2024 Reading Wrapped

December 31, 2024December 31, 2024 ~ Nashua Gallagher ~ Leave a comment

‘Take your time, I have a book with me’

What a marvellous year in books.

I got to see Ian McEwan, R.F Kuang and Deepti Kapoor all speak right here in Zürich.

I discovered a few indie bookshops, wiled away pages and cups of coffee at several new reading nooks in the city and rarely left the apartment without a book.

I did leave my pen at home though. Despite hiting a couple of writing milestones early in the year – finally distributing my first collection of poetry back on Amazon, outlining the second one, sought accountability partners, started actually writing (!)..I ultimately had to prioritise differently. As much as it pained me to say no to opportunities to review, contribute or submit, it also allowed me to cap my pen, guilt-free.

This also meant that my first love, reading, got the sort of attention that’s enriched this year’s reading wrap up. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed putting it together. 📚

Let’s break down this post..

All about reading goals over the years, followed by four booklists – 1. this year’s fiction favourites 2. this year’s non-fiction favourites 3. a few more books I think you should check out, and finally 4. books that will appeal to the mood-readers amongst you. If you’re not into long-form, just click here for the summary.

On reading goals

Reading Goal 71/70 in 2024. When I see the bookfluencers (yes this is a thing..) talking about 100+ books they’ve read on social media. I am always in awe but know immediately this is not for me. For this goal at least, I have found my happy plateau. At 70 books a year, reading accompanies my life but isn’t the main character. Loved ones know to optimise presents towards books, train rides and the queit luxury of reading surrounded by stunning vistas but also know to hold me accountable to all the other things I say I want to do. As all permanent habits invariably are, here is the years’ long journey to the summit of this goal

My reading choices were more pick than mix this year…stubbornly fiction-leaning, however with a lot of poetry thrown in and one German graphic novel. In 2025 I want to better diversify this mix- and duh, these goals are measurable.

2025 Reading Goals

Read 70 books
At least 15% of these books should be non-Fiction (i.e roughly ten books)
Read TWO books in German (pictures optional)
Re-read more books (starting with the Harry Potter series)
and as always…read more poetry, aiming for twelve volumes this year (1 book a month)

TBR table in disarray during an after-hours shelf rubix-cubing sesh…

Thanks for the context, but can I JUST have the lists?

Top Fiction

The Friend by Sigrid Nunez
We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson
A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan
The Covenant of Water By Abraham Verghese
James by Percival Everett
Martyr by Kaveh Akbar
Beartown by Frederik Backman
Yellowface by R.F Kuang
The Great Believers by Rebecca Makkai
Brotherless Night by V.V. Ganeshananthan

Top non-Fiction

Shape Up by Ryan Singer
The Art of Gathering by Priya Parker
Empireworld by Sathnam Sanghera
Impossible City: A Hong Kong Memoir by Karen Cheung

Honourable Mentions

Reading Sri Lanka
- The Seven Moons of Maali Almedia by Shehan Karunatilaka
- Reef by Romesh Gunesekera
- A Passage North by Anuk Arudpragasam
- A Story of a Brief Marriage by Anuk Arudpragasam
- Brotherless Night by V.V Ganeshananthan
- Anil’s Ghost by Michael Ondaatje
We Should all be Feminists by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke

Books to escape reality with…

The Spell Shop by Sarah Beth Durst
Margo’s got Money Troubles by Rufi Thorpe
All Souls Trilogy by Deborah Harkness
Age of Vice by Deepti Kapoor
All the Colours of the Dark by Chris Whitaker
Shades of Grey & Red Side Story by Jasper Fforde
A Psalm for the Wild Built by Becky Chambers

Top Fiction

FYI all review text and imagery lifted from my bookstagram https://www.instagram.com/nashuagallagher/

10. The Friend by Sigrid Nunez | ★★★★☆

Self-inflicted torture to read this in the week I knew we would be bidding our family dog farewell. Nunez writes about and around animals so beautifully (as seen in The Vulnerables). Of the human animal, she writes with emotional resonance – characters are complex, accessible, with a whiff of satire. This book swirls companionship into grief, and the many shades it leaves one to paint with.

