These are the writers who were discoveries to me in 2012. Their books made the world new. Made me want to start exploring again. Sometimes we have to be reminded that the world is always new, always born yesterday, if you have the eyes to see it.
Dave Eggers, A Hologram for the King: A book as well-built as the Brooklyn Bridge. I’ve avoided reading Eggers. His in-your-face attitude turned me off. But the straightforward declarative style of Eggers’ business saga, of American enterprise at a crossroads, belied a total master of the craft of storytelling. With the full authority of myth making seemingly at his disposal, Dave Eggers, for me, is now placed at the pinnacle of the art of American fiction. I promise, I won’t miss a single book he writes from now on.
A. M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven: A middle-aged scholar of the presidency of Richard Nixon, in a society that has moved long past caring about Tricky Dick, puts himself in his brother’s shoes, taking up the responsibility of caring for his family when his sibling falls apart. You feel the romance of Richard Nixon…yes romance…in this story. But as much as I believe Homes understands the appeal of the Nixon era and his cult of personality, she constructs an alternative to the Nixon ideal in her 500 plus page novel, one more tolerant and inclusive, a new vision of American family values. Along the way there’s so much brilliant writing, so very many engaging characters and surprising turns, that you’ll regret it when you reach the conclusion, as deeply satisfying as that conclusion is. If there’s a new demographic in our country, like we’ve been talking about since the recent election, you’ll find it right here, in May We Be Forgiven.
Junot Diaz, This Is How You Lose Her: There is no more talented, innovative, “implosive” and necessary writer in the U.S. than Junot Diaz. I’ve written five posts about “Lose Her”. More than I’ve written about any other book. Let me just add here that Diaz “breaks” relationships, or shows how they come apart. This is fractal fiction steeped in the hope that we can somehow pull everything together, overcome our failings, despite evidence to the contrary. It’s refreshing that Junot can write about the working class, about immigrants, about people from New Jersey. For fuck’s sake, how much white bread fiction can you read?
Katie Roiphe, In Praise of Messy Lives: In praise of Katie Roiphe, in this collection of essays, Roiphe satisfies a vital requirement of the essay that was first established by Montaigne, to give the impression that you are physically present in what you write, to be a friend and confidant of the reader. Montaigne’s Essays are permanently on my nightstand, the only volume there. In Katie Roiphe I’ve found a contemporary voice that also feels like a trusted friend. I’m still reading In Praise of Messy Lives as the year ends. I owe Katie a post or two on Three Guys, a debt that will be paid.
