I’m not the best reader. My regular consumption of books has not been a lifelong habit. I’d much rather tinker with things or shoot hoops.

For me, habitual reading is an intention. Something I choose to do rather than something that happens naturally. Sure, I’ve learned to love reading, but in also has a tendency to stress me out. Truth be told, my ability, and maybe even my willingness to read, is quickly sidelined by distractions.

This year my dad died. Resulting in me spending nearly every bit of my free time in New York helping my mom manage his, now her estate. And though I started the year at a fairly strong reading pace, the rest of the year was, at best, inconsistent. I gathered some momentum in August when I attempted to read a daily book of poetry, but that didn’t last (Of course it didn’t. I was on a business trip!). And similar to 2022, I spent two months on the trail without any books at all.

But what I lacked in quantity I had in quality. I read some really doggone good stuff this year, and, as a result, I am a better reader, writer, and hopefully better human, too.

Below you’ll find my chronological list and a mini-review I gave it as I turned its last page. My 2023 favorites are marked in bold.

And if I had to pick the one I enjoyed overall, I’d likely give the honors to Julia Martin’s interview of Barry Lopez, Syntax of a River. I read it just before I left for the Colorado Trail and haven’t stopped thinking about it since. That’s surely a marker of a doozy. (NOTE: Open Throat by Henry Hoke is a close second)

Thanks for giving my list a look. Enjoy!

JANUARY

Space Invaders (F) by Nona Fernandez: Small translated book by Chilean author who lived through the genocidal regime of Pinochet. The book explores the country’s violent era through the perspective of a group of school kids who lived through it all. Now, as adults, they share dreams, memories, and horrors that continue to affect them. The Space Invaders video game is thematic as a bridge that carries them back to this moment in time—it’s also represents the mindless killing and the source of necessary distraction from the terrors of the dictatorship.

The Hole (F) by Hiroko Oyamada: Beautiful little Japanese translation about a woman who moves to the country with her husband and encounters a strange animal that leads her into a hole in the ground—after which more and more strange stuff starts to happen. It’s about desire, loneliness, self confidence, and it questions the need to understand what’s real. I loved this book. Reminded me of Murakami. Simple lines that tell a wildly thought-provoking story.

FEBRUARY

The Furrows (F) by Namwali Serpell: Dang, this book was amazing. Follows a sibling as she hangs on to the traumatic death/disappearance of her younger brother which, at first, seems like a typical trauma response, but as the book progresses she begins doubting memories and details of the past (and I did, too). Great writing. Dreamy and sullen. Loved it even though it took me forever to read (work trips, ya know!)

The Bloater (F) by Rosemary Tonks: Total garbage. Found it at Epilogue Books in Chapel Hill and hoped but would be an unsung indie doozy. But nope. It was terrible. I don’t get how books like this get published and lauded. It simply is not good.

The Buried Giant (F) by Kazuo Ishiguro: Took me a while to read but I never lost interest, even though I kept expecting to. Fairy tale lyrics and characters of old (Gawain the Green Knight and King Arthur) adventure through a memory-stealing mist trying to find their lost son. But the past keeps creeping in, offers glimmers of lost memories and hints to old traumas and tragedies. There’s a palpable fear of recollection. The writing is solid, but the story, though curious, wasn’t really my jam. I dug this book but mostly because it was fascinating to see how the author messed with old stories to create a new one.

MARCH

Moon Rope (Un Lazo a la Luna) (Children’s) by Lois Ehlert: A book I’ve had for a long time that I finally passed onto my niece and nephew in LA.

Maroons (F) by adrienne maree brown: Awesome post-apocalyptic ancestors story of what’s left of Detroit after a white nationalist terrorist attack killed nearly the entire Black population. Great storyline featuring two queer protagonists, Dune and Dawn, who find each other as they discover their “superpowers” after shedding social pretense. Dune’s father’s handmade model of Detroit becomes the magical altar leading them to reclaim and re-community the city. I loved how magic was treated in this story—it’s real. This is a beautiful book.

