2024 Books Read+ Listened, Publications!, Titles I loved

2024: The Read + Listen List

To date, December 31, 2024: 75 reads/audio books. Slowed down a bit with a lot of submissions and three accepted publications to edit and celebrate (see previous blog post). Ended up with 9 favorites, a few tied, a wide range of OMG to MEH. Beginning 2025 with Sally Rooney Intermezzo. Will let you know.

Thank you for reading with me, encouraging me, PM’ing me, emailing me, hugging me. Love you all.

Cheers to a NEW YEAR of amazing possibilities and so many new titles.

XOX Alexandra Dane

Note: listed in the order I read beginning January, 2024. Comments and ranking completely subjective.

#1 favorite happened to be the first book read: the plot, the premise, the piece of earth. Tough act to follow!
Not my genre, but willing to read because it is for a lot of other people I respect.
Most gifted book of 2024 (by me!)
I love Jess Walter and suspending reality.
Perfect airplane read.
A long time fan of Laurie, maybe not my favorite but she tackles family of all dimensions.
Can you guess? Another gifting book, or chicken soup for the soul when you are not feeling well.
Hmmmm.
I keep up on all of this because, well, 60’s and sleepless.
#3. Unforgettable characters. Fate. Love. Tuscany.
Consideration of 50 words, David Whyte style.
On friendship. Premise and research a bit thin to me.
Siblings, inheritance, Christmas. Short airplane distraction.
Tiny stories from covid times. Loved.
If you have not discovered Joy Harjo, poet, Native American, memoirist, make that a 2025 goal.
Vera Stanhope series on PBS is based on this book series. Engaging.
Ditto
Nope.
Saga that ends in Seattle. Good listen.
Vera, again.
This has been controversial amongst friends and strangers. For me, boring.
#2. My absolute favorite series based on The Moth performance essays. Favorite!
A fanciful story about a librarian, a boy and a dysfunctional family. Engaged me.
You will not hold it against me that I am still making my way through this…988 pages, one sentence.
Forgive me, but not a fan. If you love all her other writing, you know she changes style for each one.
Winner of many prizes, a story from the afterlife. I bought it for the cover, really, and then loved it.
#5. Museum guard and his journey into the uniform and out.
Honest debut fiction by a Nigerian queer writer.
Sorry Ruth.
Big-Chill-like with an unusual pact. I found it thought provoking and tempting.
I am still reading this in small bites by my bed. Fantastic.
Audio. Predictable.
Did not grab me one bit.
#4. Old book, a memoir about a woman who takes her children cruising in the PNW back when arrowheads were on the beaches and strangers offered meals.
oooof
Anything Joan Didion. I am catching up on her.
Ok this was a phase. Lost track halfway through but engaging mythology.
Oh, Colm. We really needed closure.
Anything Crow.
Memoir, addiction, inheritance, love story.
Bletchley Park based novel about Prince Philip’s first love.
My new go-to inspiration.
The mythology continues.
Essays that range the PNW and beyond.
Forgettable.
Novel of betrayals, art, love and fallen angels. Airplane read.
Tied for #1 of 2024. This writing, the darkness and the light are not for the fainthearted.
Loss and mystery, an engaging story.
No.
Essays by a proud, queer indigenous women. I greatly admire her work.
Read Tove Jansson’s short spare stories soon. The Summer Book remains one of my all-time favorites.
Never a fan of fiction that stretches the facts, this felt hysterical and thin on reality.
Background audio.
Coming of age in the political turmoil of Iran in the 1950’s. Reminiscent of The Kite Runner.
#6 for me: set in Pembrokeshire coast of Wales, a woman’s journey through the sea and her health. Think Rachel Carson and Annie Dillard.
Long awaited Flavia de Luce series, book No. 11. Another series to pick up before a snowstorm.
Popped up in someone else’s feed and found at http://www.betterworldbooks.com, a thought provoking but a bit meandering and thin book.
Set in 1994 in Dublin and County Donegal this leaves you hanging in too many ways.
I tried. I really, really tried to like this. Was not for me.
The Kate Atkinson binge begins: Jackson Brodie series for planes, cars, sleeplessness, knitting.
#7 for 2024, a 2024 NYT Best Historical Fiction Book, inspired from Claire Messud’s own family history. “As intimate as it is expansive.”
I will follow this voice anywhere. Though he sort of runs out of interesting meals he sure has interesting guests.
Jackson Brodie #2
Jackson Brodie #3 — a lot of @adaneknit orders!
Pre-ordered and waited with held breath I was profoundly disappointed. My least favorite setting brought back (Monastery) with a lot of to-and-fro with no movement in story. So sad.
Jackson Brodie book #4
Thanks to a prompt for a virtual book group to discuss this book with Wendy Call, I would call this my #8 favorite read of 2024. Essays so thought provoking and tightly written the editor Wesley Morris knew what the assignment was — tuck this in for your next trip and enjoy.
Could not finish. Perhaps done with Elizabeth Strout.
Jackson Brodie #5
Louise Erdrich is a master. I stayed with this, liked The Sentence better.
Ugh. It always comes down to the narrator. I could be skimming if real pages but the voice drags me down. Have hit the ‘pause’ button.
Purchased and stamped by Shakespeare + Co in Paris for the airplane home. Distracting.
I end 2024 on a book about pilgrimage during our turbulent covid/political times on The Camino Francés. Packed with history about the route, scenery and the soul. Not a fast read but inspiring.
Standard
#amreading, Books 2023, Personal opinion

