My 2015 Reading List

January 24, 2016 by Brooke Carey in Books

I realize that most "Let's Reflect on Last Year" post are supposed to come much earlier than twenty-four days into the new year, but, what can I say?

Nothing. I honestly have nothing to say. Actually, I have one thing to say: it's my blog and I can do what I want, damnit!

There, now that that is over...

In 2015, I kept a list of all of the books I read. This is, perhaps surprisingly, the first time I've ever done so, but I decided it was a worthwhile use of (very little of) my time for a few reasons: 1) I constantly forget what books I've read, including ones I've read recently, 2) I was curious about how many books I actually read in a given year. (The average American reads something like seven; I knew I read more than that. But HOW MANY MORE?) 3) My boyfriend has been keeping track of his for a while and I thought it would be fun to see which one of us was the more avid reader. (We both work in publishing, so this is our idea of heated competition).

Here's my list. In no particular order.

Fiction

Kitchens of the Great Midwest by J. Ryan Stradal
A Dance with Dragons by George R.R. Martin (Book Five of the Song of Ice and Fire series)
Peyton Place by Grace Metalious
My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante (Book One in the Neapolitan Novels series)
The Story of a New Name by Elena Ferrante (Book Two in the Neapolitan Novels series)
Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay by Elena Ferrante (Book Three in the Neapolitan Novels series)
All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr
The Martian by Andy Weir
The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins
Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer (Book One of the Southern Reach trilogy)
The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman (Book One of the His Dark Materials trilogy)
The Rocks by Peter Nichols
Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling (Book One of the Harry Potter series)
Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff
The Art of Crash Landing by Melissa DeCarlo
The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris
Daredevils by Shawn Vestal
Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness (Book One of the All Souls trilogy)
Shadow of Night by Deborah Harkness (Book Two of the All Souls trilogy)

Non-fiction

The Upside of Stress by Kelly McGonigal
Bettyville by George Hodgman
H Is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald
Complications by Atul Gawande
Daring Greatly by Brené Brown
Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert
The Great Beanie Baby Bubble by Zac Bissonnette
Smashed by Koren Zalickas
The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo
I Know How She Does It by Laura Vanderkam
Works Well with Others by Ross McCammon
Can't We Talk about Something More Pleasant by Roz Chast
The Boys in the Boat by Dan Brown
Stir by Jessica Fechtor
Modern Romance by Aziz Ansari
Naked by David Sedaris
Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates
Brain on Fire by Susannah Cahalan
Why Not Me? by Mindy Kaling
Originals by Adam Grant
The Swerve by Stephen Greenblatt

That's forty-one books total. I'd hoped to make it to fifty, but I guess I can try again this year. I only counted books that I read for fun (meaning I didn't count manuscripts I had to read for work) and that I read all the way through (if I started but didn't finish, it didn't make the list). I also didn't count a book that I read twice within the same year (see below), though I did count books that I had read during a previous year but re-read in 2015 (e.g. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and The Golden Compass).

Among these, my favorite book this year was, by far, Kitchens of the Great Midwest. This is a debut novel that my boyfriend actually recommended to me. He and I don't always enjoy the same things, but I trusted him on this one--and I was right. In fact, I loved this book so much that I read it twice--once in January and once over the Summer after I recommended it to my book club and decided to refresh myself on the finer plot points. I rarely, if ever, re-read books. And I never (before now) have re-read a book within only a few months of reading it the first time. But it was that good. The novel follows the story of a young woman named Eva who, in her early 20s, becomes a world-famous chef. It's an nontraditional narrative in that only one chapter is actually told from the perspective of the main character. The rest are told from the point of view of other characters, each of whom shares some connection to Eva. I couldn't get over (especially when reading it for the second time) how well written this book is. In fact, it's so well written you don't even pay attention to how good the writing is. Highly recommended.

In 2015, I also discovered the fabulous Neapolitan Novels by Elena Ferrante. If you follow the literary scene at all, you're no doubt familiar with these books because the fourth and final book in the series, The Story of the Lost Child (which I happen to be reading at the moment), came out this year and created quite a stir. Ferrante, an Italian author who writes under a pen name and whose real identity remains a mystery, has been around for years, but, for most people, this series of four novels has been their first introduction. The series follows the lives of two women, Elena, the narrator, and Lila, her oldest and closest friend. But these ain't your typical books about female friendship. Elena and Lila's relationship is nothing if not complicated, and the book reads like a series of diary entries rather than a traditional novel with a beginning, middle, and end. If you need a lot of plot to stay engaged, this book is not for you. But if, like me, you prefer honest portrayals of rich characters whose actions reflect those of real people facing real situations, then these are a must read.

