Every once in a while, I read a book that reminds me of when Juliet Ashton of The Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society quips that books might have a homing instinct that leads them to their perfect readers. This year, if such a book found me, it was The Awakening of Miss Prim by Natalia Sanmartin Fenollera. I read it while vacationing in Scotland, which proved the perfect combination of delights. In a spirit pleasantly similar to that of Guernsey, Miss Prim whisks its reader to a heaven-on-earth European village called San Ireneo de Arnois. Once there, said reader finds a haven of books, good food, delightful characters, and, surprisingly, potential challenges to assumptions and values. As mentioned, I felt like this book found me, which speaks to how perfect it felt for me, but I think its charm can reach readers of many types and preferences.

The Awakening of Miss Prim focuses on Prudencia Prim, a young woman who has seemingly everything the modern woman would want – several degrees, respected career, and the approval of her peers. And yet, she’s weary and disillusioned, longing for escape from schedules, noise, and workdays. She wants to find rest and true beauty, she says. So, she takes a job as personal librarian to a man living in San Ireneo de Arnois, a village that prides itself on welcoming people worn out by modernity. After settling in, she meets a colorful cast of characters who slowly and unassumingly turn her worldview upside down. 

On a first read of Miss Prim, you might only partially notice the provocative ideas it espouses. It doesn’t shy away from voicing controversial opinions on topics like education, feminism, marriage, economics, how men and women relate to one another, rearing children, what constitutes “great books,” how to measure progress, and more. Yet somehow, the dialogue and setting enfold the reader effortlessly, enabling the deeper ideas to sneak past normal human defensiveness. Before you know it, you might be considering the world from a perspective quite different from your own.

How does the author do it?

I think it’s by simply charming the reader. Everything about Miss Prim delights. I never quite worked out where San Ireneo de Arnois was located in Europe, but I want to go there even now. The village people believe that family, conversation, reflection, and simple pleasures ought to be the foundation of everyday life. All interactions take place over steaming cups of tea, fresh scones, and fancy cake. Good books fill every house in the village and a cheery fire roars in the background of every scene. And against this heartening backdrop, Miss Prim then meets one person after another who not only welcome her, but desire to know her deeply. Quirky and fun and astute, all of them steal their way into her heart with their care, hospitality, and age-old wisdom. Their piercing questions infuriate her, even while slowing her down and inviting her into the fellowship and contemplation she longs for. San Ireneo de Arnois’ jolly inhabitants meet Miss Prim where she is, but with gentle determination, do not let her stay there. She arrives world-weary, saying that she wants the rest and beauty the village offers. But she gradually realizes that the beauty and rest she really needs—and that the village people preach—will insist on changing her. One wise character tells Miss Prim, 

“You say you’re looking for beauty, but this isn’t the way to achieve it, my dear friend. You won’t find it while you look to yourself, as if everything revolved around you. Don’t you see? It’s exactly the other way around, precisely the other way around. You mustn’t be careful, you must get hurt. What I am trying to explain, child, is that unless you allow the beauty you seek to hurt you, to break you and knock you down, you’ll never find it.”

Will Miss Prim open herself up to that kind of beauty? Will the reader? This book makes a compelling case for true beauty—the beauty of Christianity—not merely by arguing, but by painting a picture of how Christian love and ethics might operate in an everyday, tight-knit community. While an idealized picture, it’s a beautiful one that will charm and perhaps even persuade along the way. I loved this book and hope you will too.

(Florence Pugh, Saoirse Ronan, and Emma Watson as Amy, Jo, and Meg in Greta Gerwig's Little Women; Source: WallpaperAccess)

One of my favorite dialogues from the Greta Gerwig's recent film adaptation of Little Women comes near its end as Jo March describes her latest writing project to sisters Meg and Amy. She worries that “a story of domestic struggles and joys” won’t interest people, but Amy counters that perhaps such stories just don’t seem important because no one writes them yet. She encourages Jo to press on, saying, “Writing about them will make them more important.” 

I appreciate the dramatic irony of the scene, as Louisa May Alcott’s domestic tale did indeed make such stories important. For me, Little Women feels like a diamond that catches a new shade of light with each read. It especially comes to mind when I consider the home I desire. I discussed last year how Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry helped me reimagine homemaking as an adult. Little Women holds a different role in that it’s been part of the furniture of my mind since early youth. As my desires and views for home and family have matured, the story of the March family has taught me a few truths I hold onto. 

1. Beauty and imagination in a home are means to loving well with it 

Throughout Little Women, the March household is a riot of color, vibrancy, laughter, and creativity. Sisters Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy have wonderfully varied personalities and interests. Their steadfast mother, “Marmee,” wisely shapes the home to cultivate the girls’ senses of wonder, guide them as they fight their faults, and harness their strengths for good. The result in their home, Orchard House, is a beautiful symphony of art, work, and companionship. 

Unsurprisingly, as a young reader, I didn’t fully appreciate Marmee’s centrality to the story. Now I see her as its irreplaceable backbone, for it is she who makes Orchard House a haven of beauty, learning, and care, not only for her girls, but also for friends and neighbors. She does so by ordering it around virtue and goodness, guiding her daughters’ minds and desires towards them at every turn. In the first chapter, readers learn that she raised the girls on the story of Pilgrim’s Progress, teaching them the lifelong journey towards heaven. The story captivates the girls’ imaginations for their whole lives and remains a constant help through joy and trial. 

Marmee also lovingly cultivates each daughter’s interests, always encouraging worthy work and play. Because of Marmee’s encouragement, Beth’s piano playing fills Orchard House, Amy’s drawings grow in skill, and Jo and Meg continually write and act in homemade plays for the enjoyment of many. She models for all of them the art of homemaking, which later looks different for each daughter, but all four use their future homes to cherish good things and serve others because of their mother’s example. 

2. A beautiful home reaches out and welcomes the goodness others can bring in 

On that note, Marmee also models extravagant generosity, both materially and relationally. Rather than withdrawing from others when hardships of the Civil War might have excused it, Marmee continually reaches out and teaches her girls to do the same. In a well-known early scene, she suggests giving away their unusually hearty Christmas breakfast to a needy family, and the girls cheerfully agree. And because of Marmee’s involvement in the war effort and various charities, Orchard House becomes known as a place sure to lend a helping hand. 

And as readers know well, the March women welcome a neighboring house of lonely men into their lives. The love found between the two houses forever reshapes everyone in them. Young Laurie Laurence comes into the Marches’ lives starved for affection, and the love overflowing at Orchard House gives him new vision for a real family. Marmee and the four sisters adopt him as a son and brother with eagerness that catches the attention of Laurie’s grandfather, Mr. Laurence, and his tutor, Mr. Brooke. Mr. Laurence, nursing long-ago grief, finds new purpose in becoming a protector to this house of women during their father’s absence in the war. And in time, gentle Beth somehow pierces Mr. Laurence’s long-held proverbial armor. Mr. Brooke, virtually alone in the world, encounters warmth and care for the first time in years in the Marches. All three of these men and all of the March women find forever family in each other, largely because of Orchard House’s determination to welcome and care for those who come in. 

3. Those who let themselves be shaped by both joy and grief are equipped to make a beautiful home 

Only in reading Little Women as an adult did I realize what a profound exploration of grief it offers. This manifests most clearly when death touches the March family through the tragic loss of Beth March. And even in their grief, the characters ultimately respond in hope, allowing sorrow’s touch to be at once painful and sanctifying to their souls. In letting both joy and grief work on them, they make better and more beautiful homes for those they love. 