My 2023 Reading List.

Here is the list of the books I read, in paper form, in 2023. This is not a book blog as you know, but today these titles, posted on @alexandradanewriter each time I pick one up to read, deserve a list. Sometimes I post a thought, but mostly I just document them. My process for choosing varies: the cover, the title, culled from online bookstore recommendations, book group choices, friend suggestions, ones poached from a hostess’s bedside table, indie bookstore purchases, required reading from a workshop.

If you make it to the end, read my short short evaluation list. Happy New Year!

Foster — Claire Keegan

Journey of The Heart — Daily (started) Melody Beattie

A Glove Shop in Vienna + Other Stories — Eva Ibbotson

Book lovers — Emily Henry

The Comfort Food Diaries — Emily Nunn

Wintering — Katherine May

Things I Don’t Want to Know — Deborah Levy

In Five Years — Rebecca Serle

The Cost of Living — Deborah Levy

Real Estate — Deborah Levy

Women Holding Things — Maira Kalman

No Baggage — Clara Bensen

The Best American Food Writing 2022 — Edited by Sola El-Waylly

Red Paint — Sasha taq sablu LaPointe

Blow Your House Down — Gina Frangello

Stone blind — Natalie Haynes

Just A Mother — Roy Jacobsen

Miss Bunting — Angela Thirkell

Milk Blood Heat — Daniel W. Moniz

Enchantment — Katherine May

Artful Sentences: Virginia Tufte

The Body Keeps the Score — Bessel Van Der Kolk, M.D.

