I read a lot of good books this year, but the best for me is a no-brainer. This doesn't always happen, but sometimes a book affects me in a way that I know I will never forget - the ultimate in resonance (and strong praise for the writer).

I heard a lot of buzz around Jennifer Egan's, A Visit From the Goon Squad, but had no idea what to expect when I asked for a copy for my birthday last year. A few pages in, maybe the second page, I knew I was going to love it. The writing was beautiful, not flowery purple prose, but just very well crafted - and the characters landed on the page in full three dimensions (no IMAX required).

It helped that I have a love of music, and for clever structures - though there was nothing gimmick about the way the stories were connected into a whole. Sometimes structures can be too clever.

But the thing that struck me was the insight. And yes, I mean, into the human condition (which seems so pretensious to write down), but that's what it was was. There is a moment when a character finds a small object (a bobby-pin), and knows that her husband has been cheating on her. When I read this line I actually gasped - it was so true, and I felt so much empathy for this woman's life that unravelled in front of her. It's was a small little occurence, but it had huge ramifications. Throughout the novel this happens, and I found myself thinking about time in another way, about people in another way, and about the future in another way. Very few books have had this impact on me.

I have read it twice so far, and I know it will be one that I'll need to read every few years.

Thought I would chime in with all those other best of lists with my own. Now, these books were not necessarily published in 2011, just that I read them then.

Best Short Story Collection - This one is easy: Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned by Wells Tower. I had heard of this book through unlikely sources - attending a David Sedaris reading. I guess he is known for recommending books other than his own (which I never did end up buying). Somehow I figured he would be a reliable source. I was right, or he was. Wells Tower's book grabbed me from the first story and didn't let go, except for when I had to stop and say, "Damn. This is a amazing." Now true enough it had that seamy side of America that I love to read about - but unlike Knockemstiff (Donald Pollack), which was so dark it was hard to finish, and i needed several showers after finally closing the book, Tower's stories have hope, redemption and glimmers of beauty. As I read in a review: families fall apart and messily try to reassemble themselves.

There was echoes of Carver in the writing, and Ford (even touches of my all time favorite collection, Rock Springs). I read the collection back in Feb., so I don't have a lot of crystal clear images, but I feel there was something Steinbeck-like about it as well, sort of a California vibe for some reason (not even recalling if any of the stories took place in California!)

It's the sort of book that reminds me why I write - reading it I disappeared into each setting and characters emerged from the pages fully born. The boy in Leopard was painfully drawn and real - reminding of some of the best of George Saunders. But my favorite, and the one that will stick with me is The Brown Coast. I need to go read it again, maybe this aft, to remember why I liked it so much - but I can picture right now the world created in the story and the sadness of the dead fish in the aquarium.

This is not so much a review as a remembrance of things (books) past. Like Rock Springs, I know I will be returning to read this collection - both to inspire myself, and to return to those places.

Admitted, when you can't recall your blog password within a few seconds, it means you haven't posted anything in a while.

Nonetheless, here I am.

Just got back from a quick coffee run and boxing day book buy. Scored a couple of great hard covers, which after all the discounts were in, came in at about 20 bucks each. (about 40% off). Now, I have considered feeling bad about this, sure that I am taking money out of some author's pocket, or maybe from the beleaguered publishing industry - or certainly from independent booksellers... sigh. But I have decided to take solace in that I continue to buy books, real ones with pages and covers and everything.

I don't have anything against e-readers - I even have optimistic moments when I think they are good for the industry. I have read whole books online (thank-you Gutenberg project), tons of short stories online, and even chunks of books on my iphone (more pleasing that you might think). When it comes down to it, words is words - ideas are ideas (after re-watching Inception last night, this statement has a different twist this morning).

In the new year, I plan to read a whole bunch of new words. I also plan to write a bunch more. One will inspire the other - to quote Mr. S King - if you don't read a lot you don't have the tools to write a lot (or something like that.) Having finished his latest tome this morning, the guy obviously practices what he preaches. Ultimately, 11/22/63 could have been a shorter book, by half. But he had a story to tell and he did it in his style - now, it certainly helps that he has sold several bazillion books that allow him seemingly editorial reign. Still, at the end, the book has a weight to it because of all those long tangential roads he wandered down. In a way, he is flying in the face of all the editors, publishers and agents, who are telling writers, and prospective writers to pare things down, keep it moving, don't ever let the narrative lag. To them I say, have you read King's bestseller?

I digress. Again.

Next time I will post some of my reads of 2011. Oh, and the two Boxing Day buys - Sisters and Brothers by Patrick deWitt and Vanderhaeghe's A  Good Man.

Looks like I will be spending sometime in the old west in 2012.

For a blog post - well, it is the season of Advent, so can I use that as an excuse?

Truthfully, life ramped up recently with me taking on a half-time job as a grpahic designer. Yeah, a real job, like a go to work and leave the house and everything.

The good news is I quite like the work, and the people are great. The not-so-good news is the hit that writing fiction took (evident by the preceding horrible sentence).

Things are simmering down, though. And I find myself on the cusp of diving back into a rewrite of the current novel.

Felt like I should post something, anything, a thing - while I am waiting. Looking at Feb. (optimistically) for a rewrite.

Reading King's new book on time travel (11-22-63), and just finished A Canticle for Leibowitz. Going to attack the bedside stack over the holidaze.

A recent bookclub read was Generals Die in Bed. We've done a few on WW1 (I don't think we've ever read one on WW2), and it is interesting to compare this book to the others.

GDIB was written shortly after the war ended, and the author was in the trenches - so this makes the graphic violence all the more visceral. Towards the end I had to skim a few sections as my stomach was doing flips. I am squeamish about those sorts of things (one of the reasons I don't read much Chuck Pahalinuk). Now, you'd think this being written in the late 20's early 30's, the prose would be restrained, you know fade to black, some gunshots off stage and a few "arrgs" - but damn, this stuff is direct. I've read that it was released as a YA (young adult) book about ten years ago. The anti-war message is strong - hard to believe some of it wasn't censored during its time - but I do wonder what teenagers raised with the background of Iraq, and even Viet Nam, think of the storytelling.

Comparing it to books like Three Day Road, or Birds Without Wings, the writing is much plainer - and somehow that increases the impact.

A confirmation - as we approach Remembrance Day - that war was, and still is, hell.