Books of 2008

• The Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan — Never as good as The Omnivore’s Dilemma (his follow-up, which I actually read first, in 2007), and I don’t think Pollan quite proves his central thesis, but the book is never dull, full of valuable insights and interesting facts.
• The Terror by Dan Simmons — A book I was genuinely sorry to put down when I was finished. Which, given the length, is saying something. Easily the scariest book I read all year.
• Spaceman Blues by Brian Franics Slattery — Matt Cheney called it “songs of all sorts, entire arias and symphonies, and it sings visions, and the visions are both full and fulfilling…” He ain’t wrong, that’s for sure.
• Logorrhea edited by John Klima — I have never really understood the mass appeal of spelling bees. I remember participating in one or two back in grade school, but the recent fascination with what’s essentially just a trick of good memory has me a little dumbfounded. Maybe I need to get around to finally watching Spellbound on DVD. I was skeptical of John Klima’s anthology — each story inspired by a winning word in the Scripps National Spelling Bee — but the stories speak for themselves. Most are fantasy or science fiction — not surprising given Klima’s background — and almost without exception excellent.
• The Yiddish Policeman’s Union by Michael Chabon — I don’t think Chabon’s disappointed me yet with one of his novels. His short stories and novellas are sometimes a tougher sell, but he’s in top form here.
• Grey by Jon Armstrong — Delightfully weird.
• Soon I Will Be Invincible by Austin Grossman — This could have easily been a one-joke book. Many of the real-world superhero stories we’ve seen since Watchmen have been. But Grossman’s novel is by turns both funny and touching.
• The Trouble with Poetry by Billy Collins — Outside of Kaleidotrope submissions, I don’t read enough poetry. I’m really glad I picked Collins’ book as my first step in remedying that.
• Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee — Makes me wonder why I’ve not read more of his books. I wonder if I still have my copy of Waiting for the Barbarians lying around anywhere…
• The King’s Last Song by Geoff Ryman — A sweeping story of Cambodia’s ancient (and more recent) past. I’m particularly glad I picked up the Small Beer Press edition, which includes Ryman’s sources and notes on where his story by necessity diverged from historical fact.

And the biggest disappointments of the year:

• A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole — Ultimately, I think it’s just too dated to still be really funny.
• Wanted by Mark Millar et al. — Misognyistic and at least borderline racist, it’s little more than a repellent power fantasy that ruins what could have been an interesting “what if we killed off all the superheroes?” story. I didn’t much like the movie either.
• You Don’t Love Me Yet by Jonathan Lethem — Ultimately a lousy book by a terrific writer; “lesser Lethem” might be the most charitable description. But as Donna Bowman wrote for the AV Club, “The man [was] due for a letdown.”
• Crooked Little Vein by Warren Ellis — A little like watered-down, or warmed-over, Ellis. It’s not awful, but I didn’t see anything in it to suggest Ellis has a career as a prose novelist. It’s a story that might have worked considerably better on the comics page. (I also wasn’t too impressed with his graphic novel Blackgas, though.)
• A Wrinkle in Time by Madeline L’Engle — I think if I’d read this growing up, it might be a cherished childhood classic. Then again, maybe not. It was a quick read, but I’m not in any rush to read the remaining books in L’Engle’s quartet.
• Farthing by Jo Walton — Likable characters and a quick read — I read this on the plane ride to LA in August — it’s only up here because its alternate-universe premise is pretty shallow, and the whole thing sort of falls apart in the end.
• Man in the Dark by Paul Auster — For a novelist who used to be among my very favorites, Auster’s had a whole lot of disappointments lately. This reads as very slight, barely qualifying as a story (much less a short novel), and it makes pine for earlier (much better) Auster novels. The so-called political twist, like so much else in the book, is barely examined. I don’t know what’s a more worrisome thought: that he just isn’t trying anymore…or that he is, and this is the result.