Here’s what I’ve read in 2019:

*The Wife, by Alafair Barke. A page-turner with a little too-much legalese and a surprising twist at the end.

*Homegoing, by Yaa Gyasi. Absolutely fantastic! A great book to read prior to going to the National Museum of African American Art and Culture. (I had my older daughter read it, too.)

*Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat: Mastering the Art of Good Cooking, by Samin Nosrat. Samin is awesome!!! I totally have a girlcrush on her. Also, buy the book. It’s entirely, wonderfully, practical. (If you haven’t seen her Netflix show, DO.)

*An American Marriage, by Tayari Jones. Interesting.

*The Best Cook in the World: Tales from my Momma’s Southern Table, by Rick Bragg. Captivating and humorous. Fun story-telling, interesting culture. Good recipes. Finally mastered collard greens and ham and beans!

*Trouble I’ve Seen: Changing the Way the Church Views Racism, by Drew Hart. A bit tedious, but some helpful anecdotes and insights.

*The Diary of a Young Girl, by Anne Frank. More depressing than I’d remembered.

*The Diary of Anne Frank: the play, by Francis Goodrich and Albert Hackett. Being Mrs. Frank was more fun than I thought it’d be.

*It Happens Every Day: An All Too-True Story and A Year and Six Seconds: A Love Story, both by Isabel Gillies. Stellar. I read them both in a rush.

*Just Mercy: a Story of Justice and Redemption, by Bryan Stevenson. Intense, painful, eye-opening. Made me want to do something, like become a lawyer or something equally improbable.

*The Female Persuasion, by Meg Wolitzer. A pleasant read.

*Girls Burn Brighter, by Shobha Rao. Well-written, but disturbing and not very satisfying. I had to force myself to get through it.

*Heartbreaker, by Claudia Dey. Odd, but okay.

*Girl in Translation, by Jean Kwok. An easy, enjoyable read.

*Deathtrap: A Thriller in Two Acts, by Ira Levin. Fast and fun. (I read it because I was thinking of auditioning for the play, but then I didn’t.)

*Lunch in Paris: A Love Story, with Recipes, by Elizabeth Bard. Good writing with a so-so story. I didn’t feel like I gained new insights, and the recipes didn’t tempt. 

*Disgrace, by J.M. Coetzee. A tightly-woven and well-told story that touches on a staggering number of complicated issues.

*Where We Come From, by Oscar Casares. About the current immigration situation: a close-up, compassionate look at one small piece of the story.

*Three Women, by Lisa Taddeo. This is a book that begs to be discussed: if you have a book club, put it on the list.

*Ask Again, Yes, by Mary Beth Keane. Super good and refreshingly understated.

*Slow Man, by J.M. Coetzee. So many words and soooooo slow. I’m amazed that I had the patience to read it, and even more amazed that he had the patience to write it. I’m still not sure what it was about.

*I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman, by Nora Ephron. Easy and entertaining. I like her writing style — it loosens me.

*White Walls: A Memoir About Motherhood, Daughterhood, and the Mess In Between, by Judy Batalion. Excellent book (that did drag on a wee bit too long) with great writing that made me feel inferior about my own.

*I Remember Nothing: and Other Reflections, by Norah Ephron. Fun.

*Travel Light, Move Fast, by Alexandra Fuller. Good book with a devastating ending.

*The Heart’s Invisible Furies, by John Boyne. Started super strong; drug on forever: meh.

*Consent: A Memoir of Unwanted Attention, by Donna Freitas. Too long and wordy — would’ve appreciated more of a story — but eye-opening.

*Olive, Again, by Elizabeth Strout. Perfect and wonderful and lovely. I’m an Olive fan (though I don’t really like her).

*Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone, edited and compiled by Jenni Ferrari-Adler. An enjoyable, behind-the-scenes look at what food writers eat when they’re alone. Made me happy.

*A Life of My Own, by Claire Tomalin. A fascinating life told tediously.

*The Girl With Seven Names, by Hyeonseo Lee. I learned loads about North Korea.

*I’m Lying But I’m Telling the Truth, by Bassey Ikpi. Excellent, up-close look at mental illness (though I did get a little lost at the end….)

Right now I’m hurrying to finish The Hungry Ocean since it’s way overdue. Next up: Permanent Record, The Dutch House, and Nothing To See Here.

What have you been reading?

Got anything good to recommend?

More on books….
2018 book list
2017 book list
2016 book list
2015 book list
2014 book list

P.S. I’m in dire need of good read-alouds to share with my younger son (almost 14). Preferably, I’d like to skip the war-and-disaster-and-sex books in favor of well-written comedy and/or the meaningful ordinary, books like Anne of Green Gables or Harris and Me or Holes or Where the Lilies Bloom or Counting by 7s. Both old-time classics and new gems welcome, please and thank you! xo

This same time, years previous: a mistake-based education, family magnified, our apocalypse, chopped locks, tamalada!, one step above lazy (maybe), eggnog.

When I asked my younger son what he’d like to do on Christmas to make it special since we don’t do presents, he said, “Do presents.”

“Ha,” I said. “Besides that.”

“Make something and take it to the neighbors on Christmas morning,” he said.

We used to make Christmas deliveries but several years ago, when it started to feel like just one more thing I had to do, I’d dropped it. But if a child wanted to do it, then fine, yes, okay. Never mind that it’d take more work. Never mind that the other kids weren’t thrilled. Never mind that knocking on random doors and giving people things makes my husband feel like crawling into a cave and ceasing to exist. If this was what my younger son wanted, we’d do it.

So I dug out my Christmas tin collection and gave them a good washing. A couple days before Christmas, my younger son popped multiple batches of corn, helped measure the ingredients, and stirred the caramel. Christmas morning, we made little “Merry Christmas! Love, The Murches” cards and taped them to the tins.

“How about I take Coco?” my older daughter said.

“The dog stays home,” my husband said.

“If Coco goes, then we have to take Charlotte,” my daughter said.

“No dogs,” my husband repeated firmly

“Let’s take the donkey!” hollered my older son.

“Yes,” my daughter said, ignoring, for once, her brother’s taunting. “Let’s take Ellie!”

“NO,” my husband said. “We are not taking a horse around to the neighbors’!”

“Aw, come on,” I said. “Why not? She’s cute.”

And then my older son appeared, decked out in his leather jacket and pink plastic sunglasses, his guitar slung over his shoulder.

Husband: You have got to be kidding me.

Me: Um, hon? That might be a bit much.

Older son [singing loudly]: Jingle, jingle happy bells, Jesus is born!

Me: Oh good grief.

Husband:

And off we went, dogs, horse, grumpy husband and all!

I alternated between pleading with my son to tone it down a little, snapping at my husband to stop fussing at the kids (dogs, Life In General, whatever), giggling uncontrollably, and shaking my head in disbelief at the staggering extent of our spectacular freakishness.

It was so worth it.

This same time, years previous: right now, balsamic-glazed roasted butternut squash and brussel sprouts, 2016 garden stats and notes, old-fashioned sour cream cake donuts, remembering Guatemala, cheese ball, hot buttered rolls, bacon jalapeno cheese ball.