The Best Books I Read in 2019
- Amanda O'Brien
- Dec 1, 2020
- 20 min read
Book lover friends, I have loads of recommendations for you. 2019 was a great year of reading. Per tradition, I’ll briefly recap what I read, what I loved, and what I didn’t, though it’s worth noting that for every two books on this list there was another book I started and didn’t finish. I rarely finish books I’m not enjoying or finding value in; so if it’s on this list, you can consider that a nod of approval (if not an impassioned endorsement).
Let’s dive in:
An absorbing (and super speedy) way to kick off the new year, this whodunnit is a page turner. Lapena keeps the plot twists coming until the very last page. In that sense, I’d liken this a bit to Gone Girl, but with a somewhat more sympathetic cast of characters and more of a made-for-tv flavor.
A history of The Great Gatsby by one of my favorite reviewers of fiction. If you’re a hard core Gatsby fan who rereads the novel every few years (that would be me and, coincidentally, the man I married), So We Read On will widen your perspective on Fitzgerald and enhance your reading of his Great American novel. Translation: Great for Gatsby geeks.
An eye opening lesson in economics by a winner of the Nobel Prize in the subject. Stiglitz paints a dismal portrait of our disastrously rigged economic system, and providing ample evidence to support his thesis, he lays out the critical steps we need to take to extract ourselves from the manipulation of the super-rich and powerful. This book is extraordinarily well written with the layperson in mind, so it’s not a slog. If you’re wondering how we got into this plutocratic mess and how we might get out of it, this book is a great place to start.
Vox imagines a modern-day America where all women receive government issued electronic bracelets that tally an allowance of 100 spoken words per day. If one exceeds her budgeted word count she receives an agonizing arm-frying shock. Part allegory, part thriller, Vox is a quick and entertaining read, if you can overlook moments of cringeworthy mass-market dialogue.
Substantive policy discussion. Rational ideas. A willingness to not only call out the gross inequality in this country—but to make it the cornerstone of her campaign. This reads mostly like a memoir, peppered with stories of people Warren’s met along the way, and for me it connected the dots between the person and her plans.
Amazing. Perfect. I cried when I reached the end—and I’m not much of a crier these days. Brimming with symbolism, Little Fires tackles privilege, entitlement, race, purity (artistic and otherwise), heritage, history and the question of whether any of us can separate ourselves from our pasts. This is my idea of an ideal book club pick (if for some reason you haven’t devoured it already).
In my post Trumpian apocalyptic grief I’ve been grasping for humor and hope from people and pundits “in the know.” Pfeiffer is Obama’s former communications director and a co-host of the wildly popular political podcast Pod Save America. His voice is funny and wry, but not cynical. The book is part (dreamy Obama-White House) memoir, part political punditry along the lines of what you’ll hear on the Pod. The ultimate message here is hope. And God knows there’s a shortage of that these days.
A fast and funny mid-life memoir in which Black (kinda sorta) comes to grips with aging, body insecurity, and his own genetic legacy. While it’s laugh-out-loud funny in lots of places this book also has a ton of heart. Black writes with great affection about his mom (a lesbian who came out when Black was five) and her own reckoning with a failing body. If I could use the word “tender” without vomiting, I’d tell you the book is that word in the best way. It’s a great read.
If I had to leave a one-word review of this memoir it would probably be Damn. You can read the eight million multi-word reviews (all glowing as far as I can tell) to get a broader sense of the story, but in a nutshell: Westover grows up in rural Idaho, in a Mormon, survivalist, (read: cuh-razy) abusive family and, fully unschooled, enters a classroom for the first time at the age of 17 having never heard of the Holocaust. She gets a Ph.D from Cambridge—and writes this memoir not long after—when her past is still fresh. That makes her story all the more intense. Also, fun fact for anyone who loved the TV drama Once & Again: the audio book of Educated is read by the all-grown-up Julia Whelan who played Sela Ward and Billy Campbell’s daughter Grace, and it is excellent.
