AKA, The Aaron Block Awards For My Favorite Comics of 2009, Presented By Aaron Block

Rather than pretend to claim any kind of comprehensive look at the best comics of the past year, I thought I’d give out special awards to the books that I most enjoyed. There are likely better books than what I’ve included here (Asterios Polyp anyone?) but these are the five closest to my heart.

“Fulfillment of Potential” Award — Detective Comics #854 — present, written by Greg Rucka; illustrated by J.H. Williams III

The critics who assailed DC for playing up the modern Batwoman’s sexuality, or who argued that a reviving her as a lesbian was mere tokenism, were silenced when writer Greg Rucka gave her the spotlight in Detective Comics 854. No mere token or object of fanboy fantasy, Batwoman is a strong, nuanced lead character, and Detective contains easily the most satisfying character work in mainstream comics. Though much of the story-so-far is familiar (particularly in the Bat-world: struggles with dual identity, loss of family members, bittersweet victories), Rucka manages to pull fresh ideas from those conventions, and all without irony or cynicism.

Artist J.H. Williams III deserves much of the credit for the book’s unique feel. More than a gifted storyteller, Williams continues to reinvent the architecture of mainstream comics, employing unconventional layouts that often stretch across two pages, but still reveal the scene gradually. And he continues to experiment with style, using a stable, Alex Toth-like line for flashback scenes and switching to an ethereal painterly style for the present. Credit is also due to colorist Dave Stewart, who’s vibrant reds stand out in nearly ever panel, particularly in Batwoman’s close-ups; her red hair and lips, contrasted with the otherworldly white of her skin and dark black costume suggest all of the emotional complexity of Rucka’s script.

“Continued Brilliance” Award — Batman and Robin #1-3 — written by Grant Morrison; illustrated by Frank Quitely

Since joining the Bat-books in 2006, Morrison has been steadily developing a thesis that argues for the continued appreciation and relevance of Batman’s entire published history, rather than just the few “in continuity” years that publisher and fanbase are willing to acknowledge. “Circus of Strange”, Morrison and Quitely’s introductory arc, juxtaposes the bright colors and humor of the 60s “Batman” television show with the grim amusement park setting of Alan Moore’s “The Killing Joke.” From the brilliant incorporation of sound effects (largely, and sadly, absent in most contemporary comics) directly into the action rather than slapped on top like a sticker, to the terrifying hordes of physically and mentally-disfigured “dolls” created by Professor Pyg, the whole arc is unsettling in its juxtaposition of both worlds. Even Alex Sinclair’s colors contribute to the book’s sickly sweet feel.

The first three issues of Batman and Robin might not be the quintessential Morrision/Quitely collaboration, but I’d say it’s probably the most overt with what it intends to accomplish through the form; action sequences are laid out to highlight the character’s movement through space (and through the page) rather than musculature or viscera, and the story beats strike a precise balance between psychological terror and introspective drama. Morrison’s follow-up arc, with artist Phillip Tan, held less rewards, but nevertheless operated at a higher level than most superhero books. Upcoming collaborations with Cameron Stewart and Frazier Irving, however, and rumblings of Quitely’s return, should return Batman and Robin to its inventive glory.

The “Grant Morrison Was Awesome in 2009, Don’t You Agree?” Award — Seaguy: the Slaves of Mickey Eye — written by Grant Morrison; illustrated by Cameron Stewart.

Morrison’s work is often tagged as “deliberately confusing,” couched as a sort of art-school prank abetted by fans and critics who hold the writer in high regard. The Slaves of Mickey Eye, the second volume of his and Stewart’s divisive series, is the perfect response to such lazy, uninspired criticism, as the story is fairly straightforward: Seaguy, who seems on the verge of uncovering the mysteries behind Mickey Eye’s inexplicable hold on society, is bullied so deep into self-doubt he retreats into the prefabricated identity of a matador and must think his way back to reality before the villain, Sea Dog, marries She-Beard, Seaguy’s barbarian love interest.

