I know it’s already been praised to the skies, and endlessly opined about, and I’m pretty ambivalent about winding up as part of that “Why do white people like this so much?” meme or backlash or whatever exactly it is or was, but it happens to be a fact that the most deeply resonant and personally important book that I read this year was Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between the World and Me, so I’m going to take a minute and try to say why I think that is.
The first thing — and for all that has been said about the book, this has not been said nearly enough — Coates is a marvelous stylist. Sentence by sentence, and thought by thought, the book is as formidable and rich in its aesthetics, in its range and command of information and emotion and idea, as in the particulars of the argument it advances. Some of my favorite passages were the descriptions of Coates’s first year in college — the explosion of friends, mentors, reference-points, ideas, identities — and of the halting, hard-traveled road to becoming a writer. Despite every circumstantial difference you can think of — our ages, our ancestries, where and how we each grew up, where we each chose to go to school, what we each eventually chose to write — Coates’s narrative of intellectual, artistic, and political coming-of-age resonated deeply with my own memories of that same era in my own life, and I hardly imagine I’m the only one. It was at least as instructive to learn what we had — and have — in common as it was to be reminded of what we didn’t, and still do not.
My very favorite part of Between the World and Me deals with Saul Bellow’s infamous question, “Who was the Tolstoy of the Zulus?” As someone who loves Bellow, who used a line from Herzog as an epigraph to his most recent book, it has caused me no small amount of pain and soul-searching over the years to try and reconcile the great man’s bountiful, messy, life-loving novels with his pinched, reactionary, often abhorrent cultural politics. Coates quotes the writer Ralph Wiley’s response: “Tolstoy is the Tolstoy of the Zulus, unless you find profit in fencing off universal properties of mankind into exclusive tribal ownership.”
Of course this is true, and self-evidently true at that. The problem with Bellow’s question was never whether it could be answered, or what the answer might be; the problem was with the set of assumptions that caused it to be formulated in the first place, and the sneer with which it was then asked. If you want to know the limits of a man’s universe, just look at who he excludes from his notion of the universal. (You can start, if you like, with the default masculine pronoun deployed in the previous sentence.) For all my commitment to progressive politics (not that Democrat Party shit either — I mean actual progressive politics), for all my fluency in concepts of radical egalitarianism and liberation, for all my sense of myself as a leftist, I had never myself managed to arrive at Wiley’s devastatingly simple — even obvious — conclusion. (And of course I had never heard of Ralph Wiley before, much less read him; more’s the pity.) I had gone on the hunt for the short-circuit in Bellow’s humanity, but it hadn’t occurred to me to look for my own. It will surprise some of my readers more than others that I found them in the same place.
Once I understood what I’d been wrong about, it was remarkably easy to admit that I’d been wrong, and just how much. In fact, it felt pretty good. Being wrong is easier than being afraid of being wrong, because a person who is wrong and knows it can begin to imagine what rightness looks like, whereas a person who is afraid of being wrong can only dissemble or stay silent, hoping to make it through another day, another hour, with his fear intact.
Let’s be real clear here: I’m not claiming my work, or anyone’s work, is done. I don’t think this book gave me a racial-cultural exorcism. If anything, the narrowness of my own example suggests how much likely remains unaddressed, unaccounted for, as-yet-unimagined. This isn’t one of those essays where the white dude beats his chest and offers a putative mea culpa that sounds like a fraternity chant and actually doesn’t say anything except Pay more attention to me. I hate those fucking essays. In fact, I wasn’t sure whether I should write about Between the World and Me at all, but The Millions asked me to pick the book that meant the most to me this year, and this was the only honest answer I could give.
