Every once in a while, when I’m deciding what to read next, I realize that I have gotten stuck in a habit of always reaching for what is newest, what is being talked about, what is influencing thinkers right now. But there are so many great books in the world, written five or eight or twenty years ago, still to be read. (This is why I used to joke with my kids, when they were all still young teenagers, that I needed about, oh…a year in jail. Just to sit on a cot and read until I was finally caught up with everything I want to read. They could bring me books every day! Perfect, yes?) (“Never go to jail” is one of my life mottos, by the way!)

The Gate to Women’s Country by Sheri S. Tepper is a book I read about during my work at the library, when I was putting together a new science fiction list. It was published in 1988. Science fiction has always been interesting to me, and I have made many such lists at work—but somehow, I never knew about this novel until now. I think the summary from the Foreword by Adam Roberts sums the story up well:

What separates women’s country from the rest of the world? A wall with a gate in it, of course: the title of the novel alone tells us that. But it’s more than than that. In this richly imagined post-nuclear, women live in walled communities with names such as “Marthatown,” “Tabithatown” and the like. Most men live outside the walls in military camps, and spend their lives training for, and fighting, wars. The flavor of this world is neo-Hellenic: the warriors train and fight like Spartans with spear and shield; technology in the “post-convulsion” cities is, by modern standards, rudimentary. Marthatown has been deliberately modelled upon the prototype of a fifth-century BC Greek polis, right down to the collective performance of tragic drama—Tepper interleaves her chapters with scenes from this latter, a play called “Iphigenia at Ilium,” modelled in part on Euripides’ Trojan Woman.

OK, if you know me at all, you know how much of this summary would grab my attention: post-apocalyptic communities controlled by women? And a thread of classic Greek narrative running through it? I’m not sure there could be a more perfect book for me. It explores so many of my defining issues: motherhood, the work of women, the difference in relationships between mothers and daughters, mothers and sons; how we might solve society’s ills. Feminist thought made into story: these are my favorite novels.

It takes the fear of all feminist-hating men and turns it into a story: what if women ran the world?

Well, what if? Would it be a better or worse world?

In the story, it is as if men are given everything they seem to want. So, fear not, feminist-haters and misunderstanders of the world! If women did control everything, look how great it would be for you. In essence, the story works with men in stereotypes: unfettered access to sex, not much responsibility to babies, the freedom to prepare for and fight in battle. They don’t have to worry about jobs, finding or raising food, making clothing, or anything else that the women do. They only have to protect the women. In this way, women are also presented as stereotypes.

If that was all the story did, however, it would be highly unsatisfying. Instead, it sets up this society, but then shows us how real characters (not stereotypes) move within it. Some characters—both men and women—resist, some fulfill the fullness of the role their society gives them, in all its negatives and positives.

And that underlying thread of narrative about Iphigenia (remember, she was sacrificed by her father Agamemnon after he tricked her with the promise of marriage to Achilles; he needed the winds to change so he could sail his fleet to Troy and start the war to get Helen back) is the perfect one to weave. It serves the same purpose that a black outline does in a tapestry with figures: sets them apart from the background and underlines what is implied but never said.

In case I haven’t made it clear: I loved this novel.

My only problem with it is that since it’s not new and shiny, there’s no one else to talk to about it. So I’ve read reviews and recommended it to my friends (and now I am recommending it whole-heartedly to you, my friendly blog reader!) and I continue to want to discuss it. Its weaknesses (the way it deals with homosexuality would cause quite a stir in today’s society, for example, and I can see many points upon which I might have some delicious arguments over). Its characters. The absolutely unexpected turn the plot took, and how right this turn is to the underlying wisdom of the story.

It is not a feminist utopia, as some reviewers have suggested. It is also not a dystopia. It is a science fiction story in the truest sense: it asks “what if?” and then it answers. It is blunt in its realizations about war, and about how men are deeply entwined with all the wars in history. It explores how technology leaves ripples in time, and how having power changes individuals, and how individual choices change society at large. It asks: what is the true nature of men, and of women? Or is there one at all? What are our weaknesses and our strengths? Can we work together?

However I learned about The Gate to Women’s Country (and I’m not sure I can even pinpoint it), I am glad I discovered it. Like The Handmaid’s Tale and The Mists of Avalon and A Wrinkle in Time (and many, many others) it changed how I think about and perceive the world, as well as my ability to influence some part of it. And I hope someone out there has also read it, and that you’ll tell me what you thought. (Even if you hated it!)

As I was putting together my list of 2017 books, I kept thinking of reading experiences that didn’t exactly fit into a list of titles, so tonight I’m writing a post about some of my memories of reading (rather than the books themselves, if that makes sense). I’m listening to Will Schwalbe’s new book, Books for Living, during my time at the gym this month, and there was something that stuck with me this morning. Summing up because I don’t have the print book to refer to, he says something like “the person I am when I finish a book is different from the person I was when I started it.” This struck me because I’m not sure I’ve ever thought about it exactly that way—but still find it completely true. Books change us, if we let them. They give us scraps of wisdom we can use in wider ways than the story might’ve intended. They help us become better people: more compassionate, more kind, gentler, more empathetic to situations outside of our own lives. They sometimes put into words what we cannot yet express by ourselves, and by doing so they bring us peace, understanding, the relief of knowing we are not alone in the world with our sorrows and our joys.

This blog post is about that—about how my life has been changed by books in 2017.

