I read 100 books in a year; don’t read 100 books in a year – Part 1

Don’t even think about reading 100 books in a year. It’s not fun, it’s not quirky, and it’s not a substitute for a personality. I don’t know why I set myself this challenge. Because I’m stupid? I wanted to make a dent in my massive pile of unread books, I suppose.

And yes, on the one hand, it was really useful for finally reading all those short books I’d found in charity shops over the years and bought because they were vaguely related to something I was interested in at the time. I’ve managed to get rid of so many books this year (only to be replaced by more but that’s another story). And this list doesn’t even cover the books I started to read, realised were terrible and not worth my time, and promptly sent to the charity shop. 

On the other hand, there are so many books I wanted to read this year that I’ve put off for being “too long”. I’ve ordered my TBR on goodreads by page number and using that to determine what I would read, and only a few of the books I’ve picked up are over 300 pages. Every now and again I’d read a longer book, but it was rare. There was also a point, in December, where I started prioritising children’s books after I flew through Safiyyah’s War. After all, children’s books often have larger text, are easily digestible, and fun to read. 

Of course, nearer the end of this challenge, the problem became whether or not to struggle through a book I wasn’t enjoying in order for the time I used reading it to have not been a waste. Or should I just cut my losses, not finish the book, and move onto something I’d enjoy? After all, if I wasn’t enjoying something, I would struggle to pick it up and keep reading, which would waste even more time. But we’ll get to that.

Almost every book I read was a physical copy, with some digital copies thrown in. I didn’t actually use any audiobooks, which I’ve heard is what a lot of people with large reading targets use. I don’t have any problem with audiobooks, let it be known. Audiobooks are great, and anything that gives people access to reading in any form is alright by me, I’m just nervous about using them. I worry I’ll lose focus and have no idea what’s going on without the words in front of me. We all need to read our own way. I bring this up because I’ve seen some people dismiss people who read 100+ books a year using audiobooks as not reading properly, and that’s just not true. Reading 100+ books a year is bad for other reasons I’ll get to in my conclusion.

Next year my target will be 60, which’ll give me more time to digest the books I read. I hope. I know my Goodreads target says 100 books, but that’s to account for all the manga, picturebooks and Thomas the Tank Engine books I’ve been flying through. I hope to read about 60 novels or novellas this year, but that’s for next years recap. Let’s move on to what I read last year, and whether or not I enjoyed all those books.

Note: These reviews are for myself and my readers. I doubt any of the authors mentioned will see this blog, but if you do, it’s not for you. Don’t try to argue with me about how I’m an illiterate dummy who doesn’t understand your art. These are just my thoughts.

1. Let the Mountains be my Grave – Francesca Tacchi

My initial thoughts while reading this was that maybe novellas aren’t for me (I like to spend time with the characters and go on an adventure with them), and that maybe I’m growing out of YA. I mean, I’m 27, and was 26 when I read this. Therefore I’ll say this is a great novella for someone actually in the target audience.

This felt like baby’s first historical fanfic. Look, I’ve been there. You’ve done the research and you want to prove it, so you throw everything in there, whether it fits, whether you have to stop the story and explain it. I get it, and I don’t hold it against the author at all. I’d happily read xe’s work in the future. Honestly, this is the kind of book I’d have been insane about at 15, and I can appreciate it for what it is. Despite what I said about the historical references, I thought Private Wojcek was a cool addition.

I like the characters, I just wish I’d been able to spend more time with them. Some of the minor ones seemingly did nothing, and I’d have liked to have gotten to know them. I appreciate Rame’s commitment to atheism despite his boyfriend having a literal guardian deity. 

Some of the dialogue felt a bit modern. I liked the climax, though.

2. Who Will Comfort Toffle? – Tova Jansson

I wasn’t going to count picture books in this list – I spent a fair chunk of this year reading to children – but this is a beautiful book. I was hanging out with Francis at his work, flicking through various picture books, laughing at the Little People Big Dreams series, and he told me I should read Who Will Comfort Toffle?. Well, told, forced, what’s the difference? He practically threw it into my hands, telling me about how fantastic it was. And it was.