Of all the characters, Jo becomes the most poignant example of a heart and a future home shaped by both gladness and sorrow. In an unlikely reversal of roles, timid Beth becomes the strongest of the Marches as she prepares to meet death, that ultimate and most fearsome of human enemies. And Jo, historically rough and audacious, learns new gentleness in keeping vigil at Beth’s bedside. As Beth gracefully accepts her end, Jo learns new patience and tranquility, letting grief soften her soul and vision for the future. Her journey is best expressed in a poem she writes on one of Beth’s final nights: 

“…Thus our parting daily loseth 

Something of its bitter pain, 

And while learning this hard lesson, 

My great loss becomes my gain. 

For the touch of grief will render 

My wild nature more serene,

Give to life new aspirations,

A new trust in the unseen.” (Alcott, p. 477-478)

Jo’s reshaped heart and life become Beth’s most beautiful legacy. With her parents’ help, she learns to “accept life without despondency or distrust, and to use its beautiful opportunities with gratitude and power” (Alcott, p. 497). In the days following her initial grief, Jo’s life does indeed become lovely and full. She writes thoughtful poetry and short stories, joyfully pouring out her heart on the page, instead of feverishly writing for money and approval as she once did. When Professor Friedrich Bhaer comes back into her life unexpectedly, she recognizes his value more deeply than she first did. Before long, the March sister who once said she’d never marry learns to open her heart to the love of a good man. Their home, while sparse, becomes one of the happiest in the neighborhood. It serves not only them and their children, but also becomes a home and school to love-starved orphan boys. Jo’s life and home look different from her youthful visions, but they are full and shaped by love of good things, sure testaments to how joy and grief have both worked their beautifying touches on her. 

Several years ago, I had the amazing opportunity to visit the real Orchard House, Louisa May Alcott’s home in Concord, Massachusetts. I distinctly remember the tightening in my chest as I ran a hand over the desk where she had written Little Women. Domestic stories now overflow the book world, but I maintain that Little Women still takes the title of the most important one. Its vision of hope, generosity, and beauty in the home has touched generations, undoubtedly shaping many girls’ dreams for their own homes. I know that Orchard House and the laughter of Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy will always live in my mind’s eye, helping me make a home wherever I live. I hope and pray that my home offers the kind of love and heavenly-mindedness that theirs did.

Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House in Concord, Massachusetts

Well, I’m late to the party, but I’d also rather be late on these kinds of lists than early. I do not understand all of you who share your favorite books of the year at the start or middle of December – don’t you know you have full weeks of prime reading time left in the year? What if you discover a new favorite between Christmas and New Year’s??

That said, I read lots of great books in 2022. As I reflect on another year of reading, I’m struck by the gift that reading is. Because when I think about a year of reading, I don’t just picture an impressive-looking stack of books (though that’s cool to imagine). I think fondly of places I visited via the pages of that stack, of poignant lessons learned, and of friendships grown and strengthened through reading together. I’m already excited to imagine the gifts that my 2023 reading might have in store, and I hope my 2022 reading recap here might inspire you to travel somewhere new through one of these books, or to experience the delights of an old favorite book again, but as if for the first time. So, here are my lists and nerdy book lover stats for 2022 J

Total Books Read (new to me): 40

Books Re-read: 7 –

Death on the Nile by Agatha Christie

Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

Persuasion by Jane Austen

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

Son of the Deep by K.B. Hoyle

The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis

Format Stats:

Read the physical book: 24.5/40 – 60%

Listened to the audiobook: 12.5/40 – 31%

Read the book on Kindle: 3/40 – 7.5%

This breakdown is fairly well back to its pre-2020 normal, but my Kindle is still fighting for its place. And yes, the decimal numbers do mean that I completed one book on 2022’s list –Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh – with both the hard copy and the audiobook. Probably an imperfect estimate, but it’s close. 

Other Fun Stats:

Male-authored books: 16

Female-authored books: 24

Most-read author: a tie between Wendell Berry and Agatha Christie at three books from each!

Shortest book: A Child’s Garden of Verses, 67 pages

Longest book: Anna Karenina, 838 pages 

Favorites of 2022 (in no particular order):

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy – My first Russian novel, and wow, what a masterpiece. I was intimidated by the big Russian novels for many years, but I was thoroughly, pleasantly surprised and moved by this doorstop classic. Many know Anna Karenina for the titular character’s immoral choices, but I now think it’s more accurate to say that it explores and contrasts the fallout of a life spent pursuing selfishness against that of a life lived in self-denying service of others. If you want an entryway into the Russian novels, I highly recommend this one. I also heartily commend the discussions on it from the Close Reads Podcast. These episodes require a paid subscription, but I promise it’s WELL worth even just a month or two of investment! These conversations were instrumental to my understanding and enjoyment of Anna Karenina, and I’m confident that anyone would get at least twice as much out of it by reading it along with the marvelous literary guides of this podcast.

Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry – Will I ever go a year now without reading something by Wendell Berry? At the moment, I doubt it J Jayber Crow is now firmly in my favorites from him. It wrestles profoundly with faith, home, love, loss, family, and community through the eyes of Jayber Crow, the barber of Port William, Kentucky, and even though Berry says many of the same things in most of his work, somehow, he keeps making them shine anew. I read Jayber Crow with a friend (highly recommend that strategy for this one), and she observed that it’s impossible to speed-read Wendell Berry, which I think encapsulates him well. His writing is so deliberate and focused that it compels slowness. As he reflects on the sacredness of ordinary life, I am obliged to do the same, to my continual good.

All Creatures Great and Small Series by James Herriot – “How did you not grow up with James Herriot?” you might well ask. Well, I’ve been asking the same thing for the last year, I assure you! Somehow the delightful tales of James Herriot’s veterinary adventures in rural Yorkshire completely passed me by in childhood, but I’m making up for it now. I discovered Herriot’s stories because of the charming new TV adaptation of his books, but I’m happily staying for the show, books, and anything more. In 2022, I read the first two books in his memoir series, All Creatures Great and Small and All Things Bright and Beautiful, and yes, I’m counting them both in this list item J

Honorable Mentions:

Son of the Deep by K.B. Hoyle – A charming, magical retelling of The Little Mermaid that will make you laugh, cry, and daydream.

The Vanished Days by Susanna Kearsley – Yet another spellbinding journey through 1700s Scotland that keeps you guessing till the end, in true Kearsley style.

Rules of Civility by Amor Towles – I dove into Towles’s work in 2022 and was so glad this was my first from him. His exquisite prose and dynamic characters bring 1940s New York to glamorous life on the page.

A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles – A count confined to a luxury hotel at the height of the Bolshevik Revolution? Some might not buy it, but I was there for it. The Close Reads Podcast also discussed this one in 2022 and it was one of my favorite sets of episodes (and they’re available for free!)

The Sisters of Sea View by Julie Klassen – I look forward to my annual jaunt to England with Julie Klassen’s characters. This one provided a lovely escape to the Devon coast, and I’m already excited to go back when the next one in the series comes out this year!

Andy Catlett: Early Travels by Wendell Berry – A moving reflection on the contrasts between our current times and those that came before, explored through the eyes of a young Andy Catlett visiting his grandparents at Christmas. Having lost three grandparents in the last 18 months, I found this one deeply affecting and thought-provoking.

That’s all for now, friends! I hope you find something good to read from among these lists. Please drop your suggestions for my 2023 reading in the comments!

