It's been over a year since I've published anything on this website. I didn't intend to take such a long hiatus but I didn't feel as passionately about the books I read in 2023, and I struggled for a while to find books I connected with or that brought out emotion in me.
The emotional roller coaster of 2022 was somehow easier to deal with than the last two years (if you missed it, I go into detail in my Top Books of 2022). Losing my dad that year was a deep, expansive grief, but one that felt sharp and vivid, it burned hot and bright, and left me feeling alive and aware of the fleetingness of life. I traveled to places that left me in awe, I dreamt about my dad all the time, and I read books that provoked a depth of emotion that was raw and piercing. I felt like I was allowed to feel all those emotions because the loss had just happened, and the first anniversaries without him were new, pushing me to navigate life with the now heavy burden of grief.
Things changed after that first year. The sharpness began to fade, and a dull ache took its place. I kept grieving but the world had moved on. I no longer felt entitled to my intense sadness or bursts of emotion, especially anger or bitterness. The farther away in time I was from my dad's passing, the more I felt I was losing him. His visits in my dreams became few and far between. I struggled to talk about him or my pain, and I was turning to books or experiences that would distract me instead of challenge me. I would often push down tears or words because I was sick of being sad. Thinking about my dad was too painful. I avoided things that would remind me of him, or stories that dealt with loss, heartbreak, or grief. It was exhausting.
I don't want to trauma dump on the internet but I want to share what's been going on for a few reasons. One, my own personal life certainly dictates the books I choose to pick up and how I react to them. Two, I genuinely believe we don't talk enough about the long-term effects of loss and grief. Sure, the first initial pain and experience are often documented in books, movies, TV, and social media. But that dull, deep ache that somehow feels heavier is what we carry for the rest of our lives. And I really didn't know how to carry that pain.
This past year was different. I had a few months in the beginning of 2024 to reflect and reevaluate. I could see that distracting myself and avoiding the sharp pain of my dad's memory was not helping. I've always struggled to talk about my feelings and that wasn't serving me anymore. I knew that listening to my gut, doing things that challenged me, allowing myself to feel the overwhelming sadness of missing my dad, and reaching for stories that may evoke that searing emotion were important for me to move forward.
I was able to find books that spoke to my soul again. I learned that the blinding pain of remembering and grief is actually crucial, and is the thing that keeps me connected to my dad and my love for him alive. Grief is complicated, different for everyone, and strangely isolating, yet it unifies us all. We will all lose the ones we love, but it's that pain of loss that reminds us that we are capable of loving and remembering, how precious and remarkable it is to love and feel so deeply, and it's one of the most beautiful and most important parts of life.
I hope I didn't scare you away with all these feelings, and I truly hope that those living with grief, however fresh or not, feel a little less alone. I see you, it's fucking hard, and I'm so sorry. With all that said, here are my favorite books I read in 2024.
Honorable Personal Development Mentions
If you follow my Goodreads or are one of my close friends, you'll know I've always loved personal development books, ranging from health and wellness to productivity to rest. They can teeter on the line of gimmicky, but it's always been a favorite morning ritual of mine to read a chapter of a personal development book with my coffee. I read a lot of them this year (33 to be exact). I moved out into an apartment on my own for the first time after living with my best friends for almost 6 years. Those moments in the morning were often lonely, but I knew that part of my routine that I've carried for years could help me feel more grounded and present. I didn't necessarily want to give a full review on these books, so I will recommend the ones I felt were the best.
Health and wellness: Built to Move by Kelly and Juliet Starrett, 100 Ways to Change Your Life by Liz Moody, Ultra-Processed People by Chris van Tullekan, Smart Sex by Dr. Emily Morse, Hormone Intelligence by Aviva Romm.
Productivity: Stolen Focus by Johann Hari
Personal Introspection: The Good Enough Job by Simone Stolzoff, The Good Life by Robert Waldinger and Marc Schulz (made me cry).
It's important for me to acknowledge that I will often avoid reading books when they're hyped up and popular in the moment. I usually find that my expectations are too high, I've read too many reviews, and struggle to formulate my own opinion when a book is all over the internet. It's one of the reasons I didn't read Normal People for so many years. I had also heard people say how much either the book or TV series emotionally broke them, and as we've discussed, I was avoiding that for a while.
I chose to finally read it this year because Sally Rooney has been a popular author for many years now, and I felt I should at least be familiar with her work considering how influential she has become. I was purposefully looking for a story about love that wasn't romance. I read way too many of those in 2022 --- I needed books that I knew no one would die in the end and everyone would end up together and happy. The thing about romance, while I thoroughly enjoy the genre, is it's kind of like candy for me. Sweet, goes down easy, but too much of it and I will feel a little sick or disillusioned with the reality of love. I wanted something grittier, a little more painful, and even a little more open-ended.