I was a shy child. I still am. I wish I’d known about this book when I was little. I like how unique the artstyle is and the rhyming. 

3. Straight – Chuck Tingle

This is Chuck Tingle’s first horror book, and it was pretty decent. I found the premise interesting: once a year every cisgender straight person is overcome with violent urges to kill queer people. The novella does a good job of exploring the implications of this and the effects this would have on the world. Some of the messaging can get heavy-handed, but I still enjoyed it, especially the parts about queer people having to constantly accommodate and tiptoe around straight people, demonstrated with the queer characters having to bunker down and keep out of trouble due to the amount of straights who couldn’t be bothered getting vaccinated. 

Sometimes the writing wasn’t the best, and there were a few spelling errors that were distracting, but overall I liked it. The story was tight. The atmosphere was great, and I felt like I was in that huge, lonely desert, the dying sun throwing long shadows across the hills as I drove past people, wondering if they would attack once the sun went down. The hot tub scene was really spooky. I’m looking forward to reading Chuck Tingle’s other horror works.

4. The Song the Owl God Sang – Chiri Yukie

I don’t know a lot about Ainu culture, unfortunately. This collection was a great introduction to various aspects of Ainu poetic tradition and some aspects of Ainu culture. I’d like to read further about the Ainu people.
I would’ve preferred if the original Ainu versions had been included alongside the English version.

5. Beyond the Gender Binary – Alok Vaid-Menon

A pretty good, if brief, introduction to being nonbinary.

6. Sea Disasters – Keith Eastlake

A very, very brief look at various sea disasters from the past century or so. Not much information, but it has given me a list of ships to look into in more detail in future. I gave this a 2-star rating on goodreads because the author went out of his way to mention that the Muslim passengers of an Egyptian ship that sank were reluctant to leave their possessions, a thing that happens during every sinking despite the passengers’ religion.

7. The Oceanology Handbook

I meant to buy “Oceanology” but ended up getting the companion handbook instead.
To write this blog, I’ve checked back on my notes I’ve kept for the first 20 books before giving up, and my thoughts on this book was apparently “Shut up about Cook and Magellan they are not going to fuck you”, and that still stands. Fuck Cook and fuck Magellan.
I did like the refresher on geography basics and little tasks to complete. I think more books should have little tasks and quizzes.

8. Black Country – Liz Berry

I liked this collection! I enjoyed the nature and bird imagery throughout. I especially liked the inclusion of the author’s dialect. Writers should use their dialects in poetry more.

9. Stratford-upon-Avon – Terry Deary

Pretty dull. Maybe it’d be less so if I’d ever been to Stratford-upon-Avon, but my parents went there without me.

10. The Wicked History of the World – Terry Deary

A little basic, some interesting facts and historical figures I’d like to look into.

11. Lapvona – Ottessa Moshfegh

I still don’t know what to make of this book. I think about it all the time, though, but still haven’t processed everything. Lapvona is dark, atmospheric, and unrelenting in its cruelty. It makes Game of Thrones look like a Discworld novel.

12. An American Sunrise – Joy Harjo

This is a beautiful collection. I’d like to reread this, possibly alongside Harjo’s autobiography. I’d also like to read up on Native history more.

13. People Like Us – Valts Ernštreits

More beautiful poetry to feed my inspiration. The atmosphere of these poems makes me feel like I’m there on the Livonian coast. I also enjoyed reading the Livonian versions of the poems, even if I couldn’t understand them. Some of the similarities with Finnish were interesting.

14. Oceanology

Finally got the right book. I’ve missed reading “ology” books, they’re so delightful on the senses. There’s so much to look at and feel.
The story around the textures filled in a lot of the blanks from the handbook, but also was full of references to Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas, which I haven’t read. I’ve added it to my TBR, though.

