The books that stayed with me really had a dazzle to them. Stylistically or intellectually, I needed someone to overpower me and make me pay attention.
When I gave her eulogy, I made a commitment to keep my life as vivid as she left it and then found myself failing. Life was dull, even with books, which is unlike me.
The closer you get to 50, the more apparent it is that the window of time you have to get to the books you need to is narrowing like a sclerotic aorta.
The best years are the ones where I read as much as I write, so I am wrapped in a delicious swirl of story. Here are just a few of the good books I read.
I grew suspicious Isenberg was writing a cleverly coded takedown of Trump, but I realized that was unlikely because the book was published five months before the 2016 election.
I think this “strange thing” is what must happen to all of us if we wish to address the environmental crisis. We need to get closer to plants and animals, to remember that we are all living on this planet together.
This year, with the logic that our social reality is as disturbing and surrealistic as any fabulist gothic, I’ve decided to make an exception for nonfiction by including books on politics.
I, like you, definitely don’t need to be made more susceptible to the predations of the truly sinister agents of corruption that are at work all around us.
I let go of any book that lacked sincerity in 2019; I plan to maintain that rule. Still, I’ve never in my life felt more grateful to return to words at the beginning or end of my days.