The year in review: books

I read 52 books this year, which, if you account for the varying lengths and difficulties, is still a lot of reading. Proud of myself. Also aware that it's my job to read. In 2012, I pledge to read more and to be less tempted by the internet and its surface pleasures. Let's do it together!

On with the show! I've considered my grand list, and here are ten top-tier books from 2011. 

David Foster Wallace - Oblivion
Tom Grimes - Mentor

EL Doctorow - Ragtime
Eric Larson - The Devil in the White City
Judy Budnitz - Nice Big American Baby

Randy Shilts - And the Band Played On

JG Ballard - High Rise

Chad Harbach - The Art of Fielding

Dave Zirin - Welcome to the Terrordome

James Michener - Chesapeake

The work of Judy Budnitz endeared itself to me more than the work of any other author in 2011. I came to her like I come to many authors: via a Google search and scouring lists. K and I read Nice Big American Baby on our way home from Canada. Cautionary/ celebratory stories of motherhood, pregnancy, and love in America. Just totally bizarre, hilarious, and deeply sad stories. Flawless collection, the best book I read in 2011. 

Her first collection Flying Leap starts strong and ends poorly---worth a read for completists. In her novel, If I Told You Once, Judy systematically sheds male characters until there are only women left, four generations crammed into a tiny apartment. 

I lament my male-dominated list. Perhaps in 2012, I too will shed men. Nine women to one man. It could happen. Or perhaps, like the characters in If I Told You Once, I'll revert to the old ways, and 2012's list will be the same, except with 9 new guys. What I'm saying is, keep me honest blogspot. Diverse reading habits! What I'm saying is, Nice Big American Baby came out in 2005, and it's about time for some new Budnitz, don't cha think? 

A man can dream in 2011. Tonight, with Biggs Stache (and whatever Marc digs out the cellar) on the cerebellum, I'll dream of a new Judy Budnitz novel, and of all the books I'll read in 2012. If the world ends, my blog will live on in the ether. If the world ends, I will blast our greatest texts into space for our extraterrestrial pals. If the world ends, I'll blog in the afterlife.   

My week in media: June & July

"It's good to be back in the USA. Fuck anybody that tells you it isn't the best country in the world."

Bradford Cox, a hero of mine, said this at Pitchfork Festival 2011 during a set that confirms my belief that his band Deerhunter is on top of their game, has been for years, hopefully will be for time to come. This post isn't about Deerhunter, but it is about the USA and an unusual influx of patriotic media on my brainstem.

I started watching The West Wing. It's an excellent drama (-edy? Usually really funny!) about a fictional president and his crew. The characters work too much, walk around all day, sometimes care very much about things, attempt to cultivate social lives, and then walk around some more. They never walk around and drink some more. They sit when they drink. Regardless, each episode has (so far) been superb or at least compelling. My complaint is the same as other people's: The West Wing's corny Full House-ish sentimental network television music and idealism are sometimes blushworthy. But sometimes they feel so good, too. What would DFW say? Is The West Wing the least ironic show in recent memory? No se.

Then there's All the King's Men, Robert Rossen's Best Picture-winning (1949) adaptation of Robert Penn Warren's book of the same name. Main character and humble everyguy Willie Stark (Academy Award winner Broderick Crawford) works his way up from nothing and then breaks bad so hard. His platform of for-the-people and by-the-people--he calls himself a hick---gets convoluted by money and big politics and power tripping and all that. He's a sensation, a governor with Presidential potential. It's Grapes of Wrath, Manchurian Candidate, and All the President's Men (whoa) with probably five newspaper headline montages to boot. It's barely remembered. What a shame.

Finally, E.L. Doctorow's Ragtime is the finest book I've read this year. The main characters---a family in chic New Rochelle, NY---encounter the poor and the very rich. Doctorow creates an American tapestry. Historical figures are characters. Henry Ford and J.P. Morgan have a dinner date. Harry Houdini gets existential. Booker T. Washington mediates a police standoff. If that isn't enough, it has one of the most memorable race conflicts since To Kill a Mockingbird.

If the United States isn't the best country, it's got to be the best at thinking about whether or not it is.