15. A Gypsy in Auschwitz – Otto Rosenberg

Stories like this need to be told. It’s not the best writing, but that’s irrelevant. It’s still a heart–wrenching, powerful account of the Holocaust from a seldom-told Romani perspective. I didn’t know a lot about life in Auschwitz’s Gypsy camp, and had only vaguely heard of the struggles Romani people faced receiving any compensation from the German government.

16. Time is a Mother – Ocean Vuong

I preferred his previous works, but this still blew me away. The poem about his mother’s google searches as she battled cancer stayed with me, as did the poem where a white writer gushes about how lucky he is to have the “refugee angle” to use and stand out with.

17. I Think Our Son Is Gay, Vol 1 – Okura

This is a cute story and I’d love to continue reading. I love the mum and sons relationships, but the dad needs to get a grip, obviously. Not a complaint, though, I understand even cute, slice-of-life stories need conflict.

18. My Brother’s Husband, Vol 1 – Gengoroh Tagame

I love the art style and character design. It’s a touching, subtle story of a single father meeting his brother’s widower for the first time and coming to terms with the fact that his brother is dead, and that he was a gay man.

19. Capitalist Realism: Is there no alternative? – Mark Fisher

Despite being 80 pages, this was really dense. Yet another one I’ll have to reread to fully take in. Some interesting theory there that has changed the way I look at the world, or at least builds on to how I interpret the world. The section on exams and putting all focus on exam results and targets often gets in the way of efficiency and learning, I felt, was particularly relevent.

20. Clouds Cannot Cover Us – Jay Hulme

I can see Hulme’s improvement between this collection and The Backwater Sermons, but I still liked Clouds Cannot Cover Us. I’m looking forward to reading his next book.
I liked how compassionate these poems are, and the juxtaposition of despair and hope.

21. The Ballad of Reading Gaol – Oscar Wilde

It’s a really good poem, I’m sure others have explored this in more detail and actually have something intelligent to say about it. I love the illustrations and the sharp angles of the woodcuts really capture the despair and hopelessness of life in prison.

22. London Underground Stations in Colour – John Glover

This book was a little dull, but I enjoyed the photos, especially since most were taken in the early 2000s, when I’d first moved to London and grew up around some of these stations. It’s also inspired me to write a series of poems on the London Underground stations and the memories I have of them.

23. Comet in Moominland – Tova Jansson

This was a fun introduction to the Moomin world (I’ve read the novella but the characters and ideas hadn’t quite developed into the familiar Moomins). I like the serial nature of some of the other books, but I also enjoyed how this one had stakes and a huge threat. The world around the characters change as the comet gets nearer: the seas boil away and they have to cross the ocean floor to get home.
Moomin had a couple of sexist lines that I’m glad didn’t show up again in the later books.
I thought the climax was really good, but I don’t know why Moominmamma needed to evacuate all her furniture to the cave.

24. I Think Our Son Is Gay, Vol. 2 – Okura

See Volume 1. It’s a fun little story and I enjoyed it a lot.

25. My Brother’s Husband, Volume 2 – Gengoroh Tagame

Great, bittersweet ending. I loved spending time with these characters.

26. Air Raid – Polina Barskova, Valzhyna Mort

I thought this was really good, a really clever, deep look at the impact of war and oppression. Maybe if I understood Russian it would be fun to compare the original Russian poems with the English translation. It was nice seeing two poets who are obviously good friends work together on a project like this: Barskova wrote the poems in Russian, and Mort translated them into English.

27. A Pocket History of Ireland – Breandán Ó hEithir

This book is fine. Just fine. Fairly concise, good for a general rundown of Irish history, but it’s up to the reader to read further. This book misses out on a lot of the more sinister history of Ireland, particularly regarding the Catholic Church, though that might not have been known at the time of writing. This was written in the late 80s, during the troubles and just after the unsuccessful divorce referendum, so paints a grim picture of Ireland’s future. It’s a relief, in 2023, to read this knowing it gets better for Ireland socially.