I’m going to end with a thought about Bellow, but not a defense or apology. He was who he was and he said what he said, and his reputation will stand or fall on the future’s willingness to endure him at his worst for what he offers at his best — that’s his problem, not mine. But since I said before that I loved him, I feel I ought to offer some inkling as to why. Since I’m almost done here, and this essay isn’t about him, I’ll keep this part short. One thing I love about Bellow is that he is unashamedly interested in the state of the human soul. He uses the word often, not in definitively religious terms, but not figuratively either. He believes in the soul, in its endless capacity for dilation and betterment. He believed, or wanted to believe, or his best work helps me believe, that we can be more than the sorrows our ancestors fled and inflicted; better than we ourselves were yesterday; better than we are right now. That line from Herzog that I used as my epigraph: “Oh, for a change of heart, a change of heart — a true change of heart!”
More from A Year in Reading 2015
Don’t miss: A Year in Reading 2014, 2013, 2012, 2011, 2010, 2009, 2008, 2007, 2006, 2005
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…Nicola Barker's Darkmans. It wasn't released in the US until late November; will everyone finally catch on in 2008?
…Ian McEwan, The Child in Time. It is one of the last McEwans I had remaining, and for some reason I wasn't expecting much. Instead I got an adventurous experimental novel. The McEwan dissenters have a point with Amsterdam and Saturday — surely not here.
Well it's hard to choose. The best two books I read this year, definitely Snow and My Name is Red (idolatry of Pamuk can be found on my blog starting here) — those are probably the best two books I've read in a couple of years.
…Maugham's Razor's Edge, and Coetzee's Disgrace.
The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan
The Indian Clerk by David Leavitt.
Winter's Tale by Mark Helprin and
The Old Patagonian Express by Paul Theroux. Although it wasn't noted on the list of books I've read, I also really enjoyed Garth Hallberg's A Field Guide to the North American Family. All three had great descriptions of spaces that helped me position myself within each book.
Max, good work on the blog this year!
Forgetfulness by Ward Just – one man's sober, restrained, thoughtful response to terrorism.
Tree of Smoke
by Denis Johnson
The Rest is Noise by Alex Ross. A shadow history of the 20th century through music, it is a completely absorbing read and makes one want to listen to every piece of music he describes.
An Equal Music, by Vikram Seth, Sarah Waters's Night Watch, and In the Eye of the Sun by Ahdaf Souief. All smart, original, and absorbing.
At the suggestion of Ms. Millions a long time ago, I finally read Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, it took two seasons but was worth the journey. It is now considered one of my favorites! Thanks Ms. Millions!
MAN GONE DOWN by Michael Thomas, a little like James Baldwin's "Another Country" meets "Good Will Hunting," that rare African American novel of identity which is extremely well-written but not preachy and doesn't browbeat the reader. What I mean is that unlike Baldwin's novel about an interracial relationship in which a bisexual black jazz musician mentally and physically abuses his lover – a white Southern woman who goes insane after which he leaps to his death off the George Washington Bridge – Thomas is not trying to PROVE anything (Baldwin's character were meant to portend America's fate if it continued to prevent people from connecting irrespective of differences). This novel is philosophically more in tune with Ralph Ellison, I would say.
I'll also second Fredericktoo's nomination of TREE OF SMOKE by Denis Johnson, which gets really interesting around the time Skip translates the Antonin Artaud passage with its echoes of semiotics.
The worst book I read all year was I AM LEGEND by Richard Matheson. Wow.
I'm bad at "bests," though, so here are several I enjoyed.
VALDEZ IS COMING, Elmore Leonard
ROCK SPRINGS, Richard Ford
THE YIDDISH POLICEMEN'S UNION, Michael Chabon
ANGELS, Denis Johnson
THE ROAD, Cormac McCarthy
THE DEAD FISH MUSEUM, Charles D'Ambrosio
FAT CITY, Leonard Gardner
THE COAST OF CHICAGO, Stuart Dybek
DROWN, Junot Diaz
a tie! Both very different, both very excellent: "Then We Came to the End" by Joshua Ferris was the wonderful surprise/debut of the year, and "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy is simply a force of language that cannot be ignored.
Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan
Reading THE USED WORLD by Haven Kimmel was the most engrossing and divine experience I've had with a book in a long, long time.
Stoner by John Williams.
