time around (reserving that feeling for Ada, the long-suffering fool), and far more annoyed with Richard Carstone. Mrs. Jellyby is still a nuisance of a thing I'd love to slap, and her Peepy adorable beyond words as a background character you can't help but love, the poor duck.

I just don't remember the covers of the book being so far apart,or the distance between mentions of Lady Dedlock separated so much. If this were a modern book I'd be screaming WHERE IS THE EDITOR?! but it's funny with Dickens I push through all the diversions.

But I honestly don't recall all these side-plots... The Smallweeds and granddaughter Judy, for one, though any scene featuring them is grimly hilarious. Old Smallweed is tossed around, as an elderly invalid, but the reader feels no sympathy at all for the calculating old coot. When he's pushed too close to the fire and his stockings begin to burn the reader almost wishes he'd been pushed a little closer.

 

Nasty old thing.

And here's a wonderful link with Bleak House illustrations in case you're looking for them and you hopefully will be someday, if not today.

So, having lots of fun with this but I'm getting a little nervous about finishing on time for the group discussion in another week or so. I read 'til I can't keep my eyes open every, single night and get through hundreds of pages but did I mention the book is VERY  LONG?

 

And don't even ask me what's up and coming or I'll slip into a coma. A publicist for Barry Unsworth sent me a note asking if I'll review his new one,  The Quality of Mercy, coming out January 10. Well, if I can I love to post a review right as a book's debuting and though this one's not so chunky as BH it's still over 300 pp. of thoughtful reading, with the Victoria and Albert review due January 8, no less.

Next week I'm attending a signing for Sara Levine (and three other writers but never mind that...), author of Treasure Island!!! with which I had mixed reading success. For her I'll be working up a review-y, maybe interview-y thing for local papers,  plus of course the blog. With photos, video if possible but don't hold your breath.

As if that's not enough to make a woman a raving lunatic, my library is hosting a TREMENDOUSLY PROLIFIC BIG NAME AUTHOR during National Library Month in April and I've, to date, read only one of her 20ish books. SO I WILL NEED TO REMEDY THAT. And she may be bringing along another writer, first book coming out in May, and I NEED TO LAY MY GRUBBY HANDS ON A COPY OF THAT AS WELL.

And no, that's not all that's between January and April, just all I'm willing to type.

I may not come up for air until June, during which I'll have roughly two weeks to cry piteously until time to gear up once again and read the works of NUMEROUS WRITERS I WILL BE MEETING AT BOOKTOPIA 2012 in Oxford, MS.

For all or  most of these writers my work will include much of my usual services. Of COURSE there's much joy and rapture in all my endeavors - or damned if I'd do it - but it makes my brain feel squeezy sometimes, you must understand. Occasionally it becomes so squeezy all the blood flees my brain, my head flops to the side and I stare at nothing for hours until someone comes along and pushes me over, allowing my blood to again flow freely. Then I eat chocolate and all is right with the world.

So all this is a very round-about way of saying, "Gosh I'm busy." You could have just read this last bit and avoided everything else. Makes you want to kick yourself, doesn't it?

 

Benefits of planning one's reading

Never mind a few years ago I thought making any plans beyond the end of the week was silly and misguided. That was before I hit 40 and was slapped in the face with the spectre of my own mortality. An unpleasant experience that was, in more ways than one. First off, ever been slapped by Death? Not high on anyone's list of Fun Things. Second, there went any hope I'd live long enough to get around to reading those ancient classics, at least not willy-nilly at my own leisurely pace.

I no longer think it's silly planning out not just a year's reading but five year and ten year plans as well. And not to say I'm elderly or suffering from a fatal disease but it's simple math/probability the longer you live the more likely you are to die. I never was good at math but I think I may have that one right.

First, those authors whose works I'd like to read to completion (insert joke about "happy finish" here):

Dickens

Woolf

Faulkner

 

 

 

 

 

Maybes:

Henry James

Edith Wharton

Thomas Hardy

Truman Capote

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then, works I want to say I've read, in order to throw that fact around at dinner parties (which I never attend but never mind that):

Remembrance of Things Past

Ulysess

Moby-Dick

Anna Karenina

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maybes:

Infinite Jest

Gravity's Rainbow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Authors whose works I've read almost completely and want to finish because they're either handsome and I want be thoroughly conversant with them when next I meet them, god willing, or I just plain respect the living hell out of them:

 

Sebastian Barry

Julian Barnes

Sebastian Barry

Margaret Atwood

Whomever I'm reading at the time and feel thoroughly impressed by.