Full 2022 Book List (new-to-me books, listed in the order completed)

Waiting on the Word by Malcolm Guite

The Vanished Days by Susanna Kearsley

Letters from the Mountain by Ben Palpant

Reading the Sermon on the Mount with John Stott by John Stott with Douglas Connelly

Carved in Ebony by Jasmine Holmes

All Creatures Great and Small by James Herriot

Aggressively Happy by Joy Clarkson

Son of the Deep by K.B. Hoyle

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

The Generosity: Poems by Luci Shaw

Rules of Civility by Amor Towles

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

Deeper by Dane Ortlund

Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh

Tess of the D’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy

A Month in the Country by J.L. Carr

The Vanishing at Loxby Manor by Abigail Wilson

Murder at the Vicarage by Agatha Christie

The Murder of Mr. Wickham by Claudia Gray

Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry

All Things Bright and Beautiful by James Herriot

Bloomsbury Girls by Natalie Jenner

Of Paupers and Peers by Sheri Cobb South

The Moving Finger by Agatha Christie

The Gathering Table by Kathryn Springer

Love Practically by Nichole Van

Adjacent But Only Just by Nichole Van

The Brilliant Life of Eudora Honeysett by Annie Lyons

Given: Poems by Wendell Berry

A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles

Harvesting Fog: Poems by Luci Shaw

Crooked House by Agatha Christie

A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson

The Six by K.B. Hoyle

Holier Than Thou by Jackie Hill Perry

Beneath His Silence by Hannah Linder

The Sisters of Sea View by Julie Klassen

Andy Catlett: Early Travels by Wendell Berry

The Windsor Knot by S.J. Bennett

Jane Austen’s Genius Guide to Life by Haley Stewart

My ideas of home and homemaking used to be small. In years past, I associated such words with a comfortable house in suburban America, complete with a husband and a few children. My current self, living in a house shared with three other women in the middle of a big city, would have likely looked like an alien being to my 18-year-old self. While I’ve certainly grieved that some aspects of that youthful dream of home have not yet come to pass, at the same time, I understand more clearly now that making a home is more. I’ve seen that a home is made by loving well and pouring out. Homemaking is the opening of hands and committing to what the Lord gives in each season. It’s cultivating joyful, loving community wherever you are by bringing others in.

Unsurprisingly, stories have deepened my vision of home and taught me much about what it looks like. I hope to take a few posts to reflect on a few such stories. First up is Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry, which, for all its quiet prose and gentle introspection, truly axed me (as a friend and I once said of Wendell Berry).

I read Hannah Coulter in the spring of 2021, just over a year into COVID-19, which forced many questions of embodied community, loss, and home into sharper focus. I live in Washington, D.C., a city known for transience, politicians on the move, and basement apartments. I’ve said many tearful goodbyes in my years here and wondered if this city truly allows one to build a lasting home. In short, Hannah Coulter convinced me that it’s possible, even here.

That may sound odd, since D.C. is fairly opposite of everything Wendell Berry vocally advocates for – rootedness, enduring community, and commitment to a particular bit of earth. But Hannah Coulter moved me deeply because its characters’ fight for those things amidst shadows of grief and impermanence. The setting of Port William, Kentucky, a fictional stand-in for Berry’s own hometown, certainly sees less turnover than D.C., but even this little agrarian town, emblematic of longevity, can’t resist the march of time or the sting of loss.

Hannah of the title narrates the book as an elderly woman reflecting back on her life, now almost a complete tapestry of interconnected joyful and sorrowful threads. Her marriage to Nathan Coulter and the home she has built with him are things of beauty and endurance, but they have grown out of loss. Decades before, World War II took Hannah’s first husband, Nathan’s brother, and years of Nathan’s own youth. “He saw a lot of places, and he came home,” Hannah muses of Nathan, “I think he gave up the idea that there is a better place somewhere else.” So, they look right in front of them for their “place” and resurrect an abandoned homestead, making their own. Out of another’s loss, they make and commit to a home to love and cultivate and share.

Feelings of unmooring and uncertainty loomed large when I first read Hannah Coulter, and they still sometimes do – D.C. culture does not naturally encourage commitment to anything, and more people than usual left the city between 2020 and 2021. But in that season when uncertainty felt so much sharper, reading about Hannah and Nathan’s intentionality in loving each other, their land, their people, and their house grounded and challenged me. They still remind me that rootedness is often found in pouring oneself out for the place and people right in front of you. I don’t have a plot of land to work and keep, but I do have a house and backyard that I can make beautiful, both by caring for it and by welcoming in others with their joys, memories, and pains. D.C. may be a far cry from Port William’s tight-knit farming community, but I do have a church in the middle of the city that not only encourages, but expects and requires commitment. Deep love amongst members has manifestly followed. I expect to keep saying goodbyes for as long as I stay in D.C., but I can still intentionally love the people around me for as long as we’re all here, even though the leavings hurt.

Hannah Coulter showed me that homemaking is pouring out those very gifts of place and presence. It showed me a tangible example of how loving a place and its people go hand in hand. And that pouring out is perhaps especially important in a place like D.C., where things like deep community and commitment are so much scarcer. Hannah reflects, “There is no ‘better place’ than this, not in this world. And it is by the place we’ve got, and our love for it and keeping of it, that this world is joined to Heaven.” Her story has certainly strengthened me to “love and keep” the place and home I’ve got, city or otherwise.

I wrote recently about my favorite books read in the last year and noted that I was pleasantly surprised that the list included several poetry volumes. Ever since Wendell Berry’s poetry came to my aid at a crucial point in 2020, I’ve made an effort to include more poetry in my regular reading. I’m by no means an expert in poetry by now, but I’ve found it steadying, soothing, and able to get me thinking about big and beautiful ideas in different way than prose does. So, here are a few of my favorite poems from my recent reading. I hope they help you stop and think and marvel. Click the titles to either read them, or in one case, to buy the volume :)

“Heaven in Ordinary” by Malcolm Guite

I read this one in Guite’s volume titled “After Prayer,” in which he composed a series of poems that respond to George Herbert’s famous poem “Prayer.” This one reminded me of the magnitude of how Jesus has hallowed the lives of his followers, even in the seemingly ordinary moments.

“Foretaste and Tell” by Carolyn Weber

Carolyn Weber is my favorite memoir writer, and her honest and vivid style there bring her poetry to life just as beautifully. This one paints a gorgeous picture of the little tastes of heaven we get here on earth, whetting the appetite for the day that all will be actually perfected.

“Mary's Song” by Luci Shaw

I have my friend Mary Giudice of Take This Poem (on which I got to be a recent guest!!) to thank for introducing me to this one and thusly to Luci Shaw overall. If you want to ponder just how wild and marvelous the incarnation of Christ is, this poem might be a good place to start. Shaw shows how huge and incomprehensible it really is by wrestling it into words that somehow only show just how insufficient words are to describe it.

“In Memoriam [Ring out, wild bells]” by Alfred Lord Tennyson

This one struck a sweet chord with me when I read it on New Year’s Day. It epitomizes how humans long for renewal and restoration and how a new year can often make us aware of that searching. In these tense times, it’s also a poignant reminder that there’s nothing new under the sun.

This is the poetry corner in my house. What should I be adding to it this year??

Happy 2022, friends and readers! Taking time each year to reflect on my reading of the previous year and anticipate another year of reading ahead has become a favorite annual habit of mine. The world remains in a strange state, and my reading life continues to show me evidence of that. I read a lot in 2021 and even found whole new groups of friends who came together specifically to read (I see you, dear Membership!). But, in smaller ways, I can see how I’m still working my way back from the upheaval that 2020 brought on my reading life, not unlike the rest of the world!