1. I loved the movie The Arrival so much that I sought out the book that includes the short story the movie is based on, The Story of Your Life. It’s a sad, amazing, lonely and lovely story, but what really influenced me was the first story in the collection, “The Tower of Babel.” In it, the novelist imagines what might’ve been the process of building the actual tower of Babel, and why the people would do such a thing, and what God would think about people doing such a thing. This short story broke my heart. It was a powerful reminder to me that God must value, perhaps above all else, our freedom to choose, even if what we choose is foolish or dangerous or pointless. This knowledge has become a bitter truth in my life; it isn’t exactly comforting but it is because it helps me understand why some of my choices have had the consequences they did. I finished the story reading at my kitchen table and when it was done I had to put my head down and weep. I don’t know if all of the other stories in the collection are as powerful as that one—but I needed that one.
2. One thing I miss about having little kids is reading lots of picture books. I mean…I can still check them out and read them to myself, and there is still the pleasure of a sweet story and condensed language and amazing images. But it doesn’t feel the same without a small little someone snuggled in at your side enjoying those things with you. But I couldn’t resist checking out Dave Eggers’s picture book, Her Right Foot. I checked this one out because even though I don't have a little one to read to anymore, I wanted to read it. It's about the Statue of Liberty and an often-overlooked part: her right foot is in motion. I read it one afternoon when I was covering the children's desk and that is one reason I try not to read at the desk: maybe I am more open-hearted at the library, but anything that is vaguely moving makes me cry. And I don't like crying at the desk. But the illustrations made me cry, and this made me cry: "Liberty and freedom from oppression are not things you get or grant by standing around like some kind of statue. No! These are things that require action. Courage. An unwillingness to rest." Hopefully the young generation is learning this, and maybe they will be able to repair the many ugly things that are happening in our country right now. But it also inspired me: I need to be courageous, too. I need to act, to move forward, to try to make change happen even if my actions feel small and pointless.
3. For work, I am on the committee that chooses the children’s poetry long list nominees for the Beehive Award. I had so much fun reading almost 30 different junior poetry books. Some were, of course, better than others, and I’m pretty picky about what I will accept as far as rhyming goes (forced rhyming being a cardinal writing sin in my view). But I was reminded that there are so many excellent writers writing excellent poetry. I remembered, as I did this, the first time I discovered that there even was such a thing as “children’s poetry,” at least anything beyond Shel Silverstein, and how from that moment—when Haley was still going to the library with me in her stroller, so 1996 or ’97—I read poetry to my kids. I hope it is a thing that lingers in their memories and shapes their psyches in beautiful ways.
4. One book I forgot to put on my list is called Poetry in Motion. Actually, I haven’t finished it yet, as I am savoring it, so I think it will go on my 2018 list. It is a collection of poems, both typeset and as images, of the work that’s been displayed in the subway trains in New York City. I’ve only seen a few in person (and, come to think of it, I saw exactly zero during our second trip to NYC last fall), but just the fact that someone puts poetry in the subway makes me happy. I bought my own copy of this, after seeing the library’s copy (which I also ordered!), and I read it here and there when I have a few minutes for a poem. It makes me think of one of our non-subway experiences in New York, strangely enough, when Kendell and I walked around Astoria looking at murals and then walked across the Robert F. Kennedy bridge to Randall’s Island. My feet were killing me and once we got to the island I’m not sure why I wanted to go there so we got on a bus and rode into Harlem. Maybe the book reminds me of that experience because it felt like a poem, both difficult and beautiful all at once. I don’t know. But every time I pick up the book, I’m back there to that early afternoon.
5. Every week, I almost always read the new issue of The New Yorker. Not cover to cover, but I always read the poems and flip through to see the comics and drawings. A few weeks ago, I also read a short story (even though I’m really not, technically, supposed to read at the desk at work). It was titled “Cat Person,” which caught my eye when I was looking at the table of contents, so I flipped to it and read it. It was an engrossing story about a woman trying to make a relationship work with a man who turns out to be entirely not for her. It is uncomfortably true in its handling of their experiences. What I loved best about it was how it described the way we try to make peace with someone’s problematic behaviors; I have made those same excuses for others. But what really turned this short story into one of my memorable reading experiences that the very next day, when I checked my social media, “Cat Person” was all over my feed. Tons of other people had read it and were talking about it. It’s not often that I manage to be right in the middle of a cultural literary experience, so this felt pretty cool to me.
6. But, speaking of being in the middle of a cultural literary experience. Do you know that the novel The Handmaid’s Tale was one of the country’s best sellers in 2017? Even though it is more than thirty years old? And that everyone is reading it? And that I am completely bugged by this? I know…that’s a strange reaction. But this is a book I’ve loved since I first read it in 1990. It’s a book that literally changed my life, because when I read it I wanted to learn both how to write like Margaret Atwood and how to find more books like it, which influenced my education choices in a dramatic way. In theory I should be thrilled that everyone is loving something I have loved for so long. But…I don’t. Instead, I’m annoyed because everyone’s like “oh, it’s prescient!” and “how did she know?” and “this is so good” and I’m like…yes, I know. I’ve known for a long time! (For what it’s worth: I have not watched the TV adaptation. Many people have told me it’s excellent. But The Handmaid’s Tale is definitely one of my top-five favorite books of all time…and I don’t want it reinterpreted for the screen. I don’t want someone’s vision of it. I just want my own. Is that crazy?) This all has something to do with the fact that I like liking things that everyone else hasn’t ever heard of. Does that make me a snob? Perhaps. But it’s a thing about me that hasn’t changed in decades. If everyone likes something, it feels less important, somehow. Less meaningful. So I really have not enjoyed having one of my favorite books becoming diluted throughout the culture. I know, it sounds lame. But it’s bothered me all year.
7. Reading in Hawaii. Dare I confess that I don’t really love the beach. If I’m there by myself or with other adults, I’m OK. But when I’m at the beach with my kids, I’m always terrified that someone will drown. When we were in Hawaii this spring, we went to the beach every day. The kids swam and wandered and snorkeled. And I happily volunteered to sit with the towels and keep everything safe, when really what I was doing was trying to trick my heart to stop beating so hard and my head to stop filling up with worries. And I was also performing that mom mindtrip thing, which is that if I’m thinking very hard about my kids, I’m literally keeping them safe with my mind, right? So, in Hawaii I sat on lots of beaches, covered in sunscreen, worrying about my kids, and reading. (Yes, one can perform the mom mindtrip while simultaneously reading. Obviously, as I read and no one drowned.) My carefully-chosen books were the first two novels in N. K. Jemisin’s series The Broken Earth These books are so good. They give me exactly what I want from a fantasy series: excellent & beautiful writing, characters who are deeply human despite whatever magic system exists within the world, a magic system that makes literary sense (even if not scientific) and is not used as a deux-ex-machina for every problem, a plot that isn’t derivative of Tolkein or C. S. Lewis or George R. R. Martin. A strong female protagonist whose strength is also not a deux-ex-machina. Companion characters who are equally intriguing as the main ones. And, if I am fully completing my wish list, some women’s issues dealt with in unique ways. These books had all of that and an expansive underground tunnel/cave system that I will never completely erase from my psyche. They would’ve been great reads anywhere, but in Hawaii? On the Big Island under sun, on sand, under the shade of our rented umbrella? They were perfect. I was happy.