9. We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson | ★★★★☆

So it turns out I never reviewed this one – it’s a charming, acerbic tale of two sisters with a dollop of noir. This book is short, strange with Tim Burtonesque delight. It is unapologetic escapism and leaves a late-summer blackberry stain sort of impression that takes me back to every sweet and spiky odditiy of this read as I write this at the end of December. It’s a tidy little cult classic, I understand why it is loved for its bizarre and ferocious homage to sisterly fealty.

8. A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan | ★★★★☆

has been on my list since I read The Candy House. Both books sit apart for their immersive POVs, at times wildly creative and fabulously effective (AVFTGS has a whole chapter written in the style of a powerpoint presentation.) Fast-paced and for all its bells and whistles it really cuts to the bone of human experience – its insecurity, miseries and joys.

7. The Covenant of Water By Abraham Verghese | ★★★★☆

Connected by water, or selective aversion for it, this novel is a sprawling multigenerational tale of a family from the St Thomas Christian community in South India. Intersecting colonial India with post-independence India. The plot is predominantly centred on the life of matriarch, big Ammachi, opening with her at age twelve, and about to get married. As a South Asian, I found this book familiar and deeply satisfying for its setting in a time and place that few fictional accounts have taken me to. This is a fascinating part of history, from the lens of colonialism, modernisation, politics, women’s rights and medical theory and advancement. The 700 plus pages flew by, they were unexpected, and although tinged with tragedy, ultimately warming.

6. James by Percival Everett | ★★★★☆

All I knew going into this novel is that it’s a reimagining of Tom Sawyer from the perspective of Jim, Huckleberry Finn’s enslaved sidekick. I did not know how much concurrency to expect with the original and just like with Barbara Kingsglover’s Demon Copperhead, it doesn’t actually matter as this book stands by itself. What I got the most from it was the contextual visibility of a white child and an enslaved person just before the American civil war broke out. It changes the tone of the novel from childlike fancy and adventure to one of escape and urgency. A riveting, satirical, powerful journey that takes James from sidekick to the stuff of legend.

5. Martyr by Kaveh Akbar | ★★★★★

Addiction, art, identity, immigration – guttural in its poetry, and stayed with me for weeks after reading it. Immersive, devastating, crude and rich turning me into a blubber of adjectives that I hope scream – read this book. The plot has a gentle undercurrent with excellent payoff which poetically-inclined books don’t often achieve. This one did, and was definitely one of my favourite reads this year.

4. Beartown by Frederik Backman | ★★★★★

I don’t know what I expected of Beartown, but not for this unassuming book to have me by both heart and throat. It’s essentially a small-town hockey story that goes terribly wrong when a violent act exposes the precarious foundations of the town. The first half of the book foreshadows this act, going into detailed backstories of so many of the residents of Beartown. As a reader, I was hooked, suspecting everyone guilty until proven innocent. Perhaps this is a stronger statement to a more nuanced truth about the complicity around rape culture. This book asks us to consider if dignity and justice are ever conditional. It is careful to not preach, or create a good vs evil narrative. Instead it paints the characters as they are – nobody is condemned or absolved from the author’s pen. It is a part of a trilogy which I am sure to devour, but this book already stands apart. It evokes empathy and gently points out the ills of societal messaging when a town’s pride is rooted in a specific monoculture. One of my most highlighted and annotated books, and will be one of the most recommended of the year.

3. Yellowface by R.F Kuang│★★★★☆

I have experienced Rebecca Kuang’s casual gore, torture scenes, plot knife-twists and pacing mastery in both the Poppy War triology and Babel. None were as painful as the mental papercuts of her merciless cursor’s satire in Yellowface. The novel revolves around a stolen diasporic manuscript from a recently deceased Chinese-American author, passed off as the white protagonist’s own work. The first person narrative had at times, fingernails on chalkboard appeal. The acerbic jealousy, self delusion and casual othering was masterfully discomfiting. (Much of this was self-inflicted, as I inhaled this book in a couple of sittings.) Perhaps one of the most insidious parts of this novel was the casual complicity of supporting characters, particularly in the publishing industry. This was a withering and necessary takedown of baseline (…uh basic) attitudes which uphold a rather wet, saggy status quo. Kuang’s voice and writing has been a welcome addition to mainstream reading, not because it’s ‘diverse’ but because these are damned good stories, and ones I want to read.

