My 2017 Book List

My Favorite Books of 2017

(Book List à la Ann)

At the end of 2016, I set a lofty goal on GoodReads to finish 50 books in 2017. It seemed absurd that I would manage to read almost a book a week, yet somehow, I ended up with 53 titles under my belt. I guess it’s obvious. I love to read. I audiobook when I’m emptying the dishwasher, folding laundry, going on a long run alone. I read early in the morning with my coffee, I read on vacation, on public transportation, at the doctor’s office. I read when I have insomnia. I also read to avoid what I’m supposed to be doing…my own writing. But there’s just so much incredible fiction out there, and not nearly enough time to get to it all. I am awed and inspired by these authors.

So, for my friends and family who often ask me for book recommendations, here’s what I enjoyed this year!

My Top Five-Star Picks of the Year:

Most of these are literary fiction = more serious reads, heavier topics, and BEAUTIFUL writing. I mean it. Seriously beautiful writing.

Top Three (can’t decide what order)

The Heart’s Invisible Furies — John Boyne

Try being gay in Ireland in 1960. Or 1945. Or 1990. This book is so amazing, I can’t do it justice in any kind of description. Some of the best dialogue I’ve ever read and what compelling characters! I feel like I know them, that we’re friends now. Maybe they’ll have lunch with me.

Manhattan Beach — Jennifer Eagan

Another book that starts in the 1940s. Independent, strong female main character. Jennifer Egan can zing you with her word choices. “Showy beauty was an invitation to dependence.” One of my favorite lines of the book.

Little Fires Everywhere — Celeste Ng

Family drama and deep issues in a small, upscale suburban town. Adoption, art, keeping up appearances—it’s all in there.

The Rest of the Five Star Pack

River Under the Road — Scott Spencer

“Story of all that lies beneath our everyday lives-a story about the pursuit of love, art, and money, and the inevitable reckoning that awaits us all.”

Remember Me Like This — Bret Anthony Johnston

Sooooo good, and sad. Justin Campbell disappears at age 11, but his family never stops

looking for him. Four years later, their wishes come true and Justin returns home. But adapting is tricky for everyone. Deep, lovely, moving.

Homegoing — Yaa Gyasi

“This sweeping family saga encompasses seven generations of descendants of a Fante and his captured Asante house slave.” Brilliant.

Brit Marie Was Here — Fredrik Backman

This is by the author of A Man Called Ove and it’s got the same bare-bones, no-nonsense quality of writing with a touching center beneath it all. It’s a “heartwarming story about a woman rediscovering herself after a personal crisis.” Not women’s fiction, though. Men would definitely enjoy this book.

Short Story Collections:

Perfect for that little reading session before bed, a short plane ride, or a Sat morning. Just the right bite of beautiful fiction to start or end a day or fill a quiet space in the middle…

Dog Run Moon—Callan Wink

“In the tradition of Richard Ford, Annie Proulx, and Kent Haruf comes a dazzling debut story collection by a young writer from the American West who has been published in The New Yorker, Granta, and The Best American Short Stories.”

The Whore’s Child and Other Stories — Richard Russo

To this irresistible debut collection of short stories, Richard Russo brings the same bittersweet wit, deep knowledge of human nature, and spellbinding narrative gifts that distinguish his best-selling novels. His themes are the imperfect bargains of marriage; the discoveries and disillusionments of childhood;the unwinnable battles men and women insist on fighting with the past. 

Looking to Re-Read a Classic?

All Quiet on the Western Front - Erich Maria Remarque

I had never read this and I can’t believe I waited so long to get to it. This novel is written from the German perspective in WWI. From Amazon, “This is the testament of Paul Bäumer, who enlists with his classmates in the German army during World War I. They become soldiers with youthful enthusiasm. But the world of duty, culture, and progress they had been taught breaks in pieces under the first bombardment in the trenches.”

Middle Grade/Young Adult:

Click’d – Tamara Ireland Stone (I personally know this Rock Star author!)

Powerful girl coders unite! Tamara has a way of creating characters you wish you knew in real life. Very engaging middle grade novel. (Not to be missed are her other works, Every Last Word, Time Between Us and Time After Time!) AND, lucky us, she has a new book coming out soon as well.