I feel like 7 is the perfect number of memorable reading experiences for one year. Did you have any? How have books changed you over the past year? 

This is the fourth year I've put together a list of all of the books I read. I don't always manage to write a blog post about every book (although it's my goal every year!) but I do keep a list of everything I read. 

I use these lists a lot at the library. Sometimes I have to write an annotation and revisiting my thoughts on a book helps quite a bit with that. Sometimes I remember the plot of a book but not a title, and the yearly lists are an easier way to find the title.

Sometimes I just like to remind myself of what I've read!

I didn't read as much in 2017 as I usually do. I think this is because I've spent too much time putzing around on social media. In fact, "spend less time putzing around on social media" is one of my goals this year. I'm not sure if this is an attribute of or a contributor to my depression last year; I do know it's mostly a waste of time. Here's to more reading in 2018! (links to the reviews I wrote)

The Bees by Laline Paull. A dystopia set in a bee colony. A little bit Watership Down, a little bit Daughters of the North. Perfectly strange!

Blackacre by Monica Yoon. "A life is not this supple." These words literally kept me going when I was in my darkest part of the year. 

The Book of Joan by Lidia Yuknavitch. I both loved and did not love this end-of-the-world retelling of the story of Joan of Arc. Clever and moving but also frustratingly vague on some of the ending details. 

Bright Dead Things: Poems by Ada Limon. This book of poetry, along with Blackacre, got me through my Narnia Winter. Click HERE to read one of my favorites (as if this big/dangerous animal is also a part of me).

The Broken Earth Trilogy books 1 and 2 (The Fifth Season and The Obelisk Gate) by N. K. Jemisin. These are the books I read in Hawaii. I will write about them when I finish the third book, The Stone Sky, which I bought myself for Christmas. I will say this: I LOVE N. K. JEMISIN. Such great fantasy!

Dear Fahrenheit 451: Love and Heartbreak in the Stacks, a Librarian’s Love Letters and Break Up Notes to the Books in Her Life by Annie Spence. This is seriously hilarious, which is high praise coming from someone who is rarely amused, and I think all librarians and/or book lovers will also love it. But especially librarians! These are actual letters addressed to different books. 

Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight by Alexandra Fuller. This was my choice for the library's February book club meeting in 2017. This is the Fuller's memoir of her childhood growing up as a white person in central Africa. I learned quite a bit about Africa that I didn't clearly understand before, as well as gained a better understanding of racism's impact upon individuals.

The End of the World Running Club by Adrian J. Walker. Man tries to run across England, which has been devastated by asteroids. Another 2017 favorite.

Gem and Dixie by Sara Zarr. Sadly, didn't love this young adult novel by one of my favorite young adult writers. It was fine, but not amazing like Zarr's novels usually are. 

Girl in Pieces by Kathleen Glasgow. A YA novel that helped me understand some parts of my adolescence experience a little bit better. 

Going into Town: A Love Letter to New York by Roz Chast. I used to get really annoyed at people who wrote or talked about how much they love New York. Now that I've been there (twice!) I am starting to get it more. I still don't want to live in New York, but I completely understand its appeal. Plus, I almost automatically love anything by Roz Chast; her illustrations are just so good.  

Good Morning, Midnight by Lily Brooks-Dalton. This post-apocalyptic novel felt like a cross between The Martian and Station Eleven. It was lonely and haunting and cold and beautiful and I loved it. 

Grendel's Guide to Love and War by A. E. Kaplan. An entire novel I read on my cell phone. I hate reading digital books so that's how much I loved this retelling of Beowulf.

The History of Love by Nicole Krauss. This was a re-read for me and dare I confess I liked it perhaps even more the second time? Since I knew how the book ended, I could see how the structure came together more clearly. 

House of Names by Colm Toibin. A telling of the death of Iphigenia at her father's hand and of her mother's revenge. So, so good. Reimaginings of Greek legends are one of my favorite speculative fiction subgenres. I read this in the car on our drive to Seattle in May (we went to Hawaii via Seattle), my first trip to that city, which I loved and would like to return to. 

Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body by Roxane Gay. A book I liked so much I wrote two separate blog posts about it!

It by Stephen King. When I started seeing previews for the movie, I started wanting to re-read the book. But I resisted because it is 1,000+ pages long. But after I saw the movie I couldn't resist; I went out and bought myself a copy and read it during October; I finished it while passing out candy on Halloween. It took up a ton of my reading time. I still intend on blogging about this reading experience. 