2. The Great Believers by Rebecca Makkai | ★★★★★

Set in Chicago in the 80s, in the midst of the AIDS crisis, this book follows a group of friends’ whose interconnected narratives pulse through the decades. Reading this is taking a sharp turn past poignant into devastating.The story is handled with delicacy and care yet pointed in its illumination of societal stigma and neglect. This book really made me consider what a privilege it is to be allowed to grow old. That marginalisation leads to inhumanity. It made me reflect on the ways we still see this played out in the world today. Required reading.

1. Brotherless Night by V.V. Ganeshananthan | ★★★★★

When so much of your country’s history is steeped in colonial legacy, then immediately fraught with political violence and civil war around the time of your birth, many adults don’t take the time to explain any of it beyond – good, bad, right, wrong. I have been chasing the nuance of Sri Lanka’s history for most of my adult life and have read several excellent novels that have helped me piece it together. I consider this one required reading. This is the story of Sashi and her brothers but for me it was a lens into societal pressure-cooker before the war. The sins of discrimination and cultural erasure staining earth red for generations to come. Read it in the present global context, read it in the past context. Just read it, and then talk to me about it for hours please. Pictured with some whole spices often used in Sri Lankan cooking, my most prized heirlooms.

Top non-Fiction

Shape Up by Ryan Singer | ★★★★☆ For a cross-functional organisational set up, it had some good things to say about how we might tame our information flows, decide what the right level of fidelity and abstraction is, and all in all setting up boundaries that enables teams and their work. A useful, practical (and short!) read on process, learnings and action even if the operational model is not something you embrace, there is still value to take from it.

The Art of Gathering by Priya Parker | ★★★★☆
Was gifted to me by a dear friend who likely knew that the lessons in this book transcend dinner parties, and will benefit your next workshop, meeting or planning committee. It gives one practical ways to really determine and activate the purpose behind any sort of gathering, and the tools, suggestions, etiquette and observations to achieve this. I loved it and felt everyone could get something out of this book.

Empireworld by Sathnam Sanghera│★★★★★ The follow up to the context-making Empireland which distils how empire and colonialism shaped modern British identity, and de-anonymised much of the shared history with its former colonies. Raised in an ex-colony at times inexplicably felt like growing up in somebody else’s holiday home, and Empireland connected the dots to why this might have been the case. This new book is a proverbial ‘hold my beer’ to this sentiment. It extends Empireland’s premise to the impact the British empire had on the rest of the world. Parts of this were familiar but surprising for its scale and concurrency across the period. For instance the mass import of tea and plants and its impact on the natural world, commerce and capitalism. Or the echoes of governmental and judicial frameworks, some of which I experienced myself as a Hong Konger, and a planted legacy of attitudes of everything from LGBTQI to indentured labour. Some might be annoyed at the bibliography and index taking roughly a third of this book, but there is so little in contemporary discourse about this topic that I appreciate the reading list. Having adopted a nomadic sort of existence with a weak passport is a baffling, sometimes frustrating existence – so much of my on-paper modern identity was conceived by forces before my time. In a tendency supported by my inching towards middle age, my writing has taken on this flavour more often these days. Sanghera’s section on the Commonwealth was unexpectedly touching, sharing a vision on its modern-day purpose that I won’t spoil, but makes a lot of sense in the context of the book. For the criticism I expect to pour in, it’s absurd to expect impartiality given past atrocities and the global structural inequality it has led to. This book does not, nor should it administer an itemised verdict of the ills or virtues of empire. In my reading anyway, it provided an understanding of history from the perspective of not just the victor.

