Still Turning Pages

 

My Books Read for 2025: A total of 24 books. A pat on the back, self. 

I'm writing this a little late -- okay, very late. It's already February, and this was supposed to be a nice little reflection on last year's books sometime in early January, when people were still earnestly reflecting on the books they loved in the last twelve months and earnestly setting reading goals for the next twelve. The thing is, I'm already elbow-deep into this year's reading (I'm already on book number 10!), but I still want to post about some of the recent books I loved, and how much of them mirrored my state of mind at the time. And I suppose, this belated look back is also a "looking forward" of sorts, because the way I want to approach this year is through the books and topics I'm intent on diving into. Not in a rigid, "resolution" kind of way, but in a more hopeful sense that the good sentences I come across will rearrange my thinking, that I can let these stories widen the room a little and let me look beyond the obvious.

My absolute favorite book from last year was First Love: Essays on Friendship by Lilly Dancyger. Four months later, I still cannot, cannot stop thinking about it. I didn't expect much from it; I don't even recall what prompted me to download the e-book. But it was a book that I finished in a day, and that's truly a feat for me these days. But wow this book was so raw, touching, gutting, and grounding. It was sad but in a good way. It made me feel unburdened. It's the kind of sadness that leads to clarity and hopefulness. As with most stories of grief and celebrations of life. The author wrote so lovingly about all her girl friends here; each chapter told a story about her girls, either a funny anecdote or a pivotal moment in their friendship. It made me think about my own girl friends and how the love I have for them mirrors the kind of affirmation I need in my life. This book was gut-wrenching because the author was very honest about grieving the friends she's lost, especially her cousin, the sister-slash-best friend she had growing up, and whose light appeared to be the central star around which all her other friendships revolved. Her cousin was robbed point-blank, raped, and murdered while she was going home from work in 2010. As she navigated her adolescence and adulthood and as she tried to make sense of this loss, she found comfort and healing with her girl friends. She was also confronted with more heartbreaks as some friends passed away or simply grew apart. But in all these essays, she managed to humanize and celebrate each friend, and acknowledge the impact they all had on her life. It was such a lovely book. 

I hold my friendships so close to my heart. Friendships are the tessellations of ourselves, so said Lilly Dancyger. They mirror who we are back to us; but it doesn't necessarily mean we are all identical or the same. They reflect who we are (or were) and how capable we are of loving. Of mothering. Of caring for another person so deeply, in a non-romantic, but equally adoring way. I love my friends. I love my friends. I have no sisters, but I think I consider them closer than siblings, because with them, I have a choice. I chose to have them in my life still, and vice versa. This decision to remain in each other's lives feels more real and proactive to me than siblinghood (which I'll never know about, but, ah, well.)

I cried at almost each chapter that Dancyger went through with her friends. The love she had for each of them. The highs and lows they went through. The stories she remembered about them. Would I ever get to write and honor my friends the same way? I hope I do. One by one, maybe, in this journal. I hope I can think of an anecdote to perfectly capture who they are, through my lens, of course, but also in a way that is quite objective. By writing about them, maybe I am hoping that I will never lose them.

I also thoroughly enjoyed reading I Remember Nothing by Nora Ephron. It was a collection of essays about aging, her reflections about growing older finding small joys even as life throws you some disappointing curveballs. I'm a Nora Ephron fan, I love her movies, I love her humor. I didn't think I could relate to much of the stories here, especially since I'm still relatively quite young. But I'm also not young young anymore, and to be honest, I do worry about growing old and losing a part of myself along the way. The book approached growing old in a very honest way: a little anxious, but not terrifying. It encouraged me to stop being in denial about the reality of becoming old, but see it as gaining more experience, not caring so much about what other people say, and just enjoying the ride. It calmed my nerves and made me laugh so hard while doing so. Thanks, Nora. 

This year, as of this writing, I've already managed to finish 10 books. Ten! I'm honestly quite impressed, although I'm really not surprised. A few weeks ago, as a New Year's gift to myself, I bought an iPad Mini. I know, I know, my Google Pixel(s) and the Microsoft Surface(s) were just as shocked. But the thing was, while I thoroughly enjoyed my attempt at fully transitioning to an ereader (I had a Kobo), as a huge graphic novel fan, I just couldn't enjoy them well enough in that medium. I also found ereaders too limiting? That is the point for most people, to have a dedicated gadget just for reading. But I found myself leaving it at home or not bothering to stash it in my bag most of the time. In the last few years, I got more reading time out of my Google Play Books app on my old phone or on my old tablet (which has become very slow, hence the need to replace it) because I could read while taking a break from doing some other task, while waiting in line, or while stuck in traffic (and I'm not driving, of course.) I'm so glad I bit the bullet. Best purchase of the year so far. 

Highlights of the last month: Orbital by Samantha Harvey. My expectations were a bit high because it won the 2024 Booker Prize. I'm so glad that this book did not let me down. I loved it so much. It was the kind of book that made you feel both in awe of the story it was telling and of the way it was written. Samantha Harvey's sentences felt grandiose and lyrical, poetic and straightforward at the same time. You felt the weight of the narrative with each passage, yes, but you also felt weightless. Like gravity both existed and did not exist in the space that was occupied by her words. It was a novel about six astronauts orbiting the Earth, but it somehow managed to make the entire planet feel intimate. Reading it felt like being reminded that all the things that consume our attention every day, our deadlines, our anxieties, our little victories and disappointments, are only a tiny part of a much larger story. It sounds obvious when you say it out loud, but there was something comforting about seeing the world from that distance. The book made me feel small, but not insignificant.

Maybe that's what I want from reading this year. Not necessarily more books, although I certainly wouldn't complain about that. Just more moments of perspective. More sentences that surprise me, unsettle me, make me laugh unexpectedly, or help me articulate something I didn't know I was feeling. More stories that rearrange the furniture in my head, even if only slightly.

So that's the reading year ahead: no ambitious numerical goals, no genre bingo cards, no pressure to read the books I'm "supposed" to read. Just curiosity. A willingness to follow interesting threads wherever they lead. If last year gave me a book about friendship that reminded me how lucky I am to be loved, and a book about aging that made me a little less afraid of the future, then I think I'm already on the right track.

Here's to more good sentences.