As in the first volume, The Slaves of Mickey Eye is flush with the sense that much is not right in a seemingly perfect world. Stewart’s art, with it’s bold, almost cartoonish, yet remarkably detailed backgrounds and characters create just such a world, while also carrying the emotional weight of Seaguy’s trial of self-awareness. The book’s complexity comes not from the plot, then, but from the layering of sometimes disturbing but surprisingly sweet coming-of-age story over the screwball super-heroics. True, Morrison isn’t holding anyone’s hand; close reading and a little thought are needed to get at Seaguy’s greater resonance, but the same is (or should be) true of any comics worth reading.

The “Idea So Obvious It Hasn’t Been Done” Award — Irredeemable — written by Mark Waid; illustrated by Peter Krause.

With any luck, Irredeemable will finally skewer Mark Waid’s inexplicable reputation as a Silver Age revivalist. No paean to “simpler times,” the on-going series from Boom! Studios actually engages in a bit of icon baiting, positing a world where the Plutonian (a Superman analogue, complete with mild-mannered secret identity and fabulous powers) goes rogue, begins hunting and killing his former friends, destroys the city he used to protect, and in general runs amok. Some of the surviving heroes have banded together to stop the Plutonian, but how do you hide from a man who can hear and see you from thousands of miles away?

Waid’s trademark sarcasm is all over Irredeemable, but this book feels more personal than much of his work in the past five years. While it might be too easy to say Waid is externalizing self-doubts and coping with his somewhat confrontational public persona through the Plutonian’s actions, I do think he is questioning the roles and responsibilities of those we trust with our safety in an anonymous comment/insta-critic society. Can “good” really exist in a world where everyone’s stability seems so tenuous, and even the most mild-mannered have the power to upend that stability? And if that line is so thin, what do we now make of our heroes? Irredeemable is not even a year into it’s run and is still only beginning to grapple with such questions, but the result so far is a dark, compelling story that doesn’t point to any easy or obvious conclusions.

The “Greatest Loss” Award — Young Liars — written and illustrated by David Lapham

Yes, Young Liars began in 2008, but it was cancelled in 2009 and deserves mention in this section. How to write a capsule review for such a book, which defies encapsulation? Describing the plot would be pointless, since it doesn’t even have a beginning or ending; the “deeper significance” is only as deep or significant as any particular reader wishes to make it. What’s left? Maybe the characters? Danny Noonan, a loser from central Texas who may or may not also be Danny Duoshade, rock legend; Sadie Browning, heiress of the Brown Bag retail fortune and Danny’s dream girl, who has turned into an uninhibited ass-kicker thanks to a bullet lodged in her brain; Donnie, the likeable cross-dressing heroin addict; Big C, the consummate groupie; Annie X, a former model who might also be a spy for the invading Martian spider forces that are attempting to conquer Earth through the Brown Bag franchise. Also, Sadie might be a rebellious Martian Spider Princess, and Danny might be the worst spider of them all. Maybe. If all of the Spiders From Mars stuff has you worried, don’t worry; in the end the book is really just about rock and roll. Maybe. Lapham plays fast and loose with multiple realities, never stopping to give an answer without also questioning everything that’s come before. Young Liars was the one book I could trust to surprise me every month. And now it’s gone.

I distrust the idea of books/movies/albums “of the year” because the fact of something being published/released/produced in a particular calendar year seems pretty irrelevant. Each year-end finds us with lists of books that are supposed to represent the previous year period in some way, but even the most reflexive author has a pretty slim chance of writing and publishing a book within one year. Most of my “books of the year” were probably completed in 2007, at the latest (and in case of translations, were written much earlier).

The idea that any reader can find the “top books” of a year suggests that they have read and evaluated every book that has been published, has always seemed pretty is impossible, too. So, in the end, we are left with a random and subjective list of books one person happened to enjoy, and my addition to the “best of ’09″ genre is certainly made in that spirit.