 

 

 

 

 

Maybes:

Joyce Carol Oates, though I'm not sure my mind can remain stable if I do so

 

 

 

 

 

 

Writers whom I haven't read yet and should have, which encompasses so many I cannot even recall them all.

 

 

Writers whose series fiction is completely addicting:

Susan Hill

Ian Rankin

 

 

 

 

 

 

Books which seduce me, often new books sent to me for review or those I stumble upon serendipitously.

 

 

100 best novels - Modern Library (except those of no interest to me).

100 best nonfiction - Modern Library (see above).

 

All the books I personally own, number in the thousands, save those I start and find uninteresting and either donate or exchange for credit at used book stores.

[Mental Note: Should consider photographing major book storage areas in my house, to post at a later date, assuming blog hosting site can handle that much photo storage space.]

 

 

Alright. Well, that's not so bad, now, is it? Totally doable. Assuming I can read 100 books per year (not out of the realm of possibility), the Modern Library will keep me busy a mere two years (and I've read many on the list of novels already), though I won't read them all in one year because I distract far too easily.

Big, chunker books like Ulysses should take, what, six months to a year to read slowly and digest? So that's four years for what I've been able to remember, countless years for those I've forgotten.

Completing authors: five years each, perhaps? Fifteen years, again plus those I've forgotten or have put on the "maybe" list. Assume a good twenty more of these for a total of (gets out calculator) 100 years.

Authors I respect and want to impress: I've listed four, plus let's assume 50 more for whomever else should be on the list. Total shot in the dark Best estimate: Fifteen years.

Series fiction? Depends how long each author lives. Forty years?

Serendipitous books, paired with the thousands I own: Roughly 100 years.

Grand total:   271 years at 100 books per year

 

Piffle! Scientists say they'll eventually cure death, so that's one point for me. The sun will eventually consume the Earth, if the Andromeda Galaxy hasn't gotten us first, but that's a good few billion years out. Oh, but that's if Yellowstone or another Super Volcano doesn't erupt (could be any day now), or idiotic people with nuclear and other world-destructive capability don't accidentally hit the Red Button (ditto), or a mutant disease doesn't escape from some laboratory somewhere (ditto). Like that super-strain of bird flu recently developed. Something of that nature, which was a BRILLIANT IDEA, by the way. BRILLIANT!

To my mind, my goals are totally doable. I can rest much easier knowing that. What a relief! Ah, I feel better.

 

This is the end...

Introduction, of a General Nature:

Time to start gathering 2011 into a big ball to tie a ribbon around it, considering tomorrow's le fin de la fin. Often I'm keen to start picking up the stray bits before it's reached this date, so I guess that means 2011 could have been worse. That comes as close as I ever get to saying something positive. You may want (first typed "wank")  to bookmark this post as proof I am not 100% glass half-empty.

As a general comment, looking back through Bluestalking from 2011 I'm more than a little disappointed with the quality of many of my posts this year. I'm also irritated by how much I've jumped around getting off-track more than I should.

So... Resolution #1: 2012 will see a separation of blog content.

 

   My book reviewing and interviewing will remain here at Bluestalking.

    Off-topic rambling concerning myself and other endeavors - some of them also literary-     related, but not reviewing per se, including my participation in World Book Day, etc. - will                be found here.

    Photography, my painting and multi-media work as well as anything related to matters     artistic will be here.

 

Life, as it was, in 2011:

2011 began with the culmination of a series of shots under my left knee cap, injections I elected to try in hopes they would alleviate ongoing, unendurable pain. As a bonus, what started as a left knee phenomenon spread to the other after I tore the meniscus tendon in that knee, as well. Ironically, it gave up the ghost a few weeks into my very active exercise routine, fueled by the hope I could build up enough leg muscle to avoid that very eventuality. I walked miles and worked out at the gym for hours, with the result of a ripped tendon, the absence of its protection resulting in my right knee quickly became inflamed. Then I had two knees exhibiting excrutiating arthritis I'm far too young to have. Too young by fifteen or twenty years. But it's genetic, my older brother (by six years) is battling it as well, though only in one knee. Eventually I'd have succumbed. But so soon?

