I undertook the @readpoc2016 project, and it was great. I decided to do a year in review report, as I enjoy giving book recommendations. Moreover, I suspect that 2017 may, like 2016, be a year where it feels particularly necessary and life-giving to read the voices of frequently marginalized authors.
I didn’t set myself the goal of reading exclusively POC authors, as I wanted a goal I was unlikely to give up on because of its unattainability. But I read mostly POC authors, with the result that I discovered both great voices in genres I already love, and explored genres that I normally spend relatively little time in. It may be stating the obvious, but this was also a project that enriched my experience of language, as books from/about diverse cultures simply treat words and narrative differently.
The Calcutta Chromosome, Amitav Ghosh: I adored this magical, revisionist, postcolonial romp through medical history and a near-future NYC and Calcutta. I want to read Ghosh’s Sea of Poppies next.
Death of a Red Heroine, Qiu Xiaolong: A poetry-quoting police inspector! I have a thing for poetry-quoting detectives, and it was a pleasure to add the gently melancholy, persistent Inspector Chen to my list.
Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe: I have no excuse for not having read this spare, brutal, beautiful masterpiece before.
The Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro: I have no idea how I had not read this exquisite, elegiac novel about repressed English people before. I love books about repressed English people (my spiritual kin.)
Soy Sauce for Beginners, Kirstin Chen: I picked this up because a 30ish woman navigating her place in the world seemed like a relevant protagonist to me. It turned out to be a semi-fluffy novel heavy on romance. Which... is fine. This was well done, I guess, but not what I was looking for.
White Teeth, Zadie Smith: Horrifying, humane, hilarious. Absolutely brilliant.
Real Time: Stories and a Reminiscence, Amit Chaudhuri: I really enjoyed these lapidary stories set in contemporary India.
The Embassy of Cambodia, Zadie Smith: This is barely novella-length, but it has haunted me ever since I picked it up while browsing in the Summertown library.
Le Comte de Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas: Dumas has been one of my favorite authors since I was 16, but it had been ages since I read this sprawling, sparkling tour de force.
La Reine Margot, Alexandre Dumas: I had never read this one before, and it is smutty and Gothic and delicious (longer post about it here.)
The Tattoo Murder Case, Akimitsu Takagi: This is grittier and darker than I usually like my detective fiction. It’s a fascinating look at postwar Japan, but it’s not for the faint of heart or the squeamish.
Inspector Imanishi Investigates, Seicho Matsumoto: I’m still not sure how I feel about this one. I think its preoccupations with cultural concerns of 1960s Japan (modern music! new fashions! emigration to America!) were a bit too specific to age well. Also, there’s not a lot of successful detection in it. Maybe it’s a commentary on the randomness and meaninglessness of existence?
Pioneer Girl, Bich Minh Nguyen: Recommended to anyone who grew up on the Laura Ingalls Wilder books, a fascinating meditation on texts and their reception. I like books where protagonists have their academic pursuits taken seriously... but (minor spoiler) why do they steal things from archives? First Possession, now this!
Cutting for Stone, Abraham Verghese: I think this was recommended to me by someone on here ( @deadpoetsmusings?) and I loved it. It’s a gorgeous meditation on medicine, empire, and personal and political histories. It has nuns and music and hospitals and history in it; of course I loved it.
To Be Young, Gifted, and Black: An Informal Autobiography, Lorraine Hansberry: This is a vibrant, fascinating look at Hansberry’s life and creative process, and also an all-too-timely reflection on the way America fails and oppresses its Black citizens.
Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman, Haruki Murakami: I’d not read Murakami before, so this felt overdue, and it was an enjoyable, enjoyably surreal experience. I couldn’t get away from the nagging feeling that his women were rarely real people, though.
The Buried Giant, Kazuo Ishiguro: A poignant novel about aging, memory, and friendship... but why set it in ersatz-medieval Britain? I’m still puzzled about that.
Half of a Yellow Sun, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: This took me a long time to finish because most of my reading time is before bed, and this is about the Nigerian civil war. Be warned that it’s gruesome and awful in places, but it is also a stunningly beautiful meditation on love, identity, and belonging. And imperialism and resistance to it. That too.
How to Love, Thich Nhat Hanh: Zen wisdom about loving, listening, and mindfulness... it’s a slim volume, but reading it is an exercise in seeing how much profundity is found here that is missing from facile feel-good slogans.
On Black Sisters Street, Chika Unigwe: This book is vibrant, but also dark (about African women in contemporary Belgium’s sex trade.) Also, my local branch of the library doesn’t have it.
The Queen of the Night, Alexander Chee: This book is lush and decadent and tremendous fun (spies and opera in Napoleon III’s Paris! and spa towns! what’s not to love!) but it also loses momentum about two-thirds of the way through. Oops. Maybe I’ll push through.
The Dove’s Necklace, Raja Alem: I’m having a little trouble finding a foothold in this because of its impressionistic prose style and vignette-based narrative... I love it, but I keep nodding off and having to retrace my steps the next night. It’s a mystery set in Mecca, and won the International Prize for Arabic Fiction.