Of my three picks for “books of the year,” one book was translated this year but actually written in 1992. Orhan Pamuk’s novel was first published in Turkey in 2004, made its way here in 2006, and was read by me about a month ago. Drood came out in early 2009, so was most likely completed in 2007 -early 2008 at the very latest. None were actually written in 2009, but these were the books I enjoyed the most this year, and so were my books of ’09 on a completely arbitrary and personal level, just like the books, movies, and albums that meant the most to you in 2009.

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Drood, by Dan Simmons

This book was a surprise and pleasure to read. The premise alone hooked me by its absurdity and potential for either great success or screaming disaster: Simmons suggests that Drood, the title character of Dicken’s final unfinished novel, was not actually a character the author created but a supernatural horror equal parts ghoul, vampire, and demon that haunted “the inimitable” in the last years of his life. Narrated by Dicken’s forgotten contemporary, the laudanum-quaffing Wilkie Collins, Simmons takes readers on a surreal tour of London, from the gritty streets and subterranean opium dens to the high-society social circles frequented by Dickens.

One of the pleasures of reading this book is the atmosphere Simmons creates. The novel is so well-researched that the city of London becomes a prominent character as much as Dickens. In true Dickensien fashion, the author populates his novel with a cast as colorful as ever presented by the author he imitates. The tough cops, Opium Dealers, gravely grave diggers, retired detectives, and, of course, orphans that populate Drood are well-drawn and unforgettable.

At nearly 800 pages, Drood is a bit of a door-stopper, but for me it flew by.  As far as pure enjoyment in reading goes, it didn’t get much better than this book last year.

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The Skating Rink, by Roberto Bolaño

As I wrote in my review, although a fine book in its own right, The Skating Rink‘s publication is an interesting comment on the still-emerging English translations of the most well-received Spanish-language writer so far this century. Despite his death in 2003, Bolaño has been translated regularly by New Directions, and it appears this has no chance of slowing down (books are forthcoming in January, June, and August of 2010 alone). The Skating Rink, although the most recently-translated work, is actually the authors first novel. By publishing his most recent novel, 2666, and his earliest book in the same year, New Directions gives readers a chance to see the early and final Bolaño side-by-side.

Unlike some authors who move towards readability as their style coheres, it seems that Bolaño started out relatively (for him) reader friendly before tacking rapidly towards the more difficult and radical. Readers will recognize many Bolañoism: aternating narrators, a shattered chronology, beautiful-yet-cold women, powerless beurocrats, and, of course, a vagrant poet or two. The Skating Rink, a murder-mystery set in a small town in Spain, is Bolaño playing with all of the themes he will explore in his later books, but in a form that is his most approachable.

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Snow,  by Orham Pamuk

This book was published in 2006, but I’m loosening the the definition of “book of the year” to include all books I enjoyed this year. I bought Snow on a whim for one dollar on an every-book-must-go cart outside a bookstore. I recognized Pamuk as a Nobel Prize Winner (2006), which does not always endear an author to me (in general, I think of reading a Nobel Laureate as something that “builds character,” like shoveling snow). But Snow, which was written in 2004 and translated in 2006, wasn’t what I expected.

The novel follows Ka, an banished poet returning to the small town of Kars after years of exile. Ostensibly, Ka is investigating the suicide epidemic afflicting adolescent girls in the town. But as Ka’s half-hearted investigation gets waylaid, his real motive becomes clear: to find and woo a woman he barely knew eight years ago, who has since married one of his closest friends. Ka’s timing is poor. A severe snowstorm sweeps over the town, arriving with the poet, closing all roads connecting the town to the outside world. While the town is cut off a group of nationalists literally stage a coup, launching their violent takeover during the town’s first televised stage performance. Despite the violence aroudn him, Ka finds something close to happiness in the snow clogged town, and begins writing poetry for the first time in years.

Pamuuk uses this highly-charged situation to explore the struggles between the East and the West, belief and athiesm, and the violent clashes between religous extremists and secularists. At the same time, the mystery elements in the novel, the multiple love-triangles and conspiracy boiling just beneath the surface of everyday life, keep the narrative moving quickly. But in addition to an engaging plot reminiscent of the way Graham Greene was able to dramatize the struggles in Catholocism, Pamuk plays with post-modern form as the novel unfolds, complete with inner works that comment on the book they are written in, and the revelation and introduction of the real narrator well into the novel.