Resolution # 2: Actively search out viable solutions to minimize and work around the pain, don't curl up and succumb like a big, whinging baby.

 

Rays of Light:

For the positive of the year, I've already expressed how wondrous were matters reading and literary event-related. The books I read were nothing short of miraculous but even that may be slightly eclipsed by the memories of authors met. One day, when I'm old and grey - oldER and greyEr, that is - it will finally hit me I really did meet these people, talk to them, hear them speak and learn more about what makes each such a wonder of humanity.

Their genius is humbling, if also a bit depressing if I'm totally honest, since it reaffirms I would need ten lifetimes to begin to approach that level of creative ability - which is why I read, review, blog and love from afar while they produce works of enduring beauty. I'm the thwarted Romeo to their Juliet but I love them no less for it.

 

Authors met in 2011:

Ian Rankin

Sebastian Barry    (Have I mentioned that?)

Michael Cunningham

Goldie Goldbloom

Elizabeth Berg

Chris Bohjalian

Bill Br yson

Rebecca Skloot

Resolution # 3: Carry on meeting, greeting, reading and adoring amazing writers.

 

The New Library World Order:

You won't like hearing this any better than I like telling you but libraries, within roughly the next decade, will no longer resemble what you've become accustomed to. I know this because I've been reading about "advances" other libraries are making and/or planning in order to fulfill a whole new function in society. I also know the same is in store for my own library. The planning has already begun.

Roughly 50% or more of print books will be going away, the space they occupied devoted to classrooms for instructing the public on how to use up and coming technology. Other space will become private meeting or similar technology-related areas.

That is, libraries which aren't to be shuttered will be transformed. I should qualify that. As a profession, I don't think it's too soon to say librarians will gradually cease to be. And, you may recall, I received my Master's a mere two years ago.

Enough said.

Resolution # 4: Change, adapt, accept. Or scream, break things and swear. It's a toss up.

 

A Few 2011 Highlights:

Hollywood and Harry Potter

A Widow's Story by Joyce Carol Oates

NBCC winners

Acadiana: ... by Carl Brasseaux

I predicted the Orange Prize Winner!

Stones for My Father by Trilby Kent

Netsuke by Rikki Ducornet

Tolstoy and the Purple Chair by Nina Sankovitch

The Filter Bubble by Eli Paliser

Salem Press declared Bluestalking one of the better General Interest Library Blogs for the second year in a row

Bluestalking turns five

Fourth of July - Lisle Hot Air Balloon Fest

Goodbye, Borders

Lamb by Bonnie Nadzam and I Married You for Happiness by Lily Tuck and Sebastian Barry

Julian Barnes, the Man Bookers, Alan Hollinghurst. And Sebastian Barry.

Errm... Sebastian Barry

A photographic romp

Julian Barnes! and gratuitous mention of Sebastian Barry

Bit more Sebastian Barry

Dean Faulkner Wells

 

2012:

Partly new start, partly continuation of the status quo. In my next post I'll talk a bit about what's ahead for me, so many exciting details you may want to make sure you're sitting down. A small cocktail wouldn't be out of order.

In the meantime, celebrate the New Year well and safely. As for NY Day, the Scots believe you should do, on the first day of the year, a few things important to you, that you'd like to do much more of the rest of the year. And yes, that sounds a bit awkward but in my case I'll read a little, write a little and create - whether painting, photography or whatever - and be back here to post on the year ahead.

Wishing you all much health and happiness in 2011. And thank you, so much, for reading.

 

It's that time: Best Books of 2011 Lists

I pity the author with a book coming out this month because you are, quite honestly, out of luck. All the majors are getting their Best Books of 2011  lists out. No one's paying attention to the new kid. My advice (worth every penny you're paying)? Consider holding off 'til next year. Better yet, wait for the spring thaw. That's when "Best Summer Reads" lists will start popping up like prairie dogs in South Dakota. Get on one of those and you're golden; publish now and you're destined to live in obscurity, tossed aside by New Year's Eve.

