I love end-of-the-year lists.
I’m not sure why, though I have some theories:
A recovering perfectionist is bound to find intriguing anything that follows the phrase “the best of.”
Lists and reflective montages are wrapped in birthday memories because I entered the world on December 31.
Whatever the reason, since I like and have benefited from “best of” lists, in the spirit of paying it forward, I created one.
Before I get to the good stuff, however, I should offer two clarifications:
My list includes books I read during 2017 and is not limited to books published during 2017.
Because I love books of all kinds, I couldn’t bear to rank them. All 10 on my list are special, so their numbers don’t correspond to how highly I recommend them. For maximum enjoyment, read them all!
Without further ado (e.g., the introductory material I and many others skip to get to the list itself), here’s my list:
1. Truly Madly Guilty by Liane Moriarty (2016).
Moriarty kept me in suspense, turning pages as if inhaling them, even as I understood that the answers I sought didn’t originate from a crime, a supernatural event, or even an earth-shattering occurrence. Moriarty’s brilliance lies in her ability to show how a single event sends ripples through a community, affecting each character in subtle but life-altering ways. Characters emerge as flawed but likeable individuals whose points of view build to reveal everything about the event in question. I’m bowled over by how Moriarty captures life’s minutiae without boring readers. Her lengthy narrative covers a short period, giving us a fly-on-the-wall perspective of ordinary life in a suburb of Sydney, Australia.
2. The Nest by Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney (2016).
Though The Nest’s setting and characters differ from Truly Madly Guilty’s, the two novels’ plots, narrative structures, themes, and timelines share appealing similarities. Like Truly Madly Guilty, The Nest depicts how a single decision echoes through characters’ day-to-day lives. In The Nest’s case, readers also glimpse those echoes clashing to create dissonance every time characters crash into one another. Sweeney’s characters are edgier than Moriarty’s, though still relatable and likeable. Sweeney’s understanding of familial relationships and capacity for representing them on the page is second to none.
3. The Animators by Kayla Rae Whitaker (2017).
Trying to include everything I liked about this novel in a single paragraph is daunting, but I’ll do my best. Complicated characters who both demonstrate and act from nearly every human emotion is the first and most important attribute. This novel is character-driven storytelling at its best. The two main characters’ relationship is simultaneously beautiful in its simplicity—they share a passion for animation and talents that, when combined, create a sum greater than its parts—and gut-wrenchingly complex in its blend of work and friendship, past failures and present successes, self-destruction and attempts to protect the other from herself. Each character alternates between almost-supernatural self-awareness and total blindness to her own flaws. Their relationship and story also illuminate the creative process in all its mess, pain, elation, inertia, and all-consuming vision.
4. Light in the Trees by Gail Folkins (2016). This memoir’s best feature is the writing itself. Sentences reflect Folkins’ background in poetry and journalism in their artistic depiction of the northwest (American) landscape and in their crisp diction. Folkins writes about setting and animals in a voice that reveals her passion for them without an ounce too much of sentimentality. Her linked essays are a must-read for any aspiring creative nonfiction writer.
5. Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead (2016).
There isn’t much I can say about Colson Whitehead’s talent or this masterpiece that hasn’t already been said by readers, writers, and critics with far more expertise than I have. More than the story itself, I marveled at Whitehead’s descriptions of the most ordinary objects and people. He captures the essence of something—a wagon rut in the dirt, a character’s mannerism, a scar running along a character’s limb—with a single, concise, comparison to something it would never occur to me belonged in the same galaxy but that makes instant and perfect sense. The book defies explanation, which makes for a once-in-a-lifetime reading experience.
6. Chemistry by Weike Wang (2017).
Of all the writers on my list, Wang is the master of voice. Her first-person narrative broke my heart on almost every page, even as I turned another and another, regardless of how far past a reasonable bedtime I stayed awake. The narrator’s honesty about how confusing she finds life and relationships draws readers in immediately. Her unwillingness to forgive herself for mundane flaws and mistakes despite obvious talent makes readers want to cheer her on in a battle against clinical depression she refuses to acknowledge. We mourn her self-destructive bent, which causes her to push away the person who loves her most, and we hope she’ll draw him back into her orbit. Her purity of heart and purpose come through in every word on the page. The narrative also gives readers an inside look at life as an international graduate student that’s entirely relatable, regardless of life experience.
7. The Girl Who Fell from the Sky by Heidi W. Durrow (2010).
Durrow’s novel adds a twist to watching ripples flow outward
from a single disruption. Her characters are more diverse in race, ethnicity, language, and life experience than Moriarty’s or Sweeney’s, and their relationships are more tangential—resulting from circumstances rather than affinity or blood ties. Durrow captures perfectly each character’s unique voice, whether adult or child, formally educated or streetwise, native English speaker or English language learner. I found myself longing to hear those voices, which established residence in my head as I read, once the story ended.
8. Ripper: The Secret Life of Walter Sickert by Patricia Cornwell (2017).
Most known for crime novels (which I have to admit, I don’t read), Cornwell reveals in this nonfiction book her passion for and extensive research into identifying Jack the Ripper. She offers an exhaustive and fascinating examination of evidence related to Ripper’s crimes, including tests not available when he committed them. She proposes that Ripper was painter and sketch artist Walter Sickert and walks readers through the evidence that supports her theory. She makes a compelling case. Most impressive about Ripper is Cornwell’s ability to make an enigmatic historical figure (Walter Sickert) come to life and compel readers to continue turning pages whether or not they're concerned about nailing down Ripper’s identity.
9. Idaho by Emily Ruskovich (2017).
I’m showing my bias here because Idaho shares with other books on this list a plot that examines how a single event sets characters reeling. Ruskovich, like Moriarty, Sweeney, and Durrow, creates flawed, complex, and compelling characters whose interactions enrich but also damage their lives. Ruskovich’s novel covers a longer duration, depicting the main characters’ entire lifespan. Her rich descriptions make setting a character who shapes the book’s humans. She weaves through the story meditations on the human brain’s role--especially as impaired by dementia--in forming a person’s essence.
10. Shadow Tag by Louise Erdrich (2011).
As with Colson Whitehead, there isn’t much I can say about
Louise Erdrich or her books that hasn’t already been stated by more authoritative and knowledgeable sources. I’ll simply add that Shadow Tag is my favorite of Erdrich’s books. Its dark content is buffered by textured narration, nuanced characters, and description layered with symbols. It’s a must-read for anyone who wants to write fiction or nonfiction.
So, there you have it: my Top 10 Books for 2017.
Agree?
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