reading list
the best books I read this year
Need a (very) last-minute Christmas gift for a loved one? Why not get them a novella about substance abuse by a damaged American writer!
Don’t worry, this isn’t my festive gift guide. Instead, as I’ve read a fair bit this year, I thought you might be interested in some of the highlights - and if you’re not, please don’t feel you need to tell me.
So, in no particular order, here are the 10 best books I read for the first time in 2024.
Ablutions, Patrick deWitt
Patrick deWitt’s first novel is a real gem. Set in a dive bar in Hollywood, it tracks the decline of the barman narrator (named only ‘you’) as he drinks and pops nondescript pills and describes vividly the oddballs he serves. Second person narration is a rare and disconcerting device, but it really works here, giving warmth to a deeply flawed main character, and allowing the reader to withhold judgement of his dubious behaviour; it also means the protagonist isn’t given a traumatic background to explain his moral failings - an all-too-common crutch in books like this. The writing is evocative, funny and violent; I loved it.
(I said this list was in no particular order but - would you look at that - I’ve put my favourite book first. If I were paying attention to reader retention metrics, I’d save the best until last - just think of the anticipation! Alas, I’d never get a job at Buzzfeed.)
Sleepless, Marie Darrieussecq (trans. Penny Hueston)
I am not an insomniac (at least, not yet). But I enjoyed Marie Darrieussecq’s sprawling account of the insomnia with which she has suffered for decades. Dividing the world into “those who sleep and those who can’t”, she explores the esoteric subject of sleeplessness from medical, philosophical and literary angles, taking insights from Ovid, Dante, Proust and Kafka to help understand her condition. Darrieussecq concludes that insomnia is the “hypnagogic zone” between reality and unreality, exacerbated in no small part by the hyperconnected modern world transforming her bedroom from a haven to a dormant electrified node. (I am also a sucker for a chic Fitzcarraldo paperback, regardless of topic.)
Foster / Small Things Like These, Claire Keegan
I’m cheating slightly by giving Claire Keegan two books in one entry - but you could easily read each of these books in one sitting, perhaps even both in a single train journey. They are also natural companions in subject matter, both touching on poverty, family and neglect in 1980s Ireland - although in a much more uplifting way than that summary suggests! Keegan’s ability to convey character in a sentence or two is unparalleled, and her prose is consistently precise, economical and powerful. These are the sort of books that almost make you give up any authorial ambitions: the quality of writing is just impossible to emulate.
Faith, Hope and Carnage, Nick Cave and Sean O'Hagan
This book records a series of long conversations between Nick Cave (the musician) and Sean O'Hagan (a journalist) about creativity, religion, freedom and grief. It’s a fairly unusual format, and got a mixed reception from my book club - but I found it insightful and moving. There’s no doubt Nick Cave has moments of pretension - and I’m not an avid fan of his music - but the conversations are fascinating, helped along by O’Hagan’s gently probing questions and Cave’s rich creative life. It also provided a more thought-provoking perspective on questions of faith and religion than I’ve heard from more outwardly credible sources.
Jesus' Son, Dennis Johnson
Widely considered Dennis Johnson’s masterpiece, this collection of short stories follows a shared protagonist (‘Fuckhead’) in his misadventures in backwater America, where he plays passive observer to various surreal and grim scenes. The non-linear storyline denies the reader any sense of narrative coherence: you are often left wondering whether Fuckhead is hallucinating or dreaming or just experiencing the bizarre realities of narcotics dependency. And the prose is brilliant: poetic, dark, funny, vivid, and extremely pacy (this is another you could read in one sitting). Johnson elevates the stories of America’s underclass to an almost spiritual plane, with a style that is simultaneously effortless and masterful.
Kitchen Confidential, Anthony Bourdain
Anthony Bourdain has become something of a mythical figure since his death - now as likely to appear in a meme, or a twee quote about neighbourhood restaurants, as thought of as a real chef. Kitchen Confidential1 was the book that made him a public figure, and its tales of debauchery and haute cuisine still make for a really fun read. It’s a narrow, provincial perspective on kitchen life - but it doesn’t pretend to be anything else, and it’s all the more fascinating for it. Bourdain had a wry turn of phrase and a passionate intensity that many similar books lack (yes I’m looking at you, A Waiter in Paris).
The Secret History, Donna Tartt
This book created the ‘dark academia’ genre that has, apparently, been all over TikTok in the last couple of years. Despite that, I really enjoyed it. It’s a gripping tale of intellectual elitism and moral decay that follows a group of Classics students who become entangled in a murder (not a spoiler!). Although a weighty length, it’s a quick read, zipping along with an engaging plot told by a Nick Carraway-adjacent narrator in precise, atmospheric prose. This was my first foray into Donna Tartt’s work - but it won’t be my last. I sense that Tartt is the author Haniya Yanagihara wishes she was.
Great Britain? How We Get Our Future Back, Torsten Bell
Many books were published this year about the problems facing the UK - this is one of the best. Bell is a serious thinker, having run the Resolution Foundation for almost a decade prior to becoming an MP in July (when he was immediately brought into the Cabinet Office). His assessment of the country’s woes is clear-sighted and sobering - we have become a low growth, low productivity, high inequality country, with living standards materially lower than our peers - and his prescription is persuasive. The key advantage of this book, though, is that Bell manages to render complex ideas in a clear and compelling way; far too many policy books are horrendously dry affairs.
Requiem for a Dream, Hubert Selby Jr.
I suspect I was too young when I watched the 2000 film of Selby’s novel, as it has stayed with me in a way most films don’t: reading the book for the first time, I couldn’t escape memories of Darren Aronofsky’s disturbing cinematography. The novel is similarly evocative, a harrowing exploration of addiction, desperation, and shattered dreams. The brutal, unflinching writing captures the toll of addiction, depicting a downfall that feels inevitable yet deeply tragic, as the four characters try to convince themselves that their setbacks are only temporary. It is powerful and unrelenting and definitely not a feel-good read!
Monsters: What Do We Do with Great Art by Bad People?, Claire Dederer
What do Wagner, Roman Polanski and Picasso have in common? According to Claire Dederer, they are all great artists, blessed by “genius” - and they are all “monsters”, whose work has become inseparable from the facts of their private life. Labelled an “autobiography of the audience”, this freewheeling monologue on the tension between artistic brilliance and personal failings is part memoir, part social commentary, part art criticism - and in some ways shares the unstructured intellectual roots of Sleepless (above). The titular question - what to do with great art by bad people - is a timeless one, but Dederer explores it from some novel angles. Her chapter on Nabakov (the “anti-monster”) and Lolita is particularly good.
Props to my friend Paddy. A day or so after a late night discussion of books, I received an Amazon parcel from an unnamed source containing this and two other books we had talked about. The best sort of surprise!
A very enjoyable set of reviews. I shall dedicate 2025 to taking up these recommendations. Thanks!
An addictive read