Pamuk’s careful balance of time and different time frames in this novel is remarkable. The present narrative, the actual story, is rooted in the past. Because we are reading a kind of “recitation” by a narrator (written after Ka has died, it is revealed), the hints of the future also color our perspectives of the story. It is a balancing act Pamuk handles perfectly to highlight his tragic narrator. Given the author’s elegant prose, the result it a fast-moving, entertaing novel that explores serious issues in a dramatic environment, unfolding one carefully-written page at a time.

While the archives show that I reviewed only one, I read seven books published in 2009. Not even the smoothest-fielding shortstop can stick around the Majors if he hits .143, but for some reason these C4 guys are keeping me in their stable. I’ll be the first to say it—the emperors are wearing no clothes. And believe me, folks, being a former roommate of theirs, it ain’t a pretty sight. Lots of pasty white skin.

A natural number for any Best Of list is five, but all seven of these books met or exceeded my expectations, and discarding two proved too difficult. Any list comprised of all possible entries is, by logic, both a Best Of and Worst Of. So here, in order by author’s surname, are my seven best and worst (and middling) 2009 books.

The Thing Around Your Neck, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Adichie, one of Nigeria’s (and humanity’s) best young writers, has spent much of her life ping-ponging between Nigeria and the U.S., so it’s little surprise that the stories in this collection do the same. What is surprising is the consistency of her tone and delivery between these settings. Nigerians living in their own homeland feel no more comfort in their surroundings than do Nigerians in the States. All are adrift, steadily being weighted down by their own personal thing around their neck.

The intent here is to show both halves how the other lives, and Adichie accomplishes this with grace and style. If she expands the final story, “The Headstrong Historian,” into a novel, she’ll win the Booker, the Orange, the this, the that …

The Heyday of the Insensitive Bastards, Robert Boswell

Not quite as affecting as Living to Be One Hundred, this latest collection nonetheless delivers Boswell’s usual cast of drifters, unhappy spouses, spiritual bankrupts, and loners seeking any port in the storm. Standouts include “In A Foreign Land,” “Lacunae,” and “A Sketch of Highway on the Nap of a Mountain.” For my full review, check out the forthcoming issue of Pleiades. For more shameless plugs, keep reading this post.

Even the dog won’t touch me, Tom Bradley

America’s favorite Bizarro writer smacks us in the face with a new collection of short fiction aimed at making us all realize how ridiculous we are, without making us feel like dogshit in the process. It’s funny, it’s absurd, and it’s frustrating. It’s forgettable and it’s memorable. It’s also reviewed in full by me here.

The Posthuman Dada Guide: Tzara and Lenin Play Chess, Andrei Codrescu

As far as pure entertainment goes, this was my favorite of the year. Codrescu is at various times sarcastic, deadpan, tongue-in-cheek, and absurd, but he gets serious when he needs to get serious. The book is an informative look at the origins of Dada and its colorful cast of characters, but it also delivers a narrative, both playful and ominous, involving a fictional game of chess between Tristan Tzara and V.I. Lenin. And it inspired a poorly-written review on this very website.

Homer & Langley, E.L. Doctorow

Nico’s thoughts on this novel pretty much mirror my own (Nico’s thoughts on anything mirror my own. I base all of my thoughts on Nico’s. In fact, Nico is right now over my shoulder, dictating this post to me. Stop it, Dave. Dave, delete that. It’s not funny. Stop typing, Dave.)

I’m convinced that Doctorow wrote this book as a reaction to the growing popularity of the A&E show Hoarders. If that show is actually growing in popularity. Which it is in my household. The novel is something of a bildungsroman, but that Homer Collyer never leaves the house. It’s both funny and heartbreaking to watch Homer inch toward Helen Keller status as his brother, Langley, grows ever more paranoid and bizarre. Not Doctorow’s finest, but nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a quick read, and well worth your time.