Personally, I've had a fantastic reading year. I haven't drawn up my list because I've been dreading the necessity of choosing. The year's been just that good. When in doubt, though, I always go with an author's looks. If two books are equally brilliant, and one author's a British or Irish man, chances are the scale tips in his favor. Does the same rule apply to women? Generally not. I am utterly sexist. And awkwardly honest.

Little doubt which two books ruled the literary roost this year. Jennifer Egan's A Visit from the Goon Squad pretty handily steamrolled over the 2011 lot of fiction. And close behind came Téa Obreht's The Tiger's Wife.

 

I read Obréht - and was awed - but for whatever reason avoided Egan. There was a little touch of the "this book is getting way too popular" about it, the sort of phenomenon that builds expectations so high you're afraid you can't  help but be disappointed. Subconsciously, that may be why I haven't yet read it. Maybe I'll get to it over the holidays, when I'll have a good, solid two weeks off work. Now that the shine isn't quite so bright, and I've forgotten what was considered so great about it, I may be better able to appreciate its charms.

I picked Obréht for the Orange Prize, assuming the panel would go with a newcomer. Otherwise my money was on Emma Donoghue's Room. I was not surprised Obréht beat her out, no offense to her remarkable ability to speak in the voice of a young boy. Impressive, that, if more than a little depressing. I went to Donoghue's author reading when she was touring the States. Normally that would could sway me, but Obreht hit a home run and I knew it.

Next comes a subject I'm still feeling a bit prickly about: THE BOOKERS. Still rubs me raw. I may have let slip my penchant for Sebastian Barry, the ever so slight preference I had for his On Canaan's Side over the other truly jaw-droppingly wonderful contenders. Then came the moment the shortlist was announced. And where oh where was Mr. Barry? Dunno, but he wasn't on the list. Reader, I was stunned. Stunned and more than a bit outraged, especially after I met him and heard him read. I melted out of my chair onto the floor. Never, outside the theatre, had I experienced such passionate delivery. It sent shivers, it really did. And prickles of tears behind my eyes. Language that beautiful is the stuff of angels.

[And right about now his wife is probably thinking, "Yes, but he leaves such a mess around the house, never picks up and talks with his mouth full of food."]

But I was forced to admit to myself then the prize was Julian Barnes's for the taking. I read some of the others, but come on! Did you read The Sense of an Ending? Well, did you? No one with a pulse could fail to be moved by prose like that. Sebastian Barry's the lyrical, poetic Irishman (swoon), but Barnes came through with a tight, concise, soul-touching masterpiece - no single word wasted. I had to come to terms with it: Barnes was flawless. And congratulations to him.

(But I had better live to see Sebastian Barry with a blasted Booker!)

 

 

Bestill my Dutch-Irish heart.

So, the Best of 2011 lists. They've been pouring out over the last week or two. In some cases books I'd have staked my life would have made the lists six months earlier have been bumped out the door by other, somewhat surprising choices. In a few instances the titles are completely new to me. In others it's the same old stuff I've been hearing about - and reading - all year.

Here are a couple lists I particularly liked. Books I've read are highlighted in red. Books I own but haven't read are in green, like the shamrocks in the fields:

 

 

(Gratuitous, I know.)

 

Salon.com - Fiction

1.    The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides

2.    Pym by Mat Johnson

3.    State of Wonder by Ann Patchett

4.    The Tragedy of Arthur by Arthur Phillips

5.    The Pale King by David Foster Wallace (posthumous, unfinished novel)

Honorable Mentions:

1.    The Magician King by Lev Grossman

2.    Stone Arabia by Dana Spiotta

3.    Ghost Lights by Lydia Millet

4.    The Stranger's Child by Alan Hollinghurst (didn't finish this one)

5.    There But for The by Ali Smith (received FIVE review copies of this - a new record)

6.    Zone One by Colson Whitehead (reviewed @ BookBrowse.com)

7.    1Q84 by Haruki Murakami

8.    We the Animals by Justin Torres

9.    Mr. Fox by Helen Oyeyemei

10.    The Silent Land by Graham Joyce

11.    Reamde by Neal Stephenson

12.    Blueprints for Building Better Girls by Ellisa Chappell

 