I was surprised when I realized almost all of my favorites this year were nonfiction. But then I was less surprised when I noticed that I re-read almost entirely fiction, and most of them old favorites at that. I purposely gave myself a lot of space for re-reading this past year, and I’m so thankful I did! The bracing magic and comfort of Narnia, Hogwarts, Austen, and Tolkien did wonders for me in 2021, even while the many new books I read stretched and challenged and delighted me like only books can.

Another fascinating anecdote for me to notice was that among those new books were the number of poetry volumes. More poetry than I’ve ever read, in fact! I partly credit Wendell Berry’s poetry with saving my sanity in 2020, and since then, it’s spurred me on read more. I’m now glad to count several volumes of poetry among my favorites of the past year and look forward to stretching this newer love even more. I hope you’re also inspired to pick up something new from my lists, and I’d love to hear what you think I should read in 2022!

Total Books Read (new to me): 37!

Books Re-read: 11 –

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis

Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling

The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis

Gentle and Lowly by Dane Ortlund

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J.K. Rowling

The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien

The Silent Governess by Julie Klassen

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall, 1783-1787 by Winston Graham

Format Stats:

I was fascinated when I looked back my format choices this year. I listened to the audiobook for only five books out of my 37 new reads (about 13%), and I read exactly one on my Kindle, and that was only because it was an advance copy and not available in any other format! In years past, audiobooks have typically upped my totals by between 20 and 30 percent. But then I realized that if I included my re-reads in my total this year, this still might technically be the case, as I listened to quite a few of them. My Kindle, however, clearly continues to get the short end of the stick. I think I must still be recovering from so many dreaded Zoom calls.

Other Fun Stats:

Male-authored books: 16

Female-authored books: 20

(Note: this breakdown accounts for one book being a compilation of short, devotional essays authored by many men and women, so I didn’t include it in this stat)

Most-read author: Wendell Berry (4 books)

Shortest book: Understanding Baptism, 80 pages

Longest book: The Distant Hours, 562 pages

Favorites of 2021

Courage, Dear Heart by Rebecca K. Reynolds: This was my first read of 2021, and what a timely one it was. Rebecca Reynolds has become one of my favorite writers for The Rabbit Room, and this book contained all I now expect of her: compassion, honesty, love for the whimsical and power of story, and determination to help her readers see good in the world. Her vulnerable wrestling with God’s goodness amidst the world’s brokenness within these pages certainly helped me see some such good. If your soul feels weary, this might be the book for you.

This Beautiful Truth by Sarah Clarkson: I’m indebted to Sarah Clarkson’s writing for drawing my eyes up to the good and beautiful and for somehow speaking directly to my heart’s longings and struggles. In this part memoir and part theological study, she shares candidly about her long struggle with mental illness to show her readers how God is remaking a fallen world. Her skill with words has helped me put language to what I’ve believed about beauty and stories my whole life. A lovely musical note, a heart-wrenching story, or a mightily beautiful landscape have always had the power to steal my breath and give me what she calls “knowings” – a bone-deep certainty that good and beauty ultimately overcome evil and that something greater transcends our hurts and fears.

Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry: After soaking in Berry’s poetry for so much of 2020, I approached his fiction with some carefulness, probably because I knew it would be as profound and wise as it did prove to be. His rich weaving of place and powerful yet quiet prose invited me to see place and the present as tools for glimpsing and preparing for eternity. Hannah Coulter left me with questions like, “How can I use my everyday spaces to point people towards what's beautiful and sacred? How can I intentionally tether my rhythms to the good and lasting?” Not many writers pull together the simple and profound so well as Wendell Berry, and I’m grateful for how this skill of his challenges my everyday human choices.

The God of the Garden by Andrew Peterson: Here’s a good rule of thumb: read everything Andrew Peterson writes! Or listen to it since he also writes songs! His love for Jesus offers a truly humbling example in this book as he shares his story and many spiritual reflections on trees. Each page pulses with his desire for his readers to be spurred on by Christ’s love to love their people and their places well, arguing that as one flourishes, so does the other. He presents a compelling case for how people were given the earth to cultivate and how the beauty we make in it now heralds the future remaking of the whole earth and its people. With each tree sketched, poem shared, and personal anecdote recounted, whether wryly funny or deeply personal, Andrew draws readers’ eyes towards the coming Kingdom saying, “It’s near! Look at all these seeds of it already here! Cultivate them and look for the buds with hope!” I’m certainly looking more closely because of this book. 

After Prayer by Malcolm Guite: Malcolm Guite wins the title of my poetry guide for 2021, and a worthy guide he’s been. He wrote this volume largely in response to and in reflection on George Herbert’s poem, “Prayer.” His verses invite readers to seek their own communion with God through prayer and to notice how faith in Christ gives eternal significance to an everyday life lived in faithfulness.

Accompanied by Angels: Poems of the Incarnation by Luci Shaw: I picked this up on a whim during my long-awaited visit to Goldberry Books (again, I see you, dear Membership!) just before Christmas and it then ended up landing as my final completed book of 2021. And what a book to end the year on. I’ve rarely encountered a writer as skilled at wrestling huge, divine, incomprehensible ideas into actual words as Luci Shaw. This little volume of poems stole my breath for fresh wonder at the incarnation and the weight of Christ’s sacrifice. I can’t recommend it enough.

Honorable Mentions:

Home Going: Poetry for a Season by Carolyn Weber: Carolyn Weber wrote some of my all-time favorite memoirs, so I was quick on the draw when I heard she’d also written poetry. This may be a slim little book, but its verses paint grand and gorgeous word pictures about faith, life, death, creation, family, and redemption.

Remembering by Wendell Berry: More rich reflections from Berry in this little novel on place, home, and rootedness. I particularly appreciated his focus in this one on trust, and how a full life often hinges on moving forward in trust. And spoiler alert: the final few pages make me weep.

Letters from Father Christmas by J.R.R. Tolkien: If you’ve not yet made this part of your regular Christmas reading, please change that in 2022! For many years, Tolkien wrote detailed letters with illustrations to his children styled as letters from Father Christmas. They are magical, funny, and so thoroughly and delightfully Tolkien.

Shadows of Swanford Abbey by Julie Klassen: Julie Klassen’s novels have offered a reliable and romantic escape for me for years now, and this one became a new favorite. An old Gothic abbey-turned-hotel in the English countryside proved an ideal setting for a murder mystery. A wholesome romance and redemptive themes for many of her richly drawn characters made lovely cherries on top. I’m already looking forward to her next one.

Happy reading, friends! I’d love to know if any of these caught your eye or what recommendations you might have for me for 2022!

