#1: Habibi by Craig Thompson

I read Craig Thompson’s Blankets many, many years ago. I had never read a graphic novel before, didn’t really know that such a thing existed. Comics were about superheroes, were slim, made of crunchy paper as far as I was concerned. I was too busy falling in love to be surprised that Blankets was none of the above – it was a doorstop of a book full of thick lined illustrations, teenagers in love, and a protagonist that was just the kind of boy that I wished would jump off the page and just love me already.

It took Thompson seven years to complete his next book – Habibi. I was excited, but wary. From the descriptions, it sounded like a completely different story. When I find an author I love, I hope that they will keep making great books, but maybe I also hope they will keep making the same book. An autobiographical coming of age graphic novel told in the Midwestern USA begets another. Habibi was fiction – fantastic fiction, nonetheless! – about non-Western culture. I was wary.

Change of scene: Christmas Day 2011 at my parents’ house. Just like any other Christmas of my life, the day is fun because A) I get to lounge around in your pajamas all day with your family B) I get to eat delicious foods and C) there are new games to play, books to read, CDs to listen to, blankets to cuddle under, movies to watch, etc. You will never be bored on Christmas Day.

But unlike any other Christmas day before it, all I want to do on December 25th, 2011, is read a library book. Habibi.

The story is set in a fictionalized present-day Islamic world – a setting that feels more like a desert, timeless, fairytale landscape than anything else. Our protagonist is Dodola, a very young girl who has been sold into marriage to a much older man, a scribe, who teaches her to read, to write, and the relationship between stories and words to their shared religion. Dodola is kidnapped, but manages to escape and finds refuge with a very young boy – Zam – who has escaped slavery of his own; the two form a family, holed up together in a wooden ship stranded in the desert, growing up together and surviving together, even when that survival means making unspeakable sacrifices.

Over the course of the novel, Dodola and Zam are children and they are adults. They love each other as family and sexually. They are separated and reunited. They are powerful and powerless. Dodola saves Zam and Zam saves Dodola, each in turn. They travel through the desert, into fairytale-like palaces, and then urban slums. They come together, they come apart, and their story is interwoven with stories from the Q’uran, stories Dodola and Zam both turn to in their times of need. Epic is probably the only appropriate word for this story.

But all plot aside, the art. Oh, the art! What Thompson has done with his art is nothing short of breathtaking. Is there such thing as epic art? Yes, and it is here. From the end papers on through all 700+ pages, each spread is a dream, a fantasy – ornate and embellished with dizzying patterns.The single and double page spreads are a particular joy; the art extends to the edge of the page, making you want to stare into each piece until you’re certain you’ve gotten all you can from each one.

I’ve had friends and professors tell me that reading graphic novels should take longer than prose, because it takes time to take in each image and how it relates to the text, how the story moves from panel to panel. I, however, am more prone to flip through them like I’m eating a bag of chips – enjoying but not necessarily nourishing myself or feeling great about the whole greasy mess. As I entered my second day of reading Habibi, I started to think that my preference for haste had been proven wrong. But then again, maybe I’d just never encountered a graphic novel that begged me not just to read, but savor.

And with that, we have reached the end of the 2012 Best Reads Extravaganza! I am exhausted. If you missed any posts, check out this page to catch up. Thanks for playing along friends – I hope y’all had as pleasant a Reading Year as I did!

#2: Life: An Exploded Diagram by Mal Peet

A few months after I read Life: An Exploding Diagram, I had the pleasure of hearing Mr. Peet make a small speech regarding his book. Without trying too hard to paraphrase, the gist of Mr. Peet’s message was that despite trying very hard to bore, perplex, or perhaps even offend an American audience with the content of his latest book, by gum, here was an awards committee that not only read the darn thing, but decided to give it an honor.

This book spans generations, straddles genres, is questionably even young adult literature, consists of only about 65% narrative, and stars a usually heroic young American President in a decidedly unflattering light.

But I love love loved it anyway; it’s one of those books that you tell everyone to read even though they might not like it and then your heart might break, but then they all do love it, your picky friends, your not-so-picky friends. Your sister leaves you a voicemail asking “Clem and Frankie end up together… right?” and you know immediately who she is talking about. And it warms your damn heart, restores your faith in the world a bit, that books like this can exist and you can share them with the ones you love.

~

Let me tell you this about my grad school experience… early in 2009, I was putting concerted effort into “reading widely across genres.” I gave myself 10 “slots” for books each month, and tried to fill in the first five with different genres – YA Fiction, Juvenile Nonfiction, Adult Fiction, etc. By April, I had set my academic course (aka wrote some deposit checks) on a path towards a children’s literature degree. By April, I’d also become weary of “reading widely.” It was hard. Uncomfortable. I would rather just read and re-read my favorite books and authors, ya know?

So one of the things I found exciting about a children’s lit degree was the prospect of a Syllabus! I longed for someone to tell me what to read (see also: Marriage). And although I watched new releases pass me by for three years, and every semester I reached a point where all I wanted was to read ANYTHING that wasn’t 19th century/realism/taking place on Mars, I discovered so many genres and authors that I never would have given a second chance otherwise.

See: Historical Fiction. If you had asked me in 2009 if I would like to read a book about teenagers in Scotland in 1952 (that starts with 50 or so pages detailing THEIR parents’ and grandparents’ heritage and history), and that can also legitimately classified as a book ABOUT the Cuban Missile Crisis? I would have certainly laughed mightily, either in my mind or later after you left the room. Perhaps I would discredit your future book recommendations completely. Who knows, it was 2009, I was ruthless back then.