On the non-fiction side, my favorite book of the year was probably Brain on Fire, with Modern Romance being a close runner-up. I was actually a few years late to the party on Brain on Fire, which was originally published in 2012, but it lived up to the hype. The author recounts the harrowing story of the mysterious infection that caused her to become psychotic for a month. If it hadn't been for the tireless work of her doctors, she could have died. Luckily, that didn't happen, and in telling her story, she was able to raise awareness of the extremely rare condition that afflicted her so that other people, and their families, might be able to benefit.

Modern Romance is very different. I have to admit, I was a little skeptical about this one. I like Aziz Ansari well enough, but did I really care about what he had to say about dating and romance in the digital age? Plus, a few years ago, I edited a book on this subject and felt he couldn't tell me anything I didn't already know. Well, he didn't really tell me anything I didn't know, but that wasn't really the point. The point was to force all of us to consider how we interact with one another, secure attachments, and achieve intimacy in a world where there's seemingly no privacy but it's somehow more difficult to get close to someone than ever before. Plus, Ansari actually references the book I edited, Love in the Time of Algorithms (retitled as A Million First Dates in paperback) by Dan Slater. Fun fact, after Slater's book came out, Ansari actually referred to it in an interview. So Slater, being a resourceful author, reached out to him. At some point, the two actually met up in New York and chatted about the dating scene. I wasn't invited, but I still think that's pretty cool.

Biggest disappointments? Honestly, I wasn't a fan of The Girl on the Train, but, then again, I'm not a big fan of thrillers in general. I always find that they end the same way, with the killer confessing in some completely unrealistic way. Spoiler alert: this happens in The Girl on the Train. Of course, I also read The Silence of the Lambs this year and LOVED IT! Though, to be fair, this isn't really a mystery since the reader knows who the guilty party is. The best thing about this book though was that the characters--all of the characters--were believable, meaning they did things that made sense given who they were and the situations in which they found themselves (i.e. they didn't just disclose all of their secrets the moment someone confronted them).

Another disappointment? I might be forced out of publishing for saying this, but I was underwhelmed by All the Light We Cannot See. I know that people love this book, and I know it won the Pulitzer, but, after reading all 544 pages, I didn't know what to make of it. I don't mean that it was confusing--it wasn't. I just mean that I couldn't understand what larger story or what universal truth the author was trying to communicate. That being said, the writing was beautiful. Totally beautiful.

Finally, I didn't add this to the list, but I know you're curious so I'll tell you: yes, I did buy an adult coloring book this year. And, no, I don't color in it nearly as much as I assumed I would when I bought it. Yes, I do think coloring is fun, but, in general, I'd rather be reading.

What was your favorite book of 2015? What do you hope to read in 2016? Any books you're anticipating? Any books you've been meaning to read for years and have resolved to finally finish (or at least start) this year?

New Year, New Tattoo!

January 07, 2016 by Brooke Carey

I got a tattoo! Okay, that's not actually that exciting because I already had two tattoos, but this one is special because 1) I've been wanting to get it for a long time 2) it's the first one that I can actually see without a mirror or craning my neck (the other two are on my back) and 3) it's the first one that is visible most of the time.

Here it is.

Ain't it pretty? I think so.

For added clarity, here's what it says:

“Appreciative love gazes and holds its breath and is silent...”

Beautiful, no? I think so. Unfortunately, I can't take credit for it.

The quote comes from The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis (that's my copy in the background). Lewis, as I'm sure you know, is most famous for The Chronicles of Narnia series, but he was also a prolific writer of non-fiction, specifically theological books that tackled big questions about God, faith, and Christianity. I am not a religious person, but I was a semi-religious person in a previous life (read: the part of my life during which I lived in the South). And during that period, I read quite a few of Lewis's books. The Four Loves was the first and my favorite.

The book is about, well, love. Lewis posits that there are (surprise!) four types of love: Affection, Friendship, Eros, and Charity. Affection is the type of love you feel for your dog or your child or your parents (I know it's weird that these are the same, but he got these ideas from the Greeks, so blame them). Friendship is what it sounds like: the particular love you feel for someone with whom you share a special and entirely non-biological (in fact entirely unnecessary) bond. Lewis's description of friendship is probably my second favorite passage from the book:

“Friendship arises out of mere Companionship when two or more of the companions discover that they have in common some insight or interest or even taste which the others do not share and which, till that moment, each believed to be his own unique treasure (or burden). The typical expression of opening Friendship would be something like, “What? You too? I thought I was the only one.””