The Last Neanderthal by Claire Cameron. I loved the pre-history part of this novel but the thread set in current times was less satisfying (and, honestly, a little bit frustrating!). Girl still sneaks into my thoughts now and then. 

Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk by Kathleen Rooney. Probably my favorite novel I read this year. 

Nasty Women: Feminism, Resistance, and Revolution in Trump's America edited by Samhita Mukhopadhyay and Kate Harding. Essays about resisting, obviously. A wide swath of writerly ideas about how we can survive trump's presidency. 

Poetry Will Save Your Life by Jill Bialosky. I swear I wrote a review of this book, but I can't find it anywhere. It's a memoir/poetry anthology, in which the author writes about how different poems changed her life. I loved it because poetry! but I also felt a little bit disappointed by it, as I wanted her to go deeper into how the poems actually saved her life.

The Promise of Shadows by Justina Ireland. A half-human, half-harpy girl must save herself from Hades' realm. Not exactly a retelling of a myth, but a story set in the Greek mythological kingdoms. 

The Reader by Stephanie Chee. A YA fantasy about a world where books aren't invented yet, except for the secret (and very powerful) one in the protagonist's back pack. I had a great time reading this, but then later this fall when the sequel came out, I had no desire to read it. Thus reinforcing my idea that reading trilogies before they're finished just isn't for me. Also: I sat in a little restaurant eating breakfast all by myself and reading this book on the first day that all of my kids were back at school and Kendell was back at work after recuperating from (another) heart surgery. So it's deeply associated with a deep sense of peaceful solitude mixed with guilt over feeling so happy to be by myself for a little while and, you know. Scrambled eggs and avocado toast. 

Strange the Dreamer by Laini Taylor. I willingly broke my "no unfinished trilogies" for this book. Let's just say I'll break almost any rule to read Laini Taylor's writing! This one did not disappoint!

This Must be The Place by Maggie O'Farrell. Rapidly becoming one of my favorite writers, Maggie O'Farrell can't seem to write a book I don't love. To prove it: I generally detest novels about movie stars, but I loved this one, despite it being about a movie star. Also: I just ordered her memoir, I Am, I Am, I Am, even though it's not out yet in the U.S. It's OK. I love British editions!

Warcross by Marie Lu. I read this for work. I don't really love books about video games, and this is a book about video games, so maybe I was pre-conditioned to not love it. I had to skim the video-game parts as they are just so boring to me. And I guessed the twist at the end about halfway through. But, I think that teenagers will love this book. Which is perfect because they are the target audience! A mix of The Hunger Games and Ready Player One. I liked Lu's previous trilogy, Legend, and the voice here reminded me quite a bit of that early series. 

We Are OK by Nina LaCour. When I finished writing my review of this young-adult novel I thought I would never really think about the book again. But it has actually stuck with me in surprising ways. 

Women Who Read Are Dangerous by Stefan Bollman. An art history book with paintings of women reading. This is my favorite way to learn about art history, a thematic approach that introduces a wide variety of paintings and artists. I read the library's copy of this book (I actually requested that the library buy it!) but I will be getting my own copy. It's lovely. 

Zen Pencils: Cartoon Quotes from Inspirational Folks by Gavin Aung Than. The other graphic-novel-esque book I read this year (Going into Town was the other), this book is a collection of illustrated quotes. It was instrumental in helping me start to blog again, especially the illustration of the Neil Gaiman quote: make good art. It reminded me that I do have a perspective to share, a thing that might be art and might not be art, but is still my voice against the silence of eternity. 

What did you read and love in 2017?

On Monday I wrote about my opinion of book banning. (To sum up: I am a librarian after all. Getting books to people is my job. Choosing what people read is not.) Today, a list of books that have at one point or another been banned or otherwise restricted that have influenced my life.

1. The Awakening by Kate Chopin. This book wasn't actually banned, but it was heavily censored. The reviews were scathing, calling the book immoral, unwholesome, and socially unacceptable. It describes a woman having an affair and exploring her sexuality. It wasn't until the 1960s that it was widely read. 

a summary, and how it changed me: The Awakening​ is the story of Edna Pontellier, a woman living in turn-of-the-century New Orleans. She is married to a fairly wealthy man and has two sons, but she is desperately unhappy. On a family vacation in Mexico, she meets and falls in love with another man. Back home in New Orleans, she begins withdrawing from her roles of housewife and mother, as well as her social obligations, eventually leaving her family.

I heard someone say she hated The Awakening because all it was about is a rich lady whining about how difficult her life is. I can see that critique. And my response to motherhood is nothing like Edna's. While sometimes it is complicated or painful or exhausting, I wouldn't trade my experiences as a mother for anything. But here is how the book influenced me: It illustrates the effects of how society painted (and still sometimes does) womanhood in an either/or light. Either you're a mother or you're not. Either you are entirely selfless or entirely selfish. Had Edna had the opportunity to have an and—mother and music aficionado, for example—then perhaps she could have found healthier ways of managing her problems. The Awakening encouraged my natural proclivities; I never wanted to devote every ounce of myself to my children, house, or husband, and Chopin's book helped me do this with less guilt. As it shows the devastating consequences of the social either/or construct of womanhood, The Awakening encourages me to see my life's roles in broader terms and to accept my need to be a mother and something else as well.

2. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. Banned because of language, racism, and violence. Isn't it odd that white people try to ban books because of racism? Which is usually perpetuated by white people? Also banned (in the school libraries in the county where the novel is set) for libel against how the government treated migrant workers.

a summary, and how it changed me: Steinbeck's novel is about Lennie and George, two friends who are migrant workers and find work at a ranch in Soledad, California. It is a short novel with fairly deep implications.