2021 Book List (new-to-me books, listed in the order completed):

Courage, Dear Heart by Rebecca K. Reynolds

Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare

Reality Hunger by David Shields

The Murder on the Links by Agatha Christie

Disappearing Earth by Julia Phillips

Mother to Son by Jasmine Holmes

Winter Solstice by Rosamunde Pilcher

Georgana’s Secret by Arlem Hawks

The Word in the Wilderness by Malcolm Guite

The Bruised Reed by Richard Sibbes

The Library Book by Susan Orlean

Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn

This Beautiful Truth by Sarah Clarkson

Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry

Remembering by Wendell Berry

What Does it Mean to Fear the Lord? by Michael Reeves

The Memory of Old Jack by Wendell Berry

After Prayer by Malcolm Guite

The Distant Hours by Kate Morton

Understanding Baptism by Bobby Jamieson

A World Lost by Wendell Berry

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

Suffering is Never for Nothing by Elisabeth Elliot

Heart in the Highlands by Heidi Kimball

The Convenient Marriage by Georgette Heyer

The God of the Garden by Andrew Peterson

The Dearly Beloved by Cara Wall

The Inimitable Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse

The London House by Katherine Reay

Rescue Plan by Deepak Reju and Jonathan D. Holmes

Dorothy and Jack by Gina Dalfonzo

Once Upon a Wardrobe by Patti Callahan

Shadows of Swanford Abbey by Julie Klassen

Home Going: Poetry for a Season by Carolyn Weber

Letters from Father Christmas by J.R.R. Tolkien

The Weary World Rejoices, edited by Melissa Kruger

Accompanied by Angels: Poems of the Incarnation by Luci Shaw

Hi, everyone. This has to be the latest yearly book round-up post on record in the world of bookish blog posts, but nonetheless, I hope it’s still interesting and helpful if you enjoy this sort of thing. I’ve already written some about what a different reading year 2020 was for me, and I think the timing of this post, as well as my reading so far in 2021, just continues to prove how much my reading has been affected by the strangeness of this past year. And that’s okay! I hardly read a single new thing in January of this year. I lived in the Narnia books, the Harry Potter books, and Pride and Prejudice for most of it, and I was completely fine with that. It’s also sweet to look back on the books I re-read in 2020 and remember what a comfort they were to me. And despite how unexpected and strange my reading life was in 2020, I still read a lot of really good, edifying, thoughtful books. I hope you enjoy my list and are perhaps inspired to pick up something new. And the nerdy stats perhaps won’t interest anyone but me, but thank you for indulging me anyway :) 

Total Books Read (new to me): 33! 

Books Re-read: 6 – 

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J.K. Rowling

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier

Persuasion by Jane Austen

Format Breakdown:

- Read the physical book: 26/33 (~79%)

- Listened to the audiobook: 7/33 (~21%)

I found it interesting that I didn’t read anything on Kindle last year. Maybe I just couldn’t take one more screen, even if it does look more like a book.

Author Stats: 

- Male: 14

- Female: 15

Favorites of 2020

The Shell Seekers by Rosamunde Pilcher

A gentle, lyrical, endearing novel about family dynamics, wartime romance, and Cornwall. Haley Atwell’s narration of the audiobook is sublime.

Seeing Green: Don’t Let Envy Color Your Joy by Tilly Dillehay

Possibly my favorite Christian living book of the last 3-5 years. It not only helped me to understand envy and recognize its signs and damage, but also how to counteract it and how much joy we exchange when we give into it. It equipped me to fight envy, and, to my sweet surprise, more deeply delight in my brothers and sisters in Christ.

Gentle and Lowly: The Heart of Christ for Sinners and Sufferers by Dane Ortlund

There’s a reason this book has been so thoroughly read and recommended and reviewed in Christian circles since its publication last April. I believe its release at that particular time was clearly providential, given how difficult the following months became for so many people. I’m grateful to be one among the swarms who drew strength from it last year. It’s a warm and comforting divine hug, a balm to the soul, and a needed look at the “breadth and length and height and depth” of Christ’s love. Carefulness and trepidation might usually characterize some Christians’ conversation about Jesus’ affection for his people, but Dane Ortlund takes his readers there without hesitation. I’m so glad he does.

Sex and the City of God by Carolyn Weber

If you’re not raising an eyebrow at that title, congratulations. I know I did. But also, extra congratulations if you’ve already identified the two cultural references that it riffs on, because I admit that took me longer to do. This is a follow-up to Carolyn Weber’s memoir Surprised by Oxford, which remains one of my favorite books of all time. This is a worthy and heartfelt sequel about Carolyn’s growth as a new Christian, reordering desires and priorities based on Jesus, theology of the body and of being known, and much more. And she puts you right in the middle of her scenes with her gorgeous word pictures. It never gets old.

A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997, and Selected Poems by Wendell Berry

I largely credit Wendell Berry with saving my 2020 reading. He helped me get out of my own thoughts, look at what was in front of me, recognize and name the good and beautiful things around me, and fix my heart heavenward over and over again. 

Winnie-the-Pooh and The House At Pooh Corner by A.A. Milne

My other 2020 reading saviors! If you need something equal parts lighthearted and profound, laugh-out-loud funny and tear-jerker poignant, look no further than A.A. Milne.

Honorable Mentions:

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens: My first read of this classic! God bless it, indeed. It is a sweet and redemptive delight. I needed it.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson: Also a classic that I had somehow passed by in earlier years. Excellent crime drama made superb by Richard Armitage’s narration.

Heidi by Johanna Spyri: Yet another classic that I missed during childhood, but am thankful I read in 2020. Bright, innocent, sweet, and surprisingly gospel-rich.

Handle with Care by Lore Ferguson Wilbert: A needed and fascinating discussion on the theology of touch and the role of touch in a Christian’s life. I’ve been convinced for a while that touch is important, but this book convinced me of it even more. It’s not prescriptive, but it’s thoughtful, tied to Scripture, and may challenge you to at least start by giving a few more hugs. I think we could all use more of those, especially after this past year. 

The Jane Austen Society by Natalie Jenner: A fun jaunt through the post-WWII English countryside with a motley crew of Jane Austen fans who band together to save her legacy in southern England. An easy and charming read for anyone who enjoys Austen’s work. Richard Armitage narrates this one too and he’s perfect (he could read me the phone book and I think I’d swoon, tbh).

Happy reading, all! Let me know what your 2020 favorites were and what I should read in 2021!

Books Read in 2020 (full list of books I read that were new to me, in the order completed): 

The Reading Life by C.S. Lewis (compiled by David Downing and Michael Maudlin)

What is a Girl Worth? by Rachael Denhollander

The Biggest Story by Kevin DeYoung

Bella Poldark by Winston Graham

The Shell Seekers by Rosamunde Pilcher

Handle With Care by Lore Ferguson Wilbert

A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997 by Wendell Berry

Winnie-the-Pooh by A.A. Milne

The House at Pooh Corner by A.A. Milne

Of Literature and Lattes by Katherine Reay

The Giver of Stars by Jojo Moyes

The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry

When Pain is Real and God Seems Silent by Ligon Duncan

The Jane Austen Society by Natalie Jenner

A Homemade Life by Molly Wizenberg

Heidi by Johanna Spyri

One Assembly by Jonathan Leeman

The Soul in Paraphrase: A Treasury of Classic Devotional Poems compiled by Leland Ryken

That Churchill Woman by Stephanie Barron

Sex and the City of God by Carolyn Weber

Gentle and Lowly by Dane Ortlund

Peace Like a River by Leif Enger

Sleeping Tiger by Rosamunde Pilcher

An Ivy Hill Christmas by Julie Klassen

Seeing Green by Tilly Dillehay

The Night Portrait by Laura Morelli

(A)Typical Woman by Abigail Dodds

A Castaway in Cornwall by Julie Klassen

God's Grandeur: the Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson

Friendish by Kelly Needham

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

Holiness by J.C. Ryle

As we bid farewell to another year, per usual, I’m reflecting on what I’ve read and the books that stood out. As previously discussed, 2020 was different for my reading life, just as it was different in practically all areas of life for most people. When I look back on the upheaval my reading life saw this past year, Wendell Berry and A.A. Milne stand out as its most obvious lifesavers. When I think about what I read in 2020, I’m filled with gratitude for the work of these two authors. Their writing breathed renewed life into my reading, steadied me amidst anxiety, and reminded me to recognize the beauty and goodness of everyday life. I hope what I’ve learned from them can encourage you too, help you think about what made your reading easier this past year, and perhaps move you to pick up a Berry or Milne book. 

