As 2016 got rolling, I set myself a goal: to read thirty books that year. Not only did I meet my goal but I passed it by one book. That felt good! I set the same goal for 2017, but came up short with 26. Still, not bad. I just didn't push myself like I did the year before. No regrets there; I'd rather savour a story rather than speed through it and potentially miss or forget the best parts.
I think I have always hovered around thirty books in a calendar year... roughly 25 to 35 or so, depending on the page-count of the books and how much I love what I'm reading (I'll read all weekend long with few breaks if I'm completely sucked into an amazing novel). Normally, I go at an easy pace, finishing an average size book (about 400 pages or less) within a couple of weeks. My reading sessions are generally in small chunks of time... a bit while I eat breakfast in the kitchen, followed by about 20 minutes in my living room - all before heading to work each morning, then maybe a bit during dinner later on. If I'm super into it, I may read an hour or two immediately upon getting home from work. I live on my own, so I have that luxury.
I find that after my kind of workday, my eyes feel tired in the evening, so I don't read after about 6 or 7pm. But on weekends, anything goes. Sometimes upon waking at, or before, the crack of dawn, I'll be chowing down on both breakfast and my current book... often continuing with that through the afternoon, though with some cooking and housekeeping (and blogging) breaks. Sunday is often my laziest day, so I make the most headway then. Tea and a book - from morning 'til late afternoon sometimes, but not always.
The books I ingested in 2017 were varied but did lean toward certain genres. For many years, I've focused more on crime fiction than anything else, but in 2017 I did a bit less of that and more science-fiction and fantasy, areas I've neglected for a long time. And I found some terrific titles in those genres, most notably:
The Scar, and Iron Council, both by China Mieville
The Crystal Cave, The Hollow Hills, and The Last Enchantment, all by Mary Stewart
Stories of Your Life and Others, by Ted Chiang
Prey, by Michael Crichton
Ready Player One, by Ernest Cline
The Mieville books were highly imaginative, though I felt Iron Council, the last in the New Crobuzon trilogy, was treading too-familiar ground. Still fun, to a point, but it was The Scar that really impressed me. I highly recommend this weird, dark-ish fantasy trilogy, which begins with Perdito Street Station.
The Mary Stewart books had been on my shelf since I last read them back in the 80's. I enjoyed them just as much, if not more, this time around. Such depth of character development, such a moody and thrilling story, and such an incredibly realized fifth century world - part fiction, part fact - swirling around the lives of King Arthur and his "wizard" Merlin.
The Chiang book is actually a collection of short stories. What drew me to it was its short piece upon which the film Arrival was based. To be honest, I wasn't crazy about the original version here... I found that the movie adaptation effectively edited and re-worked story elements from something a bit clunky into a sleeker sci-fi tale. Most of the other shorts in the collection are exceptional.
Ready Player One, by Ernest Cline, was a fun one, catering heavily to my generation. In my teens in the late 70's and early 80's, I played arcade video games, watched Arnold's action movies and Monty Python, listened to Rush, played D&D... so this story played directly into my wheelhouse. The nostalgic value was probably greater than any truly amazing writing talent here. But it's still a cool ride, a blast from the past sort of brain candy delight.
There were several others in the fantastic fiction department but they weren't quite as engaging. For example, I worked through The Island of Dr. Moreau, by H.G. Wells, but was kind of underwhelmed. The old Charles Laughton movie adaptation was far more gripping. And another Crichton novel, Sphere, wasn't quite up to par. It was okay, but that was it.
On deck....
In the crime (fiction, not true) genre, I enjoyed a couple of Hakan Nesser books, Borkmann's Point, and The Return. Both novels were my introduction to the Swedish author's awkwardly humorous style. Another Nesser book I tackled was Woman With Birthmark, which sort of missed the mark. I felt as though this writer recycled his quirky character bits too much from book to book. Maybe I've had enough of him.
Another crime thriller on my list was Legacy of the Bones, by Delores Redondo. I had seen a movie adaptation of her first book (in a series) and loved it, so I thought I'd try out the second installment in book form. But the novel included angles and relationship threads that didn't resonate with me. It felt odd and a bit forced. I might consider another of Redondo's books someday, though.
I re-read The Crossing, by Cormack McCarthy. This guy can do no wrong. I've been through several of his modern westerns (and non-westerns), the Border Trilogy twice, and every time I marvel at his way with words. An unmistakable writing style that places McCarthy among my favourite authors.
For non-fiction, I chose what turned out to be fascinating and educational books. The first, Ocean of Sound, by David Toop, had been on my "To Read" list for many years. It did not disappoint. Far reaching in its scope, and written with authority on music through the ages and different cultures. Another book, Culture Crash, by Scott Timberg, shed light on the crisis of the creative class in America. A detailed and authoritative document of how culture is suffering, and how that impacts other areas of society.
I also re-read Quiet, Susan Cain's examination of introverts and how they have shaped and continue to shape the world. I love this book since it is about... me. Cain discusses world famous introverts as well as average Joe's like me, and how we all fit into modern society.
In the biographical department, I finally got around to the definitive write-up on the legendary 60's rock band, The Doors... No One Here Gets Out Alive, by Hopkins and Sugerman. A sprawling tome that lays out all the goods (and bads) about the self-destructive frontman Jim Morrison and his history with The Doors.
Then I dove into a tell-all autobiography by Megadeth guitarist, singer and leader Dave Mustaine. Simply titled Mustaine, the book exposes in all the spit, blood, and guts the life that this controversial songwriter has led. The man has been through the wringer, and he's put others through the wringer. But here he is honest and we see he's undergone a transformation or two in his climb out of near-deadly addictions. One of my favourite musicians, Mustaine delivers a riveting look at his life and art.
I also took on some lighter reading with The Soul of a Butterfly, written by the late, great boxing hero Muhammad Ali. Having watched Ali's televised fights when I was a youngster, I thought I'd enjoy the words of the man himself today. Instead, I got a whole lot of spiritual mumbo-jumbo, not at all what I expected. I wasn't necessarily looking for an account of his boxing career and his personal life, since I already knew the gist of that, but this was so out there that I just couldn't connect. Even though it was a short, sparsely-worded book, it took me a long time to get through it. I'd read a chapter, then I'd set it aside for a few months. Just not my cup of tea.
Speaking of tea, it's about time I brewed up a pot and settled in with a good book. Word.
No comments:
Post a Comment