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MFA

Favorite books of 2012

December 26, 2012
Overall, this has been a great year for reading, right? I read so many good books in 2012, I had trouble paring them down for this list. (Sorry, Gone Girl. But you made so many other lists!)

I love that I have the luxury of reading again. When I worked for newspapers, it was a challenge to even read one book a month. I think I just got so full on words while I was at work — I was surrounded by websites, magazines, newspapers, Twitter feeds, etc. — the last thing I wanted to do was pick up a book when I got home.

Now that I am in grad school, though, I am required to read, and I relish every second of it. When I tuck myself on the couch for a few hours to consume a book, it feels like the biggest scam in the world. Turn off the phone! Tell the husband to be quiet! I’m doing my schoolwork! I only wish I would have gone back to school years ago.

Anyway, these were my favorite books this year. Keep in mind that not all of these books were published in 2012 — they were just books I happened to enjoy this year.

Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand — I resisted reading this for a long time, probably because my dad recommended it. But sometimes dear ol’ dad knows what he’s talking about.

This is the true story of a Southern California long distance runner who became an Olympian, then joined the military during World War II. That’s when this book starts to sound like fiction. Every time you think this guy’s story can’t get worse, it does. He and two of his crewmates survive a plane crash into the Pacific … and then they live on a life raft for 47 days … and then passing planes shoot and deflate the raft … and then they are captured by the Japanese. And it only gets worse from there. (I’m not spoiling anything, by the way. All of that happens in the introduction.)

Do they make people this tough anymore?

Treasure Island!!! by Sara Levine — No, not the swashbuckling classic. This is the story of a misguided 25-year-old woman who becomes obsessed with “Treasure Island” and uses it as a self-help book. It’s completely ridiculous, and the protagonist is completely unlikeable, but it’s completely funny.

And look — Sara Levine was a guest at my MFA program residency recently, and she signed my copy. (You’ll just have to read the book if you want to know what she means by “Steer the boat, girlfriend!”)

Columbine by Dave Cullen — I am downright awed by Cullen’s research. Yeah, I was a journalist for 13 years, but I’m not worthy enough to hold Cullen’s notebook. His work is amazing, and this is an important book. After the shooting in Newtown, it feels even more deeply profound.

Damascus by Joshua Mohr — A story about a San Francisco bar and its regulars — the misfits, the losers and the people who just want to be loved.

The Book of Jonas by Stephen Dau — A novel about a young Muslim boy who is saved by U.S. troops after his village is destroyed during an American military attack. The story is told in little patchwork pieces, sewn together into a meditation on the nature of trauma, memory and guilt. It’s a really beautiful and thoughtful book that poses many unanswerable questions. I read this many months ago, and I still think about it all the time.

The Sisters Brothers by Patrick DeWitt — Two words: Cowboy hitmen.

Undress Me in the Temple of Heaven by Susan Jane Gilman — Travel memoir is probably my favorite genre, and this is a good one. The author and a friend backpacked through China in 1986, just after the country opened for tourists. It’s an interesting look at a nation in transition. But it’s also a bizarre and funny story about choosing the wrong travel companion.

Wild by Cheryl Strayed — This is a story of a woman, a trail and learning to put one foot in front of the other after grief, regret and mistakes. It took me a long time to read this book, not because it was difficult or too long, but because so many of the passages were too beautiful to consume at once.

Also, I am a firm believer that hiking long distances can make your life better. See?

Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor — This is a young adult fantasy novel about an angel and a demon who fall in love. It sounds Twilight-y, but it’s really not. Taylor’s writing is stunning, and she invented a truly unique world with a brave, young female protagonist.

Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walter — I loved everything about this book. Walter created complex and flawed characters, and their stories intersect in the most bizarre, wonderful ways.

His descriptions of Cinque Terre were so vivid that when I was in Italy, I made a detour just to see the place for myself. It was worth it.

Shameless plug: If you’re in the Coachella Valley area, Jess Walter will be doing a reading/talk at my work! He’ll be at UCR Palm Desert at 6:30 p.m. Feb. 20 — and I can’t even begin to explain how excited I am about that. If you hear someone in the back of the room, shrieking as if she’s at a New Kids on the Block concert? That’ll be me. The event is free, but space is limited. RSVP here.

Two halves of a minute

December 17, 2012

I am sitting in a lecture about sentence structure and style — how to connect fragments to gain momentum, build suspense, create meaning. This is part of my MFA program in creative writing. Twice a year, all the students and faculty gather at a resort in Rancho Mirage for intense workshops, lectures and meetings. It’s a surreal and unbelievably lovely landscape for school — swimming pools, lush citrus trees, conference rooms with silver pitchers of ice water on every table.

Here I have been writing like crazy. I am turning inward and immersing myself in my own transition. My body is longing to conceive something. A story, a book, maybe a child.

It is halfway through this lecture that my phone’s calendar sends me an alert: Today I am ovulating. For the first time in our lives, my husband and I have moved beyond the discussion phase, and we are actively trying to start a family. I downloaded an app to my phone that alerts me to my most fertile days, and today is one of them. I wonder if I am already pregnant.

One moment later I receive another notice on my phone, this one a breaking news alert: Police respond to reports of shooting at elementary school, several dead. More reports follow, and I learn the incident at a Newtown, Conn. school claims 26 victims, 20 of them children.

Two messages, both within one minute of each other. One is about life, one is about death, and the combination makes me wonder what I’m doing here. Not just in this room, but in a time and a culture with such severe juxtapositions. I wonder how a single minute is big enough to accommodate both longing for a baby and grieving lost children.

I also wonder about my husband and our decision. We want to introduce a life into this world — a world that can be tricky, senseless and often cruel. Yes, I know there is immense beauty on this earth. I’ve traveled a lot, and I’ve seen it with my own eyes. But I also know that there is a brutality and wildness that can never be tamed, no matter how hard we all try.

I think about the balloon release my class had when I was in the third grade. Each student wrote letters, asking for pen pals. Our teacher helped us attach our messages, wrapped in plastic, to the string. All of us stood on the playground, releasing our balloons into the great big sky all at once. As much as I wanted my balloon to find a home somewhere else and go someplace I had never been, I wanted it back as soon as it floated beyond my reach. It was too fragile, too special. And it turns out my instincts were correct — my balloon ended up tangled in some telephone wires just outside Huber Heights, Ohio.

Are my husband and I selfish to want this? How in the hell can we create something so fragile, so special only to release it into a chaotic and unstable world? What’s the sense in that? Would you let the balloon fly away if you knew it was so easy to pop?

I am sad, and I am ripe, and I don’t know if my questions have any right answers.

I text a friend, a fellow student, and say I am having trouble processing the shooting tragedy. He replies: “The world is so complicated. Dark on one side, sunlight on the other.” He attaches a funny story along with it, just something that makes him laugh. It is his birthday, and he is trying to smile even though the darkness seems overwhelming.

My friend and I attend the next lecture together. We are here, putting fragments together, trying to construct a story that makes sense.