Impossible City: A Hong Kong Memoir by Karen Cheung | ★★★★★
Few things have captured the mood of the city, twinned in hope and despair during ‘the revolution of our times’ in Hong Kong in 2019 as well as this book. Although this phrase was widely used in 2019, the Umbrella Movement in 2014 is where this character of Hong Kong bubbled up like a pressure cooker hiss and left a permanent impression on me and many of us who grew up in Hong Kong. I did something I rarely do when I read a book, especially by someone I know. I reached out before I was even halfway through to tell her how much I was enjoying it. The sharp pen of an editor, the soft commas of a poet, drawing a lattice in which inequality, mental health and politics described the Hong Kong I knew. There are a myriad of ways to be a part of this city, and many uncomfortable truths that come with this. Reading this book was like discovering a bag of letters chronicling a volatile, passionate and enduring sort of love. Karen’s account of the handover in 1997 (which I remember as a nine year old) and the social, familial and structural nuances of the nineties and early 2000s gives sorely missed context from articles that often offer reductive narratives on property prices and identity politics, written for readers on the outside looking in. There were many parts I could relate to, and many I was grateful, at times chastened to get a glimpse of. I couldn’t stop writing as I read this book, and am in awe of Karen’s vulnerability, self reflection and thoroughness as an author. A necessary and valuable addition to our understanding of the city, and its history.

Honourable Mentions

Reading Sri Lanka

This reading list has taken me years to compile – as I write in the post [These books] are moving as they are challenging – the craft, depth, nuance and heart kept me engaged, furious, haunted and above all grateful to all of these authors for giving me back missing parts of myself.

You can read the full review here.

Tooth-aching levels of wisdown. I don’t need to say anything more as these small but mighty tomes speak for themselves. Wisdom and philosophy, we all really ought to make more time for it in our lives…

Books to escape reality with…

If one craves a touch of escapism, these these titles will help your mind prolong its visit somewhere cosy or exciting

The Spell Shop by Sarah Beth Durst Cosy, cottage-core, fairytale-leaning fantasy. Side-kick is a talking spider-plant.
Margo’s got Money Troubles by Rufi Thorpe Young protagonist has a baby by her college professor, turns to OnlyFans to pay the bills, and rebuilds a relationship with her estranged father, an ex-wrestling champion who ends up being an asset when it comes to storytelling in her new vocation.
All Souls Trilogy by Deborah Harkness The only 5* read that didn’t make my best read this year. Why? A Discovery of Witches was brilliant, immersive, fun and Twilight for adults. The subsequent books did not appeal to me in the same way but is great escapism all the same.
Age of Vice by Deepti Kapoor Three interconnected stories in a fast-paced, at times harrowing novel about ambition, crony capitalism, political gangsters and the coming of age of modern India.
All the Colours of the Dark by Chris Whitaker Deeply immersive serial killer crime novel. Excellent writing.
Shades of Grey & Red Side Story by Jasper Fforde as alt reality novels go – what the hell did I just read? Terribly distracting and funny, and worth the 14 year wait between novels.
A Psalm for the Wild Built by Becky Chambers if this is for you, you will love it, if not – dealer’s choice. I found it gentle, wise, glorious. The ultimate comfort read. It’s short, unpretentious – asks big questions but untangles any mental load from it.

On Reading Poetry

April 8, 2024 ~ Nashua Gallagher ~ Leave a comment

Mild panic. This is what I am often met with when I mention to other grown adults that I am a poet. That I still write the stuff, with a poetry collection to my name, and another on its way. This reaction is understandable considering the typical experience people have of annotating the odious stuff at school, or trying their hand at it on the heels of heartbreak or adolescent angst. Besides, who even reads poetry these days?

As the saying goes, 'one man's garbage is another man's treasure', or my slight preference for the German version 'Des einen Freud ist des anderen Leid' (one man's joy is another man's sorrow). Reading poetry is arguably a challenging sort of reading. It demands non-passive readers. There is no light-touch skim, or a way to bullshit through (a little unfair because readers of poetry more than prose,  are likely to encounter an occasional whiff of the unsavory stuff.) This is not because the quality of poetry is measured by the use of archaic language or love poems, but because poetry is subjective to a fault. It has all the reputation of baking - with none of the mass appeal. There is an assumption of precision and craft, which is true enough - but poetry is also a living art form and thrives on serendipity and improvisation. Whether it's formulated like a fiddly, multi-step Croquembouche or treated like hastily microwaved leftovers, when delivered at the right place and time, poetry can strike like memory, sound like a song, stop time like a warning.