Eleanor and Park – Rainbow Rowell

Complicated romance between two high school misfits. Funny, sad, lovely. Adult themes.

The Hate You Give – Angie Thomas

Inspired by the Black Lives Matter movement, this story really takes a look at the effects in a community of violence between police and citizens.

Notable Fiction (four stars):

All Our Wrong Todays — Elan Mastai

Science Fiction story about time travel. Extremely original, complex and fun. Good for teens too. Some people on GoodReads loved this book—some hated it. I enjoyed it.

The Last Life — Claire Messud

Messud’s writing is gorgeous. The story just dragged on a little for me in this…but the writing is worth it!

“Claire Messud's piercing second novel asks questions most are too fearful to face. Moving between the South of France, the East Coast of the U.S., and Algeria, The Last Life explores the weight of isolation and exile in one French family.”

Blackbird House — Alice Hoffman

Novel of linked short stories that follow the occupants of a Massachusetts house over the span of 200 years. Beautiful, magical writing. But that’s Hoffman for you.

Great Small Things — Jodi Picoult

“Jodi Picoult’s Small Great Things is about racism, choice, fear, and hope. The novel is based on the true story of a labor and delivery nurse who was prohibited from caring for a newborn because the father requested that no African-American nurses tend to his baby.”

Commonwealth — Ann Patchett

“One Sunday afternoon in Southern California, Bert Cousins shows up at Franny Keating’s christening party uninvited. Before evening falls, he has kissed Franny’s mother, Beverly—thus setting in motion the dissolution of their marriages and the joining of two families.”

Good Vacation/Beach Reads

Light, Fun, Engaging Stories perfect for those days when you aren’t looking for some heavy, serious reading.

The Hating Game — Sally Thorne

Cute and well-written contemporary office romance. Fun premise.

Before We Were Yours — Lisa Wingate

Not super light, but very engaging… “Wrenched from all that is familiar and thrown into a Tennessee Children’s Home Society orphanage, the Foss children are assured that they will soon be returned to their parents—but they quickly realize the dark truth. At the mercy of the facility’s cruel director, Rill fights to keep her sisters and brother together in a world of danger and uncertainty.”

And When She Was Good – Laura Lippman

Stay-at-home mom or Madam for high class call girls? Great story about a business woman…I stumbled upon this by accident (thanks Book Bub!) and enjoyed reading it on my vacation.

Get reading. There is so much beauty here...Enjoy!

The Hunt for the PERFECT Tree

You are about to begin the search for the perfect Christmas tree. 

Relax. 

It’s going to be a strenuous journey, both physically and mentally draining. Rid your mind of everything else and focus. Breathe deeply of the crisp winter air. Concentration is crucial to success. There will be distractions—a woman whose three boys insist on playing tag through the aisles of fresh pine, a toddler with sticky candy-cane lips and a runny nose, an elderly gentleman with a cane who just might need a hand.

Forget about them. Close your eyes if need be. This is your moment. Loosen your joints with a series of windmill arm circuits and hip circles. You’ll need to be limber for the task ahead.

Shout it out. “I will get the PERFECT tree!”  Pay no attention to the wary glances of the crowd. They don’t understand what it takes to be a champion.

The lot will not open until 8am, but you will be early. Two hours early. You’ll park your car right in front. You’ll back into the spot, knowing this will make it easier for the eventual tree tie-down process. There will be no little elves to help with your bungee cords and scratchy twine. A secure load is all riding on you this year.

There will be a small crowd waiting by the mesh fence, drooling as season-hire teenaged boys cut the plastic bindings from the Silvertips and allow the trees to shake themselves out, wave their majestic boughs—so ideal for the gold ornament theme you’ve chosen for this year. You’ll make sure that you are first in line. Don’t let the relentless coughing of the four year-old in pj’s rattle you. She might try to push in front of you, but don’t let her.

Shake out your legs, your arms. Prepare yourself in your runner’s stance, the one you’ve been practicing since last year when you lost out in the sprint to the PERFECT TREE by mere seconds. Every instant counts. Ignore the looks you’ll receive from the other patrons. Shout out, “Merry Christmas!” This should help disrupt their troubled frowns.