Stay True (NF) by Hua Hsu: Amazing reflection on a deep college friendship between two young Asian men. Loved how much the author allowed himself to be vulnerable throughout. Tragic story of a friend’s murder at UCB. Great read. Enjoyed the format and the ease of writing.

Victory. Stand! (Graphic Novel) by Tommie Smith, Derrick Barnes, Dawud Anyabwile: Fantastic illustrated story of Tommie Smith’s life. From his time as a child to sharecroppers to when he and John Carlos raised their fists on the Olympic medal stands in Mexico City 1968. Great to learn more about his biography and what led to him demonstrating at the games. Also tragic that he was banned for life from competing—we never got a chance to see how fast he really was.

Boy (F) by Takeshi Kitano: A three story meditation on growing up as a male (or so it seems). Competition, sexual desire, brotherhood—I’m not down with the universality of gender-experience as this book implies, but the stories were enjoyable nonetheless. I also recognize that there may be some cultural differences at play here. Good read. Short and sweet.

Cruel Cruel (P) by Dior J. Stephens: I accepted an offer to write a review of this book, and after read #1 I wished I hadn’t. It’s the sort of poetry that’s really hard to decipher. Tough to come to terms with. But I’ll give it a couple more chances with the hope that a light shines through. Otherwise, I’m gonna throw in the towel. Poetry is most always fun to read, but it’s not always fun to review. (Update: I threw in the towel)

APRIL

Foster (F) by Claire Keegan: Great short book about how love can look outside of a family. Young girl taken in by a couple who recently lost their son in a downing accident. Perfect density for where I was at, emotionally.

Resistance (F) by Barry Lopez: I adore all things BL, but this book didn’t do much for me. Had to give it up after 50 pages or so. Glad he spent his career writing about nature.

Concerning My Daughter (F) by Kim Hye-jin: Another fail. Couldn’t get into it. Maybe I’ll try again someday, but maybe also it’s infused with weird mojo since I was given it by a partner right about the time shit was hitting the fan for us. The problem with this book may be problems with me.

The Girl Who Loved the Wind (Children’s) by Jane Yolen: Someone on FB recommended it so I gave it a look. Not as good as I expected it to be. Patriarchal. A dad locks up his daughter to keep her safe (meant to be a feel good/care story). Not cool.

Crow and Weasel (Children’s) by Barry Lopez: Though packaged as a Children’s book, it’s not one (necessarily). Great coming of age/walkabout story of Crow and Weasel who travel from their homeland to far away places and return with experience and wisdom. Written like a Native American tale. I loved the bits within on stories. “The stories people tell have a way of taking care of them. If stories come to you, care for them. And learn to give them away where they are needed. Sometimes a person needs a story more than food to stay alive.” Super good stuff.

People Who Talk to Stuffed Animals Are Nice (Stories) by Ao Omae: I enjoyed these stories. Definitely an interesting take on life—comical and thought provoking. Also a lovely questioning of traditional gender roles. I want to read more of this author’s work.

MAY

Such Kindness (F) by Andre Dubus II: Amazing read with lovely reflections on the sort of kindness we’re left with when all else has been compromised. The raw goodness of the world once we accept that things don’t really matter much. The terrifying yin/yang of devastation and pure love. I couldn’t put this book down. Like watching a really good movie every day.

White Fang (F) by Jack London: Picked this up at an Airbnb while trapped in Cleveland with Covid. A classic read I knocked out back in high school, but never since. Great writing, formal as many books were back in 1906. Easy to love characters, and quite possibly a commentary on politics of the day (or, at least a statement on Americans from the perspective of a white male). I recalled a lot of the passages—apparently they embedded themselves into my memory. Read half of it, then listened to the rest as an audio book while I sketched whales with met favorite drawing pen.

Imperial Nostalgias (P) by Joshua Edwards: A varied book of photos and poetry—short and long, observational and introspective. I loved the section called “Departures” which begins with, “On a journey I become my questions.” Learned about a couple artists, John Currin and Massimo Guerrera. Also, “When someone goes silent, / or when a sibling is filled with sorrow, / the whole world resembles a motel room.” Loved this little collection that Joshua sent me as a PDF after positing something in his socials.