 Publishers Weekly

1.    The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides

2.    The Devil All the Time by Donald Ray Pollock

3.    State of Wonder by Ann Patchett

4.    After the Apocalypse by Maureen McHugh

5.    Bossy Pants by Tina Fey

6.    Catherine the Great by Robert Massie

7.    There But for The by Ali Smith

8.    Hemingway's Boat by Paul Hendrickson

9.    One Day I Will Write About This Place by Binyavanga Wainaina

10.    Arguably: Essays by Christopher Hitchens (bought the audio CD of this, a rare occurence)

 

The Guardian

Writers' lists of favorites from 2011. Too many to list them all, so I've selected just a few:

 

John Banville

Ordinary Dogs by Ellen Battersby

Writing Beckett's Letters by George Craig

The Anatomy of Influence by Harold Bloom

 

Julian Barnes (!)

New Selected Stories by Alice Munro

The Wine of Solitude by Irene Nemirovsky

At Last by Edward St. Aubin

The Stranger's Child by Alan Hollinghurst

 

Sebastian Barry (!)

There But for The by Ali Smith

The Emperor of Lies by Steve Sem-Sandberg

Solace by Belinda McKeon

City of Bohane by Kevin Barry (any relation...?)

 

A.S. Byatt

There but for the by Ali Smith

King of the Badgers by Philip Hensher

 

Margaret Drabble

The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes (who?)

Pulse by Julian Barnes

 

Jonathan Franzen

Leaving the Atocha Station by Ben Lerner

[sic] by Joshua Cody

 

Alan Hollinghurst

Nikolaus Pevsner by Susie Harries

How to Disappear by Duncan Fallowell

 

Hilary Mantel

Winter King by Thomas Penn

She-Wolves by Helen Castor

 

A few quick statistics from these author lists:

#    Two most popular titles overall:    There But for the and The Stranger's Child with four votes each   (no one listed both).

#    One listed   On Canaan's Side , Two listed The Sense of an Ending (again, no one listed both).

#    Jonathan Franzen's Freedom got only one vote (snicker), but that was published in 2010. I remember because I wasted many hours reading it the last time we went to Maine.

#    Four listed Egan's A Visit From the Goon Squad, but only one Téa Obreht's The Tiger's Wife.

#    I've never heard of more than half these books! Must do research...

 

For the full list go here. Fun stuff.

 

Kirkus Reviews

Ah, they've chosen SO MANY! I can't type all these. See them here.

I'll only note The Sense of an Ending made the list, but Egan, Obreht and Barry were slighted completely. Give me a break.

 

The New York Times

They've chosen five each: fiction and nonfiction as their overall Top 10, but have listed 100 Notable Books.

 

Top Ten - Fiction

The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach

11/22/63 by Stephen King

Swamplandia! by Karen Russell

Ten Thousand Saints by Eleanor Henderson

The Tiger's Wife by Téa Obreht

 

Top Ten - Nonfiction

And So it Goes. Kurt Vonnegut: A Life by Charles J. Shields

Arguably: Essays by Christopher Hitchens

The Boy in the Moon by Ian Brown

Malcolm X by Manning Marable

Thinking: Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahenman

A World on Fire by Amanda Foreman

 

A little slanted toward Americans, eh?

As for the 100 Notables, there's no Jennifer Egan, though Téa Obreht is  there. Also, no On Canaan's Side but they gave Julian Barnes's The Sense of an Ending a nod, as well as Alan Hollinghurst's The Stranger's Child.

And, as for the nonfiction, I read much less of that but the list's still interesting.

 

Ah, then. There are approximately a gazillion other lists of Bests but I couldn't cover them all. All I'm planning from here is my own Top Ten of 2011 list, which is forthcoming.

So many books listed are of interest to me. Others I'll look up, as they sound wonderful. Overall, what's most baffling is how often Alan Hollinghurst's The Stranger's Child is mentioned. I put it down about 1/3 of the way through, finding it a chore (and a bore). Apparently I missed something. Maybe I'll give it another go. Sigh.

 

Still may compile more stats about the yearly wind-up. If I get around to it you'll be the first to know.

Now it's time to wait out the posting of favorites listed by bloggers. Anyone else have a list - blogger or no? Would love to hear from you.