Wendell Berry’s Poetry

I hadn’t read much poetry regularly before this year. But, as providence would have it, I picked up a volume of Wendell Berry’s the last weekend before my local library closed in March. I knew a bit about Berry and had been wanting to try something of his, but I had no idea just how much his poetry would mean to me in the coming weeks. I read his Selected Poems and A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997, and there are still several across both volumes that I think about regularly. Berry’s reflective style and his steady focus on what is good, true, and beautiful were a balm to my tired heart. When I think about my time with his poems, I notice three overall themes in how they were a help to me–

1. They slowed me down

There’s something about the rhythm of a poem that forced me to stop and breathe. Even now, when I read a Berry poem, I can often nearly feel my heart rate coming down as I absorb it. In a time when my attention span was suffering, poetry ended up being the perfect solution, because its cadence enabled me to pay attention and to re-center myself in a way that prose couldn’t. And yet, poems are also comparatively short, so it wasn’t difficult to sit with a few at a time.

2. They helped me notice the simple good in front of me

Wendell Berry’s love of nature and simple living is well-known, and his poems bring it to center stage. His Kentucky farm life features heavily, as do the people he loves, his value for meaningful work and leisure, and other seemingly “everyday” things that become miraculous when you stop and consider. A friend of mine recently commented that he was thankful for how 2020 has reminded so many people to be grateful for “the basics” like family, health, church, and community. Wendell Berry certainly reminded me of how beautiful the basics can be too, and I’m so glad he did.

3. They helped me look up at the beauty of the world and away from self

I’ve always appreciated nature, but, as mentioned, Wendell Berry loves it. And now, at the end of 2020, I’d say that I also love it. His lyrical voice and word pictures awoke me to the beauty of my own backyard in new ways, and my daily walks gradually became an outlet not only for exercise, but for remembering how big and beautiful the world is, and, subsequently, my own smallness and finitude. Acceptance of one’s own limits can be difficult, but it’s also freeing. Berry turns often to the natural world’s grandeur both for thrills and for reminders to be at peace with the present, and I’m grateful for how his perspective encouraged me to look up and outside of myself.

A.A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh Books

Somehow, A.A. Milne’s Pooh books didn’t make it into my childhood repertoire, and I was only passingly familiar with the animated movies based on them. I picked up the first two, Winnie-the-Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner, on the recommendation of two trusted friends when I was easing back into chapter books. Surely a light children’s story would help me work up to normal size books again, right? Right, BUT! Oh, how I ended up savoring these delightful tales. The characters are endearing, and the writing was easy to follow, yet it also surprised me with its wisdom.

1. They made me laugh

This may seem too obvious, but I don’t want to treat it like a small thing. We all needed laughter in 2020, and I’m glad I read books that provided it! Charles Dickens wrote in A Christmas Carol, “There is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humor,” and I found that true while reading about the Hundred Acre Wood and its inhabitants. I have the antics of Pooh, Tigger, Piglet, et al to thank for laughter when I needed it, and I think the fact that I didn’t expect to get it from them made it sweeter.

2. They made me remember the beauty and profoundness of simple children’s stories

The benefit of simplicity was again brought to my attention through these books. They’re short, easy, and the plots aren’t particularly exciting or fast-paced. The characters stay close to home and their troubles could be seen as silly if one resorts to easy cynicism. But I was reminded of how helpful and wholesome it can be to read a story stripped of extra frippery and mind games. I didn’t have to think hard or get uptight with suspense, so the poignant moments really smacked me in the face with their simple, heartwarming goodness. The final scene between Pooh and Christopher Robin in The House at Pooh Corner still gives me all the feels. *cue blinking*

Have I convinced you to try either of these authors yet? I hope so! But I’d also love to hear from you. If you struggled with reading in one way or another in 2020, what helped? What books or authors were steadying or newly inspiring for you amidst the year’s uncertainty? I’d love recommendations too! In closing, here’s my favorite poem from Wendell Berry. It’s a lot of people’s favorite, but there’s a reason for that :)

The Peace of Wild Things

by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Hi, friends. Wow, #2020, right? This year has wreaked havoc on many well-intentioned plans and dreams, and I confess my reading life and ability to put words on a page were among those things that were upended. But now, I’m back to share what I’ve learned and hope you’ll take what you will. Despite the many hardships of this year, I suspect I’m not the only one who can now look back in part and discern unexpected gifts that have come out of it, and though it’s relatively small in the grand scheme of things, my reading has certainly experienced some surprisingly good shifts.

My Takeaways from an Odd Reading Year 

1. Give yourself grace and adjust as you go
As life began changing so quickly in mid-March, one of the most noticeable everyday differences I experienced was a sudden inability to focus on reading, even if I’d been enjoying the book. I spaced out quickly and felt overwhelmed when I tried to read for long stretches. Thankfully, I think I had enough self-awareness to not beat myself up over this, and it was comforting to hear that mine was not an unusual experience. So, after some disappointment and adjusting of expectations, I gave myself more leeway on my reading goals for the year and didn’t try to force myself to read, especially during the most stressful early days of the pandemic. All that to say – if there’s a big stressor in your life, it’s okay to readjust. It’s okay to not be crushing 100+ pages every day. Maybe it’s a good time for new shows too (I watched several in the spring!), and maybe your brain just needs some time to catch up with the new situation. That said… 

2. Lean into your mood
I can’t emphasize this enough. I’m somewhat of a mood reader already, but also certainly choose books based on premeditated goals or because I want to be a well-rounded person. But this past spring, as I was recreating everyday routines and could almost feel my brain developing a new “reading in a pandemic” setting, I didn’t hesitate to go in whatever direction my mood took me. Sometimes that meant abandoning a book after only a chapter or two, and other times it meant returning to an old favorite for the hundredth time. It helped immensely to not force anything as my mind adjusted and learned how to cope.

3. Keep reading
That’s the most important thing, isn’t it? No matter how weary or sad your days may become, don’t give up. Keep adjusting and keep trying. The right book will come! 

What Helped My 2020 Reading

1. Poetry
This surprised me, but I’m so glad it happened. As mentioned, one of the earliest manifestations of pandemic-stress for me was a sudden inability to concentrate on reading. I couldn’t “get lost” in a book like I usually can, and this was both odd and frustrating since it would have been the ideal time to escape into another world. But I found that I wasn’t the only one experiencing the “pandemic fog” in my reading life. Apparently, a large external threat can affect the parts of the brain responsible for focus and retention! Once I understood this, I began turning to poetry since a poem doesn’t require the same length of attention as chapters worth of prose. To my relief and gratitude, it worked, and poetry soon became a lifeline and a joy. I could read several poems in one sitting within a relatively short amount of time, and even for a quick span, they helped me sit quietly and breathe deeply, leaving me a little calmer when I finished.

2. Really light and short fiction
In every sense of the word, I eased back into 300+ page books. I started with short, easy, meaningful children’s books, and slowly worked in some practical, accessible Christian living. Longer fiction was almost strictly on audio for a while, and everything I listened to fell within the “comfort reading” category – easy plots, somewhat predictable, but still good and thoughtful stories.

3. Re-reading favorites more than usual
Tried and true favorites always do wonders for me when I’m struggling. Yes, it takes time away from goals and checking off new books, but oh, how needed it is sometimes. Jane Austen, Louisa May Alcott, J.K. Rowling, and C.S. Lewis have done wonders for me this year, and I suspect I still may dust off at least one Susanna Kearsley book, and perhaps The Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society, before December is up.