Poet Warrior — Joy Harjo

Dear Edward — Ann Napolitano

Ma and Me — Putsata Reang

Hang The Moon — Jeannette Walls

Walk the Blue Fields — Claire Keegan

Unraveling — Peggy Orenstein

Fellowship Point — Alice Elliot Dark

In The Distance — Hernan Diaz

Go As A River — Shelley Read

The Hand That First Held Mine — Maggie O’Farrell

The Feather Thief — Kirk Wallace Johnson

The Covenant of Water — Abraham Verghese 

Yours Truly, The Obituary Writer’s Guide — James R. Hagerty

When A Crocodile Eats the Sun — Peter Godwin

Books + Island in Ojibwa Country — Louise Erdrich

Small Mercies — Dennis Lehane

Good Eggs — Rebecca Hardiman

You Could Make This Place Beautiful — Maggie Smith Memoir

Antartica — Claire Keegan

Demon Copperhead — Barbara Kingsolver

Flash Nonfiction — Dirty W. Moore

Meet Me in Atlantic City — Jane Wong

Shrines of Gaiety — Kate Atkinson

Second Star and Other Reasons for Lingering — Jody Gladding

The Bookbinder — Pip Williams

The Secret Keeper of Jaipur — Alka Joshi

The Librarianist — Patrick deWitt

The Perfumist — Alka Joshi

Lilac Girls — Martha Hall Kelly

Landslide — Susan Conley

Reinventing the Enemy’s Language — Joy Harjo

Tom Lake — Ann Patchett

Birnam Wood — Eleanor Catton

Midnight at The Blackbird Café — Heather Webber

The Women in Black — Madeleine St John

Trust — Hernan Diaz

beyond that, the sea — Laura Spence-Ash

Study for Obedience — Saish Bernstein

The Swedish Art of Aging Exuberantly — Margareta Magnusson

So Late in the Day — Claire Keegan

No Two Persons — Erica Bauermeister

The Lioness of Boston —  Emily Franklin

Finding Muchness — Kobi Yamada

A Bird in Winter — Louise Doughty

Mad Honey — Jennifer Finney Boylan

The Abundance — Annie Dillard

the wren, the wren — anne Enright

The Reluctant Caregiver — Devon Ervin

Returning Light — Robert L. Harris

Stolen — Ann-Helén Laestadius

Big Heart, Little Stove, cookbook — Erin French

How To Walk — Tech That Hand

A Philosophy of Walking  — Frédérick Gros

The Best American Food Writing 2023 —  Mark Bittman

When Death Takes Something From you Give it Back — Maja Marie Aidt

Spark Birds — from Orion

Moon of the Crusted Snow — Waubgeshig Rice

The Land of Lost Things — John Connelly

When I sing, Mountains Dance — Irene Solà

Terrace Story — Hilary Leichter

Absolution — Alice McDermott

North Woods —Daniel Mason

Note: The following are solely based on my personal evaluations. All of the books are worthy. All books are worthy. I close each one at the end wiser, smarter and healthier.

Best book, Fiction: Tie between Go Like a River (L. Doughty) and A Bird in Winter (S. Read).

Best book, NonFiction: You Could Make This Place Beautiful, Maggie Smith

Worst book: The Lioness of Boston, Emily Franklin — too many liberties with the concept “historical fiction” about Isabella Stewart Gardener.

Need to read again: When Death Takes Something From you Give it Back — Maja Marie Aidt

Thought provoking: Moon of the Crusted Snow — Waubgeshig Rice. Dystopian yet close to home.

Most read author: Claire Keegan

Most lent out to other readers: Wintering, Katherine May

Most gifted to others: Finding Muchness, Kobi Yamada

Ones I left on the airplane seat when done: Book Lovers, Emily Henry

Standard
Books, Boxing, Changes, Family

Un-boxing. Re-boxing.

My mother bequeathed her art book collection to my stepfather in the fall of 1986. A few hundred books that spanned from her art school days to her death — large and small plated books on Renoir and Picasso, Warhol and Rothko, American quilts and Inuit drawings  —  all boxed, moved and shelved at least six times in three states since then. When he became ill and I received a call offering them to me last month, I had to weigh and measure more than just the books before deciding whether I wanted to retrieve them.

I have spent that same period of time accumulating — and sloughing off — twice that amount of books. Now at an age when I am lightening my load both for myself and my children, I had to consider the quantity of books, the drive to central Oregon, the sorting through, the decision making, the re-boxing, then the mailing off to family and extended family. I considered letting them all go — sight unseen —  to the library book sale near his home.

After all, I had to let them go once, when the will was read, when I slipped a few favorites into the moving van and drove away from her house for the last time. I had reconciled thirty-five years ago that this part of her had been given to him. I considered that holding this part of her might be too hard now.

I called my stepbrother. He had laid eyes on them more recently than me. “Is this worth it — what would you do?” I queried. It only took one sentence. “Your mom stuck stuff in her books.” And with that I knew their value to me. Was anything remaining between the pages after all these years? How would I ever know if I didn’t look.