I read this in tenth grade and never thought about it much again, until I became a teacher and it was the book my high school had for tenth graders. Rereading, studying, and teaching Of Mice and Men changed me partly because it was my first time dealing with actual, live people protesting a book. I had many, many parents contact me with their concerns about tenth graders reading it. One parent even went so far as to tell me that I was an immoral person for teaching it; another told me that I didn't have to let the school district push me around, I could choose to teach something else.

Some parents complained about the language in the book; some about the violence and that ending. What I finally realized, however, is that what they were afraid of is that the book would lead their children to think in different ways. Of Mice and Men is a novel that expects you to wonder if "wrong" actions are always wrong. It asks you to think in morally grey areas. It demands both anger and compassion. And this sort of subtle, difficult thinking is objectionable to some parents because what if their children catch on that they could think about other things with the same not-black-and-white thinking?

My experiences with Of Mice and Men taught me that I​ value grey thinking. It is an important part of my identity to question things and to find my own understanding. I also learned that not everyone values those ideals, and this has to be OK (even if I don't understand black and white thinking). Sometimes living an examined life is painful and not everyone wants to experience that pain. But it will always be valuable to me.

3. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. Can anyone overlook the irony of a book about book burning being banned? Too much swearing and contrary religious ideals are, it seems, the perfect reasons to not let anyone​ read something.

a summary, and how it changed me: A dystopian novel set in a society where it is illegal to own books. Firemen don't put out fires, but set them, burning books where they find them.

Aside from the fact that when I read this book as a junior in high school I immediately fell in love with the genre (which changed my life, too), Fahrenheit 451 can't help but change you if you let it. I already knew, when I read it that first time, that books were important. But this clarified it. Books aren't just important on a personal, individual level, but on a social level, too. Without books we are far less human. I have clung to that knowledge as it is starting to seem like books are less and less relevant: Those of us who know they matter need to continue sharing that knowledge. Sharing books. 

4. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. Does reading a book about a character who attempts suicide create readers who also commit suicide? (It is also banned because of the main character's sexual experiences, some profanity, and its not-so-subtle rejection of women's role as a mother and wife.) I would like to think not. Except, when my dad was hospitalized for depression and suicidal thoughts, one of the things his therapist told him was to avoid "dark" books. So perhaps a penchant for dark and twisty thoughts might lead one to reading dark and twisty books. Except—the dark and twisty was there in the first place.

I don't know.

Suicide is real and pervasive and horrible and I am not a psychiatrist so I cannot say for sure. But it seems that not talking about it, and not writing about it (and thus not reading about it) won't make suicide go away.

a summary and how it changed me: Esther Greenwood is a successful young adult who landed a summer internship in New York City with a popular women's magazine, but her depression turns dangerous in the weeks following her return home.

I discovered Sylvia Plath through the song "Bell Jar" by the Bangles. I'd listened to the song a few times, and then in a fortuitous (or wise, on my English teacher's part) twist, looked up "Plath, Sylvia" at the library after my English teacher recommended her to me. The card catalog and the song lyrics clicked, and I was hooked.

The moment in The Bell Jar that changed my life is when Esther is swimming in the ocean, perhaps trying to drown, but the "old brag" of her heart, "I am, I am, I am" doesn't let her. I cannot say my depression was as dark as Esther's (or as Plath's), but sometimes those words reminded me that I am, too. Right now: I am​. And that helped me keep being.

5. Harry Potter by R. K. Rowling. This series was concerning to parents because they thought it celebrated the occult, magic, demonism, and witchcraft. Which puts to point one of the main questions I have for book banners: Have you ever actually read this book you're complaining about?

a summary and how it changed me​: I'm not sure I need a summary of Harry Potter. But: The orphaned Harry Potter, who lives with his emotionally-abusive aunt, uncle, and cousin, until he discovers he's a wizard and can go to Hogwarts School of Magic. Friendships are formed, magic is accomplished, hijinks ensue, including the need to find and destroy the world's most evil wizard.

The excitement over Harry Potter started in about 1998, and I totally didn't even notice it. Haley was three, Jake was a baby, and junior chapter books just weren't on my radar. But then my friend had tickets to the first Harry Potter movie, so we went with her (and Jake lost his brand-new coat) and I tumbled head-over-heels. I bought the first four books (the hardback ones, with the Mary GrandPre covers) and read them to my kids.

Haley, Jake, and Nathan all loved to read when they were kids. But none of them loved the books that I loved when I was a kid, thus dashing my expectations of discussing, say, Anne of Green Gables with Haley or A Wrinkle in Time with Jake. I'm fine with this—I'm just happy they loved to read. But Harry Potter changed me because it gave me those books to share with my kids. It gave us those happy days of sitting together in the front room, immersed in Hogwartian adventures. Harry Potter brought us closer together as a family and gave us a shared language and story arc; it still makes us closer because it is still part of our shared language. 

There are many other oft-banned books I love. But these five have all changed me in ways that are immeasurably valuable. They have defined me, brought me happiness, helped me to understand the world better. Saved me, in some ways. Thankfully I live in a country that values free speech, so while doubtless people will continue trying to ban or censor books, hopefully they will not ultimately be successful.

All the Crooked Saints by Maggie Stiefvater. I'm not quite​ the rabid fan of Stiefvater that some of my librarian friends are. It seems that everyone loved The Scorpio Races but it didn't grab me. I did like her Raven Cycle series quite a bit though. I'm hoping the writing style of this one is similar, even though (obviously!) the story is much different.

