I read the books to live (and understand my living). I tally up the books to remember what made me come alive.
The mid-year list has become a staple of my chosen profession (arts journalism). But really I break each summer to record my favorite books of the young year for the reasons I note above. Who knows what the rest of the year will hold? I want to remember here (and for posterity) all these words which reshaped me at a given time.
And please don’t read into who or what’s not here: I have books of poems coming in the mail, enticing novels burning a hole in my library holds, and collections from friends I just haven’t been able to read yet. There is much more glory ahead for me, as I pick up early 2024 books later in the year.
Here then is a look at 15 (of many more) books I deeply appreciate from the first half of 2024. Each category is organized alphabetically by author.
Fiction:
Kaveh Akbar, “Martyr” Some books snare you with a first page, then gently and beautifully guide you to an entire revelation on the last. The great poet Akbar’s first novel, the tale of a young artist seeking to understand the purpose of death—and, by natural extension, the purpose of life—is just such a book. I’ve never read anything of its kind.
Jason Kirk, “Hell is a World Without You” Jason Kirk writes of and through the many ridiculous, life-expanding spaces between faith and doubt, community and cold shoulders in this youth-group novel.
Paul Luikart, “The Realm of the Dog” If you believe in the power, the wonder-working power, of a short story to create and contain an entire world, Luikart’s new collection will feel like holy/unholy writ in your hands.
Tommy Orange, “Wandering Stars” As with his debut “There There,” Tommy Orange finds a way to thread together a brand new story with the stories of the ancients, showing (not telling) how they impress upon each other and fit together. To sit back and watch it happen on the page is a human and affirming experience.
Nonfiction:
Hanif Abdurraqib, “There’s Always This Year” Perhaps my very favorite writer working today, Abdurraqib interweaves his own coming-of-age story with the rising and falling action of Ohio basketball in a seamless, soulful fashion only he could achieve.
Andrew Bertaina, “The Body is a Temporary Gathering Place” I should have more to say about Bertaina’s essay collection in a proper review sooner than later, but just know this is a beautiful, deliberate piece of writing that builds a middle passage through the author’s life from gathered digressions, disappointments and moments of assured love.
Anne Carson, “Wrong Norma” Carson just dazzles and topples you on every page of this new essay collection, and you want to thank her for all the upheaval.
Courtney Ellis, “Looking Up” Hope is the thing with feathers—and so is grief and so is wonder and so is faith, my friend Courtney Ellis reminds us in a book written by a birding pastor, but for anyone who needs to stare into the sky while they wait for answers (which is all of us).
James Kaplan, “3 Shades of Blue” Kaplan’s look at the intersected lives and sounds of Miles Davis, Bill Evans and John Coltrane is not just a must for jazz fans, but anyone interested in the details of a creative existence.
Lydia Millet, “We Loved it All” Among my very favorite living novelists, Millet sets her memoir in the context of the entire planet—what we’ve asked of it, how we’ve stressed it, and what beauty we might still salvage and bestow as an inheritance.
Poetry:
Sarah Ghazal Ali, “Theophanies” A scared work unto itself, Ali sifts Islamic and Christian scriptures to create her own prayer language and guidebook for living, embodied and ecstatic, in this moment.
Elijah Burrell, “Skies of Blur” Here, fellow Missourian Eli Burrell does the beautiful, necessary work of translating life’s strange-but-true situations, the messages we send through music and silent gestures, and the threads which connect us, into verses we can live by. Read more from me on the book here.
Michael Ondaatje, “A Year of Last Things” The master novelist behind books such as “The English Patient” returns to his first love, sifting language and memory to understand what he’s made of all of his days.
Javier Peñalosa M (translated by Robin Myers), “What Comes Back” This beautiful collaboration between poet and translator digs around the stuff of earth—water and soil and weather—to understand how and why we move about the world and what makes these migrations fraught and electric and true.
Diane Seuss, “Modern Poetry” Writing about Diane Seuss’ latest feels like trying to write about some natural phenomenon: the night sky, a summer monsoon, some occasional gesture of the stars. Her poems are truly singular, causing the reader to both throw back their head in laughter and feel twinges of romance and loss and wonder just behind the breastbone.