Surprises and Disappointments...

In which I discuss my thoughts on my National Book Award reading project, hyped fiction, and how life can get in the way of one's reading.

Hi, Y’all! Glad You’re Here—

Over the last two years, I have been slowly but surely making my way through the National Book Award longlists—I recently finished reading the books of the ’60s, as well as this year’s fiction longlist. My feelings towards both have been ambivalent. The 1960s saw some of the best books written, some of the most enduring works of the last century, and works that are still highly influential and talked about today. But the National Book Award overlooked several of these books, and even the ones that were longlisted ended up losing out to books people don’t even know anymore, books that I wouldn’t even consider that revolutionary or to have stood the test of time. I went into this reading project with these grand ideas, thinking it would make me more well-read, a better reader, have a deeper understanding of the very idea of fiction, to have more of a historical context for where fiction was and is going…but instead it just made me frustrated with the establishment, with those who call the shots, or say what is good or bad, what is or isn’t art. In some ways, this is a reoccurring thing, something I feel like I’m even seeing with this year’s fiction longlist, as well as some of the hyped books from this year as a whole. This year’s NBA list had several glaring omissions, but there were also several gems that I think will endure. But also…who am I to say one way or another? I thought reading all of these books might help me become more of an authority, and yet the more I read, the less confident I feel in my ideas around literature. The more I know, the more I realize I have left to learn.

Something really interesting about the literary landscape in the 1960s is how we begin to see a noticeable shift in the reception of novels by Jewish American writers. There were a few major works by authors like Saul Bellow and Bernard Malamud in the ‘50s, but even then, the landscape of the ’50s was mostly dominated by stories focusing on the experience of soldiers of World War II. Half of the winners and many of the finalists focused on WWII, if not WWI or some other major war, with many writers trying to reckon with the aftermath of the war on the American people, as well as the disillusionment of war. The 1960s showed a branching away from war stories—despite several major novels like Catch 22 appearing on several longlists—with many of the books seeming to reflect, to varying degrees of success, the rise of the civil rights movement and a greater awareness of the complicated dynamics relating to identity among various people. We saw the debut of Philip Roth, who won his National Book Award for the collection Goodbye, Columbus, and more appearances by Bernard Malamud (a finalist and winner in the 60’s for books like Idiots First and The Fixer) and Saul Bellow (winning for Herzog). It seems to me that there was a greater appreciation for Jewish American literature and the rise of these widely acclaimed—and sometimes controversial—writers. Malamud is probably the one that’s most slept on of the three I’ve listed, which is a shame because I think he’s equally as talented.

While there’s a noticeable shift in the way these books engage with race and identity, I also feel like the books that the NBA most chose to highlight during the second half of the ‘60s—when the Civil Rights Movement was in full swing—were completely avoidant of the subject. It’s like things got too hot for them and they didn’t know whether they should draw focus to it or not, and so we see a lot of books that just ignore the issue entirely. But that empty space is deeply felt, and in a way, the absence draws more attention to it, like a smudge hastily wiped away.

It’s not that I think every book has to engage with social events in order to be good or relevant, it’s clear to me that this avoidance had a negative impact on these specific works that were highlighted by the award. I think the literary establishment has always had (and continues to have) a complicated relationship to politics and sociological issues and the choices of which books get highlighted and not. It becomes clear that the books selected are done so due to the cishet-white gaze of its panel every year. We either see almost no books by marginalized writers for years, or we see stories that only highlight the trauma of certain communities when there are plenty of other books released that are just as good if not better that engage with experiences outside of explicit trauma. I always think about the 2021 longlist as a perfect example of this. And to be clear, I know this is a complicated issue—I recognize that I’m not always going to be the best person to talk about this. But it is interesting to consider.

Overall, when I look at my experience reading the books of the 1960s, I’m glad that I read most of them because there were so many I loved. Some of them I had read before, but I developed a greater appreciation for them when studying up on the historical context surrounding their releases, or being able to better see how previous works might have influenced them. It’s because of this project that I finally read Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House—a legitimately unsettling book—and it was the same year that featured Evan S. Connell Jr.’s Mrs. Bridge, part of a duology that helped inspire one of my all-time favorite novels, Fates and Furies. The year I’m referring to here is 1960, which also saw the first appearance of four-time finalist, Louis Auchincloss. While I didn’t love his work, I still admire how it helped shape the decade. There were also novels by Robert Penn Warren, Saul Bellow, Hamilton Basso, William Faulkner, John Hershey, James Jones, and John Updike—all previous or eventual finalists and winners. There was even a feature of the beloved but often underread James Purdy. To start off the decade with such a strong list of authors was impressive. The very next year had A Separate Peace, To Kill A Mockingbird, and The Violent Bear It Away—all popular books taught in classrooms in middle and high school—though they lost to a book no one has heard of before, titled The Waters of Kronos.