I loved this book, but it’s not something I’d recommend to everyone. It’s an addiction memoir with a literary history of alcoholic writers woven throughout, and it’s brilliant. Jamison has such a unique and fierce and quirky intellect— she views alcoholism through a lens that is uniquely her own. I love the way she recounts her younger, fragile, trying-too-hard self with equal parts honesty and empathy. One story in particular I think about all the time: she’s at a college party, in a storytelling circle trying to act bolder and freer than she feels. She tells what she thinks is a funny story—complete with theatrical full body gestures—and it doesn’t land. It’s a moment no one but Jamison would likely remember, but like Jamison, I felt it hard. The whole book is like that. With seemingly insignificant fragments forming something bigger and sharper that stabs you in the heart.
Classic Anne Lamott, doing the wonderful, helpful, healing thing she does. Perfect for a Sunday afternoon on the front porch. Lamott is a form of church for me. In Almost Everything Lamott talks about what gives her hope in these trying (Trumpian) times and warns about the dangers of certainty. Drawing the comparison between atheists and fundamentalists, both so rigid in their adherence to their truth, Lamott claims that it’s certainty—not doubt—that is the opposite of faith. And faith—religious or otherwise—is what we need most.
A wonderful young adult novel about a transgender girl who passes easily once she’s transitioned—and what happens when she falls in love. Written by a transgender woman (with a gorgeous transgender woman on the cover, btw), the book tends toward too-tidy-ness, but so does a lot of commercial fiction. Some readers complained, for example, that the main character’s experience was too “perfect” (she’s too pretty, too popular, everything comes too easily for her—which is obviously not the experience of most trans people). I’d argue that we’ve seen overly idealized/simplified cisgender characters plenty of times in YA fiction, so it doesn’t pain me that the same formula might sometime apply to a character who is trans.
A dark, psychological thriller, and a page turner for sure. I found out only after finishing the book that it was based on a true story. No spoilers here—just imagine what might happen when the perfect Nanny goes completely off the rails. (If you do read it, I have an analysis I want to run past you; perhaps it’s not about the nanny at all?) While I imagine there will be some readers who can’t go down this grizzly road, I think The Perfect Nanny would make for an interesting book club discussion.
So much fun. The story is told in a series of Rolling Stone-style interviews with the seven band members, so readers see how different people process the same experiences and events. The format is so much fun—and makes for super fast reading. I can’t wait for the movie and soundtrack, which Reese Witherspoon has optioned for production on Amazon (last I checked).
White Fragility (Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism) by Robin DiAngelo
Essential reading. Profoundly eye opening. The amount of white racist bullshit I, “not-a-racist”, Amanda O’Brien have perpetrated against people of color is shameful, and I’m grateful that systemic white supremacy is starting to be discussed and acknowledged. It’s not lost on me that this book is written by a white woman and is probably more palatable to white people because of it. Nevertheless, it’s a starting point. (I’m also reading Ibram X Kendi’s Stamped from the Beginning, which is an extraordinary and enlightening history of racism in this country.)
Meet Mayor Pete. A nice introduction to the person and his point of view. Buttigieg is running a very good campaign, he’s smart as hell, and he’s one of the more conservative democratic candidates we have in the 2020 presidential race. His memoir will give you a feel for his personality and style of politics.
I picked this up at my local bookshop, and I’m surprised it hasn’t gotten more press, because it’s really excellent. After their mother’s suicide attempt, two sisters are sent to live with their estranged father, a flagging novelist, in New York City. One sister embraces their new life—the other rejects it. Briskly paced and told from multiple first-person points of view, the novel explores artistic inspiration (the notion of “The Muse”), family ties, loyalty and how we arrive at a sense of self.