JUNE

Men Without Women (Stories) by Haruki Murakami: A great collection of strange and typical Murakami stories complete with jazz references, cats, and wholesome desires. The theme is as expected—men without women. Which to me was more a study/reference to aging and the loss of a certain type of longing and the onset of a new sort. Men without connection. Men without grounding. Men with a marred sense of self. This book was beautiful. And, like always, made me want to write more. More honestly.

JULY

Beyond the Trees (NF) by Adam Shoalts: My best friend Kent sent me this book in an attempt to keep me from pulling out of our 2024 adventure to Baffin Island. The author hiked and canoed across the northernmost stretch of the Canadian arctic. Rowing up streams against the current, impossible portages, dangerous wildlife, terrific weather—all the chips were stacked against him. One part—when his resupply was placed on the wrong island—freaked me out. I mean, can you even imagine! Being that far away and shit hitting the fan like that. Damn. The end result—I’m even more excited to bushwhack in polar bear/grizzly bear/wolf territory.

AUGUST

Moon Facts! (Zine) by Delia Rheanita Ackley & Alan Lawrence Prevalent: A collection of what I want to think are a back and forth collection of notes exchanged between 2 people. As in, “MOONFACT: We must put forth / something, like effort.” With a response, “MOONFACT: We are more interesting / than parallel lines.” All are so tender and fantastic. Written by an MFA cohort, which makes the work even cooler.

Let Owl (P) by Delia Rheanita Ackley: Erasure poetry collection by a friend of mine who just published her 2nd book. Wanted to read all her stuff again before I bought her new collection. Her voice is unlike any other. So fresh and foreign and lovely. Loved this bit, “I need some / farther away / hands / what could be better.” So cool.

Rover (P) by Ross Gay & Richard Wehrenberg, Jr.: A chapbook of prose poetry about the importance of the coursing waterway. “Every body has buried in it rivers.” Loved this line: “That there is something unfathomably essential about continually perceiving things anew…” Stopped me in my tracks—as so most work by Ross Gay often does.

Lace & Pyrite (P) by Ross Gay & Aimee Nezhukumatathil: A book of poetic seasons inspired by a long (weekly) exchange of poems between the authors. Their shared affinity for gardens is fodder for a meditation on time, love, and how to care for things. Absolutely lovely. “All the mysterious sounds / in the trees—like a sack of watches.”

Body Musics and the Empire of Time (Lecture) by Ross Gay: Nicky Finney introduces Ross in a way we all would love to be introduced. “To a poet, all the air he breathes, all the dust that gathers in the lungs, matters.” Followed by Ross’s “poetry” lecture which is less about poetry and more about his garden (which makes it about poetry!). I learned that the words sewed/sowed/saved/saw/said/sang all stem from the same root word etymologically—all off which means, to nourish, to protect. And just like Nicky read one of Ross’s early poems from when he was her student, Ross reads one of his student’s works (and it’s amazing!). The lecture ends with Ross’s own, Burial, which is about his father passing, which right now is so apropos.

Fortune (P) by Joe Millar: A Millar book I hadn’t yet read. He inspired me to apply for the Pacific MFA program saying, “If you like sitting in the living room overlooking the thrashing Pacific. If you like drinking and writing and working to get better—this program is for you.” Book is cool. I especially liked A Love Supreme, American Wedding, and Red Wing. There were many poems about losing a loved one which, once again, really hit home.

Sanctificum (P) by Chris Abani: I fell in love with Abani’s work after first watching his TED talk, then reading his Kalakuta Republic. This work was good, but not as striking. Strangely, there were many meditations on the death of his father. I enjoyed these lines: “It is not likely that my father and I will take a walk soon / and not just because he is dead.” And also, “When we say love we mean, I want, / When we say sorry we mean, forgive me.”