28. I Think Our Son Is Gay, Vol. 3 – Okura

See Volume 1

29. The Book of Sea Shanties – Nathan Evans

I liked the pictures and the history behind the songs. It feels a little bit like Evans is cashing in on his fame, but that’s fair. Not a lot of depth to this. But wow, am I reading books by tiktokers now?

30. The Memoirs of Moominpappa – Tove Jansson

This was a lot of fun. I liked following Moominpappa and the other characters’ parents and seeing how they’re similar and different to their children. Kinda wild how Little My is actually older than Moomintroll. I wish Moominmamma had turned up sooner, though. I would’ve liked to have seen how she and Moominpappa interacted when they were younger.

31. Micronations: the Lonely Planet guide to self-proclaimed nations – John Ryan, George Dunford, Simon Sellars

I forgot how fascinating I find micronations and the process of creating your own country from scratch, why people choose to declare independence and all the things they do to make their own country unique. It’s cool seeing people design their own laws, constitutions, stamps and currency, and even do things as outlandish as elect a goat as mayor. I think, of all the micronations I learnt about in the book, the Conch Republic is probably my favourite. My least favourite is British West Florida. It was sad reading about Hutt River as an example of a successful micronation knowing it stopped existing in 2020.

I’d love to read an updated version of this, or even a book that goes into more detail on micronation history.

32. This Way To The Revolution – Ian Francis

A really interesting look at Birmingham in the 60s. Some of the topics were a bit niche for me, but it was still nice learning about a city I’ve grown to love and spend time in. It’s always fun reading about places like the Midlands Arts Centre and going “oh I’ve been there.”

33. Fair Play – Tove Jansson

I enjoyed the writing and atmosphere, and the references to events I read about in Notes from an Island. The story follows two artists who are partners, and is loosely inspired by Jansson and her partner.
There was one chapter that left a sour taste in my mouth. The one where they’re recording a Western to watch later and one of the characters, the one based on Tove Jansson, gets uncomfortable with the others’ use of “conquered” to describe Native Americans. This prompts said character to go on a “conquered not stolen”-esque rant out of nowhere.

34. Icelandic Folk and Fairy Tales – Jón Árnason, Magnús Grímsson

I can’t remember much of these now, but I remember a few being quite dark. I was kinda expecting folk tales from Iceland to be a lot more messed up, though. Some of the stories, or at least how they were told here, felt a little devoid of substance.

35. The Word for World Is Forest – Ursula K. Le Guin

I really liked this at first, but as time passed, I’ve started to see the flaws. Mostly that it was a Noble Savage tale. In addition, the idea that earth society has flipped over the years, and Black people are the oppressive class might be an interesting concept if explored by a Black author, but not a white one.
I was surprised at how bloodthirsty it was, too. Her other books contain war and horror elements, but they were more subtle. This was brutal. But I’d say that’s a good thing. The Vietnam war was brutal and ugly and it’s important to remember that. The US weren’t the good guys, and the book makes sure there’s no room for doubt about that.
As le Guin mentions in an accompanying essay, this was a vent piece she didn’t particularly like in the end. Looking back, I’m not as crazy for it as I was when I’d just finished. That being said, the moral dilemma of this planet of people having to give up their nonviolent teachings, woven into the very fabric of society, in order to resist enslavement and death, was really compelling. I really felt for the characters and how their society can never go back to how things were, but it was what they needed to do. I also found the hypocrisy of the humans very telling: they can be as violent as they want to the people they’re subjugating, but violence against them is unthinkable and completely unwarranted.

36. Sea Fishing Properly Explained – Ian Ball

Why the fuck did I read this? Why did I get it in the first place? I think it was for research for a story, but I’d never actually read it til now. I feel bad if I give away books I haven’t at least started, and I guess it was short enough to finish. I can’t remember a single thing from this book.