Jamison wrote this book of essays before The Recovering, and it’s good. Though, again, I wouldn’t recommend it to everybody. Books of essays are often hit and miss for me, and this one is no exception. There are moments of “must highlight” brilliance — and moments when the literary references feel a bit cumbersome. To see if this is your cup of tea, I highly recommend this New York Times book review. Garner writes of Jamison “... her cerebral, witty, multichambered essays tend to swing around to one topic in particular: what we mean when we say that we feel someone else’s pain.”
Fascinating. For anyone who thinks our government is just a bloated mass of bureaucratic paper pushers, think again. Focusing on the Departments of Energy, Agriculture and Commerce, Lewis illustrates how these agencies protect American lives (in ways you’ve probably never thought of), distribute services and aid (very efficiently, actually) and innovate for the sole purpose of bettering society. A lot of private sector successes came on the coattails of the U.S. government. Read, learn, love it.
The Book of Essie by Meghan Maclean
Pretty good. Kind of predictable. Thirty years ago the premise of this book would have been shocking. Today though, when the teenage star of her evangelical family’s reality tv show becomes pregnant (I won’t tell you by whom, though you’ll probably guess before it’s revealed), it’s a bit of a so-what.
Loved it. An amazing novel about God, religion, faith, humanity, culture, love, loyalty and family. So many ideas here—it’s a playground for the mind as well as a beautifully written story. One of my favorites of the year.
A terrific memoir about a baseball superstar (known for his knuckleball) who was, more often than not, not a superstar. I like baseball, but I don’t think you have to be a fan of the sport to be a fan of this book. This is Dickey’s whole story—personal and professional—and both are treated with a highly personal touch.
I find choreographers to be fascinating, if not relatable, human beings. Despite a creative temperament that I sense would not jive with my own, Tharp serves up a ton of good advice here that aligns with my own experience of creativity. She talks about finding a spine, for example, the creative backbone or north star for your work. And like me, she’s a researcher, collecting bits and bobs of inspiration from different places as creative building blocks.
I find it curious how many star athletes who reach the top of their game don’t love their sport. Andre Agassi hated the game of tennis. Vehemently. And while Wambach’s relationship with soccer is less fraught, she confesses that she never fell in love with the game, only the validation that came from winning. I listened to the audiobook, read by Wambach herself. Her voice is so candid and compelling—and her story is so much more than a soccer story—I can’t imagine this not appealing to a wide range of readers.
Another Obama insider’s take on the state of the world today. Rhodes was Obama’s senior foreign policy advisor—so this memoir offers an inside look at some of the most complex and important decisions made by world leaders in my adult lifetime. The moments that made me all misty and nostalgic (for a president who wasn’t an angry shit monster in ill-fitting golf pants) were the personal exchanges between Obama and his closest confidants. Rhodes is a great writer—and his experience in the White House is extraordinary—but I wouldn’t classify this as light reading, if a jolly romp through the West Wing is what you’re after.
This is the second novel by the author of Nookietown, and it’s just as funny and fast-paced, with a more substantive storyline. Even the novel’s most flawed characters are so lovable (or at least sympathetic) you’ll want to take them with you to the beach, the lake, or your nearest hammock.
Note: What follows is a series of addiction memoirs I read this year after I decided to stop drinking. While I was never addicted to alcohol (at least not physically), I was deeply attached to its softening effects. Drinking had become such a fixture in my life—so ingrained in my nightly routine—it was becoming hard to tell where my personality left off and the Bota Box began. It was as if wine—and not even good wine—and I had become the same person; a person who was too often gifted novelty wine glasses shaped like trophies that read “World Champion Wine Drinker.” I wanted better for myself.
Not a memoir in the traditional sense—but a series of essays. Coulter writes about how addiction and sobriety intersect with feminism, and she does so with great insight and humor. Two thumbs up.
A masterpiece. This near-perfect memoir is one I’d recommend to everyone. Knapp was a journalist by trade, so her powers of observation are keen, especially when trained on her own decades of high-functioning alcoholism. Her writing is the best kind of poetry; clear and sharp and insightful. I related to her and her story so deeply; it was like a punch in the gut to learn she was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer shortly after becoming sober. The world lost a tremendous writer, but I’m so glad she left us with her story.