Is that not perfect? Moving on...

The third type of love is Eros, or romantic love. The last, Charity, is the purest form of love and it is what God feels for us--an entirely unselfish, benevolent love for His children.

The quote that I ink-scribed on my forearm comes from an earlier passage in the book where Lewis is describing three additional forms love can take: Need-love, Gift-love, and Appreciative love. He describes them as such:

“Need-love says of a woman “I cannot life without her”; Gift-love longs to give her happiness, comfort, protection, if possible, wealth; Appreciative love gazes and holds its breath and is silent, rejoices that such a wonder should exist even if not for him, will not be wholly dejected by losing her, would rather have it so than never to have seen her at all.”

Girly confession time: I encountered this quote for the first time before I actually read the book. My first boyfriend, whom I dated for I think two months my senior year of high school, was a pretty religious guy (at the time, he wanted to become a pastor; that's not what he became) and loved C.S. Lewis. Being 17 and in love, I was interested in absolutely everything he liked. That didn't mean I liked everything he liked; I was just interested in it.

One night, as we were talking on AOL Instant Messenger (because in 2002 teenagers only communicated via AOL Instant Messenger), he told me he was reading The Four Loves and came across a passage that reminded him of me. "Do tell!" I said. And then he sent me that quote.

Ladies, I'm sure you can all agree: that is one smooth move. If a guy said this to me now, I'd be slayed, but when I was 17 and dating my first boyfriend, I was done for. I memorized the quote immediately and have not forgotten it since.

Over time, the significance of the quote changed, of course. That boyfriend broke up with me a few weeks later, I cried a lot, but eventually moved on, and I haven't laid eyes on him since we graduated. Yet I still love the essence of this quote, this idea that one can love something just for itself, just for the sheer pleasure of loving it. And it's not only something we feel toward our lovers; it's the feeling we get when we feel the first summer breeze or smell a rose or see a painting or hear our favorite song. It's the love that tells us that there is beauty in the world. It's the love that makes us human. It is the love that gives life meaning.

I have wanted to get this tattoo for several (something like 6) years. Originally, I thought I'd get the entire last line tattooed on my ribs, which is precisely why I never got it--because that would have hurt like hell. When I got my first tattoo, I saw another girl in the parlor getting a huge (and, frankly, hideous) tattoo on one side of her abdomen. When I saw her, the tattoo was near completion, and she was bright red, in tears, writhing in pain on the chair while doing everything she could to not move. It was an image that stuck in my psyche.

But a few weeks ago I realized that a shorter version of the quote in a less sensitive place would probably be more prudent (also cheaper). Plus, I've always admired elegant forearm tattoos on women. I just think they're classy (especially quotes). I also decided that if I wanted this tattoo, I should just fucking get it. Do the thing I said I was going to do. Be the type of person that follows through. It was not just about the words or the design; it was about the act of getting it, too.

I got it on December 30, 2015--not an insignificant date. I spent the next evening at a New Year's Eve party explaining it to a bunch of people I'd never met while they complimented me on it (maybe they were being nice, but still). Perhaps it wasn't the craziest or most rebellious or most inspiring thing I could do to kick off 2016, but it was something. And every time I look at it, I'm proud.

Up until I was in college, I never wanted tattoos. "They don't bother me on other people," I said, as if other people gave a shit what I thought. "But I just don't want one myself."

Then, in college, I met David, who quickly became and remains one of my closest friends. David had a tattoo on his upper arm. He always kept it covered in public (a T-shirt would do the trick), so in order to see it, he had to show it to you. It was a picture of a Japanese warrior and the symbol from the martial arts school he attended for several years back home in Pennsylvania. (David, if you're reading this, forgive me for forgetting what type of warrior and martial arts and what the phrase actually said. Leave a comment and I'll amend this post.) This was not a tattoo I would ever get, but after listening to David explain its significance to me and several others, I became fascinated. Tattoos were one of the ultimate forms of expression. What says more about you than the images you choose to put on your body permanently? What a great way to remind yourself of who you are, where you've been, and where you want to go.

Okay, I realize many people get tattoos that do not carry such meaning, but I was thinking of the potential. Sophomore year I decided that I wanted a tattoo. But, being the risk-averse, conscientious person that I am, I told myself I had to wait a year. I also didn't know what I wanted.