Max:
Thank you for a terrific series and for your hard work with The Millions. I enjoy the blog immensely.
My favorites for the year were The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz. Stunning work. And The Perfect Man by Naeem Murr — another riveting novel that sadly seems to have sunk into obscurity.
Hope you and your team have a terrific '08!
Away, by Amy Bloom. It is a female extreme adventure story and the writing is exquisite.
I have enjoyed The Millions all year. Thanks to the "ask a book question" guy for your recommendations on books set in Paris.
Can't decide between Memories of My Melancholy Whores, Forgetfulness, and Everyman
— Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson (1881). I read several new (2007) novels but this one beat them all (and was also new for me).
Of 2007 works, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz is impressive, but given the mix of Spanish and sf/fantasy references (Gary Gygax and Porfirio Rubirosa share pages with cuco and la ciguapa, Shelob, Dr. Zaius, Chakobsa and Dr. Gull), no wonder that, even with Pulitzer talk, very few people are attempting to read it (only 27,000 copies sold, according to a post-Christmas AP wire report at http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5hAU6173HEXh_YzLoDnjQRY2yf4TwD8TQNCCO0)
I kept wishing for a genre glossary/Dominican slang dictionary stuck in the back, but a good one would probably double the size of the book and cripple the reading experience for those of us going back and forth.
A word for graphic novels in 2007:
The Courageous Princess by Rod Espinoza (http://www.amazon.com/Courageous-Princess-Rod-Espinosa/dp/159307719X/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1198984971&sr=8-1) is one of the better kid-friendly graphic novels to come out in 2007 and in glorious full color,too, unlike The Invention of Hugo Cabret (http://www.amazon.com/Invention-Hugo-Cabret-Brian-Selznick/dp/0439813786/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1198985585&sr=1-1)
whose black and white images suit the silent film theme but never seem to rise above the overwhelming melancholy of the story.
The Arrival by Shaun Tan (http://www.amazon.com/Arrival-Shaun-Tan/dp/0439895294/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1198985415&sr=1-1)is is also black and white but more open-hearted in its depiction of humanity, and the artist/writer sweeps you up in a terrific wordless depiction of the immigrant experience (it is also G-rated but adult in sensibility and visual sophistication).
Lastly, thanks for an amazing year of The Millions, Max, and all the work you put into it; your year-end contributor's lists of "Best Reads" also just keep getting better. Happy 2008!
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, by Sherman Alexie.
Can't pick just one. Actually, I can't even remember them all but a few favorites were, After This by Alice McDermott, The Echo Maker by Richard Powers,and I love/hated The Road by Cormac McCarthy.
Mark Helprin's Winter's Tale was fascinating and multi-layered; I look forward to re-reading many times. Also John Crowley's books. Thanks to The Millions for the references to both of these authors! And although not a "best", I'd recommend Nicholas Christopher's A Trip to the Stars and The Bestiary. Finally, I'd include Verlyn Klinkenborg's Timothy, or Notes of an Abject Reptile. It's a beautifully written, quiet book unlike any other I've seen.
Thanks for promoting the concept of Trusted Fellow Readers!
Two from this year are tied for best: Montano's Malady, by Enrique Vila-Matas; and Extinction, by Thomas Bernhard.
Eat, Pray, Love which had an enormous impact on me.
Funny no one has mentioned Against the Day — what did you all think of it? I was very happy with it — it would be my favorite book of 2007 if I had not found out about Pamuk. Or were you all speedy readers and finished it in 2006?
the Children's Hospital by Chris Adrian. there's nothing else like it.
The Go Giver by Authors Bob Burg and John David Mann was my favorite read of 2007. I received it for Christmas and couldn't put it down!
The Testament of Gideon Mack, by James Robertson, tied with Bedlam by Jennifer Higgie.
I really enjoyed Divisidero by Michael Ondaatje. His diction and sense of atmosphere is beautiful…
I read so many great books this year! One of my favorite was Eat- Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. A funny, poignant, and honest story about how a woman had to go around the world to find out who she really was.