Mercy (P) by Lucille Clifton: Not sure how I’ve owned this for years and never read it. A slowish starter, but ends with an amazing “Message from the Ones”. Including poignant words like: “the angels have no wings / they come to you wearing / their own clothes // they have learned to love you / and will keep coming // unless you insist on wings.” And, “you have placed yourselves / in peril…by the quarrels with / insignificant life.” Moving works.

Artaud the Mono (P) by Antonin Artaud: “Momo” is French/Marseilles for “village idiot.” Artaud writes lewdly about his imprisonment at a psychiatric hospital. Electroshock and inhumanities. He explores the body and, though crude at times, his lines are visceral and often even beautiful (or, at least interesting). Work is translated by Clayton Eshleman and includes curious comments on choices made during the translation. Not awesome, but I am definitely happy to have picked it up. My favorite line: “But what guarantee do the obvious madmen of this / world have of being nursed by the / authentically living?”

In the Hour of War: Poetry From Ukraine (P) by Carolyn Forche & Ilya Kaminsky (eds.): What a stunning collection of current horror. Was struck by poems titled, “Take Only What is Most Important,” “He Writes,” and many others. All were translations. Beautiful and tragic.

A Life Replaced (P) by Olga Livshin: A powerful collection/conversation between the author and 2 other poets, Anna Akhmatova and Vladimir Gandelsman. I liked “Fugue” about a Russian-American who lives in the US. Another titled “VG” had these lines, “only death, he whispers, must be / bigger than this, only its reach / is stronger than this rustling, these scents.” And in “Russian 101” I like this bit: “You can tell when I am drunk mostly / when I buy too many books.”

Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair (P) by Pablo Neruda: Neruda doesn’t disappoint. Best line in the book from “Every Day You Play.” It says, “I want to do with you / what spring does with the cherry trees.” But the poem, “Tonight I Can Write,” mostly about loss of a love, really followed etchings in my own heart as it parallels my own recent loss. “My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.” Heartbreaking.

Wolf One-Eye (P) by Juris Kronbergs: Not a favorite one this month, but one that I imagine a reread (or maybe even a slower read) would open interesting doors. In “Wolf One-Eye Goes Searching” I love these 2 lines: “He even asked the first ray of the sun at dawn / He found out that the goal is the search itself.”From “Wolf One-Eye the Mute, “Now and again he couldn’t even hear / his inner voice.” Poems about time. About finding time to think about time. Even a one line poem (“A flake falling from the ridge of the roof of the universe”). And a word I’ve never seen before—jingoistic (warlike patriotism).

They (P) by Arvis Viguls: Latvian translation. The 81 page book that took me forever to read. Poems about everything. Some highlights: “The fingers remember everything” from “The End of Summer”. From the same work (part 6), “I’ll track there past by the things that change.” Also, “Bodybuilders in the Weight Room” was pretty awesome. The strength of this line from “Forgetting”—“The pawn shop, where you sold your rings, / was shuttered.” Ugh. I enjoyed this one a lot.

SEPTEMBER

3 Poems (Zine) by Anonymous: Found this at Open Eye Cafe in Carrboro. 3 redaction poems that seem to be about someone’s struggle with God. Or belief. Or relationships. Or life. Either way, I am glad it found me.

Above Ground (P) by Clint Smith: Oh my gosh—the best poetry book I’ve read in YEARS. As lovable a voice as Ross Gay, and yet a different tone and style. Lnes telling details of a narrative, and yet the broader subjects broached are so beautiful, too. Fatherhood’s joys and fears. The social expectation of difficulty. The beauty of the simplest of things. I loved the final two lines of the book: “My life is made possible by tril- / lions of tiny mysteries. I exist because of so many things I’ll never see.” Damn. Even that line break roars!

Look at the Lights, My Love (NF) by Annie Ernaux: A beautiful memoir about a woman’s reportage of her daily excursions to the local superstore (in France). There details and musings are all proof of the life we all know too well. Basic, boring, mundane. And when she stopped jotting down these notes after feeling compelled to leave it all behind (partly because the tool that has eliminated cashiers is called a “gun”) she felt detached from life: “As I do every time I cease to record the present, I feel I am withdrawing from the movement of the world, giving up not only narrating my days, but seeing them too. Because seeing in order to write is to see in a different way. It means to distinguish objects, individuals, and mechanisms, and to give their existence value.” Wow. Awesome read.

