The tail end of 2012 has been extremely stressful. It was self-imposed stress for the most part, but it was stressful nonetheless. I made it a goal to read 100 books by the end of the year—roughly 8.333 books a month. Big goal, I know, but I was on track for most months. But come October to December, things got hectic and it ate away at my leisure reading time. Story of my life: born to read, forced to work. Boo.
I thought I could make up for it during my Christmas Holiday but I seemed to have over-estimated my powers of concentration. I ended up with 96 books completed and 16 more left unfinished. Ninety-six isn’t bad, but it felt short of my goal. I’m very, very disappointed with myself. I take this shit way too seriously.
I’ll do better this year, so help me God. A hundred is a reasonable goal; any less will feel like a regression, any more and I’ll be setting myself up for an even bigger failure, especially since this is going to be a big year for me with a great many things in the works. *fingers crossed* More on that some other time.
That said, not all of my 2013 picks have been supremely edifying works of literature. A lot of times, like in between dense Murakami, long-winded biographies or emotionally fraught Didion, I would need breaks—though not from reading, per se—and so I turned to ridiculous erotica/romance by Lora Leigh, silly pseudo-pshychology/self-help like Why Men Love Bitches and inspirational mumbo-jumbo I can’t even finish. I regret those deeply. I also read Dan Brown’s Inferno, some romance by Sarah McLean, some chick-lit by Jane Green and Louise Bagshawe, and Brandi Glanville’s memoir Drinking and Tweeting. I don’t regret those. They were actually kind of fun and reading, above all else, is great fun.
A bunch of best books of 2013 lists also came out towards the end of the year, which stressed me out even more. Where did all these books come from and how could I have missed out on them?! I tracked most of those books down and tried reading all of them simultaneously to make my deadline, which you can imagine, didn’t work out too well for me. Option paralysis. More on that some other time as well.
I find it nearly impossible to pick out my own list of favorites out of all the books I’ve read last year, because it’s hard to subject one’s reading experience under any sort of quantifiable cataloging and ranking method. The act of reading is highly personal and very much informed, not just by the text, but by the reader’s own state and set of circumstances while he/she reads. As writer Ali Smith puts it, books “are alive on their own terms.” Yeah, but I’ll try anyway. Any other time and I could very well likely have come up with an entirely different list. But right now, right this minute, these are the 15 books that I feel have made the biggest impression on me. They are listed in no particular order and irrespective of their publication date. I’m gonna do away with the blurbs but do look them up for yourself, I’ve had the greatest pleasure spending time with these gems, I hope you do too.
The Woman Upstairs, Claire Messud
The Defining Decade, Meg Jay
Max Barry, Lexicon
Shadow of the Wind, Carlos Ruiz Zafon
The Know-It-All, AJ Jacobs
The Secret History, Donna Tart
The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath
Eleanor and Park, Rainbow Rowell
Gorgeous, Paul Rudnick
Just Kids, Patti Smith
In My Shoes, Tamara Mellon
Sweet Tooth, Ian McEwan
One For The Books, Joe Queenan
Jemima J, Jane Green
The Age Of Innocence
As you can see, it's an odd mix of classics, YA, fiction, non-fiction, literary fiction, pop fiction, 2013 releases and old best-sellers. If I offend any lit majors there, mea culpa.