TLDR #1 Poetry is highly subjective to both reader and writer. Whilst it has a reputation for being a fairly prescriptive and fiddly written form, poets today might both adhere to this and ignore it in equal measure, a fact that annoyingly, has little to no bearing on the reader's actual enjoyment of the final piece

There are verses and poets that are, of course, beloved and well-known. Shared in graduation cards ('two roads diverged in a yellow wood' or 'if you can dream but not make dreams your master...'), in funeral invitations ('do not stand at my grave and weep'), read out at weddings (tread softly, for you tread on my dreams or 'Let me not to the marriage of true minds'). There is nothing wrong with this being the chief expectation of what poetry is, but it does not fully deliver one of the best things about poetry - when it stuns with the ordinary, when the temperate flies close to the sublime. When it makes you feel some type of way, or it's just very prettily arranged - words that don't pull any punches, serving insight or deliverance. As a reader and writer of poetry, I am curious about how others perceive both the minutiae and grand gestures of life. What writers choose to remember, and how they want to talk about it. This is probably why poetry in its traditional form is a reliable wing-man to add a touch of flair to what is somber or dignified. It also makes sense to me as a form of expression to turn to when the full gravitas of adult experience floods the adolescent mind. There is wisdom in how young people act - and poetry lends itself to taking something overwhelming and breaking it down to a true form, to let it steep for a while.

TLDR#2 Poetry is often used as a condiment to life events, but I argue that it is just as impactful as a lens to explore the every day, whether as a youthful attempt to triage a sudden burst of life experience, or for seasoned writers a way to curate and preserve - a way to note what is worth remembering

What about modern poetry? There must be something between Billy da Poet and William Shakespeare, surely? Poetry collections can be found often on a single shelf in a (bigger) bookshop, with persuers in the single digits. I suspect it's because the section is seen as intimidating (bad) or thought of as irrelevant (worse.) Not helping matters is the fact that poetry in its contemporary form can be rather cavalier and unreliable. A form of storytelling that is perceived to lose its plot before it gets to the end. I suspect the liberal use of narrative deception is to blame, or poetic license recklessly issued on the assumption that the average person does not venture down these roads. (Which is frankly true.) Trust a poet to organise a party they never turn up to. Or to have conversations more filling than the meal that occasioned it. Philisophise with psychotic abandon inside pages then appear shocked that anyone noticed. There are things we want to say, but often may peel off on a side-issue, because we are not sure if we are saying this to ourselves or want to remember a certain thing a certain way. There are sideroads and alleys and pitstops and highways, and many of us expect you to bring your own damn sleeping bag and dictionary if you are to visit.

TLDR#3 In which I seem to suggest modern poets being charmingly flighty, borderline distracted, and not all that literal does not help much with the PR problem of our genre (but I will always speak of this as a feature, not a bug)

Then there are questions of if the poet  writing to be read, and if so, on page or out loud? Are they writing to remember, and don't mind if it's being read, but please don't let anyone ask them about it. Or are they writing the thing that must be said, to connect with an anonymous many or to leave someone behind. I believe the motive of the poet is no easier to glean than in prose but leaves a marked effect on how the work is received. Makes sense right? There are less lines in which to bury a lead. This is not a bad thing.  I once saw a review of my book which mentioned a poem which I tried to tell myself was a filler poem (let's be real, there are no filler poems). It was a poem I liked but didn't necessary expect for it to resonate with anyone else, the fact that it did delighted me. It taught me that it felt the most 'right' to focus on the overall narrative of the collection, and to let the reader find what they need to. With poetry the fourth wall may as well be a veil. You might just about see the glint of a ballpoint in your peripheral vision the further you get into a collection.