Now, Rooney is a bit controversial. Her writing leans towards stream of consciousness, she doesn't use quotation marks, and much of the story is coming from inside two or three characters' heads. However, this actually works phenomenally for a book about the love between two broken people. If for some reason you aren't familiar with the story, Normal People follows Connell and Marianne, as they navigate adolescence from high school to college graduation.
Have you ever read a scene in a book that feels like it was taken straight from your own experience, so poignant and affecting that you burst into tears? That happened for me in this book. There was an eery similarity between Connell and Marianne's high school relationship and my own high school relationship, and I had almost forgotten about the painful shame from that time. But Rooney was able to articulate such powerful yet quiet emotions in this book. I know a lot of people complain about the miscommunication between the characters, but I find that happens more in real life than people realize, especially in dating. I absolutely loved the ending, which was also controversial, and I didn't feel emotionally broken when I read the last page but somehow seen. Because in this ephemeral moment, we don't know the endings to our own stories, we don't know if we'll end up getting our happily ever after, and I want more books to reflect that reality.
I will say, I also watched the Hulu adaptation of Normal People, and it was astounding. Paul Mescal in particular made me bawl my eyes out. It might be one of the best visual adaptations of a book I've ever seen (nothing tops Lord of the Rings, obviously). I definitely recommend watching the show but if you feel the itch to read the source material, I think you should.
You might be asking, Briana, isn't this the same Stephenie Meyer who wrote Twilight? Yes, yes it is, but please, give me a second to explain.
First off, I truly love every genre. Memoirs, historical fiction, romance, fantasy, biographies, ethnographies, young adult, thrillers. My favorite books are across the genre board, both nonfiction and fiction. This makes me an excellent book recommender because I can tailor the recs to any kind of genre someone loves or wants to get more into (if you ever want personalized recommendations, feel free to send me a request). It also makes it exciting because my reading world is entirely open, I have endless choices, and so many ways to find my new favorite book. I loved Twilight growing up, no shame. At age 13, I thought it was captivating, unique, and was one of the first books I read about passionate, romantic love. I have yet to reread the series since but I believe it gets unnecessary hate, just like a lot of the romance genre.
The first time I read The Host was when I was stuck in a Texas airport at age 15. I was traveling for the first time on my own, all the flights had been cancelled because of a storm, and I wasn't old enough to get a hotel room. I got a folding cot from an airport employee with a thin blanket and was told to wait out the storm in the airport. I was terrified. So naturally, what does a bookworm do? I went to the bookstore and grabbed The Host, figuring I would probably enjoy it because I enjoyed Twilight, and it would distract me through the distressing night.
The Host is a romantic sci-fi novel about a post-apocalyptic world where alien entities called 'Souls' have taken over the bodies of humans. The story is told from the point of view of one Soul who inhabits the body of a human whose consciousness refuses to fade away. The Soul is able to see the memories of the human woman named Melanie, including her feelings of love and sacrifice for her family, and the Soul then decides to go rogue and find out if Melanie's family is still alive.
I reread The Host in November and let me tell you, it absolutely holds up. It's just as good as I remember. Sci-fi is one of my favorite genres and I think this storyline is truly unique and engrossing. Stephenie Meyer is a good writer -- she includes beautiful details, fleshes out characters, and articulates complicated emotions gracefully. The characters are incredibly tangible, each having such a distinct personality. The romantic love in this book is unlike anything I have seen before, and she did an amazing job showing that love can look and feel differently than you imagined but that doesn't make it any less powerful or important.
For lovers of the romance genre, readers of sci-fi, or if you're just looking for a damn good story, I highly recommend The Host.
I have been a lover of public radio since I was a kid. My dad used to drive me to school everyday and he would always have on the local NPR station in Durham, WUNC. When I listen to NPR, I think of him and those mornings.
I originally wanted to work in radio and podcasting after discovering Radiolab in college. It still is, in my opinion, the gold standard of journalism, period. Even above all other kinds of mediums.... even books. There's something about hearing people's stories and learning about the world through voices that I believe is the most affecting. I have been moved to tears more times than I can count with Radiolab's stories of science, technology, and the human condition.
Lulu Miller has been a reporter for Radiolab since I started listening a decade ago. She is an expert at crafting a beautiful story with her voice, experiences, and interviews. When I found out she published a book, I was ecstatic. I made sure to listen to the audiobook because I knew it would be remarkable.