Of course, the ideal position for sprinting may elude you in the winter cold, but you’ll have to make due. It’s not that you expect anything particular from this Christmas, just that the PERFECT TREE will crown your extensive living room display. The PERFECT TREE: a tree with no dark, dirty holes that must go in a corner, no sawed-off branches, no veering, leering arms reaching toward the floor or ceiling. The tree must be regulation in size, triangular in shape, and the smell…it must exude the sweet, heavenly smell of sugar pine.

In the back of the lot, you will spot your tree. It is ideal, magical. You must make it yours. Surrounding it, you see a sea of obstacles, a thick barricade of other trees, other species—Trees That Aren’t PERFECT—frowning at you from all angles, attempting to confuse you. You’ll refuse to submit to their pressure. You will get the PERFECT tree.

But first, you must fight your way past all obstacles, past:

Trees That Are Oozing With Sap

Trees That Lie About The Strength Of Their Branches

Trees Likely To Catch Fire At The Drop Of A Tree Light

Trees Just Waiting Until You Get Them Home To Show Their Holes

Trees That Smell Like Cow Dung

Trees That Tilt When You Put Them In The Stand, No Matter What

And the gates open! You zigzag your way past these shameless creatures, clawing out at you with open boughs, and make your final sprint down the aisle to your PERFECT tree. You grab hold with one hand, whipping out your own personal yellow SOLD tag with the other and shout to the world, “It’s MINE!”

You have scared away children with your victory cackle, but never mind that. Your mother would be proud.

Just Tonight

Thank you to www.thestoryshack.com for publishing another one of my short-shorts, 

and to Lakshmi Mathur for another great illustration.

Just Tonight

by Ann Huchingson 

Illustration by Lakshmi Mathur

“I don’t sleep much,” I tell him, dangling my insomnia in front of him like a ripe pomegranate, its many compartments mysterious and ruby. Sleeplessness implies action in the dark of night, implies rumpled sheets and tangled limbs.

He lifts his eyebrow and his glass to his lips in one motion, as though they are connected by a strand of fishing wire.

I swivel my stool slightly toward him. A drop of foam from his beer hangs on his lip like an invitation, and though I want to reach for it with my tongue — parched and starving for the taste of him — I reach out and casually wipe it away with my thumb.

He has a tattoo on his right bicep. A serpent in a fading black that is bordering on green. The reptile is poised, waiting to strike, its forked tongue flicking out just enough to be threatening. His denim shirt hides the tattoo tonight, but I know it is there, slithering and bumping underneath the thick blue fabric of his sleeve. It’s waiting.

I want to erase the worried creases from between his eyes with my fingers, to smooth away the concern like a hot iron on a wrinkled cotton blouse. But it is enough to be sitting here, next to him. Enough for now, anyway.

He is like a jittery jackrabbit. If I approach too quickly, grasp too tightly, he’ll bolt for cover. He’ll disappear into his warren — his real life with Jackie and their infant twins, his overdue bills and his unemployment checks.

I only want a piece of him. I only want tonight.

I don’t want to snare him, only to pet him for a bit. Like a soft, soft rabbit fur, I’ll rub the length of him against my skin, for luck, and maybe a little love. And then, I’ll let him go.

Until next time.

I offer a slight smile, and swivel my stool away, just enough. I wait, hanging there in the open space of possibility, using all of my willpower to keep my hands off the dense planes of his shoulder, his arm. I wait for it, take a sip of my gin, and then, at last, his voice.

“Should we go somewhere?” he asks, his eyes dodging around the room, taking in the few beery, bleary patrons — old goats with no hair and few teeth. There is no one here to notice us.

“Yes,” I whisper, relieved and breathless. “Yes, let’s go.”

Can I Get a Little Breathing Room?

It’s that time of year where the world seems by nature to simply be more crowded. We’re all out and about, trying to get things done, to plan, to socialize, to shop. Everyone has a never-ending to-do list and no time to do it all. So—we’re rushing, we’re hustling, we’re busy.

And I’ll admit it, I think I might have personal space issues.

