Many writers are readers, and I am no exception. I read 56 books this year, which was eight more than my modest 48-book goal. Collectively, they totaled 20,082 pages read, with the shortest being "Common Sense" by Thomas Paine at 104 pages and the longest "The Guns of August" by Barbara W. Tuchman at 710 pages. Head over to Goodreads, BookBub, or TheStoryGraph if you are interested in seeing them all.
So, like I do every year, I decided to call out five titles (plus one indie book) that surprised me this year. This was no small feat, given long favorites like "The Lord of the Rings" and "Chapterhouse: Dune" were in the mix. (Interesting side note: "The Return of the King" was the highest rated of all the books I read this year on Goodreads while "Fourth Wing" was the most shelved.) I also added in a few classics like I do every year: "Winesburg, Ohio" by Sherwood Anderson, "Grapes of Wrath" by John Steinbeck, "This Side of Paradise" by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and "Nostromo" by Joseph Conrad, among them. And I also made sure to include a few favorite authors, like Peter Heller, James Slater, and S.A. Cosby.
My admiration for many of those titles will never change (I've read Lord of the Rings at least five times), but the measure I set forth today was which titles were memorable — those I've been reflecting on long after the book was finished. And these were the ones I've settled on for that reason.
American Spirits by Russel Banks. This collection of three shorts is a work of emotional and intellectual heft, solidifying Banks as one of my favorite authors. He has a profound influence on my own journey as an author, despite discovering him late.
What makes “American Spirits” exceptional is Banks’ refusal to lean on stereotypes or easy characterizations. His characters are not caricatures of rural America, nor are they reduced to simplistic archetypes of struggle or redemption. Instead, Banks dismantles preconceived notions, presenting individuals who are complex, flawed, and achingly human. In the three stories discussed here, Banks explores themes of loss, identity, and the collision of personal and societal forces, all while peeling back the layers of American mythology to reveal the messy truths beneath. There are no heroes.
At the same time, Banks’ ability to capture the human condition with honesty and compassion is unmatched, and his commitment to dismantling stereotypes ensures that his characters feel like people we might know, or even be. In every case, he sets us up to expect something but then delivers something different, perhaps challenging our own stereotypes in the process.
Being And Time by Martin Heidegger. Martin Heidegger’s Time and Being stands the test of time. While originally published in 1927, it is nothing less than a monumental work in existential phenomenology, reshaping how we understand existence, time, and the human condition.
At the heart of Time and Being lies Heidegger’s notion of living an authentic life, a concept that resonates deeply in a world often dulled by routine and conformity. Heidegger argues that most people live in a state of “everydayness,” a mode of existence where people live out their lives as part of the anonymous, collective norms of society. In this state, we drift, distracted by mundane tasks and social expectations, losing sight of our individuality and the deeper question of Being.
To live authentically, Heidegger urges us to break free from this inauthentic mode through a process of self-realization. This awakening is not a one-time event but a continuous effort to reclaim one’s existence as uniquely one’s own. Add to this idea that, according to Heidegger, we exist temporally (meaning our existence is shaped by our relationship to the past, present, and future) and this state is existential (and not merely chronological), and you'll begin to understand why it's hard to let some of his concepts go. I will never see the world the same way.
The Man Who Lived Underground by Richard Wright. The bleak opening chapters of police brutality will make anyone uncomfortable, especially those of us who have been unfairly accused or treated at one time or another. In this case, the illustration is extreme, so one feels it as if it is an alien planet where the novel takes place and not merely an alternative reality where it takes place.
Even so, there is no question Wright borrows from his own experiences of being falsely accused in painting a vivid portrait of race and injustice, as well as his grandmother's worldview as a Seventh-day Adventist. In Wright's reflective essay about his grandmother (which was included in the version of the book I read), Wright describes her as a woman “in this world but not of it." It was her religious fervor creating a psychological withdrawal from reality that fascinated and repelled him.
This novel is a masterclass in concise storytelling and offers profound insights into truth, justice, and humanity. It's the kind of book, in fact, that, despite how uncomfortable it can make you feel at times, deserves a second or third read.
Flesh by David Szalay. Despite surface readings that claim it is about masculinity, it's really a portrait of a man trapped in everydayness. István's simple, straightforward path veers upward toward success and then toward quiet tragedy.
Everyone else in the novel, and I mean everybody, writes his story. Without these outside narrators telling him what to do, István could barely be classified as human. He is so caught up in the everydayness of being, he trods along in a clipped, nonjudgmental prose that mirrors his emotional flatness. As a result, it's impossible to like him, given that he gives readers nothing to hope for or any reason to root for him. The best we can do is feel pity. Yet, the story is strangely compelling, even hypnotic, even if its deliberateness won't suit many readers.
In a late confession, he admits as much, saying that Helen, the Englishwoman he marries after a fleeting affair, was "the most important person" in his life. These words crystallize the void: he has no core identity, only borrowed fragments that expand his world briefly before collapsing into the insulation that bore him in the first few pages. It's the opposite of any character I might like, and somehow, I still find myself thinking about the absence it contained. It is a perfect expansion and contraction, attuned to the undercurrents of being ordinary.
The Winners by Fredrik Backman. This is a beautiful book that explores community — how small and big events ripple through our lives even when we don't know it. And, it is in this macro view that it differs from the original novel Beartown, which was much more grounded in its plot.
Told over roughly two weeks (although it will feel so much longer), Backman dashes headlong into several themes tied together by an overarching premise about the trajectory of many lives, how they nearly miss each other or collide, and the aftermath of those collisions and near misses. In the process, Backman convinces you to think about your own life and all those consequences, great and small, once a chain of cause and effect is set in motion.
At its heart, some will have you believe the entire Beartown series is about hockey and the love of a sport. It could also be that The Winners reminded me of my small-town experiences, growing up part-time in northern Wisconsin until I was ten: How everyone knows everyone or at least thinks they do. And how different one lake community could be from the next, despite looking the same to anyone on the outside.
Indie Pick Bonus: Club Contango by Eliane Boey. Eliane Boey's cyberpunk sci-fi story, Club Contango, is a fast-paced, character-driven tale that is sometimes too immersive for its own good. It's easy to get lost and drift along, taking in the imagery and stylistic prose. Yet, it's the writing and a few clever twists that set a high bar among indie books this year.