I was right. Why Fish Don't Exist weaves together Lulu's own personal life, a scientific adventure, and the biography of a man who lived 100 years ago. It's a strange marriage of storylines but it comes together in the end in a way that made me cry. I'm in awe of the real people in this book. Despite heartache, despite grief, despite circumstances that seem unable to bear, these people are able to find beauty and joy every single day.
It's books like this that help me through my own grief, even if it doesn't look exactly like my own. It gives me perspective, it shows me how important it is to be resilient, to not let life beat you down, and to forgive and find a way to love and be gentle, even if the world hasn't been to you.
If you're looking for an incredible story about human resilience, you have to try Why Fish Don't Exist, preferably as an audiobook, as Lulu's voice will make this book even more unforgettable.
Here again is an example of a book I've waited years to read because of all its hype. Granted, this book is now over a decade old, but considering it won the Pullitzer Prize and that I loved Tartt's other novel, The Secret History, I had high expectations. I wanted to make sure I was in the right headspace to tackle an 800 page book that deals with losing a parent --- and that didn't really feel right until December of this year.
The Goldfinch is a coming of age novel about Theo Decker, whose life is thrown into chaos after he survives an accident in an art museum that kills his mother. His previously comfortable life in New York City suddenly becomes difficult and confusing. His only sense of peace comes from a small and ethereal painting he ends up stealing from the art museum --- which changes his life in ways he couldn't have imagined.
I am officially part of the 'I love big books' club. I probably always have been, but this novel really cemented that for me. I love a sweeping novel that spans years, that shows a flawed character grappling with the world and those around them. The details in this book are astounding. I was consistently blown away by the poignancy on almost every single page. Theo's pain, the grief of losing his mother, the person he loved the most in this world, left me in tears. And yet, there was beauty to be found in the mundane, in the people who left him feeling less alone, and despite the world throwing so many shitty things at him, Theo clung to life as best he could.
This book is truly a literary masterpiece. The only critique I have is that Tartt ends the book with Theo very explicitly talking about the meaning of life and love -- which was a bit too on the nose for me. I prefer authors to leave things up to the reader, or at least, not drone on about the moral of the story for over 10 pages.
Regardless, this book was such a joy to read. I will always remember reading this book during the cozy nights of December, rooting for Theo for all 800 pages.
I knew this book would become a favorite of mine by the second chapter. When I decided this year that I should be actively looking for books dealing with grief and loss, I stumbled across this memoir.
MIT astrophysicist Sara Seager chronicles her life, from gazing upon the stars when she was young, to dedicating her career to finding life and planets elsewhere in the universe, to building a family with her partner from college. When both her father and husband succumb to cancer, she struggles to grieve while taking care of her two young children and keep her career afloat.
It always amazes me when people can be incredibly intelligent, experts in their field, and somehow ridiculously talented writers. I have always had a love for the stars, and like Seager, still gaze upon them with reverence and wonder. The fact that Seager's story included the incredible determination to find exoplanets that could sustain or contain life made my nerdy, space-loving brain jump for joy. And yet, it's her story of grief, of losing people so precious to her, that shook me to my core. Seager's prose is direct, funny, somehow familiar. She speaks about grief in a way I have never been able to yet she could've taken the words from my own soul. She writes, “But when you lose someone, you don’t lose them all at once, and their dying doesn’t stop with their death. You lose them a thousand times in a thousand ways. You say a thousand goodbyes. You hold a thousand funerals.”
I think that's the thing no one talks about. It's the thing I struggled to grapple with after that first year of my dad's passing. Grieving is not just the initial pain and suffering, it's the quiet loss that hits you in so many different moments, no matter how much time has passed. It's me sobbing after losing my job because the only person I wanted to talk to was my dad. It's eating a bagel sandwich in New York City, unable to finish it because remembering my dad's love for them causes a lump in my throat. It's finding joy and laughter remembering all the ridiculous things he would say with my mom and sister, yet ending in tears because that joy is entangled with sadness and pain. It's listening to his voicemails, probably the hardest thing I have done, hearing him say 'Hey banana,' talking about the mundane, and ending every single one saying 'I love you.'
Books like The Smallest Lights in the Universe help me come to terms with the reality of grief. I never thought about it as holding funerals and saying goodbye a thousand times, but it is absolutely true. By Seager putting words to my pain, she told me she understands, it's okay, I'm not alone. And after all, isn't that the whole point?
I hope I've inspired some 2025 reading, and I hope you know I'm always just an email away, happy to talk books or life or death ---- brianasbookshelf@gmail.com.
Happy reading, y'all.
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