The Heart's Invisible Furies by John Boyne. I didn't ever read his NYT bestseller, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. That's because I tend to resist reading what everyone else loves. I mean...is a book a bestseller because it's really, really good? Or just because it's accessible and fluffy? Sometimes it's hard to tell. But this new one looks good enough for me to trust the bestseller lists (I'm assuming it will be popular since his first book did so well): A boy who was adopted as an infant in post-war Dublin tries to figure out his identity as he searches for his birth mother. Not just Ireland but Amsterdam as well. (Obviously I have a promiscuous attachment to books set in Ireland, but I'm starting to love the ones in Amsterdam, too.)

So, tell me: are there any new releases you're looking forward to? Or something you're reading right now that I should check out? (I mean...I cannot promise I will read it. But I will check it out!)

When I was working on my English degree, one of my very-favorite classes was the mythology course I took one summer. We studied the Greco-Roman tradition and the Norse pantheon; my final project was an anthology of about fifty poems about mythological beings (I still have it, and if I am ever a Famous Writer perhaps I will develop it and have it published, as in the past twenty years there have been innumerably more poems written about mythological beings).  These weren't new subjects to me, as it's a topic I've enjoyed for as long as I can remember; what changed me utterly was reading the Greek classics: The Iliad, The Odyssey, and The Aeneid. We had a translation that was incredible: approachable but not simplified, and poetic but still understandable. (I have misplaced my copy, much to my sadness, and I cannot remember the translator's name.)

Is it odd that I, a bibliophile, made it to 23 before reading these stories? I'm not sure. But they came into my life at exactly the right time, and I fell utterly, completely, and totally in love. Not so much with Achilles, Patroclus, Hector, Paris et al, but with the women. (If you know me, you're not surprised.) Helen, of course; Andromache, Chryseis, Hecuba, Penelope, Dido, Circe, Calypso, Lavinia. Cassandra and I are sole sisters. Some of them are barely mentioned in passing, some of the play larger roles, but they all fascinate me, for their sacrifices and their losses, their interactions with mortals and with gods, their subtle influences.

Since then I've reread Homer and Virgil's stories twice, in different translations and enjoyed them almost as much as that first time. (It really was an excellent translation!) Also Sophocles, Aeschylus, and Euripides. But I've also developed an abiding affection for contemporary retellings of the Greek myths, tragedies, and legends. (I'm including a list at the end of this blog post.) So when I read that Colm Toibin's new novel, House of Names, tells the story of Clytemnestra, Iphigenia, and Electra—it was a foregone conclusion I'd read it.

Iphigenia is one of those haunting characters whose story stays with you. Possibly because of her name, but mostly because of her story: her father, Agamemnon, tricked her to coming Aulis, where he was stuck with his fleet, waiting for a wind that would not come because he had angered Artemis. Iphigenia believes she is coming to marry Achilles, but really she is to be the human sacrifice who will appease Artemis's anger and send the fleet to Troy. Her mother, Clytemenstra, is helpless to stop this from happening to her daughter, but she vows revenge as Agamemnon goes off to the long war.

If you've read the stories (this is technically a retelling of The Oresteia), you know what happens. If you haven't, I won't spoil it for you. But I will say this: I loved this book. The characters are far more developed than in Homer's story; they become real instead of narrative place holders. Other characters not in the original poem are added, developing the plot and the other characters' relationships. And the language! I loved this passage especially, when Electra is trying to communicate with Iphigenia's ghost: "Perhaps the days before her death, and the way death was give to her, are nothing in the place where she is. Perhaps the gods keep the memory of death locked up in their store, jealously guarded. Instead, the gods release feelings that were once pure or sweet. Feelings that mattered once. They allow love to matter since love can do no harm to the dead."

The novel stays true to the original story—I was especially glad to have one last glimpse of Cassandra—but its focus is different. The development of the characters brings other themes to the forefront: revenge, loyalty, love within a family (and how that love can break); responsibility for choices; the possibility and difficulty of forgiveness. It is not an easy, simple read; it is full of violence, betrayal, loneliness, loss, despair. But it is deeply empathetic and gripping, helping us step into the sandals of a civilization and a family in transition.

It is definitely going on my list of favorite Greek retellings:

The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood—Penelope waited a long time for Odysseus to get home; when he did, he killed all of her suitors and her twelve maidens just for good measure. Atwood’s signature wit and themes are at work here—women trying to find a voice in a situation that has made them voiceless, establishing their own cruelty dynamics, and revealing the way myth infuses relationships.

XO Orpheus by Kate Bernheimer—a collection of short stories reimagining the world’s myths, including plenty of Greek gods and goddesses.

Alcelstis by Katherine Beutner—reminagines Euripides’ tragedy about a princess who loved her husband so much she agrees to die for him. A huge part of the story takes place in the Underworld; as Persephone is my favorite goddess I am just fine with this.

The Firebrand by Marion Zimmer Bradley—Cassandra’s story, only here she is Kassandra; she is cursed to always tell the truth but never be believed.

Lavinia by Ursula K. LeGuin—mentioned briefly in the Aeneid, Lavinia is another woman a war is fought over, this one much shorter and involved in the foundation of Italy.

Till We Have Faces  by C. S. Lewis—it is hard for me to convey my affection for this retelling of the Cupid and Psyche myth. It’s one of the books I’ve reread most in my life and, like scripture, I always find some new piece of knowledge.

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller—were Achilles and Patroclus friends or lovers?

Black Ships by Jo Graham—what happens after the fall of Troy?

Helen of Troy by Margaret George—Helen’s autobiography.

The Burial at Thebes by Seamus Heaney—the poet’s translation of Sophocles’ Antigone, which happens to be my favorite.

