Thing One: the winner of the 2015 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction was announced last week. This year, it goes to Anthony Doerr’s All the Light We Cannot See. This frustrates me for several reasons, one of which is that I haven’t yet read it, and I now have to decide whether it’s worth reading yet another WWII novel simply because it won the Pulitzer. I’ve heard very mixed reactions, from people telling me it’s poetic and beautiful to the Guardian reviewer asserting that its poeticism is overblown but made up for by a gripping plot. (I’m inclined to believe the Guardian reviewer). I like reading the prize winners because it provides a certain level of order and some common cultural ground to my reading list, but at the same time, I’m not sure I have that much interest in a 700-pager about occupied France. Has anyone out there read it? Is it worth a go?
Thing Two: I read bell hooks’s book of cultural criticism All About Love last week. I’m not going to write about it. I vacillated for a bit on this, but I think I have a few solid reasons, one of which is that it’s a book that requires time to percolate. The first few chapters of my copy now have heavy pencil underlining, and the idea of a “love ethic” in daily life is something that I want to sit down with and unpack on my own time. For precisely that reason, it’s not very review-able. It’s a book that will continue to resonate with me personally, privately, for a long time, and I don’t want to write down my thoughts too hastily and then send them out into the ether. Some books need to be experienced in privacy, and ongoingly. (I know it’s not a word, but now it is.)
Thing Three: What do I read next? I finished Blake Morrison’s amazingly good collection of poetry Shingle Street yesterday, and went to the random number generator to choose my next. The first time, the computer suggested #2 on my list: Of Human Bondage. I’ve just finished a Somerset Maugham (The Moon and Sixpence, for the Classics Club, review coming soon), and I’m going through some life changes at the moment which mean that I don’t want to be dealing with a particularly large book. I tried again. Infuriatingly, the computer next suggested #4: Vikram Seth’s A Suitable Boy, which is about 900 pages long. Eventually, I decided that I had denied myself the pleasure of Emily St John Mandel’s Station Eleven for long enough, and started on it. (It’s very good. I’m going to review it here, properly, because none of the reviews I’ve seen have given even the slightest indication of what the experience of reading the book is like; most have been content to state the premise.)
But that made me think: maybe the Internet has some ideas. So, below is my current TBR list (these are all the books in my room that I haven’t yet read). It’s shorter than most peoples’, because I’m a young professional and my room isn’t very big, and also because there are more TBR books in my grandparents’ garage, which I’m not even going to get into right now. If you have any suggestions for where I should go after finishing Station Eleven, leave them in the comments!
- The Golden Pot, German fairy stories by E.T.A. Hoffmann.
- Of Human Bondage, by W. Somerset Maugham
- The Wake, by Paul Kingsnorth
- A Suitable Boy, by Vikram Seth
- Alms for Oblivion: Vol. 1, by Simon Raven
- Grits, by Niall Griffiths
- David Copperfield, by Charles Dickens
- Guantanamo Diary, by Mohamed Ould Slahi
- The Senate Intelligence Committee Report on Torture
- Sharp Objects, by Gillian Flynn
- Nights At the Circus, by Angela Carter
- The Holy or the Broken, by Alan Light
- The Book of Strange New Things, by Michel Faber (it has literally taken me this long to realize that his name is not Michael, but Michel. Seriously! Look closely at the book cover, then ask Wikipedia.)
- The Electric Michelangelo, by Sarah Hall
- Tiny Beautiful Things, by Cheryl Strayed (also known as Dear Sugar)
- Just Kids, by Patti Smith
- Salvage the Bones, by Jesmyn Ward