37. Devolution – Max Brooks

Man. This was so close to being perfect. So. Damn. Close. But I’ll get into what ruined it for me in a bit.
I found the characters surprisingly likeable. At first, I was just looking forward to watching them all (except Pal) get killed by the bigfoot. Kate’s husband, particularly repugnant at the start, really grew on me once the characters ended up trapped in their forest community. The disaster of Mt Rainier’s eruption; the community becoming stranded; and the fight for survival even before the bigfoot arrive; rather than exacerbating Dan’s worst qualities, is a chance for him to spring into action as he discovers purpose in putting all his energy into survival and helping his community. He, along with the other villagers, work together, and you end up rooting for them.
I feel like Tony and Yvette were a little underutilised. They’re the community leaders up until the disaster strikes, then their denial that things are gravely wrong jeopardises the group: winter is setting in and they need to ration their food and find ways to acquire more. Tony and Yvette want to be close to nature, but have no survival skills and are completely dependent on technology. They want to be in control, but don’t know what to do when disaster strikes. Once Mostar usurps their leadership, they break down and isolate themselves until being killed off. I’d have liked there to have been some more time between the reveal of what happened while they were isolating and them being killed, because they started off pretty strong then just disappear from the story.
Neither of the Muslim characters go by their real names, but I understand it was part of the obvious parallels between the two. Both Pal and Mostar have lost their entire families to genocide. Mostar uses her name as a memorial to her home city, and gives the reader a way to find out all they need to know about what happened to her. Pal, too traumatised to speak, is called Palomino by her adoptive mothers until she is ready to tell them her name. There’s a touching scene where, when the villagers start being picked off, Pal asks Mostar – silently – to pray with her. Kate – the protagonist and point-of-view character – can’t, and doesn’t, accurately describe the prayers, only writing that it was like dancing, but even she understands the importance of what they’re doing.
I also found it amusing that there’s a Native character whose purpose is to exposit bigfoot knowledge, but rather than being little more than a flat stereotype rattling off her tribe’s history, she’s actually Navajo, with no cultural connection to bigfoot, she’s just really obsessed with the whole bigfoot legend. Learning about bigfoot happens to be her special interest and her race had nothing to do with it. I dunno, I just liked that it flipped a stereotype on its head and fleshed out what could’ve been a flat character.
Then, about two thirds of the way in, plot and character take a backseat to ideology. The story is mostly extracts from Kate’s diary, and interviews her brother conducted with occasional supplementary material about other characters. One such chapter features an extract from the memoirs of Hannah, the sister of one of the villagers. Hannah is a fanatical Zionist and member of the IDF, and her memoir recounts an argument with her father and brother, who are not bloodthirsty monsters. Hannah wants to join the IDF to fight Arab countries, convinced they want to wipe her out, and dismisses the photos of relatives who died in the Holocaust for not fighting back, unlike her. This would be an interesting look at a fanatical character, had the author not drawn explicit parallels between the bigfoot and Arabs. Israel, on the other hand, is just like the village… surrounded by monsters, apparently. Hannah’s brother, Alex, when killed off, is described as not even fighting back, just like their relatives who died in the Holocaust. Everything about that chapter was so disgusting that it not only rotted the rest of the story but it retroactively takes away any good will I had towards World War Z, a book so spectacular I was willing to overlook certain decisions, or put them down to the author’s naivety, for some reason. I’m sure anyone who’s read the book can see discrepancies between how Israel reacts to the zombie plague and how they reacted to the covid pandemic in regards to how they treated Palestinians.

38. Moominsummer Madness – Tove Jansson

I’d already seen most of this book adapted into individual stories in the Moominvalley series, so it was nice to see how they all tied together. Also, given how hot last summer was, I really felt like I was there. I also liked the bit where Moominmamma sees her son being chased by the police and immediately takes his side and helps him escape.