However, it is 2012, and I just read Mal Peet’s Life: An Exploded Diagram and I loved it I loved it I loved it so much. It is everything I described above, yes, but don’t be afraid. The family heritage bit is actually pretty brief, and mostly humorous. The historical retelling of the Cuban Missile Crisis is actually interesting, especially for me, who felt suddenly shamed to realize that even after XX years of history courses, I knew NOTHING about this incredible moment in US history. The narrator is a likeable, knowledgeable, and cheeky guide through this all.

But what wraps it all up in a delicious package is The LOVE STORY. Oh, there is a love story, a first love story, that is so evocative, so touching, and at times, downright steamy. Peet knows what he is doing when he alternates chapters here, teasing you into being interested in JFK because you know there’s another chapter of romance when you finish.

And the ending. Agh, the ending! This is a terrible review, I realize, but after you read this ending, you will think that every other novel’s conclusion was more of a lame fizzle, a drag-out, a ramble on. Peet? He has written here an Ending, capital-E-, practically Hollywood worthy, throw your book down and gasp-worthy.

Gush gush gush glow glow glow, please drop what you are doing and pretend like you are desperate to learn more about JFK’s early presidency so you will not waste another moment of your life not reading this book! Consider it your syllabus for the month.

#4: This Is How You Lose Her by Junot Diaz

I like book awards good and well, but some book awards I ignore because I assume that since a book has won that particular medal, I will not like this book. Pulitzer, Nobel, Booker, National Book  – awards that supposedly go to the cream of the crop.The dual-edged sword of book awards, I suppose.

Why? Well, I am a curmudgeon with a taste for YA, no patience for the Long and the Dense, and prefer narratives that deviate from the Western White Male experience. Also see: curmudgeon.

Junot Diaz is an author who wins these big awards. But I read The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao anyway. And instead of gaining a new respect for these venerable awards, instead of saying “Well, these Pulitzer winners must not be all that bad!” Instead of either of those logical reactions, I found myself wondering why in the world these award committee and critics would latch onto  a book that is so… not long not dense, neither Western nor White? Huh?

Now, I liked Oscar Wao, yes. But This Is How You Lose Her won me over. Written as a series of interconnected short stories, This is How You Lose Her is Yunior’s life, moving back and forth from his childhood, teenage, and adulthood, and focusing on women. His mother. His brother’s high school girlfriends, hanging around the house when Yunior was a child. His own high school girlfriends, his fiancee as he begins a career as a writer and his many girlfriends on the side. The woman who is pregnant with his child.

I wish that I could do this book justice here, but I really can’t. If you haven’t read Diaz’s prose, then you are missing out – it is fluid, readable, clever, and casual. This is a book about love and its many faces, and how people become the people they are – some of my favorite things to read about. I wish that all big award winning books could be like this one, and I hope that your library’s wait-list isn’t as long as mine.

#5: Dinner: A Love Story by Jenny Rosenstrach

I don’t have a tremendous amount of background in this particular breed of nonfiction, but is it just me or are we in the midst of some kind of literary-cookbook renaissance? A few years ago I checked out Alice Waters’s The Art of Simple Food looking for a little kitchen inspiration (I’d probably just finished reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, forgive me) and read it cover to cover. Read a cookbook. It was a strange feeling, but it sped by just like any other nonfiction text, only when I was done my book was full of post-it notes flagging recipes I wanted to try. I know that cooking memoirs were a thing, but this kind of book was more food than memoir, but just as readable and interesting.

Would it be cheesy to say I devoured this book? Well, I did. Ate it right up. Rosenstrach, who you might remember from this New York Times article or from her popular blog is just a ridiculously affable narrator of her own life. The book moves chronologically. Rosenstrach is a young urban professional looking for impressive dinner party recipes to squeeze in between trying new restaurants. Then she is a newlywed, beginning her life with a similarly foodie husband, their busy professional lives meeting every night at the dinner table. Then she is a new mother with a commute still determined to put something healthy on the table, then a stay at home mom. Probably drawing on her impressive Dinner Diary, Rosenstrach shares the best recipes of each season of life, the ones she relied on most, the ones worth remembering. As someone who can’t even remember what she cooked last week much less last year, this is an interesting, thoughtful way to frame a life.

I enjoyed Rosenstrach’s life story, yes, but I also appreciated the somewhat multimedia approach she gets at this story. Yes, there are vignettes, yes there are recipes. But there are also family photos, humorous conversations between Rosenstrach and her husband, handwritten bits, must-have kitchen items, etc. I especially liked her How to Feed A Family of Picky Eaters With One Dish technique of deconstructing traditional “grown-up” dishes to please most palates – any mother who can turn a frustrating dinner situation into a culinary challenge is the kind of mother I’d like to be.

This would be a lovely book even if all the recipes were complicated, gross, or inedible. But they are not. They are my exact kind of recipes – simple enough for weeknights, made of real foods, tasty and straightforward. I checked this book out and have renewed it a million times and have probably dirtied it up beyond acceptable library condition. I have little “DALS”‘s written all over my own dinner planning sheets. Favorites? Chicken and brussels sprouts and spicy zucchini eggs. You can probably find them on her website, or you could just do yourself a favor and buy the book. But ultimately, I don’t think I would have made so many of these recipes if I didn’t like the rest of the writing, the package, the Rosenstrach charm. The best part about these cooking memoirs and guides and blogs is that the writing and the stories create a sense of intimacy and trust that “celebrity chefs” just can’t do, inviting even novice chefs to try their hand at feeding themselves and their families. I make a “DALS” recipe because I trust it – Jenny wouldn’t do me wrong. I am glad that while I learn how to cook, I have these at-home chefs to ease me along and help me eventually trust myself to make tasty food, every night.