However, I’m pretty sure, when we’re standing in line at the bagel store, that if you’re riding me like a backpack and the cashier thinks that your daughter is my daughter because she’s basically climbing up my hip…you’re crowding me. There’s no need to crush up behind me like we’re in the mosh pit at a Violent Femmes concert. We’re just ordering breakfast. And I promise, you’ll get your dozen mixed bagels just as soon as I get my son’s egg sandwich and one large, strong coffee with cream. Because, when you’re standing on top of me? I get all edgy, and antsy, and I start to grow annoyed by your sugary and overly-loud conversation with your child, who I would normally think was kind of cute in her princess nightgown and fuzzy pink slippers. I see that you’re still in your slippers as well, so this Saturday morning should be a relaxed, comfortable time for all of us. No crowding necessary. Just take a step back and let me catch my breath.

And let’s not even talk about how pushy you are in your car. I’m simply trying to enter the slow lane on the freeway from the on-ramp. I’m not trying to edge you out of a trophy at the Indy 500 or to stop you from “winning” the merge. I just need to get into your lane at some type of normal speed before I run out of space and crash into the quickly-approaching concrete retaining wall. God forbid there should be a lane change that happens peacefully, without you up-shifting into Mach 5 to make sure you get ahead of me. I see your elementary school bumper sticker. I know where your kid goes to school. I’ll probably see you at the next PTA meeting and you’ll be super embarrassed when you remember how you completely transformed your face into a purple exploding ghoul-mask simply because I got on the freeway.

Hey, I also realize that there are literally no parking spaces. Anywhere. So we’ve got to just relax while we’re on our fourth loop of the same stretch of asphalt. Enjoy that song on the radio. We’re like airplanes running a holding pattern over the landing strip. Eventually, one of us is going to get lucky, but you’re not driving a snow plow, so chances are if I’m closer, I’ll get the spot, despite your attempts to vehicularly bully me out of the way.

It’s no secret that I don’t love crowds (does anyone?), but if I’m in a crowded venue, I accept that we are all going to be squished together. That’s okay. What I’m objecting too, more often, is the lack of awareness that we’re all here. Together.

So maybe it’s actually more about manners than breathing room. We share space in the world with many, many people and we’re all just trying to handle our days with a little grace and happiness and hopefully, once in a while, some generosity. Some people are more successful at accomplishing this than others. I think they’re the thoughtful ones. Because, you know? The time to discuss—loudly and at length, via cell phone—your poor father-in-law’s recent batch of colonoscopy complications is not while you’re perusing women’s knits in the department store. I’m here too, trying to pick out a cute sweater for my niece, and it’s hard to enjoy a rare, blissful moment of shopping for something that isn’t pre-packaged for school lunches while I’m force-listening to your blow-by-blow of the medical procedure and its messy aftermath. That’s not something I want to participate in as a bystander. It’s not how I want to remember my fleeting public encounter with you.

What I’d rather remember? Is that time that you called out after me, holding out the wallet that had fallen out of my purse without me noticing it. You really saved me that day. I love thinking about that time you stopped in the street, put down all of your packages, and rummaged through your purse for a band-aid for my wailing and bleeding toddler. And remember when you offered to let me step ahead of you in the line at the grocery store, since I had just the one item? And on the day when I was literally oozing grief after losing my dad, you told me that my scarf matched my eyes just perfectly and that I had such lovely hair. You had no idea how that kindness touched me, lifted me up.

We’re all pretty good about the auto-pilot manners. Most of us hold doors open for the people behind us and throw around a please and thank you to the grocery checker or the food server who is delivering our cheeseburgers. But we need to occasionally slow down and look up at the world around us. Remember to take the time to care. Let’s all try to make sure we’re treading lightly in the space we’re occupying. Just give the people nearby a little breathing room, a little consideration.

So maybe, just once in a while, go ahead and wave that car in on the freeway in front of you.

Compliment the person next to you.  

Take a deep breath.

Smile.

I Really Did Want to Come to Your Party!!

For the third time this year, I’ve RSVP’d to a party and then did something beyond-rude — I didn’t show up. In my defense, they were all large gatherings—cocktail-type drop-in parties, Halloween bashes, school Boosters bashes—the type of events where (hopefully) I’m not really likely to be missed, but my “yes-then-no-go” behavior leaves me riddled with guilt. I’m not no-showing to a $150/head wedding or an intimate dinner party for six, but still…that’s not really an excuse. I’ve RSVP’d “yes.”  The hosts are expecting me. And to be honest, I really did want to go!