We left Seattle before dawn on a heroic twenty-four hour turn-around road trip, thanks to a strong and willing cousin. Loaded the twelve boxes six hours later, fed and watered ourselves in Portland and returned to Seattle the next day. I poured myself a glass, then slowly opened the first box top and folded back the cardboard.

There they were, all those old friends that had sat on the tables of my childhood. One by one I unpacked and stacked the books around me. At times I didn’t breathe or found myself gasping a little. In the middle of some books I laughed. For the most part I was deep in my head, remembering, the bitter and the sweet rolling through me.

My mother drifted through the room — there she was in her sixties prairie skirt, showing me a photo, daring me to understand abstraction, color, the blurred line between fact and fiction. My mother as the young, stunning, mind-snapping, creative difficult brilliant artist, attending gallery openings, dazzling and being dazzled, exploring line and color and the pulse of the art world. Seated on the living room floor with her artist friends — sculptors and painters and writers — drinking wine and changing the eyes of the world with their fiberglass and canvas, oil paint and wood.

And the scraps of paper did keep falling out from between the pages; poetry, lines scored, erased, rewritten. Letters from family and friends, the ones she obviously wanted to keep and reread, worn thin at the folds. Pencil sketches that I knew later turned into paintings and sculpture. Postcards and notes from her favorite people. And endless lines of her handwriting tilting down the margins of books and catalogs, her script as familiar to me as her laugh. Healing, difficult and amazing to see after all this time.

I was pretty ruthless with my sorting, that’s just the reality. But dozens of friends and family will be getting a little something in the mail — or a lot of something — in the next month. And I will have fulfilled one of her last wishes, demanded of me before she died;

“Please don’t put my things in boxes. Send them into the world.”

Big love to the people that brought these books back into my hands and helped me do just that. I am breathing.

ChickenAHC

“Chicken nesting in garden.” Sketch in pencil on notepaper.

Alexandra Hammer Clark, @1982.

 

 

Standard
Choices, Knitting, Read, writing

Essentials.

What I am reading: The Empathy Exams, Leslie Jamison —  The Tao of Raven: An Alaska  Native Memoir, Ernestine Hayes —  Dancing Bears, Witold Szablowski.

What I just finished : The School of Essential Ingredients, Erica Bauermeister — Devotions, Mary Oliver — Songs of Willow Frost, Jamie Ford.

What I am knitting: A vest out of maize-colored Rowan Felted Tweed. A Churchmouse Yarn cowl pattern, wildly adapted to what I had in my yarn bag. An orchid-colored Alexandra’s Airplane scarf out of Rowan Kid Silk Haze and beaded with pink iridescent micro-beads.

What I am writing: Draft #20 of a personal essay piece, about to be submitted.

You get the picture: books, yarn, needles, paper. Last weekend my cousin and I went to an estate sale, early in the morning while the dew was still shivering on the cherry blossoms. We parked by a stone archway and stepped into a long room anchored by a walk-in fireplace, fully ablaze. I wandered this old farmhouse, stripped bare and crackling with story. When I returned to the front room the owner was saying “It just got away from us.” I fingered a chipped bowl full of scissors. My heart broke around the edges.

There is letting go and there is not keeping up. I want to be the former, smart and brave and realistic when the time comes. Recently the time has come for certain things: clothes I will never wear, shoes I cannot walk in anymore. And books. And furniture.

I sense I am in a race with myself, a new look at the future —  to not be caught short of sense and burdened by stuff. Last year’s health scares just simply brought home that  there is not an endless stretch ahead. So what do I really need each day?

Books, yarn, needles, paper works every corner of my brain, now that I have it back inside my head. Everything is portable and can be pulled from the same bag. Perhaps a toothbrush would be good.

And the people that love me, that are on this journey with me? I will have toothbrushes for all of you, too.

Ten months and counting from that double-whammy last year. I am learning to pack a bag of the essential ingredients and let the rest go.

 

Bainbridge Island, March 18th, 2018 Camelia

Bainbridge Island, March 18, 2018. Camellia blossom: essential spring.

Standard