The Follower’s Tale, Stephen Roger Powers

This will likely be the best poetry collection based on one man’s fascination with Dolly Parton and her Tennessee amusement park, Dollywood, that you will read this year. The Follower’s Tale is one man’s search for a slice of Americana. Powers’ journey is a solo one, across back roads paved with regret, nostalgia, and yearning, but he’s never in too big a hurry to stop for sights like ”The World’s Largest Model Railroad Display,” or to notice “layers across / the moon–gray, brown, crimson, rust black–above this country / road forty miles from anywhere.” His wanderlust is contagious, so don’t be surprised if you find yourself packing the car and pointing it toward Knoxville.  Check out my interview with the author for a sample of his work and his mindset. He is a writer to watch closely in the coming years.

Into the Beautiful North, Luis Alberto Urrea

This is a fine novel by a writer whose impact is not yet what it should be. Urrea lets us know right away that the book is inspired by The Magnificent Seven, and it works on all levels. Narco bandits take over Tres Camarones, a village from which all the men, save the old and homosexual, have fled and slipped across the border into the U.S. Nayeli and three friends attempt to do the same, in an effort to bring the men back and rid Tres Camarones of the threat.

This “threat” is a bit too implicit, but the novel clicks everywhere else. I had planned to write a review of this one, but by page 30 was so engrossed that I no longer had interest in taking notes about authorial intention. I scrapped the review idea and just buried myself in the story. Besides, Urrea’s intention seems to have been simple, anyway: write a gripping and entertaining novel that will appeal to anyone who likes gripping and entertaining novels.

Other great reads

A good reading year for me, at least when it comes to 2009 books. Seven read, seven enjoyed. Others that have come highly recommended include Await Your Reply by Dan Chaon, The Financial Lives of the Poets by Jess Walter, and Zoe Heller’s The Believers.

And in case anyone’s interested, the best novel I read this year was David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas, published back in 2004. Britain’s got talent, all right, but it all went to this dude.

And now for something a little different…

Yes, the books I’m about to recommend all came out this year (at least in paperback), and, yes, I can absolutely recommend these books to interested readers without any hesitation on my part.  But before reading on, you might just want to consider one word of warning: poetry.

It’s not a subject we’ve touched on much here at C4, but it is a subject we (or at least I) would like to address more in the coming year since digital publishing has implications for this form, too.  For now, I’d simply like to offer, in no particular order, four new titles from four of my favorite poets as a reminder to anyone out there who might care to know it that good poetry is still being written today.

Eternal Enemies by Adam Zagajewski

Disclaimer: this one was published in 2008, but the paperback came out this year.

Zagajewski was born in Poland in 1945, and his poetry picks up the mantle of other great Eastern European poets like Herbert, Milosz, and Szymborska.  His poems confront the challenges of rebuilding and the question of how best to memorialize times of great catastrophe and crisis.

This most recent collection treats these grand themes with a sensibility both historical and personal.  Eternal Enemies presents a cohesive vision of a kind of perpetual state of aftermath, a world constantly in recovery.  These pages abound with echoes, invoking great cities, poets, and thinkers both modern and ancient.  The product is a landscape of humanity at once immortal and frail, prepared to forge ahead while always wary of what comes next.

What Goes On: Selected and New Poems 1995-2009 by Stephen Dunn

This book makes a great introduction to anyone who hasn’t heard of Dunn.  It contains some of my favorite of his recent poems, including work form his Pulitzer Prize winning collection Different Hours, and some biting new verses.

Dunn has a reputation for finding beauty in the mundane, but what I most admire in his work is its ability to mine all kinds of effects from the mundane, spinning out the threads of gossip and evening walks until all the loose ends appear.  Often written in short, controlled stanzas, Dunn’s free verse poems demonstrate a mastery of language that renders a direct, colloquial vocabulary into pure music, offering even everyday words the opportunity to show their hidden dimensions.

A Village Life by Louise Glück

Glück’s poetry often draws on domestic situations and classical mythology, rendering loss and adolescent longing in language that manages to sound equally banal and prophetic.  Her gift for writing about everyday drama without ever sounding melodramatic is almost unparalleled.

