Year in Reading: 2013

It's been a year filled with transitions, new friends, and old ones. Instead of writing a holiday card like the more diligent people I know, I figured I could summarize the year in terms of a few meaningful reading experiences. It also helps to kill two birds with one stone by making recommendations at the same time.

 

Studying for the bar cut into a lot of reading time this year. That said, the final semester of law school in the spring, and the commute from Brooklyn to Manhattan I've had since work began in August made up for my lackluster summer. So here are my top five books--all fiction--of the year in the order in which I read them:

 

Tenth of December by George Saunders. I'm glad I read this book in January cause I've had an entire year to rave about it at everyone I talk to.  He reminds me of reading David Foster Wallace for the first time. Each story in this collection comments on some aspect of contemporary society in a completely unexpected way.  My favorite, "The Semplica Girl Diaries" takes place in some parallel/futuristic US. People buy Semplica Girls--girls rescued from developing countries--and string them up on their front lawns as status symbols. The metaphor is clear, yet completely surprising.

 

All That Is by James Salter. "James Salter is a revered writer. Can he become a famous one?" A New Yorker profile asked earlier this year.  After reading his latest--and possibly last--novel, I definitely understand why he is revered but perhaps not famous.  It follows the life of William Bowman through World War II, college, marriage, divorce, and aging. For a novel that takes place over forty years, not too much happens. Instead, Salter makes sharp observations about each stage of an American life.

 

The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P by Adelle Waldman. After moving to Brooklyn in August, it only made sense to read a novel about the dating lives of twentysomething Brooklyn hipsters. Hilarious and insightful, Waldman's novel is from the perspective of Nate Piven, a member of the Brooklyn literati. Buoyed by the success of his first novel, Nate uses his nerdy bookishness to woo several Greenpoint women. As he hops from bed to bed, we see him act like an asshole all the while thinking he's being a decent guy. As Maria Russo put it, "This book takes seriously the question of romantic compatibility — of why we end up with one person and not another — and foregrounds the question of whether it’s a subject even worth paying attention to."

 

Enon by Paul Harding. Harding's debut novel, Tinkers, made a big splash when it won the Pulitzer Prize seemingly out of nowhere in 2010.  This follow up is set in the same quiet New England town as Tinkers, and tracks a man's unraveling in the wake of his daughter's death. Though sad, Enon is also cathartic as we follow the protagonist from his descent into drug addition through recovery.

 

Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. A dear friend of mine, Angela, recommended this book. It's the best novel on American race relations I've read in a while, and took me back to college seminars where we sat around discussing race and politics. The novel centers around Ifemelu, a Nigerian woman who moves to the US as an adult to study. She dates several American males types -- the liberal WASP, the intellectual black professor--all the while longing for her Nigerian ex-boyfriend.  Much of the novel's plot seems to be vehicle for Adichie's observations about race and immigration, but those of us who like to think about those issues won't mind at all.

Travels with iPhone

I spent spring break last week with two law school friends in Istanbul. While it was our last spring break ever (unless someone decides to go to business school), it was filled with many firsts since it was my first vacation with a smartphone. It was the first time I could broadcast my adventures in real time through social media, the first time I could friend new people I met instantaneously, the first time I took prolific pictures. It was also the first time I felt anxious about being so connected.

The wifi in Istanbul was fast and plentiful. As a result, we found ourselves asking for wifi passwords at cafes and restaurants even before we sat down. Hooked up to the internet, we checked email. We posted Facebook statuses in real time and we "liked" them immediately. Yes--8,200 miles away from New York City, we were replicating what we did at home. The tableau was often three girls on their iPhones, ignoring the plates of borek, pilav, and kofte in front of them, posting pictures of the Bosphorus view behind them.

We took pictures of food before eating

Why did we feel this compulsion? Partly to provide evidence that we were there; partly to get validation from them that what we were doing was cool; partly to capture a moment so that we could remember it later. But what is it about the smartphone that ignites this sudden desire to document? I literally have no photographs from a trip to Paris two years ago since they lie undeveloped in a disposable Kodak at the bottom of a suitcase. Was that trip somehow less real than my recent trip to Istanbul? It was certainly more personal. None of my friends “liked” it; I didn’t use the internet at a café once. My memories of the trip are mine alone, unmarred by a camera lens.

Because shooting and sharing has become so common in real life-- pics or it didn't happen as everyone knows--the act of taking pictures on vacation is more ordinary too. The once rare ritual of cleaning off the bulky Nikon has transformed into the smooth motion of tucking your phone into a pocket. The ubiquity devalues the vacation pic. Scrolling through my phone, it looks like I have at least two pictures of everything I saw. I chose my shots carelessly, knowing each new image only cost a minuscule slice of memory. I was at once pleased to be able to take so many pictures while also anxious that my compulsion was detracting from fully being there. I couldn't mentally check off a destination until I had achieved an adequate shot.

In Istanbul or NYC?

The irony is not lost on me. The very action designed to prove I had been somewhere ended up distracting me from being there.

Why couldn't I help myself? After all, my Hagia Sophia pictures are surely worse than most professional ones just a Google search away. Why do I feel the need to clutter my friends' Facebook feeds with my own poorly lit pics? Perhaps I am driven by the specter of the negative inference. Now that everyone has a smart phone, the absence of documentation could suggest that something didn't happen. Pics or it didn't happen takes on a literal meaning when pics are so easily available.

My amateur picture of the Blue Mosque

The proliferation of Facebook pics documenting where everyone is at all times has made the world smaller. Though I was ten hours away, in a country where I didn’t speak the language, I was still able to maintain my web regimen. I knew that my friend’s letter to the editor was published in The Times as soon as everyone else knew. While I was grateful to be able to Google places to eat, I was a tinge disappointed to feel like I had never left NYC.

Perhaps I need to strike a better balance between enjoying technological comforts and exploring new places. At the end of the day, my ambivalence did not prevent me from taking pictures or using gchat to talk to my NYC based friend about her wedding plans. Though I’m ambivalent about my experience taking pictures everywhere, I am glad to have them to remind me of the trip. And until I can resist the urge to post them, I will continue to do so.