Looking Back: The 2018 Books

My last library receipt of 2018

Way back in January, I started the year with a "challenge" (in the most casual sense of the word) to read 50 books in 2018. (Well, it wasn't my challenge exactly but the challenge my friend and yoga instructor Amanda put out in the world.)

Okay, I passed 50 books sometime in March. Yes, I am bragging. No, I am not bragging because I knew going into the year that I read a lot. 50 did not surprise me in the least.

So where did I finish the year? At a respectable number, but not as far as I had hoped. As I noted before, November and December took a lot out of me in so many ways, and reading was one of them. I finished with a solid list, but maybe 30 to 40 books off the projected mark.

So what were my final 2018 books? These:
203. Why Religion? A Personal Story by Elaine Pagels (this memoir/examination of faith by a preeminent religion historian is stunning; I could say so much more but words fail me)
204. Who Asked You? by Terry McMillan (I always enjoy McMillan's writing and this novel from 2013, written on the edge of the heroin epidemic, was no exception)
205. The Names of the Mountains by Reeve Lindbergh (this was a reread of a novel by the youngest of Anne Morrow Lindbergh's children, in which Reeve first explores, albeit in fictionalized form, her mother's dementia)
206. Said I Wasn't Gonna Tell Nobody: The Making of A Black Theologian by James H. Cone (reading #203 led me to Cone when Pagels thanked him extensively in her acknowledgments, mourning his death in 2018 and expressing gratitude that he completed this book, his memoir, of being a "Negro graduate student" who was transformed and radicalized by the Black Power movements in the 1960s, and becoming a Black theologian who pioneered black liberation theology; I cried several times while reading this one)
207. An Old-Fashioned Girl by Louisa May Alcott (while not Little Women [let's face it: nothing is Little Women], this is nonetheless a classic Alcott tale of a poor but resourceful young woman who finds purpose and love in her life; this was, of course, a reread)
208. Belonging: A German Reckons With History and Home by Nora Krug (this graphic memoir is an amazingly open look at the author's research of her German family, their lives in Nazi Germany and whether they participated in the Nazi regime, and her finding a small piece of hope and comfort in tracking down the son of a Jewish survivor who possibly kept her grandfather from imprisonment and prosecution post-war for being a registered Nazi)
209. The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster (a reread of the beloved story of Milo, who finds his way, replete with Jules Feiffer's brilliant illustrations)
210. Sarah, Plain and Tall by Patricia MacLachan (the wonderful Newbery Award novel about two young children and their father "testing" out a mail order candidate for matrimony; known for many years as the "shortest" book ever to win a Newbery, this book lost that status when the Newbery committee honored Last Stop on Market Street, a picture book, with the medal in 2016)
211. The Gnostic Gospels by Elaine Pagels (in the memoir above [#203], Pagels writes about her interest in ancient texts and her writing of this book, which in 1979 caused a great uproar in the Christian theological world; as someone who intentionally (deliberately, thoughtfully) left the Christian faith for lots of reasons, I found this book enormously enlightening and comforting, but I can see why the Christian theological establishment attacked Pagels and this book when it came out)
212. Jacob Have I Loved by Katherine Paterson (a reread of another Newbery classic, this one by two-time Medal winner Paterson, the story is narrated by Sarah Louise, who carries hurt in her heart until she realizes she was loved and worthy of love always)

I finished that last book late yesterday afternoon and wondered which way to turn next. Some weeks ago, I had started The Dollmaker by Harriet Arnow, a gut wrenching Appalachian novel that I read years ago. In light of my Appalachian readings earlier, I had turned back to it, then set it aside when library books, with due dates, flooded in. (Spoiler alert: If the title sounds familiar, there was a made-for-television version decades ago starring Jane Fonda in the lead role: the happy ending manufactured for television is NOT how the book ends!)

But speaking of libraries, my last check-out receipt for 2018 is above, showing that I saved over $3500.00 in checking out library books this year. I don't think our library started tracking checkout costs until March, when it joined a large consortium, so my 2018 savings were probably even larger. Still, $3500.00 is nothing to sneeze at, and when I posted the photo in the 2019 No Spend Challenge Facebook group I belong to, it got a lot of Likes and Loves.

So what have I learned this year?

A lot.

A. Lot.

One thing I learned about myself was that I do not like tracking my reading. I have good friends (Mel especially comes to mind) who faithfully record their reads, titles and authors, in ledgers, some of those ledgers dating back many years. Me? This year was interesting but no thanks moving forward. I read what I read and if I feel like talking or writing about it, I will, but no more lists.

What else have I learned? More than ever, my 2018 reading, which included some very deliberate choices, slammed me in the face with what privilege I have as a white reader in a country which primarily publishes (and reviews and promotes) white authors.

Holy smokes.

One of the challenges I set out in early 2018 was to read through this list of 46 books by women of color. Our library consortium contains all but three of those books, so I had 43 books to read. As of yesterday, I had read 38 of them (88%). Many of those books, especially the essays and even the acknowledgments, led me to other authors of color of all genders.

And it was a humbling experience. I had to read outside my box to see the larger picture. And it is not that this picture is "new" or the result of the current administration, loathsome and racist as it is—this reality of racism and bias and "otherness" has always been here in this country. Always. I am the one who has failed to acknowledge it in any significant way.

I could not read authors of color in 2018 without recognizing this over and over and over again. I could not look at the publishing house lists and the New York Times book reviews without seeing this. I could not think of books for my grandchildren (the two here and the one coming) without wondering what I get to read to them. (Other than Last Stop on Market Street for both households!)

"Own your privileges," say writer Roxanne Gay and social activist Vijay Gupta, among many others. Here are the privileges I own: as a white person, as a woman of a certain age, as a college educated woman, I have so many privileges that I more than take for granted that allow to move through my day and my life without hassles, without setbacks, without struggles. Yes, I have had other setbacks and barriers, socio-economic and family of origin issues chief among them, but my white status has given me a leg up. These privileges are so inherently a part of my life that I don't even think of them. And reading books by authors without those privileges made me have to face those privileges, have to think of those privileges, and, like Vijay, think of how to move ahead not taking those privileges for granted but using them in ways to move us all forward. To paraphrase and turn back on myself a Black food activist quoted in Buttermilk Graffiti (#135), what am I willing to give up so that others may succeed?

A most apt question on which to start a new year, especially as I am starting to take a deeper and longer look at time and especially my health, which continues to decline, albeit slowly and gently. In my daughter-in-law's (and grandchildren's) culture, death is often spoken of as the person "walking on." I have seen my life, especially in recent years, as a long walk first towards and now into the foothills of the mountains, knowing that my old companion Death is walking alongside me. When I walk on, I want to have left this community in better shape. And more than ever, many of my readings in 2018, by those shut out, have moved me to greater commitment than ever.

Here's to 2019, and all the books it may hold for all of us.