Completely different from Knapp’s memoir—and entirely lovable just the same. Gray’s experience of sobriety is very much like mine—full of happy surprises. I thought living without alcohol would be a deprivation, but the opposite has proven true. Nor drinking has given me so much more than it’s taken away.
For a brief window of time I became addicted to addiction memoirs, and this one did not disappoint. Drinking to the point of blackout (which is not the same as being passed out, by the way), Hepola says and does things her sober self would never do —and has no memory of doing them. If you’ve ever woken up with that “oh god, what did I say last night?” feeling, multiply that by a thousand and you’ll be in the vicinity of Hepola’s hell years. Her voice is distinct, bold and brassy where others are more darkly introspective. She owns every inch of her story and is committed to telling it in the most entertaining way. In an interview with The Fix, she said, “ I was far more scared to fail — to have written a lousy book, that people ignored — than I was embarrassed about people knowing that, say, I had sex with some random guy in Paris.” The book was not ignored, and for very good reason. Highly recommend.
British writer and mother of two (who, like me, worked in advertising), Clare Pooley is a witty and relatable narrator, not unlike a Marian Keyes or Sophie Kinsella heroine, whose relationship with alcohol sounds a lot like mine. Drinking to unwind. Drinking to blur the edges. Drinking to be interested. Drinking to check out. Drinking too much, without being addicted to alcohol. This is a great read for the “sober-curious”, with much to relate to.
Smith was a young attorney in an elite New York City law firm, using alcohol and cocaine to cope with undiagnosed depression and the immense pressure of her profession. When she checks herself into a detox program, her friends—all big drinkers (who would make terribly unappealing characters if this were a novel)—are mystified, as if alcoholism were something that existed only in the movies. I was rooting for her to leave them behind and make a better life for herself. Not sure if she kept the friends, but make a better life for herself she did. Her recovery feels like an unburdening—you can literally feel the prose transition from dark to light. Her story also brings to light the particular challenge that faces addicts in high-powered professions where there’s a culture of drinking to survive. What do you do when the office’s sanctioned survival skill is killing you?
Sober Curious by Ruby Warrington
Sober curiosity is something of a movement these days, with more and more people choosing sobriety for the physical and emotional benefits (which, I can attest, are numerous). Warrington writes from that vantage point, and while she can be the teensiest bit woo-woo for my taste (she also writes an astrology blog), I enjoyed the book overall. If Twelve Step programs are a turnoff and you’re looking for a different approach to sobriety, Sober Curious would be a good one to add to your list.
Okay, that’s the end of the addiction memoir bender, though my sober self lives on.
Heather “Dooce.com” Armstrong was the first blogger I ever read and the one who inspired me to start Blabbermouse. As she built her media empire and grew more and more famous, I found her writing less relatable. It was as if she’d discovered the recipe for “witty irreverent Gen-X working mom voice” and was just sprinkling that shit on everything. In retrospect, I wonder if that formula was a coping mechanism for the immense pressure of being funny and cool and together in the face of crippling depression. This memoir is about the rare experimental treatment Armstrong undergoes to treat her suicidal depression. Over the course of several weeks, doctors put her in an induced coma for 15 minutes at a time to stop the electrical activity in her brain, rendering her briefly brain dead. The treatment works—and its as if a malignant fog has lifted from her life. Her voice in The Valedictorian is gentler than before, irreverent, raw, real, and humble—the voice I fell in love with—and her recovery is triumphant.
A hilarious smack down of our infuriating patriarchy. The only way to get through the insanity that America has become is to laugh and lift up your own slice of the world as best you can. Not the whole world, Erin says, just your corner of it. Gibson can be extremely vulgar, and for me to find someone too vulgar is saying something, but she’s so damn smart and insightful my inner priss got over it in a hurry.