Unexpected Gifts of 2020 Reading

1. Newfound love for poetry
I hope to write more soon on what a gift the poems of Wendell Berry in particular have been to me this year, but truly, they were a God-send in their simple beauty and focus on the present. And, overall, I appreciated how poetry forced me to slow down and honed my ability to stop and reflect, even if just for a few minutes at a time.

2. Reading shorter and simpler is good
There are times to return to the basics of anything, and doing so can provide needed reminders of the beauty of those basics. I think 2020 has done that for a lot of people in many areas. We’re thankful in new ways for family, health, shelter, medicine, employment, and dinners with friends. Similarly, when I was relegated to simpler books, I remembered why I love reading, and was also reminded of the deep, abiding value of a straightforward children’s story. 

3. Re-reading led me to new or remembered favorites
Little Women was one of my earliest re-reads of this year, and I could never have imagined how valuable it would prove. I picked it up again after seeing the beautiful new movie adaptation, and it served sweet reminders about grief, love, and family. Again, it made me remember why I love good stories, and it also helped me process the losses of 2020 in ways I didn’t know I would need. 

On another note, I also re-read Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, which I first read four years ago and didn’t find especially worth its hype. But I think my comfort both with re-reading and with watching new things this year led me back to this one. The new Netflix film adaptation of Rebecca had caught my eye, and after watching it, I decided to give the book another try. I went for the audiobook this time and couldn’t listen fast enough. It was engrossing, just haunting enough, and beautifully suspenseful. Du Maurier’s style is unlike anything else I’ve read, and I’m so glad that my penchant for re-reading this year helped it click this time, giving me a new favorite from an old read.

What have you read or learned about reading in 2020? How has your reading changed this year? What has been particularly helpful or good in your reading? I’d love to hear.

Happy 2020, friends! I hope your early days of the new year and new decade have been filled with good and beautiful things. For the past few Januarys, I’ve taken a post to share my favorite books from the year gone by. I always admire those people who get their thoughts together in time to do a look-back on their books before New Year’s, because I always seem to be reading right down to the wire! It was no different in 2019, as I set a goal to read 50 books and finished the 50th at almost exactly midnight on December 31st/January 1st! I’m taking it. First, for those of you who like bullet points and headings, here are some fun 2019 reading stats from me.

Books read in 2019 (new to me):
50! 

Books re-read in 2019: 
13 – before you think that looks wonderfully impressive, know that this is mainly because I re-read all seven Harry Potter books. However, I honestly wish I’d spent more time re-reading favorites this year (more on that soon), because it was oh so nice to go back to these old friends:

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
Ross Poldark by Winston Graham
Finding Your Way Through Loneliness by Elisabeth Elliot (note: I believe this was an early edition of the book that’s now published under the title The Path of Loneliness)
Surprised by Oxford by Carolyn Weber
The Winter Sea by Susanna Kearsley

Format breakdown

• Read the physical book: 30/50 – 60%
• Read on Kindle/e-reader: 6/50 – 12%
• Listened to an audiobook version: 14/50 – 28%

Number of male and female authors

• Male: 12
• Female: 37 (this takes into account that two books on my list were written by a collaboration of multiple women)
  Like last year, my reading slanted quite heavily towards women writers. This is not something I consciously tried to do, but it seems that my subconscious keeps directing me that way!

Most books read by the same author
4 books by Agatha Christie: I do enjoy a good Christie mystery, but I have to confess that she’s also a go-to for when I need a quick audiobook that’ll help me catch up on my goal. I read some great ones of hers this year, but even so, nothing’s come close to Murder on the Orient Express or Death on the Nile for me!

Now for favorites! This was an interesting reading year for me. In my relatively scant recent posts here, I’ve tried to be somewhat transparent about the hard parts of 2019. It was a really hard year, but in the end, also a really good year. But the hard parts manifested themselves in interesting ways, one being that I often felt stuck, fearful, or uninterested when it came to things I normally love, like writing and reading books. It took a lot more effort sometimes to be engaged in what I was reading, to make time for it, or even to find good books. At the end of 2018, I looked back at my year’s reading and was in awe of how many good books I’d read. That isn’t the case for 2019. Though I did read good books, 2019 wasn’t my best reading year – I abandoned quite a few books and felt neutral about many that I did read. In retrospect, I think I put too many expectations on myself. I’ve always been a reader and naturally read quickly, but my 50-book goal still sometimes felt like a weight hanging over me this year, and there were many times that I would have liked to slow down and just re-read old favorites. As discussed above, I did re-read, but I now think it would have done me good to linger a little more in that space. For 2020, I want to do my best to read what I want to read. Yes, I’ll still set a goal, but I want to be more okay with adjusting it if it’s not working for me. Reading should not be rushed or pressure-induced or a race, and I want to remember that and live like it.

That said, I did read some very good books in 2019. Here are some favorites.

Favorite Books of 2019:

These are the books that I can’t stop thinking about, that really got their teeth into me, and that I’ve been talking about and recommending a lot since I read them. And, interestingly, they are all non-fiction! It’s unusual for me to end a year without at least a few new fiction titles among my absolute favorites. Here’s to more and better fiction in 2020. Send me your recs! But in the meantime, these non-fictions are masterpieces and I loved them.

Adorning the Dark by Andrew Peterson: During this difficult past year, Andrew Peterson’s music and wider work have carried me and reminded me again and again of the truths I believe in, but still have to fight to believe in. Adorning the Dark is his first non-fiction book. Part memoir, part creative manual, and part letter to fellow artists, this book was like Andrew reaching out a sympathetic hand to those who feel the burn to create, yet also feel paralyzed with weariness or fear of failure. He understands and has been there. But he also knows the joy of persevering in the act of creating and offers deep encouragement to his readers to join him in that perseverance. His words were a balm to my soul, a needful challenge to my writing life, and a hopeful call to create for the glory of the original Creator. The final chapter, Home Is Real, beautifully encapsulates Andrew’s love for God and community and beauty, his humility, and his longing for heaven that permeates all of his work. The chapter made me weep profusely, so of course I have to share some of it. This is one of my favorite parts:

“I want you, dear reader, to remember that one holy way of mending the world is to sing, to write, to paint, to weave new worlds. Because the seed of your feeble-yet-faithful work fell to the ground, died, and rose again, what Christ has done through you will call forth praise from lonesome travelers long after your name is forgotten. They will know someone lived and loved here...This is why the Enemy wants you to think you have no song to write, no story to tell, no painting to paint. He wants to quiet you. So sing. Let the Word by which the Creator made you fill your imagination, guide your pen, lead you from note to note until a melody is strung together like a glimmering constellation in the clear sky. Love the Lord your God, and love your neighbor, too, by making worlds and works of beauty that blanket the earth like flowers.” (Adorning the Dark, Chapter 16)

Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy by Mark Vroegop: I had the gift of hearing Mark Vroegop preach on biblical lament this past year, and it’s a sermon that I’m confident will stay with me for life. This book is a more detailed exposition on the topic of lament. It’s honest, thorough, biblical, and a helpful road map for how lament can guide the Christian through suffering. I’m so thankful for Mark Vroegop’s teaching on this topic. There are so many gems to be mined in this book, but here a few:

“Lament is how you live between the poles of a hard life and trusting in God’s sovereignty.”

“Lament stands in the gap between pain and promise.”

“To cry is human, but to lament is Christian.”

“Lament invites us to turn our gaze from the rubble of life to the Redeemer of every hurt.”

