2024 in Books
A small sampling of the 45 books I read this year.
I love reading. I’m hoping the title of this Substack gives you reason to believe that. I try to be a good little sheep and consume as much media as possible, but in all earnestness, I’d like to think I’m very fortunate to have lived in a time where there is so much to read. Though I am a fan of the long-form novel, I have expanded my reading to audiobooks, novellas, and graphic novels this year, to mixed success. When you start to expose yourself to a wide variety of media, you increase the likelihood of encountering material that appeals to you, but the opposite is sometimes also true. There are more than a few books on my list that were comfortably safe, but some risks and successes were found in exploring new material, just as often as there were some upsets. This is not even a sampling of my favorite reads of the year, but rather a selection of the texts that I found most intriguing or thought provoking.
Ayako - Osamu Tezuka
For the long-form manga reader
This work of historical fiction set in postwar Japan is an absolute joy to read in its entirety. Yes, it is incredibly disturbing and more mature in the Gekiga tradition, but its sharp commentary on the state of Japan as a nation and symbolic undertones show the deftness of artist and author Osamu Tezuka. I went into this with only the prior knowledge of Astro Boy, and came out with a greater appreciation of the artist and a more ravenous appetite for his works. If anything, it reminded me of the artistry present in the manga medium, and though I can’t speak to the nature of the serialized experience, I can acknowledge that Tezuka absolutely stuck the landing with the complete package. I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a mature narrative graphic novel.
My Favorite Thing is Monsters Vol. 2 - Emil Ferris
For the appreciator of fine art
I left the first volume of My Favorite Thing is Monsters clamoring for more. The density of the storytelling combined with the stunningly rich art from author Emil Ferris made me think that, regardless of its conclusion, Vol. 1 would stand as a triumphant accomplishment in the medium. To this day, I stand by that assertion, though it does come with the admission that Vol. 2 was a bit of a letdown.
This installment lacks the measured pacing of the first volume, starting with exposition that feels unwarranted as a companion, then slows to a crawl with a tour of Chicago’s art museum and the introduction of new characters. The unfortunate scope of the entire work does result in some reused panels, and the narrative threads fall off a bit, with a particularly rushed conclusion that leaves plenty of threads dangling. This isn’t to say that the artwork isn’t still incredibly rendered and the accomplishment itself isn’t worth celebrating, but Ferris built up an incredible amount of momentum in Vol. 1 that just isn’t followed through here. Still absolutely a story worth reading, but don’t go in expecting utter perfection.
Acting Class - Nick Drnaso
For the theatre geeks
Nick Drnaso has planted himself squarely in my head as a master of modern horror with both Sabrina and Acting Class. The latter of these had a bit of a nostalgic tinge to it, as its premise and ultimate destination hit particularly close to home as a former student of the performing arts. Drnaso’s simplistic coloring and character detail act as a mirror to the soul, allowing us to accept the realities of his world and all their utter horror, even when his characters end up lost in the fantasy of their improvisation exercises.
All of this allows an unfiltered look into the fragility of our reality, and how role play can act as an empowering and illusory drug for those who feel listless. There is so much that can be extrapolated from this premise and used to shed light on our present status quo, which proves Drnaso’s finger is on the pulse of what makes our nation- or perhaps humans as a species- tick.
When I Sing, Mountains Dance - Irene Solà
For those who are fulfilled by the beauty of existence
Believe it or not, perspective adds a great deal to any event. The experiences of those around us are enriched by our presence, but the absence of our presence can have profound and immeasurable weight in their narratives. All of this is to say that a story told from the perspectives surrounding a tragedy-stricken family as well as the family itself is perhaps the only way we can measure the scope of an event.
When I say “surrounding perspectives,” I don’t just mean the traveler who makes his way up the mountain seeking meaning and solitude, or the dog who accompanies the daughter of a widow. I mean the ghosts of the unfairly persecuted witches who died on the mountainside years before, and that of the ever-growing, ever-shifting mountain itself. All the things that make up this community are given a fair shake, and all of these viewpoints reveal the fragile nature of our existence and the enduring melody said existence adds to the world. I find it difficult to accurately describe the soulful resonance I experienced while reading this story, but it rocked me to my core and transcended the boundaries of its native language, which is as good a sign as any that the writing is innately human. Most definitely one of my favorite reads of the year, if you should be in the right headspace for it.
McGlue - Ottessa Moshfegh
For a hungover afternoon. Or weekend. Or not.
If When I Sing is the culmination of despairing voices creating sweet music, then McGlue is a single tragic voice screaming into the void. If you need to be in the right headspace for When I Sing, then you’ve got to be in the wrong one for McGlue. I read it over the course of 72 hours while flying to and from a wedding, and the lack of sleep and uncomfortable seating put me in the perfect state to read about an insanely hungover sailor with a nasty head wound.
The book is tragic, a tale of self-destruction expertly penned by Ottessa Moshfegh that really makes you feel like an alcoholic with a nasty head wound. The title character struggles to make sense of what happened to his dear friend, as well as what has led McGlue himself to be imprisoned for the crime of murdering him. It’s grimy and tender all at the same time, and there’s little you can do as a reader other than bear witness. Ultimately, it has instilled a desire to read more of Moshfegh's work in myself, particularly because McGlue seems a bit out of the norm for her in terms of subject material. The quality of the writing, however, is very much a cut above.
“The Museum of Rain” - Dave Eggars
For the saccharine savorers
One of the last “books” I read in 2024 is also one of the shortest (mind you, I also read Parade by Hiromi Kawakami, so it was truly a year of short publications), and what a delightfully sweet treat it proved to be. “The Museum of Rain” is a short story about what we sow, and in a cosmic sense, it is nice to see how our acts can result in something beautiful beyond our initial intent. Moreover, it is lovely to see childlike wonder represented in earnest- as a teacher, I sometimes forget that my students can be happy. Nature heals, and a collection of rain from across the planet can be ripe grounds for an exploration of the universal human experience, as well as the miracle of life. Life, be it tragic, exhausting, uplifting, or bliss, is worth ruminating, communicating, and celebrating.
This was just six of the forty-five “publications” I read this year. I won’t mince words, they’re not all “books.” But hell, I’m reading stories, and these stories gave me life. If I consider my past three years of tracking my reads, I’d say 2024 was a pretty damn good one, and it’s set me up for some great fodder for 2025. Let’s see if I can keep a good pace this year. If you’d like to see everything I read in 2024, check out my StoryGraph here, and if you have any questions about other books, feel free to leave a comment.