Lewd Wilderness (P) by Dahlia Ackley: A collection of poems, redacted poems, and photos. All soulful and imagery rich. A harbinger of dreamscapes. A way to escape the fake real and be among the real reals. I like Dahlia’s work, even if I often don’t really understand it.

The Next Loves (P) by Stephane Bouquet: The only poetry book this month that I didn’t complete. It just wasn’t my cup of tea, even if Garth Greenwell called it a “brilliant” collection. Sometimes poetry makes me feel like I’m missing the key to unlock the understanding of it. This is one of those times. Oh well.

Does a Bulldozer Have a Butt? (Children’s) by Derick Wilder: Exploring titles to give to my niece and nephew. Turns out they already have it. And love it.

Open Throat (F) by Henry Hoke: A queer mountain lion with a vast vocabulary explores its own sentience. A riff on the P-22 cat from Griffith Park in LA. Prose is stellar, and a tragic reflection on people and fear and feelings and self-awareness. Loved it. So strange and perfect.

Syntax of the River (Interview) by Barry Lopez & Julia Martin: Wow. Again, Barry Lopez’s work always makes me fall in love with writing (and thinking) again. The metaphor of the river whose beginning and end are always present—the minor shifts and changes that take place unnoticeably, the sounds, the life within and within the within. And also how to best be a writer (and/or human) on this planet—to become an apprentice an witness it in depth. The patterns (“syntax”), the flows, the interruptions. What a joy to hear Barry’s voice again. 

OCTOBER

(None…hiking!)

NOVEMBER

All the Pretty Horses (F) by Cormac McCarthy: Amazing old west story of 2 young friends who leave home for good and head to Mexico, picking up a straggler along the way who hangs a black cloud over their heads that continues to haunt them. There’s love, language, honor, and goddamn good writing all up in this sucker. One of the year’s top books for sure.

The Pole (F) by J.M. Coetzee: Short love story of two unlikely people (nameless) in middle and old age. I loved the part when the younger character (a woman) after the older character (a man) died, said something like, had we come together as children, and not as rational adults, maybe we would have seen the truer versions of each other. There’s a lesson in this inquiry. How can we, as adults, come together as who and what we were in our youth. Is this all just code for being more honest?

Death Valley (F) by Melissa Broder: Such a cool and dreamy story. Lost in a desert, safe in a cactus. An inexplicable narrative that made me wonder about how we manage the worst of the worst sorts of situations. Loved that the author didn’t bother trying to throw logic at things. Let dreams be life be hallucinations be psychoses. What’s real anyhow?  

DECEMBER

The Double Lamp of Solitude (P) by Joshua Edwards: I love this artist’s work. Walking meditations and accompanying writing. Poetry that shines a light on what’s real (and so simple). A true work of art that makes me want more.

Bugle (P) by Tod Marshall: Got it for free in a book shipment from Joshua Edwards when I bought a bunch of his books. Can’t lie, I didn’t like it. Begrudgingly read it through because I believe that every bit of writing has something to offer. But this never amounted to much. A little too effortfully masculine for me.

Art & Fear (NF) by David Bayles & Ted Orland: Found this book back in March among my dad’s collection as I was starting to clear things out. Put it aside and figured the time was right to really dig in as returned to NY to empty his house. I always thought he was a late-in-life artist, but boxes containing sketches from the 60s and 70s told me otherwise. This book is loaded with his notes and green highlighted underlines. Some of the ones that got me thinking: “Changing the pattern/outcome of your work means first identifying things about your approach that are automatic.” And this one really bit me, “Once you have found the work you are meant to do, the particulars of any single piece don’t matter all that much.” Oh dad. I don’t think I knew you at all, and yet our thoughts are the same.