My January in reading

I somehow read eleven books in January? Damn, I’m impressive. The other day I learned that the French phrase for “bookworm” is “buveur d’encre,” which means INK DRINKER. Not only does it perfectly describe the start of 2021 for me, but it’s also now the name of my imaginary goth rock band.

The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare

Decided to check out one of my childhood favorites from the library, and I’m happy to report that it holds up! Kit Tyler’s journey from bright Barbados to grim colonial Connecticut, her friendship with the elderly Hannah Tupper, and the accusations of witchcraft that follow are still just as harrowing. A YA classic.

Refuse by Julian Randall

I had the good fortune to work with Julian at the inaugural Tin House YA Fiction Workshop, so I was excited to read his book of poetry. I actually started reading this one in December; I usually only read one or two poems a night so that I can mull them over a bit. And Julian’s poems are well worth the mulling. They’re simultaneously tender and brutal, examining his biracial identity and the place of biracial identities in America, along with sexuality, depression, and other themes. I especially liked the poems that invoked Barack Obama—maybe because I also came of age during the Obama presidency. But I think it has more to do with the fact that he presents a much more nuanced look at life for Black men during the Obama presidency than we usually receive.

The Sandman Vol. 1: Preludes and Nocturnes by Neil Gaiman

I’ve been re-reading a lot of favorites for comfort during the pandemic, and I’m so glad I picked The Sandman series back up—I haven’t read it in at least a decade. The first volume details Morpheus’ capture by occultist Roderick Burgess, and the havoc wreaked in the dreaming world during his 70 years of imprisonment and his subsequent efforts to reclaim his magic tools. Who doesn’t love a goth fantasy? David Bowie-inspired Satan? Iconic. Dream’s sister Death? Everyone’s favorite. This remains a fantastic series that I can’t recommend enough.

The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters

This is the first Sarah Waters book I’ve ever read, but it certainly won’t be the last. A lesbian thriller set in 1920s London—that description alone should be enough to sell it. What’s really wonderful about this book is the creeping dread that permeates the story from the first sentences; the suspense builds at an almost painfully slow pace, until The Bad Thing finally happens, and then the text shudders with paranoia and anxiety as the consequences play out.

The Moor by Laurie R. King

I continued re-reading King’s Mary Russell/Sherlock Holmes series with the fourth installment this month. I liked it less the second time around. On the one hand, the descriptive scenery was great—set on England’s damp and dreary Dartmoor, the site of that most famous of Holmes mysteries, The Hound of the Baskervilles. There were two things that bothered me, though. First, Russell seems to be an entirely different character in this book—far more superstitious and easily rattled. Second, the mystery only really happens in the very last section of the book. They spend most of the time apart, interviewing moor residents about supernatural sightings, with little to no apparent purpose or guiding theory. Where was the editor on this? Who knows.

Pachinko by Min Jin Lee

Normally, multigenerational family novels are not my jam. Pachinko, however, is undeniably excellent. Beginning in early 1900s Korea and ending in 1980s (90s?) Japan, this immersive book is really about the idea of place and identity—can the children of those who fled or were forced from Korea during World War II ever truly feel at home in Japan? Does the rise of one Korean family’s pachinko empire negate the harm caused by the Japanese empire? I really liked how Lee occasionally followed a few side characters for a bit, only to wind back toward Sunja’s family. It really was phenomenally written—the book deserves every accolade it received.

On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King

Usually I like to read a craft book or two at the beginning of the year, and this one by Stephen King had been sitting on my shelf for a while. The first part of the book is, as the title suggests, a memoir about how King developed into a writer. Some of it was so classic Americana it was almost hard to believe! But then, it’s hard not to trust Stephen King; despite his flair for the horrific, he seems like a straight-shooter overall. The second half of the book is a craft guide. I’d heard many of his recommendations before, but they were still nice reminders, and he spells everything out clearly with detailed examples. If you’re looking for a solid book on basic writing craft, you could do a lot worse than this one.

The Lost Lunar Baedeker by Mina Loy

I first read portions of this poetry collection in grad school, but I’ve been drawn to it ever since. Loy wrote primarily in the first half of the 20th century, and while some of her work might seem a bit hokey by today’s standards, her imagery is magical. Her metaphors are radioactive. Something about my brain just syncs perfectly with her brain—I’ve written multiple flash fiction stories using images from her poems as inspiration. So I couldn’t help reading it again—I’m drawn to it. If there’s one downside to Mina Loy, it’s that her particular brand of feminism irrevocably links womanhood with motherhood. Nevertheless, she was a remarkable woman and poet.

The Sandman Vol. 2: The Doll’s House by Neil Gaiman

Dream’s adventures continue as he chases down several figures who have escaped from his realm, and a young woman named Rose searches for her brother, not knowing the crucial role she has to play in The Dreaming. One thing I appreciate about The Sandman is that each volume is very much a concrete, complete story that can stand on its own. Some other graphic novels that I’ve read in volumes blur into each other more. Gaiman is truly one of our finest storytellers.

Unseen City by Amy Shearn

Rarely have I encountered a book as delightful as Unseen City. A self-described spinster librarian in Brooklyn develops a crush on a new patron when he comes in to research his family’s haunted house. How perfect is that?! Even better, every other chapter is narrated by the ghost. Not only is this a charming, modern romance, but it’s also a compassionate story of the effects of grief, as well as a dive into the history of Weeksville, the free Black settlement that once existed in Brooklyn before the city spread there. You must read it. That’s an order.

The Route of Ice and Salt by José Luis Zárate

Zárate’s novella is a queer retelling of Dracula’s journey on the boat from Transylvania to London, from the perspective of the gay captain of The Demeter, who has trouble controlling his own desire for flesh. Originally written in 1998, it was only translated into English this year by David Bowles. There’s a long history of comparing vampirism to homosexuality, and at first I was worried that it might be a negative comparison in this story. But in the end, a clear distinction is drawn between Dracula’s choices and the captain’s. With a foreword by Silvia Moreno-Garcia of Mexican Gothic fame, and an afterword by the legendary Poppy Z. Brite, this novella is a must-read for anyone interested in vampire lore.