Review of 2024 on Goodreads by Various

This year I gave away around 200 books but bought around the same number.

 My room overflows with cheap paperbacks. The public library was helpful, though they have been removing an alarming number of audiobooks from Hoopla, Libby, and Boundless. Still, when I walk in, they get my holds out for me like I’m royalty.

I made a feeble effort to read classics, but got sidetracked as always. I want to “have read” Henry James not “be reading” Henry James. The magnificent Marshland by Otohiko Kaga remains on my unfinished stack along with the new, utterly disappointing Haruki Murakami. Japan’s most popular novelist traded in his imagination for a surfeit of abstract adolescent emotions.

An infinite amount of Balzac and Anatole France to get through. I discovered I have in fact not read all of Philip K. Dick and will rectify that this year, starting with Nick and the Glimmung.

I read all of Fuminori Nakamura’s books. What an odd fellow. If I’m going to read crime fiction, I want it to be twisted. Hopefully it takes place in an interesting locale like Japan. Passed through a phase of cool scenery with Paul Theroux’s books. Far more pleasurable than his brother Alex’s new books, which I failed to finish. I may get to them, but Paul wrote so many nice, digestible travel-centric tales, I can’t resist but be pulled in by the wanderlust.

There are only a few Carlton Mellick books left for me to conquer. Some I’ve written off as unreadable. But I hope to complete the last few (readable) ones this year. I polished off several this year. He hasn’t published anything in a while, so maybe I’ll actually catch up.

Reggie Oliver is one of those authors who almost makes you want to give up writing. I’m reading his novel now. A surprising Picaresque novel of historical horror. There are nine short story collections remaining…

I do not get along well with most historical novels but was bowled over by the planetoid Pillars of the Earth. I know it’s a bestseller and I know how we all feel about bestsellers, but it’s worth your time. Page-turning gruesome, greasy plot. The stew of emotions was so thick you could part it with the flat of your hand. Sometimes, I just want to settle in with a 900 page story. And be subsumed by gobs of storytelling morsels flowing over me like warm mud.
I read countless unmemorable “literary” fictions in 2024. They are unmemorable because they do not try to tell a story, they impress readers with verbal sorcery and proceed from one semi-interesting non sequitur to another. My experience with literary fiction like Samanta Schweblin did not go well. A parade of mediocrity. I do not recommend Parasol Against the Axe by Helen Oyeyemi. What is the story? I’ve been down this road with Roth, Updike, Lethem, Mailer, et al. Sure, they know how to write a mean sentence. But I’m not going to remember a bunch of mean sentences strung together. I’m going to remember a story. Hopefully.

I was impressed by Labatut’s books. Please translate more of them. History but not. It sparked a jaunt through science as a genre. I read Neil deGrasse Tyson who just can’t stop smiling. Does he really need to tell the Saturn in the bathtub joke in every single book? I was entertained and in some small measure enlightened, but I must object to him saying there’s no point in hitching a ride on an asteroid. It’s not like chasing down a Ferrari using a bus, if you approach the asteroid at an angle at a lower speed, latch on, then use the asteroid as a booster. Maybe you should put that in your next book, Neil.

One of the most disturbing books I read this year was Kiyoko Murata’s A Woman of Pleasure. An unpleasant look at courtesan slavery in traditional Japan. Women weren’t only sold like cattle, they were legally cattle at that time. Not for the faint of heart or light of brain.

I ran out of Roald Dahl and Wolfgang Hilbig.
There is still plenty of Pelevin. I was recommended and enjoyed Nick Harkaway.
I read Jim Carrey’s book and stumbled around in a daze for days. Read my review to understand why.
I read everything by Osamu Dazai. I will plumb more Japanese literature in 2025. Maybe I will finish Tale of Genji, though why anyone still thinks it’s a masterpiece I don’t know. I’ll continue perusing apologetics and casually taking in lighter science texts. My main focus has always been novels, but I’ve gotten back into short story collections.

I finished off the year with 20 books by Joyce Carol Oates. I never thought I’d get addicted to the Grand Dame of rape narratives and feminist free association, but she’s an incredible writer. Her early work is full of experimentation and Gothic cathedrals of descriptive prose. Her middle-aged stuff is pathos-ridden, solidly written, fabulous storytelling in spurts, tons of repetition, and yet I cannot get enough. It’s congealing into some vast and graspable totality of human experience. A brilliant compulsiveness to her style. This is a person who seems to write more than she lives life. She has 2 new books coming out this year. But how old is she? Her recent work disappoints. Too much interiority. Death by interiority. It is almost young adult level stream of consciousness-seeming interiority. She should back off on that.

I finished Dino Buzzatti and Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
Next year I would like to get further with Cortazar and Antunes. I’m nearly done with Calvino.

My favorite books of the year were:

Voyage to Arcturus, Planet of Adventure by Jack Vance, The Enchiridion, When We Cease to Understand the World, The Nun, by Diderot, Under the Neomoon, Fake Ass Lawyers, Beasts, by Joyce Carol Oates, and Mystery Train by Can Xue.

Unexpected rare gems: Vague Predictions and Prophesies by Daisuke Shen. Creepy Sheen by Rebecca Gransden. I also recommend Stepan Chapman.

We got 2 new books by Gene Wolfe. Probably the last new material we will ever see. I plan to read Wolfe at the Door this year.

We also got a new Celine, Houellebecq, Sayaka Murata, and Izumi Suzuki.

I was disappointed by Karel Čapek, Murakami, Kathe Koja, and Vandermeer sequels.

Finished my first forays into Robert Aickman, Lisa Tuttle, and Michael Cisco. Will be delving deeper.

I’m resigned to remaining in Denver for a couple years more. Looking forward to random fireworks every night and drag racing on surface streets with no license plate and criminal HOAs.

But I am thankful for the handful of people who tried in a small, genuine way, to be my friend. God bless you.