A love letter to therapy and therapists—this is a unique and wonderful read. A therapist herself, Lori Gottlieb goes to therapy to work through an unexpected breakup. Not only does she gain insight into herself—she gains deeper respect for her own patients and becomes a better therapist as a result. I loved being a fly on the wall in her therapy sessions—both as client and counselor—and I loved seeing the slow dawning of self-awareness and healing happen before my eyes. A wonderful memoir. Highly recommend.
I listened to the audiobook, read by the author, whose voice was not at all what I expected. A powerful essayist, I was surprised by her vulnerability and lack of professional veneer. This “memoir of her body” is extremely raw and unlike anything I’ve read before. This world is not kind to bodies that don’t fit into tidy boxes—and our failure to accept fat people as fully human is one of our greatest societal transgressions. “The bigger you are,” Gay says, “the smaller your world becomes.” Not that anyone owes anyone else an explanation for why their body is the way it is, but Gay’s generosity in sharing her physical autobiography should make readers think twice before making assumptions about anybody else’s.
If you haven’t read the book, listen to it instead. The audiobook features an all star cast of (over a hundred) characters, including David Sedaris, Lena Dunham, Julianne Moore, Susan Sarandon, Nick Offerman and Saunders himself. It is a wildly imaginative, creative, weird, wonderful and original piece of theater. Saunders is a one-of-a-kind genius, and this is a one-of-a-kind work of art.
It didn’t hit me as hard as Little Fires Everywhere, but there’s still a lot of food for thought here. It’s a novel about identity, living vicariously through others, the stories we tell ourselves about the people we love, and how utterly wrong we can get those stories so much of the time.
Behind the scenes with the journalists who broke the story that ended Harvey Weinstein’s career and sparked the #metoo movement. She Said not only delivers new details of the Weinstein scandal, the Kavanaugh case, and the suffering behind the scenes, it gives me renewed respect for the journalistic process.
This is book two of the Neapolitan Novels, in which the main characters—best friends Lila and Elena—enter young adulthood where their friendship is strained by their diverging paths. It’s not a short book, but I devoured it in three days at the beach, and the minute I finished, I drove to the bookstore to pick up book three, Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay.
Lila and Elena are grown now, with children of their own. The ever studious Elena has had some professional success, while for Lila the tables have significantly turned. Many of the themes that have run through the series—friendship, status, destiny, education, and knowledge vs. original thinking—come to a major head.
Facebook is bad, you guys. Worse than I realized. And Lanier makes a very compelling case for deleting your accounts. But then Facebook, because it KNOWS, goes and makes a very compelling case for not sending my teenagers to reform school by reminding me that when Patrick was in kindergarten, he said, “I may be a businessman when I grow up, but every night I’m going to bring home pomegranates and my kids and I will feast on pomegranates.” He’s going to feast on pomegranates with his kids. So basically I’m dead from the cuteness and have no use for privacy anyway.
The long awaited follow up to Shrill, West’s first book of essays, which inspired the (brilliant) original series on Hulu starring SNL’s Aidy Bryant. West is very smart and very funny, and she takes zero bullshit from anyone. While I love her insightful observations and cultural critiques, these essays as a whole were lighter than I’d expected them to be—going wide when she could have gone deep. Still well worth the read for the writing and laughs (and GOOP convention) alone.
Thanks again to my local favorite, @thebookshop, I found another gem I otherwise might have missed. Impossible to classify—is it poetry? memoir? psychology? journalism?—the answer to all of the above is YES. Such an original and striking piece of art, it’s one of my favorite discoveries of the year. Buy one copy for yourself and one for your favorite empath.
I’m always a little skeptical when reviewers use the word “riveting” to describe a memoir. But this. Was. Riveting. Straight out of college, Fox spent ten years in the CIA’s most elite clandestine ops unit, hunting terrorists, while posing as a rare art dealer. Riv-e-ting. (One friendly piece of advice, though: do not google Amaryllis Fox before you read. Just let yourself imagine her as a smart homely girl with bad skin who did not get all the good looks to go with her extra large helping of top-notch brains. God may be good, but He can also be a petty-ass jerk when divvying up the gifts. One special skill for Bob, one butt that looks good in jeans for Angela, a huge fistful of all the things for Amaryllis, and for Karen, some cellulite and a cubicle with a cat calendar. If we can’t have justice, at least we can have this awesome book to read.