Books about reading and books are a favorite of mine.  The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry is a recent one; The People of the Book, and The Book Thief, The End of Your Life Book Club and the wacky If On a Winter’s Night a Traveler. Possession, certainly, and The Shadow of the Wind. 84 Charing Cross Road (went I went to London I made sure to go to Charing Cross Road, even if the bookstore from the book is gone now) and My Reading Life. And of course, Fahrenheit 451, which is, I think, the book that started my interest in books about books.

So obviously I couldn’t resist The Reader by Traci Chee, a YA fantasy set in a world without books. I thought it would be a fantasy version of 451, where books are illegal but some people still have them anyway. Instead, it is a society where books just don’t exist. They aren’t a part of the culture. It’s a landscape made of several large islands (reminiscent, just the smallest bit, of Wizard of Earthsea), with each island having its own government and many of the islands battling each other for resources.

Sefia, the main character, has been living on the run with her aunt Nin since her parents died. They carry what they need in their packs and hunt for game as they go; sometimes they enter different towns or villages to sell the pelts they have collected. One day, when Sefia is returning from a village, she discovers that Aunt Nin has been captured. She watches from the woods while the strangers beat her aunt and then, when she won’t tell them where “it” is, they load her over a horse and take her away.

The movement of the book is in Sefia trying to track down the people who took her aunt so she can rescue her. The “it” the abductors wanted is, Sefia comes to realize, the only object that Nin saved from Sefia’s home after her father was killed, a rectangular thing with a metal hinge and paper bound inside: a book. Not just, you realize as the story progresses, a book, but the book, the only one left intact. The story moves between Sefia’s adventures; those of a boy named Lon, who is taken from his home to become an apprentice Librarian; and the seafaring story of Captain Reed (reminiscent, just a bit, of Gaiman’s Stardust). As she travels through the forest, Sefia picks up a companion, a boy named Archer who himself had been kidnapped and turned into a fighter; Sefia rescues him from being taken to the army.

Although I had a hard time imagining how a society would function without any form of writing—how do merchants keep track of what they buy and sell, for example?—and even though it was entirely different than what I expected, I really enjoyed this novel. It has just enough magic, without it being overpowering; I liked that Sefia was already strong before the story started (books with characters who suddenly discover they are expert trackers or archers or jiu-jitsu masters or whatever make me nuts) but that she discovered different things about herself. I liked the backstory of the mysterious secret society created to preserve bits of writing. And I liked the idea of the book, a magical book which is not just any book but one that contains all the stories, both living and invented, so that eventually Sefia and Archer, who have been reading about Captain Reed in the book, actually meet Captain Reed.

It’s very meta.

Mostly I like how books and the idea of reading are a type of magic in the world, because, let’s face it, books have always been magic for me (but of a very different sort than Sefia’s) and, I imagine, they are for most bibliophiles. Plus, there are interesting things done with the book itself. Like, some of the page numbers also have words, so there is a tiny little subtext you can read via the numbers. There are fingerprints and blotches here and there (I actually thought, when I noticed the first one, ah, crap, I smudged the book). Until they meet up, you “read” the story about Captain Reed out of the book in Sefia’s backpack (and it has its own series of smudges).

I suspected that this book would break my no-unfinished-trilogies rule, and it did. (The cover itself gives that away, too: it says pretty clearly that this is “Book One of Sea of Ink and Gold.) There is definitely a sequel or two to come. Some series I don’t continue reading, either because I didn’t get drawn in to the first book enough or because I didn’t feel like I needed more of the world. This one is a series I think I will follow, even though in a sense the first book felt like enough.

This is the third January I've put together a list of all of the books I read the year before. I've found it useful several times at work, so I think I'll keep doing it. Plus, it's sort of satisfying to see all of the reading on one page. 

I read the fewest books in 2016 I've read in some time. Two medical crises and three big trips are likely the cause of that. I also felt like this year was somewhat disappointing...I read a lot of books that I liked, but very few that I absolutely, completely adored. Also, I managed to write about many more of the books I read, so that makes me happy.

Anyway, enough rambling, here is the list, in alphabetical order, with links to the reviews I wrote and comments because I can't resist!

All the Rage by Courtney Summers. This was the hot book for awhile, if it isn't...weird? offensive? potentially triggery?...to say a novel about rape is the hot book? Anyway, I thought it was just OK. Speak remains the touchstone of such books.

Almost Famous Women by Megan Mayhew Bergman. A collection of short stories about women in history who were associated, somehow, with someone famous. Just my style!

Ariel: The Restored Edition by Sylvia Plath. This year at the library, I became the collection developer for the poetry and essay sections. When I discovered that we didn't have a copy of Ariel it was one of the first things I ordered. Then I ordered a copy for myself. The original Ariel is out of print and I have dreams (literal ones) of finding a copy in a used book store. That didn't happen this year, despite going to some used book stores in London (and New York!) but I'm still hoping. (Yes, I know, I could probably find one on the internet. But I don't want to just order it. I want to find it, you know?)

Baring Witness: 36 Mormon Women Talk Candidly about Love, Sex, and Marriage edited by Holly Welker. I might be a little biased, as this book includes an essay by me (!), but this is some excellent writing about the issues many of my friends grapple with as women in a faith we have a complicated relationship with.

The Best American Essays and The Best American Poetry. I'm actually still working on these...but as I started them in 2016, I'm putting them here. This is one of my favorite yearly reading experiences, and I'm working on buying every BAP and reading them all.

Dreamer's Pool by Juliette Mariellier. Wanted to love this fantasy more than I actually did, but it was a good companion during Kendell's October surgery.

Exit, Pursued by a Bear by E. K. Johnston. The more I think about the premise of this YA novel—if a wealthy, popular cheerleader with access to mental health and supportive parents is raped, do her circumstances make the rape easier to deal with?—the more I get annoyed, because the book is suggesting that yes, all of those things do make it, you know, sure, unpleasant, but without all of those troubling side effects. I'm just not sure I agree. 