Her newest collection reads very much like a book of linked stories.  Set in an unnamed Mediterranean village in an unspecified time, A Village Life creates a world of cycles, the passing of the seasons, sexual awakening, and coming of age.  Though the setting offers a great deal of pastoral beauty, the tone of these poems often veers towards the mean or resentful, almost sinister, challenging its subjects and its readers alike.

The History of Forgetting by Lawrence Raab

Raab writes poetry without any slight of hand.  There’s no withholding or gimmicks, no heavy-handed symbolism or some piece of trivia you really have to know before you can understand.  His poems are open investigations of simple ideas that wander freely, arriving at places that seem as fresh and unexpected to the speaker as they might to the reader.

The History of Forgetting invites us to consider memory and legacy, the things we remember and how we remember them.  Drawing on a wide range of material, from a set of old family photos to a B movie with a hilarious title, these poems reveal painful humor in serious matters and accidental significance in things that might otherwise be considered trivial.

Zeitoun, by Dave Eggers

Perhaps you know Eggers for his earlier work—his memoir, his first novel, his story collection—each brilliant, but each also a product of a writer willing to let attempts at amusement get in the way of storytelling. Zeitoun is not of that lineage. Here, Eggers realizes the strength of the story, and allows it carry the load.

The book’s central figure, Abdulrahman Zeitoun, is a Syrian immigrant and business owner who has built quite a comfortable life for himself in New Orleans. He has an American wife, three children, and is a responsible and hardworking citizen. When his wife and children evacuate the city in anticipation of Katrina, Zeitoun stays behind to look after their house and a few of their properties. In the storm’s aftermath, Zeitoun paddles around the streets in a canoe to help other stranded residents. Then he mysteriously disappears.

What happens to Abdulrahman Zetioun is unjust and sickening, and Eggers does an excellent job of letting that story speak for itself. This book is a terrific piece of journalism, revealing an appalling aspect of Katrina recovery. Eggers has a point to make with this book; he does so without being preachy. In a way, his point seems to make itself. As readers, we can only hope Eggers’s future projects are similar to this.

[McSweeney's page about Zeitoun]

Best of the rest

Where Men Win Glory: The Odyssey of Pat Tillman, by Jon Krakauer

In 2002, NFL star Pat Tillman turned down a multi-million dollar contract to enlist in the U.S. Army. In 2004, he was killed in Afghanistan by friendly fire. Krakauer’s book is an in-depth look at Tillman’s life and death, and how politicians used his death to further their own political agendas.

Where Men Win Glory is full of information about both the Afghanistan conflict and Pat Tillman’s life. It’s probably not as thorough as Steve Coll’s Ghost Wars or Mary Tillman’s Boots on the Ground Before Dawn, but Krakauer gives us all the information we need to understand where these two stories intersect. It amazed me how accessible this book was, and how much smarter I felt after reading it. I imagine football fans will forever tell their children the story of Pat Tillman. When I do so, thanks to this book, I will have the difficult task of explaining things like friendly fire and government cover-ups. Pat Tillman deserves at least that much.

The Adderall Diaries, by Stephen Elliott

This book is a memoir about addiction and sadomasochism posing as a true crime account of a murder trial. In fact, if you pick up this book because you think it’s going to be about a murder trial, you’ll be disappointed. Elliott is a writer who can’t escape his past (or his present, for that matter). In the hands of someone else, that could make for a trite memoir, but Elliot’s life is just too damn interesting, too damn ridiculous. I can’t help but admire the way this book is put together: the meandering lull in which it begins, the pace that quickens furiously when Elliot begins crushing his pills and snorting them. The book is sharp and fast, and Elliot doesn’t waste even a single syllable.