To make matters worse, I’m actually a stickler for manners and Emily Post-style etiquette. I still address my holiday cards by hand, because I’m attempting to convey that the personal touch does matter. I put pen to paper and write real thank you notes and I spend serious time crafting heart-felt letters of condolence when someone suffers a loss. I have never, ever failed to show up for a volunteer shift, or a carpool obligation, or a board meeting without severely extenuating circumstances.

So how is it that I—a person very aware and conscious of exactly how rude it is to pull a no-show—find myself behaving so badly?

It was not all that long ago that after a week filled with the tender but endlessly-repeating baby-activity-cycle of diaper changing, grilled cheese making, tantrum soothing, nap enforcing, and laundry folding, I couldn’t wait to go to a party. I’d go to anything. Fundraiser for the March of Dimes? In! Tea for my neighbor’s mother-in-law’s dog? Yes! Baby shower? Wedding shower? Birthday party? In, in, IN! To mingle in the invigorating company of articulate adults was an indulgence, a lifeline.

But things are different now. I’m not spending the bulk of my time in close contact with my favorite young people. They’re living their lives…doing homework and sports and wooing girls and meeting their friends to play mud football. They’re off and running—and consequently, so am I. I’m working more, driving ceaselessly, shopping for food and food and more food. My life has shifted somehow from needing to slip out of the house to recharge my intellectual batteries, to wanting desperately to just sit still for a minute or two.

So now? When I’m invited to a party, the whole thing goes down something like this: The evite arrives, and I feel honored to be invited. I love these hosts! The guest list looks like a blast! Everyone I know and enjoy socializing with will be there. Party theme? Great!

And then, inevitably, the Friday night in question rolls around, and after working and planning and calendaring and writing and hustling and shopping and cooking and negotiating all week and then driving the kids to their multiple sports practices around a continuous 30-mile loop (and yes, they do have all kinds of crazy late practices on Friday nights)—I start to lose steam. The week is whipping up into its final crescendo of frenzied activity. And at last, as all of the action bottoms out and the members of my family finally straggle into the house, one-by-one, I sort of bottom out, too. It feels like the first time I’ve really, truly seen my kids and my husband all week. We’re all home. Together. Could this be a dream?

Here’s when I start waffling about my party plans. Wouldn’t it be nice to just snuggle in and enjoy my family? I mean, let’s be honest. I’ve been feeling a little chubby in my jeans and my favorite top is at the dry cleaners and it’s way too cold out for the one cute pair of shoes I have in my closet. (A variation on this one is that I don’t have a costume and everyone else has clearly planned perfect, clever get-ups well in advance). And also, I’m tired. So very tired. I even got up early to work out before the real work of the day even started.

And then the rest of the devil-on-my-shoulder jabs start kicking in. No one will even notice if I don’t show up…right? I mean, seriously. I bet most of those people don’t even really like me. They probably think I talk too much, or laugh too loud or eat too many chips with the dip. So, they’d all probably be better off if I didn’t actually go, right?

But the real truth is, what keeps me home on these nights when I should be whooping it up with my peers, is that I honestly feel like I need to embrace my family time while I still have it. If I stop to think for even a second about how quickly it’s all flying by—has flown by—my heart begins to squeeze in on itself. The faces of my boys are changing so quickly, along with their voices and their shoe sizes. My oldest son will be leaving for college in three short years. I don’t get much face-to-face time with him any more, and here he is! He’s home, and right in front of me, wanting to watch a movie with me on a Friday night.

It’s just so easy to sink into my sweats on the big sofa with my boys all around me and curl up and curl in. Too easy.

So for now, these parties are occasionally getting away from me. I know I should probably just RSVP “no,” but I really do intend to attend. And I usually do go when I say I’ll be there. And for the times I don’t make it? Maybe the trick is just accepting my decision once in a while to miss something social in order not to miss these rare moments at home. And hopefully, the hosts will be in the same boat on some other Friday night and miss the party I’m throwing to opt for that family time, too. I promise I’ll understand.

Running on 11/19/15 at: