Like most, I pick up books to suit the mood and moment. Many times, when I just want some entertainment, a Lee Child, John Sandford, or Bernard Cornwell novel fits the bill. But, and this is not an indictment of those authors, the plots and writing soon fade from memory. Their works are the cheese dip and the cheesecake, not the entrée. They are not the books I recall while sitting on the porch before dawn. Nor are they the books I want to press into a nephew’s hand, saying, “Read this, it is important. It will take you places, make you want to upend your life.”
Here are 10 books from the past year (numbered by chronology, not preference) that meant the most to me. Books that took me out of my small world, connected me to the broader course of humanity, and made me glad to have had the experience. Works that were either artfully written, engrossing, or informative … or, in a few instances, all three at the same time.
- Desert Solitaire (Edward Abbey, 1968). I was surprised one cold winter day to realize I had not read this oft-mentioned work. So, this time last year, I got myself to the Book Eddy in Knoxville and picked up a copy. This book is a beautiful, haunting, angry, and often funny work on the desert Southwest, a region Abbey feared was changing too fast, one I fear he would now find gone. Every sentence is a Wiki-quote.
- Southern Harvest (Clare Leighton, 1942). Based on the English illustrator’s time spent in North Carolina, it contains vignettes of rural Southern life. Most but not all pieces are sensitively written and wonderfully illustrated. I loved her woodcuts so much that Cindy located a numbered print for my Christmas present.
- Grey Seas Under (Farley Mowat, 1958). This book sat on my shelf for 20 years before I took it down to read. Sometimes you just know that if given time you will get around to a book, so why rush the experience? This is the story of an Atlantic salvage tug and the men who operated her off the coast of Canada from 1930 to 1948. It’s the absolutely riveting history of a ship masquerading as an edge-of-the-seat thriller. These sailors and their vessel had more of what it takes than any group of men you are ever likely to meet: daredevil rescues amid towering seas in icy waters day after day (and even more often, night after night), year after year — everyday heroics by uncommon people that make you proud to be of the same species.
- Cræft (Alexander Langlands, 2017). An antidote to the mass age, Cræft (not to be confused with “craft”) looks at the broad-based skills needed to survive in the old world. Putting up hay in medieval Europe, for example, required not only the knowledge to cut, cure, and store feed, but also to make and maintain a scythe, plant the forage, save the seed…. Today, we tend to learn, if we can be bothered, just a limited part of any craft. This book is a humbling reminder of how we have specialized ourselves into irrelevance yet still claim to be masters.
- Localism in the Mass Age (Mark Mitchell and Jason Peters, Eds., 2018). Styled as the Front Porch Republic Manifesto, it is a compendium of some of today’s more interesting writers on localism. This one has introduced me to a whole range of authors who suck away my spare time.
- The Last Grain Race (Eric Newby, 1956). Here’s another one picked up at the Book Eddy, a small, expertly curated out-of-print bookstore. I loved this book so much that I sought out a first edition (found cheap in Australia). But, first I read the Penguin orange-cover paperback. The plot: the author chucks advertising career at the tender age of 18 and signs on to sail on one of the last tall-masted ships, leaving out of Belfast for Australia to pick up grain, in 1938. A there-and-back-again tale about his stoic Finnish officers (who spoke little to no English), a polyglot crew, lice, rats, fights, clambers up rotten rigging in pitching seas and howling winds — all played out to the backbeat of approaching WW2, yet written with a touching and self-deprecating humor that makes you wish you had been on board. It now occupies a special place in my library.
- Round of a Country Year (David Kline, 2017). Kline is an Amish farmer who puts out a quarterly magazine, Farming (Remind me to resubscribe). This book is a simple diary of the farmer’s year. It’s the kind of work that has me dreaming of being a better steward and neighbor, of getting it right this year, or at least next.
- Fruitful Labors (Mike Madison, 2018). Ditto the Kline book. I knew the writing of Madison’s sister, Deborah, a creator of cookbooks, first. But this somewhat practical, often philosophical, work on farming in Northern California reeled me in with the author’s understanding, commitment, and struggle to manage a productive farm. Better written than I expected (and perhaps than I deserved, since the copy was given to me by the publisher), it sat on my to-read shelf for most of the year, the whiff of obligation wafting from its pages. Finally I read it, and for you farmers out there, I’d recommend it. You will be better for it. I know I am.
- Payne Hollow (Harlan Hubbard, 1974). I didn’t know much about Harlan Hubbard, other than that Wendell Berry wrote of him and he was mentioned by similar authors. I picked up this reprint at the Berry Center in New Castle, Kentucky. It is the autobiography of Harlan and his wife, Anna, as they settled down to live a life off the grid on the edge of the Ohio River in the 1950s. Simple, well-written, it kind of makes you regret every tie that binds you to this stinkin’ system.