Lit, by Mary Karr

Many people write memoirs. But, in my estimation, there are only two great American memoirists. The first is the late Frank McCourt. With Lit, Mary Karr became the second. This story of alcoholism and recovery is both funny and gut-wrenching—sometimes both within the same sentence. Karr is a first-rate wordsmith, and while her life might not be quite as interesting or ridiculous as Stephen Elliott’s, she makes up for it in style. Seriously, if you haven’t read any of Karr’s 3 memoirs (Liar’s Club and Cherry are the other two), you’re missing out on something special.

Little Bee, by Chris Cleave

This is hands-down my favorite book of 2009. Cleave does just about everything right. The multiple voices are distinct and expertly rendered, the characters memorable, and the plotting tight. It is also a deep and moving book.

I really enjoyed the distinct voices, and the young boy, who considers himself Batman, is one of the most adorable characters I’ve read in a while. The book affected me in ways books don’t often do, and a lot of my respect for this novel stems from that.

It’s tough to explain the plot without giving things away. From my review (read the full review here):

I won’t spoil the plot, as the tangle of the characters’ lives is the crux of the book. Little Bee is a novel about a Nigerian refugee, self-named Little Bee, escaping to Britain. It is a novel about how one single moment, one action or inaction, can change the lives of many people, even those worlds apart. It is a novel about humanity. It is about the complacency and willful ignorance Westerners silently allow themselves at the expense of other humans just like them, in the name of comfort afforded by the imbalance of “global” economy. When confronted with these consequences of our lifestyle we’d rather sweep them under the rug like dust, or write a check to Unicef, or leave the world to politicians and businessmen because it’s easier.

I liked this novel because it was at once complex and simple. It’s easy to read and still the writing is excellent. Apparently it’s going to be a movie soon, so do yourself a favor and give this a read before Nicole Kidman steps in.

Runners Up

These were both books I really enjoyed. The audiences they target aren’t as broad as Little Bee‘s, nor do they explore as much depth. But they are both fun and get my highest recommendation. (Links go to full C4 reviews.)

The Graveyard Book, by Neil Gaiman, actually came out in the fall of 2008, but it was late enough that I’m including it here.  Gaiman is an expert storyteller, and his haunted retelling of Kipling’s classic, The Jungle Book, is truly a great read. It doesn’t tread much new ground as far as YA fantasy goes, but it still feels original and fresh because Gaiman hits all his notes pitch-perfectly.

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, by Seth Grahame-Smith (and Jane Austen), does a fabulous job of modifying the 19th Century classic into a bloody zombie epic. It can be cheesy at times, as it should. The characters and the plot stay mostly true to the original text, just tweaked to fit the new horror setting. The added scenes of violence spattered throughout the book add a fresh–if decomposing–layer to a classic. It is readable and fun, and manages to hold reverently true to its source material (a trait lacking in its more philistinic sibling, Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters).

Not “best” but definitely worth reading:

This Is Where I Leave You, by Jonathan Tropper, is a zany family drama that is as humorous as it is sentimental. It reminded me a lot of Liars and Saints mixed with The Big Chill, which is actually one of my favorite movies. The plot is nothing new, and sometimes the dialogue feels a bit wooden, but Tropper’s writing shines the rest of the time.

The Original of Laura, by Vladmimir Nabokov, isn’t really a book. It’s a collection of notecards the late master was using to work on a novel he didn’t live to finish. What’s here hardly resembles a book, and a lot of the writing is pitifully unpolished. But some of it is really, really great. Any reader of Nabokov’s, or anyone interested in glimpsing his particular writing process, will enjoy perusing through this collection of notes.

Infinity in the Palm of her Hand, by Spanish poetess Giaconda Belli, retells the story of Genesis through the eyes of Eve. It’s a smart and sensitive story, and very well written while remaining accessible. It avoids being preachy or didactic, which I appreciate.

Jailbait Zombie, by Mario Acevedo, is far better than it deserves to be. The title and premise are silly, but it plays out as a satisfying horror-tinged hard boiled detective novel. Not literary fare by any means, but readable indeed.

And just for good measure, the worst book I read that came out this year:

Captain Freedom, by G. Xavier Robillard. It’s uninspired, boring, and not funny; a satire no one cares about. My feelings on this book are similar to Nico’s on The Sheriff of Yrnameer.

