My December in reading

Whenever the end of the year rolls around, I read a ton of books in an effort to boost my annual count—which, by the way, was officially 74 in 2023. This past December I had lots of extra time to read while I was semi-vacationing in Santa Fe, so I really went for it.

Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather

When in Rome—or when in Santa Fe, rather. I’d only read The Professor’s House years ago in college, so I was excited to read another of Cather’s works—especially one whose sites I could see while walking my dog. This tender, anecdotal novel about the efforts of two (almost-certainly-gay-and-in-love-with-each-other) priests who attempt to revive and re-establish Catholicism in New Mexico in the 1800s is a wonderful read. Worth it for the beautiful landscape descriptions alone. As for the white protagonists’ interactions with Native American characters—progressive for the time the book was written, not so progressive now. Fair warning.

Dear God. Dear Bones. Dear Yellow. by Noor Hindi

Purely by coincidence, I picked up this collection a few days before the recent violence broke out in Gaza, making the work of Palestinian-American poet Noor Hindi even more provocative. Her piece “Fuck Your Lecture on Craft, My People Are Dying” would have been harrowing anyway, but it’s especially harrowing in the midst of a literal, immediate genocide. In some ways, I think her poetry brings more clarity to the situation than reporting or photos. A must-read.

Our Share of the Night by Mariana Enriquez (translated by Megan McDowell)

Holy hell, what a book. Put this under the dictionary definition for “dread.” This brutal, generational novel tells of one family’s efforts to escape a wealthy demonic cult in Argentina amidst the country’s military dictatorship. Completely horrifying—easily one of the scariest books I’ve ever read. Heads up: this book is long and it is bleak. Do read it, but maybe not while you’re going through a depressive episode? I was in a cozy Airbnb in New Mexico cuddling with my dog, so I was fine. But I can imagine this novel being especially difficult for some people.

Dance Hall of the Dead by Tony Hillerman

We had to read one of Tony Hillerman’s mystery novels in my high school AP English class for some reason? But that was the only encounter I’d had with his work—until I visited Santa Fe and picked up a used copy of Dance Hall of the Dead at the book/record/coffee shop near my Airbnb. It’s mostly a typical mystery—except for its setting in the American southwest, and its Navajo protagonist, Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn of the tribal police. The plot-driven work follows Leaphorn’s investigation into the murder of a young Zuni boy and his missing Navajo friend as an important Zuni religious ceremony approaches. This is a quick read—the mystery is compelling enough that it’s hard to put down. Though I have to say—I always assumed Hillerman was an indigenous writer until I read his bio in the back of the book! What??! My bad, obviously, but I researched it a bit and apparently very few people have a problem with the fact that Hillerman was white. He seems to have done a good job with Navajo representation overall. Who knew? (Probably most people.)

Maddalena and the Dark by Julia Fine (narrated by Sophie Roberts)

When one is driving long distances, it is crucial to find audiobooks with plots riveting enough to keep one awake. Maddelena and the Dark fits the bill perfectly. A sapphic, gothic thriller set in 18th-century Venice with Vivaldi cameos? Sign me up. Studying music at the prestigious but cloistered Ospedale della Pietà, Luisa—who has little social standing but is a promising violinist—and Maddelena—from a prominent family and attending the school largely to improve her marriage prospects—grow very close. With the help of a supernatural gondolier, they find a way to achieve their desires. Or do they? The Carnevale climax of the book is wild. Definitely check this one out.

Gone to the Wolves by John Wray (narrated by Nick Mondelli)

Oh, just your typical coming-of-age-death-metal-Scandinavian-cult-thriller. From the Gulf Coast of Florida (near where my parents lived, coincidentally) to Los Angeles, California, our protagonist Kip (misunderstood kid turned music journalist) and his friends Leslie (a Black, queer metal savant) and Kira (a young woman who always wants something more, something real) follow the music they love so much into new—but not necessarily better—lives. When the sheen of 80s hair metal wears off, so too does their connection—until Kira is kidnapped by (or willingly joins?) a death cult in Scandinavia. Though I felt like the LA section was a little stereotypical (yes, John Wray, I watched a lot of VH1 in the early aughts, too), and Kira served the sexist function of needing rescue but simultaneously being the only one who can “save” the straight male protagonist, overall I really enjoyed this book. It’s clear that Wray loves metal, and that love translates onto the page.

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens (narrated by Sarah Marshall)

I’ve read this one before, but I got a chance to listen to it again when Sarah Marshall read it on some December bonus episodes of the You’re Wrong About podcast. I’m not normally a big Dickens fan, but I think this one is charming, probably because he kept it short. It’s amazing how modern Dickens’ progressive views seem? Let’s get a copy of this into the hands of every Republican politician, please—and the Democrats, for good measure. It’s also amazing how much of this text I have memorized thanks to the phenomenal accuracy of The Muppet Christmas Carol, which is practically an audiobook in its own right. God bless us, everyone.

The Job of the Wasp by Colin Winnette

“Is it a ghost story?” might be my favorite subgenre of ghost story. This gothic novel has everything. Orphan boys, private school, unclear time period, unreliable narrator. As his classmates violently perish one by one, our simultaneously paranoid and far-too-confident protagonist aims to solve the mystery—which may be his own mystery. A wasp-sting of a thriller.

Helpmeet by Naben Ruthnum

Don’t you love it when body horror is heartwarming? In this novella, set in the early 1900s, a woman brings her dying (or perhaps disintegrating?) husband to his rural childhood home for his final days. Despite his indiscretions, the couple ends up closer than ever. Literally. I read this right before the new year, and I found its themes appropriate for the occasion: shedding one’s skin and becoming something new. I adored this little book, and I hope you do, too.