I have no idea why I read this book. I don’t even watch The Bachelor. Or the Bachelorette. Or reality tv. But what can I say? Sometimes you find yourself wandering around the digital library stacks, looking for the next love of your reading life, and you get a behind the scenes glimpse of America’s most desperate attention seeking fame-whores instead. I’m joking. The people who go on the Bachelor are actually really lovely (except when the cameras are on them, which is always). And the producers of the show are definitely there to facilitate authentic love connections (by plying cast members with alcohol and gossip, feeding their insecurities, and depriving them of all contact with the outside world).The Bachelor franchise? Is some fucked up shit, y’all. And I enjoyed every minute I spent reading about it. Kaufman is a great (and very funny) tour guide, who is also a rabid fan of the show in spite of all she knows.
Scovell is remarkably humble considering her writing resume (The Simpsons, Letterman, Murphy Brown, The Muppets, NCIS). She’s also, not surprisingly, very funny. This glimpse behind the scenes of iconic television shows is a treat—and an eye opener— that had me reconsidering my ultimate fantasy job. A great read.
I haven’t watched this critically acclaimed series, but I feel like I have. On a whim, I picked up the complete script (Seasons 1 and 2) at The Bookshop, and the writing is exceptional, hilarious, heart rending, beautiful, can’t recommend it enough. Scripts make a unique reading experience, with far less left to the imagination. If the script is good, the “stage” directions transcend their utilitarian function and rise to the level of art. Waller-Bridge is a master artist.
If you’re noticing a pattern in the last three books, it’s because I’ve gotten hooked on a podcast called Happier in Hollywood, which is all about two writer/producer/show runners living and working in Los Angeles. When it comes to podcasts, I love being late to the game. Discovering a podcast in its second or third season means I have a lot of catching up to do, and I’ve loved every minute I’ve spent binge listening to Happier. I was introduced to Kristen Meizner when she was a guest on the pod. She’s the host of By the Book and a podcast producer who’s been around since the beginning of the medium, and she drops so much knowledge here—with humor and heart (and zero pretension). I was just curious to learn how it’s done, and I loved this glimpse behind the curtain. If you do want to start a podcast, this should absolutely be your first stop.
I like treating myself to Giffin’s books about once a year. She’s a good writer with a winning formula, and even the heaviest subjects are thought-provoking but emotionally unburdensome in her hands. All We Ever Wanted takes on teenage sexual assault and asks how far a family should go to defend their child. It’s set in Nashville, Tennessee, of all places, with a fictional victim who lives about three blocks from my house. The accused (I’m not smirking, I promise!) is a private school kid from Belle Meade. Named Finch! (Like Atticus Finch, because, irony. And also: rich people names.) Apparently I’ve never read a book set in my own town, because my mind was blown when the characters would cruise through Five Points or grab coffee at Bongo Java. (Can they drink the same coffee as me if they don’t actually exist?) Regardless this was a quick and entertaining page turner about a very important topic.
Fast, fun, “made for TV movie” suspense with a weird cult subplot and a (very conveniently timed) coma thrown in for good measure. The ending was a little tidy and maybe just a smidge ridiculous, but I got there so fast, I didn’t really care.
In his latest psychosocial expedition, Gladwell explores the question, “Why do our interactions with strangers so often go wrong?” Using history, psychology, and examples from current events Gladwell demonstrates how the tools we use to make sense of our interactions with strangers are flawed and how the assumptions we rely on when making character judgments are so often (terribly) wrong. I consider myself a pretty good judge of character—and after reading this book, I’m convinced that’s probably a huge mistake.