If fifteen hundred bloggers post year-end best-of lists, do you post one, too? Apparently, the answer is yes. But I’ll make this a fast one. Top ten books read this year:
10.) Imperium by Robert Harris. A historical novel set in ancient Rome told from the point of view of the slave of Cicero; a clever political thriller ensues as we follow Cicero’s rise to power.
9.) Altered Carbon by Richard Morgan. Intelligent sci-fi told through the lens of gritty noir.
8.) Dark Harvest by Norman Partridge. I’m still shocked Stephen King didn’t write this, as this supernatural horror tale set in a nameless city in the Midwest during the 1960’s is reminiscent of “Stand By Me” era King.
7.) The Yiddish Policeman’s Union by Michael Chabon.
6.) The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick. Magical, absorbing, and above all, fun. For children and adults alike.
5.) Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl.
4.) Tin Roof Blowdown by James Lee Burke. Quite possibly Burke’s best to date, as this ode to post-Katrina New Orleans deals with desperation and redemption. Burke’s writing style can only be described as ‘lyrical’.
3.) Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris. Think “Office Space” for the literary set.
2.) Queenpin by Megan Abbott. Her writing is as sharp as a stiletto heel worn by the protagonist; shockingly fresh, inventive, and the seediest fun I’ve had in a novel this year.
1.) The Night Gardener by George Pelecanos. I almost cried at the end of this hardboiled novel about three cops who are drawn back together years later by the crime they couldn’t solve. And I never cry at novels.
One of things I’m learning as a new parent is to find time to read – like some of my friends suggested when I broached this a while ago, I have to squeeze leisure reading in the corners of my new life, sometimes in places it doesn’t necessarily fit, which is something I found out the first time I tried to read while feeding Gavin and discovered that despite my careful planning, a book, a baby, and a bottle are three very separate things, and I only had two arms. But in the the few moments before bed, or when the kiddo naps, on break at work, on my lunch hour, in the waiting room of the doctor’s office – this is the new world that I find myself in when it comes to literature.
The first book I read as a dad was a fast one – a nonfiction account of a public high school chess team that happens to be the best in the nation, routinely beating out the most expensive and prestegious private schools, as well as giving the reader a peek into the world of competitive chess. “The Kings of New York” is similar in style to “Friday Night Lights” and “Mad Hot Ballroom”, following different students through an academic year leading up to the national tournament.
Weinreb, like the best sports writers, takes himself out of his own narrative and concentrates on the action, which can be followed even if – like me – the reader only has the barest glimmerings of how to play chess. Teens from all walks of life play on the Edward R. Murrow high school team – this is not a team of sheltered Ukrainian immigrant prodigies, although there are some here, but rather neighborhood kids who use their mathematical minds towards the moves of bishops and rooks when they’re not throwing dice with the guys around the corner or playing Texas Hold ‘Em online for money. Weinreb never tries to figure out the whys of the people he writes about; they play for their own reasons.
“Kings” also takes a look at the larger world of competitive chess, filling us in on some of the bigger names of the sport, which is, of course, filled with eccentric and bizarrely competitive personalities. Great fun and an absolutely absorbing read.
Thanks for everyone’s words of congratulations – they mean a lot. I’m slowly posting pics over at my long-neglected Flickr account.
By far, the first day at home was the hardest. You have this multi-month buildup where you plan and do all these things in prep for the kiddo – you get the crib and playpen, stock up on wipes and diapers, get a truckload of onesies, repaint and decorate the nursery, the whole nine – and when you get this tiny blinking creature back from the hospital and in your house for the first time, it’s like you’ve entered a completely different world than what you’re used to.
The hospital was a different matter. The two-and-a-half days were like sleep-away camp, really. You bunk with your wife, get a crash course on parenting, have a flood of counselors (nurses) overseeing you and available whenever you have a problem. At home, you’re completely on your own and acutely aware of all your shortcomings as human beings and held into account by a squalling newborn who doesn’t give a damn you haven’t showered in three days, had a shave in four, or changed your underwear in five.
Even with all that, it’s absolutely worth it and I wouldn’t change it for the world. Little Gavin is beyond awesome; the first time he gave me a half-smile, I would have gladly done anything for that kid, even if that smile was most likely caused by gas.
I think I’m adapting quickly to fatherhood, however changing diapers is the weakest part of my game. Gavin loves to keep his knees bent and kicks furiously whenever we lay him down for a change. His legs bob and weave and it’s sort of like a high school basketball player trying to guard LeBron James.
The funniest part of all this? I have a large pile of To Be Read books from the library on my dresser. I brought them home, you see, because I thought that I’d have time to read them while I’m home from work.
At 2:38 on Monday afternoon, Gavin Thomas Winsor was born. Baby and momma are doing fine. He was delivered by a nurse before the doctor arrived, hopefully establishing a lifelong precedent of promptness. He was 6 pounds, zero ounces, and 18 inches long.
After his first successful breastfeeding session, he asked for the latest Philip Roth novel.
Pictures to come.
