First Impressions of the Best Books...

In which we consider The New York Times list of the "Best Books of the 21st Century"

Hi, Y’all! Glad You’re Here—

It’s been a while since I’ve written you, but as I sat down to write for the first time since this extended hiatus, I realized I have a lot to say. The New York Times released its list of the 100 Best Books of the 21st Century—a list which included several book that I thought were…fine, books that I loved but whose creators have since been mired in controversy, and some choices that just felt like they were included strictly out of obligation. There were also several—to me—glaring omissions, but I also recognize that all of these lists are arbitrary and there is no need for me to get huffy and pretend like this list is definitive or that it is an indicator for what will actually stand the test of time.

At the beginning of The New York Times article, it clarifies that they considered the most important, influential books of the 21st century. I guess this means that a book doesn’t have to be “the best” as long as it is considered important and/or influential. With that clarification, I think we can stop fretting over whether the books on this list are the best written books of the last twenty-ish decades. Now, I guess, the question we ask ourselves is, what is the metric for a books influence or importance? Some of the books that have influenced me the most as a writer and human over the last twenty-plus years are nowhere to be found on that list. Gone Girl is one of the most influential books of the 21st century—it changed the way publishers marketed thrillers, spawned a whole slew of “girl”-titled books, shifted the way we talk about marriage. The ever-polarizing A Little Life is also highly influential—even if you hate it, that book has done more for literary discourse than most any other book I can think of. So, why the omission?

While I’m not the most knowledgeable when it comes to non-fiction and poetry, I like to think I have considered fiction (genre and individual works, both) enough to have formed an opinion on what makes a book technically good, to make an argument for a books longevity, and to think about the harder questions relating to works and their authors.

Over the last few years, I’ve been working on a reading project where I read every single book ever longlisted for the National Book Award for Fiction, starting with its inception in 1950. One of the first things I noticed was how difficult it was for me to get my hands on several of these highly praised books, because they had long been out of print. My initial impression was that a book making one of these longlists would all but guarantee that they stay in print, that they continue to be talked about in some way—but even the winners, though all still in print, aren’t guaranteed to be remembered. 1961 has one of the most remembered longlists of that decade, with books like Rabbit, Run by John Updike, The Violent Bear It Away by Flannery O’Connor, A Separate Peace by John Knowles, and To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee—but the winner that year was a book no one ever talks about anymore, called The Waters of Kronos by Conrad Richter. My friend, and fellow bookstagrammer, Bernie Lombardi brought up a good point, that much of the fiction on the NYT list were Pulitzer Prize winners—so, in that way, the Pulitzer has a better track record. But even then, I don’t necessarily think awards alone are a good indicator of what will endure.

I have a theory that a books longevity is dependent on it falling into one of two categories: one, that it is so singular, so well crafted, so inspiring, that writers gravitate towards it for years to come, acting like a seed to an entire generation’s creativity—or, a book has managed to take a hot button topic and say something that feels somewhat educational, that’s watered down enough to be digestible to a general audience, and that’s inoffensive enough that it carries over year to year. Books like Edinburgh by Alexander Chee will likely always find a readership, because most every writer I know has soaked up Chee’s sentences and been inspired by his brilliance. Books like American Dirt will likely be forgotten because, while it was an instant bestseller, it was immediately decried as an offensive portrayal and didn’t offer much on a craft level; whereas a book like To Kill A Mockingbird, while a problematic white savior narrative, was considered well written and plotted upon its release, and was inoffensive to the predominately white literary establishment for years. That book has its issues, but most of those didn't really become part of the larger conversation until recent years. Anyway, while I am sure there are other determining factors in this theory—it’s rough and not well tested, yet—I am convinced I’m onto something.

Some of the authors featured on the NYT list are “writers’ writers”, you know what I mean? They are the people whose work writers turn to when they want to be inspired—a bit like what I mentioned above. While I love George Saunders, I do think he's more of a presence to the literary establishment than he is a household name. He’s your short story writers favorite short story writer—and yes, this is a Sasha Colby reference, get into it straights. Karen Russell, one of my favorite short story writers, often cites him as a major inspiration to her work, and many other writers look to him for technique and form, and he’s even written a craft book, so I think that adds to my point. I don’t think a more general reader would have included three of his books on this list, but within the literary world, he is a highly influential presence.

Maybe this is part of what’s happening, is that the NYT is trying to include books that are influential to the literary establishment and also books that are influential to readers, at large. While it would be silly to include flash-in-the-pan books like Coleen Hoover’s It Ends With Us, I do think a book like Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow manages to be a bridge between the literary and commercial reader. While I don’t think it’s one of the best books of the 21st century, I do think it’s a good book, and it has cultivated a wide readership and has more staying power than the average page-turner. I’m not sure if the book will be read fifty years from now—I actually think the book reads as a less literary combo of A Little Life and The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay—but I think it’s a good, entertaining read, and will likely be popular in the way most summer blockbusters are.

We won’t really know which books from the NYT list will be remembered until we are twenty, thirty, even forty years down the line. The sad truth is that many books, even great ones, are eventually forgotten, and we never really know which will have staying power, because we don’t know what kind of world we will be living in further down the road.

Another thought I had while looking at this list is the idea of author as personality. Partly because I think some of these authors have cultivated such a lasting image with the public that they become part of what we conjure in our minds when someone talks books. Colton Whitehead, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Jesmyn Ward, Donna Tartt, Alice Munro, etc. have all become known for their particular, recognizable faces and/or personalities either in interviews or public talks. This isn’t to say that it’s the reason their work is memorable, but just that it gives a face to the words, helps create a lasting impression, because we endear ourselves to the people whose work we love. I think part of why this came to mind is because several featured authors have, in recent years, fallen into one controversy or another. Some of the less enthusiastic reactions people had to this list were due to authors like Junot Diaz, Adichie, and Munro being included. I’ve been working on an upcoming newsletter about this, which will cover a lot more than I really have time for here, but I did want to say that while I understand the complicated feelings about these authors and their inclusion, I also can’t argue with how important a lot of their work was at the time they were released. I also wonder if we will eventually engage with the work of these people much like we do with authors like Flannery O’Connor and William Faulkner. Who can say? I don’t have answers for this.

I was surprised by not seeing anything by Lauren Groff, Louise Erdrich, Jhumpa Lahiri, and several others. I just felt like they seemed like shoe-ins. These authors feel like such staples to the literary landscape at this point that to not include them seems like an oversight. I think this is where things get complicated, when you label a list as “best books” but you don’t really mean the “best” books. Some of the books listed are truly some of the greatest books of the last few decades—Salvage The Bones, Erasure, Pachinko, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, The Vegetarian, etc. The list goes on. But there were other books that I thought were fine, but could’ve been replaced by other, better books.

Once again, I know that I am just bitter because my faves didn’t make it, but these were my first thoughts when opening up the article this morning to see the final 20 books listed. I’m still processing my thoughts on a lot of these things, but I would love to know what y’all think. Did you guys love this list? Were there any disappointments for you? What book would you have included? I’d love to know.

I have a few other newsletters I’ve been working on that will be out soon—I’m back to my reading project, so expect more NBA talk, and I have a few discussion posts about engaging with art by bad people, and a few letters highlighting some of my favorite books I’ve read this year. I’m very grateful to all of you for sticking around. Hope you enjoyed these first impressions on the NYT list! More to come real soon!

Until then,

XOXO