It’s the end of the year, and time for another C4 book recommendation series (you can check out our last one, Literary Beach Books, here). For the next few Mondays, we’ll be chronicling our favorite books of 2009, but we’ll be doing it a little differently than most places.

Instead of all of all of us hammering out a ranked list nobody really agrees with, each of our contributors will give their own favorite books of 2009, along with a brief rationale for each choice. There’s no committee compromising here, just handfuls of books that somebody loved.

Here’s the first installment. Check back Mondays for more.

Dark Places, by Gillian Flynn

Dark Places is a gripping mystery about Libby Day, a woman whose family was murdered by her brother when she was seven. Twenty-four years later, she starts investigating the murders herself, and finds a whole lot more than she bargains for.

The narrative alternates between Libby’s perspective and flashbacks from the perspectives of her brother and mother during the weeks leading up to the murders. That’s not exactly my favorite structure, and I was more than a little skeptical when I started reading. Additionally, Libby isn’t all that likable, and Flynn’s prose leaves something to be desired (like her titles).

But Dark Places stands as proof that great storytelling wins out. Flynn writes excellent dialogue, creates compelling characters, and plots this book remarkably well. The result is one of the most gripping novels I’ve read in a long time. If you like mysteries and you’ve got a tolerance for a fair amount of violence, this book is a can’t-miss.

For more description, check out my full review here. 

2009 Runners Up

These books aren’t home runs, but they’re the next best 2009 books I’ve read. (Links go to full C4 reviews.)

Juliet, Naked, by Nick Hornby, is more or less your standard romantic comedy novel. Annie’s husband, Duncan (whom she hates), runs a fan website for a singer-songwriter named Tucker Crowe. After she writes a review of Crowe’s latest album, Crowe contacts her and they begin corresponding. It’s pretty silly, but Hornby is the best romantic comedy writer in the business, and his wit and talent make this an entertaining, if not exactly ground-breaking, read.

Inherent Vice is a Thomas Pynchon novel you can wrap your head around. It features a pothead P.I. (think The Dude in The Big Lebowski), who bumbles his way through a weird mystery in 1970s L.A. As a detective story, it leaves something to be desired; but as a day trip into the world of one of the most talented novelists alive, it’s definitely worth a read.

Genesis, by Bernard Beckett, is a lightning-quick dramatized discussion of the ethics of artificial intelligence. It packs a lot of interesting ideas into a short time frame, and works largely because it knows what it is (an intellectual discussion), and doesn’t try to be something it’s not (a thriller, a character study, etc.). It’s a weirdly structured novel, but if you’re interested in artificial intelligence, it’s worth a quick afternoon’s read.

Late-2008 Great Reads

Most of the great books I read this year were actually published in 2008. Here are three more phenomenal novels from last year. Yeah, it’s kind of cheating, but these were three of the best novels I’ve read in a long time, and I can’t bring myself to do a best-of list without including them. (Links go to full C4 reviews.)

The Believers, Zoe Heller’s third novel, follows a 60ish, staunchly liberal woman and her three grown children. It quietly, insightfully probes into this family’s problems and struggles, and follows them on their quests to find happiness, or at least contentment. Heller is an outstanding writer, and this is realist literary family fiction at its best.

Serena, by Ron Rash, is an often gut-wrenching novel about a coldblooded couple who own a logging concern in depression-era North Carolina. Serena, the wife, rides an Arabian stallion and carries a trained eagle. Her husband, Pemberton, loves her more than anything in the world. The narrative concerns the ethics of the Pembertons’ brutal efficiency in a land where it’s a miracle to survive to see 35. Simply put, it’s a gripping, chilling read. If you have a tolerance for violence, this is a great novel.

The Gone-Away World, by Nick Harkaway, is my favorite book of all the ones I read this year. It’s a funny, cool, badass novel about a crew of mercenaries in a post-apocalyptic, dystopian future. If that kind of thing is up your alley (you know who you are), then stop reading this post and start reading The Gone-Away World.