TLDR#4 Poetic motive matters to the overall work, and although this may not be wholly obvious, the poet themselves are much more perceptible in their work than in prose. Poets may choose what and how to write about something, but it's up to readers to uncover what is there to find.

I recently ordered a bounty of recent work by other fellow Hong Kong poets. Reading these have made me feel incredibly fortunate to be a member of this community. Hindsight is always 20/20, but through absense and distance, I can appreciate what an extraordinary gift it was to cut my teeth as a writer surrounded by these folk. Although I met many of them and got to know their work in an open-mic setting, the range in work - stylistic, narrative, perspective, was as diverse as the poets themselves. What people choose to write about, and how they talk about it is something I find fascinating by default, whether I know them or not. This is why I struggle to 'rate' poetry. As with anything I read, I enjoy reviewing poetry, but find rating a collection almost impossible. At best, it's like being asked to rate several books in a series, for work that is so deeply subjective - and endearingly random in what might move a person, it seems like an odd thing to do. A single poem in a collection might stay with me well after I first encountered it, rendering the whole book a 5-star read. A book can be an atmospheric delight, without a single poem striking me on a personal level and still be a 5-star read for its transportive prowess. Then there are books that are a slow build, or leave you with something unexpected at the end. A book of poetry is not to be judged, not really. It's a privilege to visit with people's interpretative living for awhile. In short there is far too much to recommend itself, or factor in a collection of poetry to sincerely abide to a star-rating. I am much clearer on what constitutes a 3-star novel than a 3-star poetry collection.

TLDR#5 It challenging to 'rate' poetry vs prose. With poetry, the sum of its parts can be greater than the whole, or a single poem can deliver a soul-tizzying solo. A book of poetry is not to be judged, not really. 'It's a privilege to visit with people's interpretative living for awhile.' (Bear in mind that a poet is writing this. I am fond of my bias here.)

Sometimes I finish a book of poetry with less information than I went in with, but a greater sense of the writer and a sense of what they think is beautiful or important. It may look like light work because 60 poems is technically digestible in one sitting, but I do not recommend it. Reading poetry is work, depending on how you want to approach it. In a way, it's like listening to an album for the first time. You may hone in on the lyrics and miss something in the music. It is a bit of a dance, between poet and reader - there is often much more than meets the eye after an initial read.  For me at least,  it sometimes requires multiple re-reads of individual poems or even the entire collection. Though it appears there is less to sift through in terms of pages, don't underestimate the times a poem gives you pause, or asks something of you.

TLDR#6  Reading poetry is kind of like a choose-your-own-adventure. I have no idea where I will end up at the end of the book. Often times, I re-read poems or whole books to deepen my understanding. There is always more than an initial reading can offer. Do not judge a book's heft by the number of its pages.

If after all of this you are not deterred and you do decide to pick up a book of poetry, know that feeling lost is a part of the experience. There are some poets who are faithful writers - who oblige every footnote, give context, stick to the damn story. There are others that will take you somewhere but won't lead you down its ruins or high-streets. It can sometimes feel as intimate as reading a letter, resonate with life right now, or feel as though you are looking at blurry film photography of someone's childhood. 

TLDR#7  Expect to be a spectator when reading poetry. Sometimes you are at sea with too much cloud cover. Other times the course is charted and followed faithfully. There is merit in both ways of experiencing a book. (If you are lucky, this could even be the same book)

Why would anyone even read poetry? It requires a level of focus and attention asynchronous to modern life. As a poet myself I am often tempted by fiction I can casually lose myself in than the dizzying, sometimes confusing, walk by the water's edge  where somebody's barely legible subsconscious operates the tide. Still, what a marvellous companion to life,  to tap into our collective experience and proactively empathise with the business of living. If books are a way to experience a thousand lives, then poetry supplies the colour and sound effects. 

TLDR#8  Reading poetry requires mindfulness, and a bit of effort, and there are direct rewards to reap from this

It hardly merits the work or the reader to peruse poetry distractedly. Life is also like this.

Read more poetry.