I strongly disapprove of 50 degree snowless barren Christmases in Wisconsin, but as usual, no one asked me. We got about 3 inches of snow on our very last night here, thank God, not much but enough for me to feel good.
Belly is growing bigger and heftier by the day. Putting socks or shoes on is a feat, as is going up a flight of stairs, as is entering and exiting a vehicle, as is turning over in bed. Maneuvering around the belly is increasingly demanding of my cardiovascular system. Our little boy is kicking quite a bit, finally – yesterday was the first time I could actually see movement, which was very cool and sort of bizarre. Pregnancy/birth/reproduction in general really is some sci-fi shit.
But that’s not why we are here today. It is time again for the NBAs: the 2019 Nagappala Book Awards!
Best fiction:
- “Normal People“, Sally Rooney. This just charmed the hell out of me. I’m kind of a sucker for on-again, off-again relationships between people who *get* each other but for whom, for whatever reason, long-term successful togetherness hasn’t been in the cards. It’s being adapted to TV via Hulu next year and I cannot fucking WAIT for the feels.
- Runner-up: “The Song of Achilles” by Madeline Miller. Exquisite writing, beautiful Greek tragedy.
Best nonfiction:
- “Sorry I’m Late, I Didn’t Want to Come: An Introvert’s Year of Living Dangerously” by Jessica Pan. If ever there was a book written for me! Reading this yearlong attempt at extroversion was inspiring and made me wonder what I could be capable of if I just “put myself out there more” – though Pan doesn’t use that phrase, IIRC, and I am not at all fond of it. She does all sorts of wild things that I’d never ever do: taking a stand-up comedy class, reading a personal story to a crowded room of strangers, taking shrooms while camping in a Portugal forest. And at the end, she’s still an introvert, but an introvert with a greater understanding of her limits – which limits maybe were self-imposed a long time ago and aren’t relevant anymore, and which limits are real and necessary. Just loved it.
- Runner-up: “Heavy: An American Memoir” by Kiese Laymon. I read a ton of memoirs, often by pretty un-famous people like Laymon. He’s known by people in and adjacent to the writing world but is by no means a household name. That said, given the quality of his work, he really deserves to be. I’ve never read such an engrossing story about someone who couldn’t be more different from me. He is a king and I can’t wait to read whatever he does next.
Most disappointing:
- “The Monk of Mokha” by Dave Eggers. I thought I liked Dave Eggers enough that I would find his Yemeni coffee storytelling interesting. I was wrong; it was decidedly uninteresting.
Most educational:
- “Bad Blood” by John Carreyrou. By now we’re all familiar with the road and fall of Theranos, the Silicon Valley startup headed by alleged young genius Elizabeth Holmes. While I only gave this one 3 stars on Goodreads, I still have to say I learned a great deal about startup culture, pharmaceuticals, confirmation bias, intellectual seduction, and I guess whatever the opposite of imposter syndrome is.
Cutest:
- “Seattle Walk Report” by Anonymous. The author’s name is out there now, but for a long time she was simply known by the name Seattle Walk Report and she traversed our fair city on foot, finding all manner of peculiar ephemera to draw and then post on Instagram. Apparently you can get a book deal from that! It’s pretty cool, I think, maybe moreso if you live in Seattle but it’s a great reminder that if you look up from your phone once in awhile, it’s an interesting world out there.
Most depressing:
- “Catch and Kill: Lies, Spies, and a Conspiracy to Protect Predators” by Ronan Farrow. Don’t get me wrong: great book, deserving of its lavish critical reception. But it really hammers home the fact that powerful men protect other powerful men at all costs, and there’s not much we can do to change that other than demand justice – whatever that looks like – when the Harvey Weinsteins of the world assault someone. I don’t know how we can get to the point of prevention because that requires a monumental cultural shift in how young men and boys are conditioned to think of women and sex. So as much as you read this and cheer on Farrow and his dogged investigative team (the ones who aren’t actively trying to sabotage him behind the scenes) it’s still not exactly uplifting.
That’s it for the 2019 NBAs! I hope they were useful to you. I haven’t decided on a 2020 reading goal… theoretically I’ll have a lot of downtime while nursing the baby, but then I may not have the brain space for anything but Netflix. I still haven’t so much as looked at the NPR Book Concierge, which is basically my favorite end-of-year thing.
If I feel like it, I’ll do a separate 2019 retrospective post later.
Sconnie Molly 