Faithful by Alice Hoffman. Not my favorite book by her, but it was cool to read after being in New York City.

A God in Ruins by Kate Atkinson. A follow up to Atkinson's Life after Life. This one focuses on just one life, but I still loved it.

The Gracekeepers by Kirsty Logan. Set in a world with sharp divisions between the people who live on land and those who live on boats. 

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. Please note: I've read almost every Atwood in existence, but this is the first time I've actually written about one of her books! I'm not sure...this might be the seventh or eighth time I've read The Handmaid's Tale. It is a book that changed my life.

The Hour of Land by Terry Tempest Williams. I still want to write about this one. And I want to write and submit, somewhere, about my own experiences in our national parks. 

The Last Kingdom by Bernard Cornwell. This is the first Cornwell book I've read. I love historical novels and this time period (the Danish invasion of England), so I enjoyed the story, but it also felt like a very manly read. It made me realize how much I tend to lean towards women in my fiction.

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman. Someone told me it's not pronounced "Ove" like "stove" but "OOVAY" like...well, what English word rhymes with that? I can't think of one. Then I was embarrassed I've been saying it wrong.

Me Before You by JoJo Moyes. I resisted reading this because everyone was reading it and you know how that makes me feel. But my book group read it, so I read it, and I liked it more than I thought I would. I'm glad it ended the way it did.

A Much Younger Man by Diane Highbridge. Another SDBBE book I would've never read without my reading friends discovering it for me. A quick story about a woman who falls in love with her friend's teenage son. 

Night Sky with Exit Wounds by Ocean Vuong. I read his poem "Someday I'll Love Ocean Vuong" in The New Yorker and, oh my. I fell in love. Poems like his are why I love poems anyway. "Your father is only your father/until one of you forgets."

The Night Strangers by Chris Bohjalian. I read this combination witchcraft/ghost story in October and loved it. I posted a pic on my Instagram and hashtagged the author, and he actually left a comment. Which was thrilling!

On Trails: An Exploration by Robert Moore. Why haven't I written about this? I love trails, not just because I love hiking but because I love the actual trail itself. This explores that fascination, the history and the philosophy of trailmaking.

Oral History by Lee Smith. This was my book group choice this year. I haven't got it back yet, so I don't know what the others thought of it. I read this in college and loved it, so much that I was hesitant to read it again because what if it disappointed me? It didn't. The concept of how family history stories can touch upon each other and influence us even when we don't really know the stories...that is haunting to me. 

The Passage trilogy by Justin Cronin. I read this over the summer; I took book 1, The Passage, to Ohio with me, and lugged books 1 and 2 (The Twelve is the second) all over Europe. I finished the third, City of Mirrors, in August, and then when we went to New York in October I was thrilled to see the painted ceiling in Grand Central Station. The ending was SUPER disappointing, but it was still an unusual and interesting take on vampires.

Pax by Sarah Pennypacker. The only junior fiction I read this year.

The Persian Pickle Club by Sandra Dallas. A pick by my book group friend. Good timing as I needed to read it for the library! My Inner Book Snob would like me to say that this was, you know...fluffy and light. But it actually was really good and looks at several women's issues in a nice way. Plus, quilting!

Power Made us Swoon by Brynn Saito. Another poetry book that is exactly the kind of poetry I like. "What works is singing
from the cave of the self/where memories of knives/and clouds shaped like tiger faces//live together like children/unaware of their potential."

The Raven King by Maggie Stiefvater. I finished off two series this year with disappointing endings. I'm trying to decide if my disappointment in the ending means I shouldn't recommend them? I don't know. I did really, really love the characters in this series, but the ending...not as disappointing as The Passage trilogy...but I was expecting more. At the same time I will miss those characters.

Runemarks by Joanne Harris. A adventurous YA retelling of the Norse Ragnarok myth. Love!

The Sacred Lies of Minnow Bly by Stephanie Oakes. A haunting YA about a girl who escapes from a back-woods cult...and spends some time in jail as a result.

Scythe by Neal Shusterman. Hands down, one of the best YA fantasy/dystopia-esque books I've read in years.

The Sleeper and the Spindle by Neil Gaiman. This was my favorite book I read this year. Even almost a year later—I read it in February—I can't stop thinking about it. I bought a copy for Haley and one for myself and I would like every woman I know to own a copy, as its message (there are always choices, even when you feel trapped) is fairly powerful. Maybe it's just what I am needing to learn right now.

The Spell Book of Listen Taylor by Jacklyn Moriarty. I'm pretty sure I mentioned this book in a blog post about something else...but I can't find it. Anyway, this was an unusual and quirky novel I had never heard of. Thanks Britt!

Swing Time by Zadie Smith. My first Zadie Smith novel. Don't be swayed by the buzz: this isn't a book about dancing, not really. As long as you don't expect much actual dancing, you will enjoy this!

Unbecoming by Jenny Downham. My review of this book is mashed down at the end of a blog post about why I read fiction, and I stand by what I wrote: people who think reading fiction is a waste of time because it isn't "real" are not reading the right fiction. 

When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi. An exploration of how we could make dying better in our country, and what it means to really live. Perhaps a strange choice for reading right after my husband almost died...but, actually, not. It made me feel peaceful about the choices we have made and reinforced that, had the outcome been different, I could have made the choice he wanted me to make. 

A Wild Swan by Michael Cunningham. A set of fairy tale retellings with gorgeous illustrations. (But definitely a grown-up read.)

You Will Know Me by Megan Abbott. A new Megan Abbott novel is cause for celebration. I adore her books, and this one is about gymnasts. Swoon.

Did you read anything on my list? What were your favorite books last year?