- Conversations With Wendell Berry (Morris Grubbs, Ed., 2007). Goddamnit, Wendell Berry! Even the transcripts of his conversations are good and often great. This one was picked up just to say I owned it, for the bragging rights (Hear me loud and clear, Clem). So, I planned to read just one interview before placing it on the shelf. But then I read another, then another, until 213 pages later I ran out of reading. For Berry fans, pick it up. For those who don’t know Berry, pick it up.
I dream this January of a book yet to be found, at random, in a stack, discarded by a library for a sale. A forgotten and never-checked-out castoff that will make me fall in love with reading again and again, that will change me in ways I haven’t considered. A book that causes me, the next time I see you, to say, “Have you read…?”
……………………………………….
Reading this weekend: The Last Cowboys, a pioneer family in the new west (Branch).
I’m frankly embarrassed to admit that although I know a couple of your authors by name only, I’ve never read any of them nor even heard of any of these titles. But I’m more of a listener (classical music) than a reader, so other media draw my focus. Still, I could come up with a similar list, mostly nonfiction. The only one I’d recommend to you off the top of my head is John Gray’s Straw Dogs. It’s a book of philosophical essays and not for the faint of heart. I’ve quoted it a few times on my blog but never reviewed it (as I have with other books and movies).
It is clear I cherish books and the act of reading. Much of that comes from childhood, sitting with adults in silence in the house while other family members read nearby. Are there similar reasons why you share that musical appreciation gene?
Cheers,
I have fond memories of childhood trips to the library and summertime reading lists (with ample time to knock out quite a few titles), but I respond more readily and emotionally (then and now) to music as both performer and listener. I mostly read for information and understanding, much less often for pleasure. Although I appreciate a good writer and/or wordsmith, the great composers leave me absolutely awestruck. A lasting memory from boyhood was watching a PBS special on the Strauss family (Viennese light classical composers, especially the waltz) and being overwhelmed by each new tune as the waltz progressed through its series of sections. As I began to learn the repertoire in earnest in HS, I left rock ’n’ roll (and my peers) in the dust, coming back to popular genres much later to fill in blanks. Like reading, music is both solitary and communal depending on context. As a performer, I wanted nothing more than to be inside the ensemble sound, contributing my individual part but losing myself in the whole. Concertizing that way continues to deliver peak, memorable moments, though they’re fleeting and individual.
Nicely put, Brutus. Thanks for sharing with us.
Pretty interesting post and a nice list to boot. I will return to the obvious gauntlet on the ground in due time. First let me acknowledge and reply to a couple other matters.
Read this, it is important. I can truthfully say that I have (on very rare occasion) said this or a phrase like it to someone. Mostly it was many decades back when a fellow graduated student was talking about some subject and then the “this” was a particular research paper that significantly addressed the topic at hand. Now as I read your message here I imagine I have not suggested things for others to read as much as I might have (or as much as it would help). If I have any excuse it would fall under the notion that most folks I know wouldn’t appreciate the suggestion. As a dad there are books I’ve suggested to my children. And a major bonus a couple years ago was a son suggesting a book to me. That was special (and he had a copy to share… double bonus).
‘Read this, it is important’ is less my style I suppose, than a recommendation or simple mention of something I’ve read which then fits into a conversation. And Wendell comes up in this category. Sure, most of his writing deserves a “this is important” admonition. But I tend to come at it from a more subtle angle. Like: I was reading such and such and found this and that… so then if I’ve struck a curiosity the other may inquire more. Even in this more subtle approach though I’d have to admit there are too few conversations in this mode. Too few folks I travel through life with read all that much. Now I’m wondering if there isn’t something I might try to make a small difference. I could get more assertive… and rather than hinting I could brandish a menacing glare and hand out books with an RT IIS!!
Items on the list looking interesting from my corner of the web: 4, 5, 7, 8, and well… I do suppose #10 (that still coming below) 4 especially… that may have to be acquired sooner rather than later. Either you’ve already mentioned 8 here or I ran across it somewhere else – but it is the one I have heard of before. [on #5… I have spent a bit of time at FRR based on a mention from here]
Now about item #10 concerning the text of conversations with Wendell Berry. You confuse me kind sir (not that this is a difficult thing to accomplish). Mr Miller typed:
This one was picked up just to say I owned it, for the bragging rights (Hear me loud and clear, Clem). Does this imply that I need to acquire a copy so that you’ll not go forth bragging so much? Is bragging something a Southern Gentleman spends precious time concerned over? Is my hearing suspect? [interestingly, I didn’t hear a thing – but the reading did convey something] Well, in any event, the book does sound interesting enough and I may poke around a bit to see whether I should locate a copy for reading.
Finally, here is a reminder. You need to subscribe to Kline’s quarterly magazine. And here is an offer. When you find your library overflowing with Kline’s magazines you could donate them. I know someone who could help you repatriate the space on your shelves.
Well, Clem, I’m not one to tell people, read this, or at least very often. However, years ago, a memory of which I still cherish, I was asked to suggest books to a young couple in their early twenties. I was managing a bookstore in Pigeon Forge back in ’96 when a couple approached me. “We think we watch too much TV, now that we have kids we want to read more. But, neither of us have read much. Can you make some recommendations?” I asked them a few questions and took a gamble.