A few months later, I was reading Dante's Paradiso for a class I was taking and found what I wanted. It was a quote in Canto 1 in which Dante is explaining to his reader that what he is about to describe--his journey through Heaven--is indescribable, but he hopes that by giving his humble account he will inspire some greater poet later on to do a better job. Poca favilla gran fiamma seconda, he says. "Great fire follows a small spark."

That was March 2005. In the Fall of 2005, I would decide to write a thesis on The Divine Comedy. In the Spring of 2006, I would study abroad in Florence, the city where Dante was born, and visit his tomb (where I actually cried a little) in Ravenna. In August of 2006, I got that tattoo in a circle surrounding a small flame on my lower right hip. If I'm honest, it's not a great tattoo in terms of execution (the lettering, especially at the bottom is terrible) but I still love it because it still has meaning. (Also, frankly, I don't have to look at it all that often).

They say once you get your first tattoo, you become addicted. I wouldn't go so far as to call myself an addict, but I will say that, once you get one, the stakes for getting another go WAY down. I mean, you already have some permanent ink on your body. What's a little more? In September of 2008, I got my second tattoo, a fleur de lis on my upper right shoulder. I got it because it's the symbol of Florence (there, it is called il giglio) and it was pretty :) Again, see, low stakes.

I'm probably done with tattoos for a while, but I wouldn't rule another one out somewhere down the line. Tell me, do you have any? Or have you ever thought about getting one? Is there something you'd get if you weren't so afraid of needles or averse to the idea of marring your perfect body? Is there something you've been talking about doing for a long time but have finally decided to follow through on this year? I'd love to hear about it.

What Does an Editor Do?

December 31, 2015 by Brooke Carey

Yesterday, I came across an article on NPR.com titled "What Exactly Does an Editor Do? The Role Has Changed Over Time." The article was adapted from a segment on All Things Considered and began by discussing the recent publication of Go Set a Watchman, the "sequel" to To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. I put the term "sequel" in quotes because, around the time of the book's publication, it was revealed that Go Set a Watchman was, in fact, not a sequel at all, but rather a very early draft of Mockingbird, Lee's first and wildly famous book.

Say what you will about the ethics of marketing an author's early draft as a sequel (not to mention the other dubious details of the book's publication), but one of the other surprising things this discovery revealed was just how much Lee's editor, Tay Hohoff, played in shaping the book into the classic it would become. As the NPR piece noted, "Lee radically revised this early version of the book on the advice of her editor...That made us wonder: how much do editors shape the final book we read?"

The article goes on to quote Pulitzer-Prize winning author A. Scott Berg, who cites legendary editor Max Perkins as an example of the lengths some editors used to go to in order to shape an author's--even a celebrated author's--final manuscript. "Not only did [Perkins] change the course of the American literary river, but he changed what editors do by becoming their best friends, their money lenders, their marriage counselors, their psychoanalysts...He often provided structure for what their novels ought to be. He often gave them whole ideas for what their next book should be."

He then goes on to say that times have changed and that financial pressure and increased competition in the marketplace (not just from other books but digital media, movies, music, video games, and a ton of other portable distractions) have forced editors to spend more time searching for a sure-thing bestseller than to pore over one manuscript in an effort to transform it into a brilliant contribution to the literary canon.

"It's not necessarily cost-effective," he says, "for book editors to invest as much of their time into any single manuscript or any single author...because the publishing houses have not encouraged their editors to edit."

Berg is not 100% wrong here. It is true that publishers have become less risk-averse in many ways, especially when it comes to literature. I don't work in fiction, but I know from observing the marketplace and talking with agents and authors, that it's harder than ever to turn an undiscovered literary talent into a sensation. 2015 alone saw plenty of proof of this. The biggest bestseller of the year, The Girl on the Train, was by a first-time author, but it was a thriller, not a literary narrative, and it was most often compared, not to the works of Donna Tartt or Jonathan Franzen, but to Gone Girl, the 2012 bestseller by Gillian Flynn. Meanwhile, the most hotly anticipated literary debut of the year, City on Fire by Garth Risk Hallberg, which sold for a reported $2 million advance, received glowing reviews but dropped off the printed New York Times bestseller list after only 2 weeks. Yes, there were certainly literary success stories this year, including Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff and The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah, but these were written by previously published authors.