39. Seychelles – Maxime Fayon, Dino Sassi

It’s a photo book with some basic info on the Seychelles, nothing too deep. Has one page dedicated to beautiful Seychellois women amongst the scenery photos. Felt a bit odd. I suppose the whole book is an advert for the Seychelles, and maybe some lonely guy reading it would want to visit the Seychelles to meet beautiful women. The scenery photos were quite nice, and the maps helped me make sense of where all the islands were.

40. Isle of Man: A Pictorial History – Robert Elleray

Old drawings and photographs of places in the Isle of Man with some interesting history behind them. Then at the end the author starts complaining about immigrants erasing the local culture for some reason.

41. Cyprus in Colour – Georgios P. Kyriakou

Probably the best of these photo books in terms of photo quality, but some of the photos felt a bit cramped and poorly thought out. Still, there was a lot of beautiful scenery that made me want to visit Cyprus someday.

42. Wolf in White Van – John Darnielle

I liked this one a lot! The non-linear story took a bit of getting used to, but it was still beautifully written. The information and story I was given felt earned, revealed at just the right time.

43. 52 Times Britain was a Bellend – James Felton

Some of the jokes fell flat. I also understand that 52 different cases of the British committing genocide would be a downer for a jokey coffee table book, but some of the things included seemed trivial in comparison to all the other horrible things Britain has done. Still, I learnt some stuff here.

44. Yellowface – RF Kuang

It was so refreshing to read an amazing book after some of the shit I’ve slugged through this year. I’m still thinking about it, especially with each new author scandal that seems to hit twitter these days.

45. Way of the Househusband, Vol 9 – Kousuke Oono

A retired Yakuza boss becomes a stay-at-home househusband. It’s a fun manga and has a fun anime adaptation. I love how needlessly serious and overdramatic the main character is.

46. Twisted History – Howard Watson

Just kinda boring, surface-level recounting of edgy historical figures. I found a few things interesting, but it left me wanting substance.

47. The Misfits – Arthur Miller

This wasn’t for me. I wasn’t fond of the characters or the story. It could be atmospheric in parts, especially out in the desert, but apart from that it felt pretty flat. There’s one Arthur Miller play I wanted to read before I give up on his writing, but I’ll get to that later.

48. Assassination: A History of Political Murder – Lindsay Porter

Interesting in places, but the author seemed to have a bone to pick with anarchists.

49. Jack the Ripper: CSI: Whitechapel – Paul Begg, John Bennett

Probably the best of these historical crime books I’ve had lying around. I liked the amount of detail featured, including mentioning women outside of the five “canon” victims, and the social and political context surrounding the East End at the time. I also liked the reconstructions of the murder locations and surrounding areas; they were really atmospheric and made me feel like I was really there. These kinds of books definitely work a lot better when they’re about something specific.

50. The Loss of the Titanic: I Survived the Titanic – Lawrence Beesley

A lot of what this author claims aged pretty badly, such as insisting the ship didn’t break in half. It can’t be helped, though, and eyewitness accounts can sometimes have inaccuracies. It’s very funny that he lists the Lusitania as an example of an actually unsinkable ship. Still, this was a survivor very clearly dedicated to learnign what he could about the disaster that almost took his life, and I find that compelling.

After the sinking, he volunteers to help third class passengers on the Carpathia and talks to quite a few of them. He then wrote about wanting to discuss the differences in races and their response to the disaster and my butthole clenched so tight I thought I’d never shit again. Turns out he wanted to compare Swedish men – who had stopped to grab their savings – versus Irish women – who generally had nothing on them. I forgot that’s what’s constituted “racial differences” back then. To be honest, I can understand why you would do either: trying to just make it out alive, forget the possessions, makes sense; so does making sure that if you do survive, you aren’t completely destitute. Those Swedish guys would’ve had nothing once they reached New York had they not grabbed their money.

I think, at this point, it’s probably best to take a break. I’ll review the next 50 books in part 2.