Shakespeare once again dominated my reading schedule, and not just
because I can read a play in an afternoon. For the record, this
year’s plays were Macbeth, Merry Wives of Windsor, Comedy of
Errors, and
Much Ado About Nothing.
There is also some Shake-related nonfiction in the 2024 list,
a little on the academic side but worthwhile reading nonetheless.
Notably, this year’s list is shorter than in past years, though I did dip into some short story and poetry collections. I blame my
fractured vision (cataracts) and attention span (Olympics, college
reunion, comedy improv with Clay Aiken). Here’s my year, in roughly
chronological order:
1. The Razor’s Edge,
W. Somerset Maugham (fiction; re-read). Not the only first-person
autobiographical tale on the list, but not by design. I’d read this
many years ago and remembered liking it, but couldn’t remember why.
Philosophy, I guess: A nonmaterialistic hero wants everyone to be
happy. I like that.
2. The Brothers Karamazov,
F. Dostoevsky
(fiction;
re-read). More psycho-philosophical fiction. Handy to have class
notes in the margins of my college-days paperbacks so I could
continue underlining themes and significant passages. I seem to have a
fondness for the nonmaterialistic hero who wants everyone to be happy
type. Note: this list only takes me through March. Slow reader with
distractions.
3. Sense and Sensibility,
Jane Austen (fiction;
re-read). Hm. Curiously unambitious choices so far. I usually like to
mix things up. Jane’s first story probably could have used some
paring of extraneous characters, as I much prefer the Emma Thompson
script. But it’s far more sophisticated and engaging than …
4. Mount Vernon Love Story,
Mary
Higgins Clark (fiction). George and Martha Washington as Hallmark
Channel love interests, a bit too “she gazed into his soft gray
eyes” for my taste. Blech. Still, it seemed sufficiently
well-researched to merit becoming a nice giveaway to new donors to
the Mount Vernon Ladies Association, a very worthy
cause.
5. Modern Ethics in 77 Arguments,
Peter Catapano and Simon Critchley, eds. (philosophy). Apparently a
collection of New
York Times
columns, though I suspect the readership and the authorship were the
same demographic. I skimmed through the topics that interested
me—morality, religion, race, women, the future. There was something
in the discussions about women that annoyed me when I read it back in
April, but I’m too lazy to re-read that stuff. Much, much more
interesting is …
6. An Unfinished Love Story,
Doris Kearns Goodwin (history, memoir). Doris specializes in writing
about the great men of American history, but here she truly makes a
case for the historic greatness of her own husband, Dick Goodwin
(Kennedy speechwriter best known to some of us as the guy who went
after the Quiz Shows back in the day). And like Doris’s stories of
other American heroes, she does not forget their ladies—in this
case, herself. So you say you want a love story? This is it! Now I
wish she’d
write that George and Martha thingy.
7. Ocean Breathing,
Barbara Mathias Riegel (fiction). I admit I bought the book because a
dear friend’s mother wrote it. I like to be supportive, and the
story takes place in our familiar neighborhood. The first-person
narrator is dealing with severe anxiety, which she only begins to
overcome when other people’s problems supersede her own. A
less-than-gentle therapist (or reader) might say “Get over
yourself.” She does.
8. Shakespeare’s Language,
Frank Kermode (literary studies). Survey of how Shakespeare’s
command of language (metaphors, motifs, and stuff like that) matured
from play to play and advanced the English language along the way.
Maybe a little academic, but like Shadowplay
(a survey of the plays through the lens of religious and political
conflict), an interesting way to review the plays and Shakespeare’s
greatness.
9. The Code of the Woosters,
P.
G. Wodehouse (fiction; re-read). Speaking of a master of language!
Not that Wodehouse advanced the English language itself, but he sure
had fun with it.
10. Philippe Halsman: A Retrospective
(photography). One of the great portraitists of the 20th century,
showcasing some of the greatest personalities of the time. Yes, we
like looking at celebrities. Halsman made them jump for him.
Literally.
11. David Copperfield,
Charles Dickens (fiction, though likely autobiographical). A
first-person narrator reflects on his life, and it’s a ripping
yarn. There are people! Things happen! It’s how I can get through
an 800 page book gladly, whereas with some remembrances-type fiction
I can’t get through four pages (I’m looking at you, Proust and
Joyce).
12. Shakespeare’s Sisters,
Ramie Targoff (literary history). Okay, it got a good
review in The New
Yorker
and it had Shakespeare in the title, so I bought it. Targoff covers
the work of four key women who wrote at the same time as William but
were not in fact related to him. Well worth reading, but I’d
quibble about the book’s title.
13. Headlong,
Michael Frayn (fiction). Art history in a comic mystery! What a fun
book.
14. The Bully Pulpit,
Doris Kearns Goodwin (presidential history, biography). While Teddy
Roosevelt made the cut for Doris’s top four presidential leaders
(with Lincoln, FDR, and LBJ), the well-liked and judicious William
Howard Taft had a lot going for him. Another one of my heroes who
wants everyone to be happy? Despite their epic rift, Doris gives
William and Teddy a happy enough ending to make me cry. (Also
sobs-inducing, the Titanic
death
of Archie Butt, their mutual friend and security man.)
15. Circe, Madeline
Miller (fiction). A “Wicked”-type
retelling of familiar myths
from the witch’s point of view. Richly rendered language thick with
metaphors and similes, if you like that. I did.
16. A Christmas Carol,
Charles Dickens (ghost story). Rereading
this every
year might
become a tradition for me, along with watching as many different
versions as possible (from Magoo’s to Patton’s, er, George C.
Scott’s).
There is no perfect rendering of the story, however,
other than Dickens’s. They all leave something necessary out or put
something unnecessary in. And
I think Scrooge was really more indifferent than angry or hostile.
Scott’s rendering of the character wins on that point.
Confession:
I broke my rule this year about finishing everything I started to
read. As mentioned above, I couldn’t make it into Proust’s
Swann’s Way,
for
its lack of characters and actions. This is also the reason I
couldn’t make much headway into
2025
from the old Coates & Jarratt futurists shop. I spent a career
making futurists’ writing accessible to nonfuturists.
The
book’s many scenarios of new technologies and future problems were
devoid of any human beings doing anything. I just couldn’t take it.
The
real 2025 looks promising, bookwise: I spy James
by Percival Everett at the top of the pile!
Love,
hosaa
Happy
New Reading