On the non-fiction side, the pressure is just as high. Not only do books have to present an original, well-constructed idea, but they also need to be written by someone with a "platform," meaning you can't just have something interesting to say; you have to come with some sort of established credential (a name, a byline, a built-in audience) so that people will listen to you say it. In the old days, part of a publisher's job was to help gifted authors build this platform, and while they certainly still do so, their efforts are, for the most part, no longer enough. And even if they are willing to take a shot once in a while, they are extremely calculated about the shots they choose to take.

A few years ago, I read a memoir by Judith Jones, the legendary editor who discovered both Julia Child and The Diary of Anne Frank. The book was called My Life in Food (a nice nod to Child's famous memoir My Life in France) and specifically discussed her work with cookbooks and famous chefs. Overall, it wasn't a great memoir, but I distinctly remember her talking about how she used to go over to the West Village home of one of her cookbook authors and help him (or her...I can't recall who exactly it was) test recipes and prepare delicious meals. This was considered part of her job. I certainly know editors who have, over time, befriended their authors (I've befriended a few myself), but if any of them were to skip out of the office to go cook chicken cordon bleu and drink wine with their authors in the middle of the day, their dedication would be questioned, not celebrated. Oh to have lived 50 years ago.

So, no, the editor-author relationship is generally not as intimate as it used to be. But we are most certainly still editors. And, sometimes. we still serve as psychoanalysts and confidantes. And, occasionally, we even help the authors shape a radically new book--one they had never even considered writing--or give them an idea for their next great masterpiece.

One of the most pervasive refrains I've heard throughout my career is that "editors don't edit anymore." People assume that because we're so focused on publishing bestsellers (quick aside: what publishing house in history has ever not been focused on publishing bestsellers?), we don't actually care if the book is good as long as it sells. This is, without a doubt, one of the most offensive things you can say to an editor (at least a good one) because the truth is, we do edit. We edit a lot. The problem is, our work is generally invisible--as well it should be.

Early in my career, I edited a very complicated book about a financial scandal. I was an editorial assistant at the time, which meant my days were spent doing whatever my bosses (I had two) needed me to do, and my editing was done at home on nights and weekends. To make matters even more complicated, the book was a rush, so I was editing it chapter-by-chapter while the author was still reporting and writing it. And, because the schedule didn't allow the author enough time to revise the book as much as was required, we even brought in a freelancer to help put it all together. All told, I edited at least three drafts of that manuscript--never all at once--and in an extremely short period of time. I distinctly remember cutting out several repetitive phrases and paragraphs only to find that the author reinserted them in the next draft.

The final result was a great book--it made the company money and even appeared on a few "Best of the Year" lists--but it was repetitive, and this was the main criticism it received. I remember reading one Amazon review titled "Fire the editor!" and called me out (not by name of course) for not cutting so much repetition. Of course, that reviewer could not have known how much I tried to do that--or the schedule I was on. A New York Times reviewer was more charitable, noting that it was repetitive but acknowledging that this was most likely due to the quick publication. I still wish I'd had more time to perfect it. But I'll be damned if I didn't edit the hell out of that thing. A few years later, I gave that author the idea for her next book. I left the job before I could edit it, but it, too, received fantastic reviews.

The NPR article acknowledges this reality by quoting an interview with Rebecca Saletan, vice president and editorial director of Riverhead Books (which just so happens to publish both The Girl on the Train and Fates and Furies among many other bestselling and award-winning books). "The editing certainly shouldn't be showoff-y in any way," Saletan says. "And I always cringe a little and feel a little sympathetic for the editor when a review says, 'This wasn't well-edited.'" she says. "Because it's very hard for anybody outside the process to know what went into it."

Perhaps there are fewer editors like Maxwell Perkins and Tay Hohoff in the world, but I actually don't think so. Sure, you'd probably be hard pressed to find someone outside of the literary community who could name the person who edited their favorite book, and that's fine. Because editors don't expect to be celebrities. We don't expect the New York Times or the Paris Review to give us credit for that turn of phrase we suggested or the structural changes we made to Chapter 6. I'm sure at some point, every editor considered becoming a writer--however briefly. They loved books and had a talent for writing and analysis and probably daydreamed at some point about seeing their name printed on the cover of their novel or book of essays or memoir. But we didn't become writers. We chose to become editors. And with that we chose to put aside our own glory in an effort to help someone else realize theirs. We love the work. We love editing. We love working with writers. We love knowing that we had a part to play in the process. We don't care if people know what we do. We do and our authors do and that's really all that counts.