1962 was another major year, with Catch 22, Revolutionary Road, and Franny and Zooey. The winner of that year was The Moviegoer by Walker Percy, which is still a novel looked at fondly by many. Even after that, in the early ‘60s we also saw the appearance of several major players, like Thomas Pynchon, Mary McCarthy, and Vladimir Nabokov. The latter half saw the first of several appearances of Joyce Carol Oates. The sixties was an important time for American literature as we know it. I feel like just looking at these lists can be proof of that.

I do have mixed feelings about this award, but, as always, I have to reiterate that I have gotten more out of this reading project than I have any sort of frustration. Being able to discover some books I hadn’t heard of before, books that are now favorites, is exciting. I want to be able to bring attention to these books and authors if I can.

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My relationship to reading, even outside of this project, has been complicated over the last several months. It’s not that I have fallen out of love with reading—I still find myself just as passionate about the books I read, though I struggle more than ever to articulate my thoughts—but as my job has become more and more demanding, it’s made it more difficult to engage with the types of books I usually read. I like demanding books, but because I like demanding books, I have to have the time they require for me to sit with them. There isn’t that much time for that these days.

A few months ago, I went to see a psychiatrist and she diagnosed me with major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety. I told her that part of my sadness came from not being able to devote as much time to the things I loved—namely, reading and writing. Not being able to complete this project in my initially projected timeline has been a little bit devastating, even as I realize how unrealistic it was. I started this project as a way to give myself structure and keep my writing muscles going after finishing my memoir. Part of me thought that I would end up finding an agent, getting the book published, and navigating all of these things together until I had the perfect concoction for my happiness. None of that happened. None of the things that I planned for have come to fruition yet. I also realized how unhappy I was in my job, how much I hate living in Florida, how desperate I was to have one of these many goals of mine happen so I could prove to myself that I wasn’t a loser for not having a degree or any real direction in my life. The Psychiatrist prescribed me with an SSRI, and I was off to hopefully fix my life.

Within a week, I couldn’t seem to focus on any book I picked up. And for the first time in a long time, I was struggling to write about any of the books I was attempting to read, or to write fiction, or even write about my life. This never happened to me. It went on like this for almost two months, and this—along with several other issues—I realized was stemming from this medication. I asked to be taken off, and a week later, I managed to be able to read something for the first time in a while. It’s been about two weeks now, and I finally have the clarity I lost almost three months ago, and it’s nice to be able to once again write about books and to be able to read them, even if I don’t have that much time. I’m trying to make changes in my life, but I think all of us who are navigating adulthood know how tricky it can be to do this.

I know it’s boring and annoying to read about anyone complaining about these things. I’m not trying to demand sympathy or even to just talk your ear off with my frustrations. I guess, if anything, I’m just trying to say that if you feel at all like I do, know you’re not alone in this. I think we’re all on the struggle bus, in some way or another.

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As I mentioned at the beginning of this letter, I have grown ambivalent about the National Book Award. I still want to read all of the books and I definitely still plan to. But I have decided that instead of locking myself into a project that feels so limiting, especially when I’m already on the struggle bus, I will continue to simply incorporate these books into whatever else I am interested in reading, and considering how they are in conversation with the greater landscape and in all of the things I’ve learned so far. My hope is to finish this eventually, but to not feel resentment as I approach each book.

Over these last few months of the year, I want to work towards finishing the NBA books of the 2010s, start the books of the 1970s, and also continue to read as widely as I can outside of this award. Something I’ve realized so much over the last two years is how little this award means as far as whether or not a book is going to be revolutionary or the best written book of a year, and it’s more likely that it will highlight certain overlooked authors or emerging authors or maybe even authors whose work the panel felt spoke to a certain moment. And those are all fine. It’s just adjusting my expectations and making sure that I’m not looking to this limited range to fulfill all of my needs.

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As a final note—I have paused my paid subscription for the foreseeable future. I was mostly using that to afford most of the NBA books I didn’t have, and I’ve come close to having most of them now. At least up through the 80’s. I’m so grateful to everyone who helped me towards this goal, and who has shown support to me over the last few years. If you’ve stuck with me for this project, just know I am beyond grateful and appreciate you. I’ve got lots of thoughts I’m hoping I can jot down over the next few months. And if you want to check out my back log, please feel free to do so!

That’s all for now! Thanks so much for reading.

Until next time,

XOXO