To this day I cannot believe what I suggested. But, it worked, they both read their “assignments” came back for more. And, soon were picking their own out. I hope today they are still avid readers. I gave her a copy of Pride and Prejudice (Austen) and to him, Mutiny on the Bounty (Hall). Both of which I’ve not only read but loved.
I’ve actually read the foreword to of of these two days ago (before being drawn back into apple variety catalogue addiction…).
And I read ‘Quartered Savely Out Here’, recommended here by a lady a while ago.
Michael,
What forward were you reading? The Fraser book looks fascinating. We were both on a kick last winter reading Norwegian WW2 adventure books. We All Die Alone, being one that I would (if Clem allowed) push into a nephew’s hands to read (which, come to think of it, I did. And, he did).
Cheers,
The Abbey one. I recently read the Vavilov biography and some Tony Hillerman novels before that; all dealing with brittle landscapes, as Allan Savory would call them.
And I’m trying to grow parching corn this year. I’ve never had parched corn.
The Fraser is a nice little book. Do you know e.e. cummings’ ‘The Enormous Room’?
Books about war, yet never really about war, but people. Perception. Language(s).
Michael,
You might try: The Land of Little Rain by Mary Austin, published in 1903. A nice little natural history of the Arizona and south-east California deserts.
And, it has been reprinted often.
On its way to me. Thank you. ‘Mesa’ is a wonderful word.
Thanks for the list, Brian. Several there I would like to read. I just finished writing to a friend and the letter included the, “Have you read…?” question. In this case about May Sarton’s ‘After the Stroke’. This book has been on my shelf for a year or two and I can’t remember where I came across it–probably the library “friends” sale area, or a charity shop. I had a general idea who she was, and I may have read some poetry years ago, but that was all. For some reason I finally picked the book up the other day and started reading. Now I am intrigued, and have the pleasure of knowing there are many more of her books in multiple genres out there waiting to be explored, along with a biography. I think my next one will be ‘The Fur Person’, the story of her cat Tom Jones.
p.s. Why are some of the commenters able to use italics? I can’t make that happen (logged in via WordPress to post this).
Sarah,
Glad to know you are of the same “family”. As far as the italics? My guess is those commenters type their responses italicized in Word, then cut and paste.
But, I just tried it and no joy. Perhaps Clem will let us in on his secret.
To italicize, use the html tag i to start and /i to end. Enclose them with brackets and no spaces. (I didn’t do it here because if I had they would drop out and the text would be italicized.
Well, they dropped out anyway. The brackets above the comma are what I intended.
I use the left and right arrow keys (above the comma and period on my keyboard) to surround the lower case i as Brutus suggests.
‘<' the individual i to begin italics and the forward slash i (/i) to end. And no spaces – as Brutus said.
Not all blog software supports this, but I think most do now.
Oh my. It’ll take a fresher brain for me to parse all that and try it sometime. Thanks for the tips.
“the whiff of obligation wafting from its pages'” Brian, you have a turn of phrase that is simply delicious! Like you I have books on my shelves that call out to be read. Yet, the time comes of it’s own accord. Aren’t books simply the best pleasure in life!
Oh, and one more thing. Years ago I wrote to Wendell Berry and he returned a letter to me. It is a precious possession! I often think I should go visit him since we live not too far away from each other.
Awe, shucks, kicks dirt. Thanks, Jody. Yep, I wish I had a letter from WB. Years ago we thought about getting Red Poll cattle. The ALBC listed a Tanya and Wendell Berry as farmers who raised them, plus their telephone number. Cindy called the number and chatted with Wendell for an hour about the breed. Nary a mention of his books. Which probably pleased him.
Thanks for the list, they are all new except for Abbey and Berry. Currently I’m reading Innocents Abroad by Mark Twain and I can’t recommend it enough. I’ve always been addicted to maps, atlases, and globes, however, I’ve learned a thing or two, geographically speaking.
Alan Jacobs is a professor at Baylor, an author, and for our purposes here… a fellow blogger. He also has a ‘microblog’ (new to me) and at the microblog he posted a photo the other day that fits with the subject to hand here… books, books, and more books. The link is here:
https://social.ayjay.org/2019/01/12/tsundoku-always-tsundoku.html
Tsundoku is Japanese for the piles of books a truly bookish soul will have all about the house (Alan has a link).
Brian and I have posted book pictures at our respective blogs. And now Alan joins us. I feel I now need to grab the cell phone and make an update. But this is not intended as a contest – for I’m unsure whether WordPress has the bandwidth to display all of Brian’s books.
Brutus, Sarah, and Jody also have blogs where photos can be displayed… hmmmm….
[BTW, Alan has a guitar in his book picture, so if Brutus wants to join in he could show an instrument, and possibly some sheet music]