“Jesus bought the right to make everything right.”

Girls’ Club by Sarah, Sally, and Joy Clarkson: I sure do love me some Clarkson women. Sally has been ministering to moms through conferences and books and Bible studies for years, Sarah wrote a beautiful book about books that made my 2018 favorites list, and Joy hosts a delightful podcast and remains one of my favorite Twitter follows. Girls’ Club is their first collaborative work, and it felt like a warm cup of tea with a plate of scones. They discuss the beauty of female friendship, of home, of community, and how to do friendship in various seasons of life. I felt fresh gratitude for the wonderful women in my life after reading this book and was inspired to consider how to continue being intentional in my friendships. Here’s hoping I can just have a real cup of tea and plate of scones with the Clarkson women one of these days to thank them for it all.

Gay Girl, Good God by Jackie Hill Perry: What a gift to the church Jackie Hill Perry is. She shares her story of coming to faith in Jesus with such vulnerability and conviction, and her writing is beautiful and thought-provoking. And her focus is wholly on Jesus – she challenged, encouraged, and instructed me with this book.

Victoria: The Queen by Julia Baird: Ever eager to further my Anglophile tendencies, I picked up this book after the third season of the period drama Victoria aired last year. Fun fact: it’s the longest book I read in 2019, clocking in at a hefty 752 pages. I was initially a bit intimidated by that, but I quickly forgot about the size because of how it drew me into Queen Victoria’s life. It’s a compelling narrative about this famous monarch who was full of paradoxes and who witnessed a myriad of social and historical change throughout her reign. Wonderful read.

Gift From the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh: Oh, where to start with this gem? Anne Morrow Lindbergh was indeed that Lindbergh, married to the famous aviator Charles Lindbergh. This book is a collection of her personal reflections, compiled during a contemplative trip to the sea. She writes about the strange shifts of time, friendship, womanhood, solitude, marriage, motherhood, and so much more. Lindbergh wrote this slim volume in 1955, but it feels like it could have been written yesterday. I imagine I’ll be returning to it before long.

Confronting Christianity by Rebecca McLaughlin: Rebecca McLaughlin is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to Christian apologetics. This book addresses the most difficult, “hot button” questions about Christianity that a modern-day skeptic could ask, and Rebecca answers them with grace, winsomeness, and a ready arsenal of logical arguments and research. This is a valuable resource for Christians today and an excellent starting point for skeptics. It helped give color and logic to why I believe what I believe, and I feel more prepared for conversations with non-Christians after having read it. 

Honorable Mentions 2019

The Loving Cup by Winston Graham: I’m slowly but surely approaching the end of Winston Graham’s Poldark series, and this one was a standout. Adult Geoffrey Charles is one of my favorite characters now and I’m so glad he came back to Trenwith in this one. The sequence surrounding the ball he gave at Trenwith, as well as the epic fallout fight between George and Valentine were among my favorite parts. And, of course, I can never get enough of Ross and Demelza. Those two have held it together for a long time and I’m not sure what I’ll do without them when I finish the series. 

The Twisted Sword by Winston Graham: And speaking of Poldarks, number 11 in the saga was also a standout! Man, this one brought up so many emotions. Valentine’s conversation with Ross near the end was a nail-biter, as was so much of the drama in Paris. But I might cry if I talk too much about that. I also think this might be my favorite exchange between Ross and Demelza from the later books so far:
“…Ross…” She stopped.
“Yes, my dear?”
“I have come a long way.”
“We have both come a long way. When I met you, I was an inebriate, half bankrupt squireen. You didn’t know what a catch you were making!”
“I didn’t know I was making any catch,” said Demelza.
Ross rubbed his nose. “I didn’t know what sort of a catch I was making either. Dear Heaven, that was the luckiest day of my life.”
(The Twisted Sword; Book 1, Chapter 4) 

Born a Crime by Trevor Noah: Hot tip – the audio version of this one is amazing! Trevor Noah reads it himself and it’s much more compelling that way. I admit that apartheid in South Africa was mostly a blank spot in my knowledge of history, and learning about it through a personal story like this one made it that much more interesting and poignant. Trevor Noah’s clear admiration and respect for his mother is also palpable and moving.

Shadow Divers by Robert Kurson: If I told you that a wrecked WWII submarine had lain dormant and undiscovered a few hundred miles off the coast of New Jersey for a few decades after the war ended, would you have told me there was no way? Well, that’s what this book is about. It covers the true account of the two professional shipwreck divers who risked their lives and sacrificed much in their personal lives (not always for the better) to identify that submarine. A truly compelling and fascinating read. 

Before We Were Yours by Lisa Wingate: And on the subject of truth being stranger than fiction, this book draws back the curtain on one of America’s most notorious scandals, in which a woman named Georgia Tann kidnapped and sold poor children to wealthy families under the guise of an adoption agency and with the protection of judges and law enforcement across many states in the 1920s and 30s. This book itself is fiction, but it’s based on those true events and weaves a gripping tale in the process.

Did anything catch your eye here? What were your favorite 2019 reads and what should I read in 2020? I’d love to hear!

Full 2019 book list (in the order I read them): 
Jane of Austin by Hillary Manton Lodge
The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie
Emma, Mr. Knightley, and Chili-Slaw Dogs by Mary Jane Hathaway
The Splendour Falls by Susanna Kearsley
Yours Forevermore, Darcy by KaraLynne Mackrory
Sketching Character by Pamela Lynne
Harry Potter’s Bookshelf by John Granger
Salt to the Sea by Ruta Sepetys
Girls’ Club by Sarah, Sally, and Joy Clarkson
Two Funerals, Then Easter: A Collection of Poems by Rachel Joy Welcher
The End of the Affair by Graham Greene
My Lady Jane by Cynthia Hand, Brodi Ashton, and Jodi Meadows
Victoria: The Queen by Julia Baird
Before We Were Yours by Lisa Wingate
Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens
The Weaver’s Daughter by Sarah E. Ladd
Joy: Poet Seeker, and the Woman Who Captivated C.S. Lewis by Abigail Santamaria
The Tales of Beedle the Bard by J.K. Rowling
The Governess of Penwythe Hall by Sarah E. Ladd
Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader by Anne Fadiman
The Printed Letter Bookshop by Katherine Reay
The Secret Keeper by Kate Morton
A Quiet Life in the Country by T.E. Kinsey
Resistance Women by Jennifer Chiaverini
The River by Peter Heller
Gay Girl, Good God by Jackie Hill Perry
The Accidental Beauty Queen by Teri Wilson
Gift From the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh
A Share in Death by Deborah Crombie
Enjoy Your Prayer Life by Michael Reeves
The Gown by Jennifer Robson
Born A Crime by Trevor Noah
Shadow Divers by Robert Kurson
Living Life Backward by David Gibson
The Loving Cup (Poldark Saga #10) by Winston Graham
Adorning the Dark by Andrew Peterson
Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy by Mark Vroegop
The Likeness by Tana French
Confronting Christianity by Rebecca McLaughlin
The Blue Castle by L.M. Montgomery
On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness (Wingfeather Saga #1) by Andrew Peterson
The Sittaford Mystery by Agatha Christie
The Twisted Sword (Poldark Saga #11) by Winston Graham
Live Like a Narnian by Joe Rigney
A Holiday by Gaslight by Mimi Matthews
God’s Gift of Christmas by John MacArthur
The Bridge to Belle Island by Julie Klassen
The Body in the Library by Agatha Christie
A Reason to Hope by Christie Capps
Hercule Poirot’s Christmas by Agatha Christie