Top 10 of 2024 🏆
Reflecting on a year of books & reading
Happy new year to you! I hope you are all happy and safe as we ease into 2025.
As I sat down to write this, I realized that through my monthly roundup posts over the past year, I’ve been sharing about books that stood out in some way: ones that took me by surprise, made a substantial impact, reframed the way I think, lingered with me long after I closed them. Through the *very* scientific process of putting my top ten list together, I realized they were all already there. So in addition to compiling those mini-reviews, I thought I’d also reflect on what those books—and reading in general—meant to me this past year.
Thinking back on 2024, I had to fight to make time for reading. Over the past several years, baking time to read into my life felt easier, pretty much effortless. But with a new city and a new job and devices designed to make our time vanish into thin air and brains melt into mush… more than ever, it became something I had to actively protect. Whether that was an audiobook at the park with my dog or dedicated hours at the coffeeshop on weekends, I had to—and will continue in 2025—be more intentional about carving it out. Such is life, but one thing that will always be true, for me at least, is that making the time to read—to learn, to get lost, to feel—is the most worthwhile pursuit of all.
The books that I was drawn to this year were profound and powerful. Seven fiction and three nonfiction, they are all stories that consumed me. When I was reading these, the distractions fell away. They are books that I could talk about for hours, and that will stick with me for years.
Some of these books are impassioned, burning, deeply felt. Some enlightening and revelatory. Chaos. Tears. Tea. This list has it all.
There are stories of moving through loss: sitting in it and adjusting to life after it. There are stories of love both platonic and romantic, of drama, of sadness, of betrayal. Some span generations and some are more focused. Two are from over a hundred years ago, but still feel remarkably relevant. Some are freshly published and I couldn’t get my hands on them quickly enough. But none are only one thing—they are books that show the multitudes of life. Across all of them, I’d bet they check off every single human emotion.
Somehow equally surprising and unsurprising, all ten are written by women. Surprising because it was completely accidental, but unsurprising because I’ve always sought to understand how, and what it means, to be a woman in this world. How it’s been done for centuries before me, and new ways that are being written into existence.
In this list, there are some young characters finding their way and learning about the world. Some are jaded from having experienced a bit too much of the world. Several are defiant: wishing, wanting, pursuing more than the circumstances they find themselves in. It’s fascinating to witness these characters grow and morph over hundreds of pages.
Above all, there’s an abiding sense of hope. These books all left me imagining what lies beyond the last page. Not a future that’s all sunshine and roses, but one that is undeniably changed by the story that’s told.
She was made up of all these good things and all these bad things. She was made up of more, too. She was the books she read in the library. She was the flower in the brown bowl … She was all of these things and of something more that did not come from the Rommelys nor the Nolans, the reading, the observing, the living from day to day. It was something that had been born into her and her only—the something different from anyone else in the two families. It was what God or whatever is His equivalent puts into each soul that is given life—the one different thing such as that which makes no two fingerprints on the face of the earth alike.
— A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
Here are my ten favorite books I read this year…
10. Margot’s Got Money Troubles by Rufi Thorpe
OnlyFans, professional wrestling, and teen pregnancy are not a combination of topics I imagined I would enjoy reading about. And yet, Margo’s Got Money Troubles absolutely enchanted me. I read the whole thing on a plane ride, and time flew. Margo gets pregnant at 19 from an affair with her professor, keeps the baby as an act of spite for those who think she can’t handle it, and then, of course, has a baby at 19 with no help. She turns to OnlyFans as a source of income, but truly finds herself through the process. The progress and evolution of this character was a joy to watch—from apathetic teen to powerful, confident, creative business boss. — Nov
9. A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf
It feels almost silly to put this one in my top ten because of how perennial it is, but it’s absolutely striking in the context of when it’s written, 1929. Virginia Woolf envisioned and demanded a reality conducive for women to realize their creative potential. I love learning about and around this book too. I’m reading Committed: On Meaning and Madwomen right now for example, and it’s one of many stories of how fundamental and formative Woolf’s work was to generations of women writers.
I read A Room of One’s Own and was unsurprisingly—to use her word—agog at the expanse of her mind poured into that book. Her exploration of truth, her thesis that space, money, other basic needs are required to wander and create fiction, her balance of realism and optimism — all truly singular. — Dec
8. Brutes by Dizz Tate
Brutes follows a group of friends living in Florida as they collectively grapple with the disappearance of a an older girl they idolized. Part of the book is written from the perspective of the entire group, using “we” as the pronoun, and I found it fascinating. Not only is the writing absolutely stunning, surprising, immersive, stirring, but the implication of groupthink and having your identity be so inextricably linked with your friends at that age, that you can’t even see where they end and you begin, was so well done. You get glimpses of the girls later in life and while there is a lot left unsaid, you’re able to connect the dots between childhood and current circumstances. Set deep in Florida, the plot felt as humid and sticky as the state itself. It’s violent and innocent, thriller and coming-of-age. — Feb
7. Pachinko by Min Jin Lee
I can’t believe it took me so long to get around to this one. Learn from this cautionary tale of mine.
Pachinko is sweeping. Its 500 pages are subtle, yet powerful. The book spans three generations, starting mainly with Sunja, who we meet as a young girl in Korea. Her life is filled with hard work, until she falls for an older man who promises to give her the world. Spoiler alert, he doesn’t. Pregnant, she marries a different man, a benevolent minister, and moves to Japan, quickly learning how unwelcome Koreans are in this new place. Her children, and her children’s children, learn this, and much more, in their own time and in their own ways.
“A woman’s lot is to suffer” is repeated throughout the book. Sunja suffers, and she wonders what for. Sacrifice and loyalty look different with each passing generation. There is love, but its so often unspoken. Whether that’s cultural or individual or both, you aren’t able to grasp the enormity of the opening line—“History has failed us, but no matter”— until it’s over.
In a conversation with the author at the end of the book, Lee is asked about the tone she chose throughout the story and her answer is “fair”. She set out to be as objective as possible when it came to her characters and the world she created. As with any culture, there are so many nuances that I as an outsider didn’t know. And one of the many things I loved about this book is that Lee has written it in such an impressive, deft, fair way that allows the reader to learn and expand and form opinions of their own. Despite the turmoil the occurs throughout the story, it’s never forced upon the reader. It takes you along, gently and masterfully. It’s a long journey, and such a rewarding one. — 4 very good, very long books
6. Here After by Amy Lin
At their best, books can get you as close to an experience without actually experiencing it. Terrifyingly and extremely tearfully, that’s what this book did.
Here After is Amy Lin’s account of losing her beloved husband, Kurtis, and the all-consuming grief that followed. Proceed with caution, guard your heart, but if you are in a place where you can take this journey with Amy, I highly recommend you do. The experience of this book is visceral, moving, heartbreaking, all of which are understatements; it it so deeply, tragically human. It is phenomenally written. Try as I might, I genuinely don’t think I can gather up the words to do this book justice. Tears were streaming down my face during the book tour event hearing Amy speak about Kurtis and the act of getting these words down, and again for a long while after finishing it. It absolutely demolished me in imagining what the experience of losing your person must feel like, while simultaneously making me so immensely grateful that that kind of love exists, and that we get to experience it, if we’re so lucky. I’m in complete awe of Amy and this book. — Mar
5. Long Island Compromise by Taffy Brodesser-Akner
This book was special for me from the jump. Nerd alert, but I’ve mentioned before about how the universe placed me in a neighborhood with a book reviewer for The New Yorker, thus in proximity to a bounty of advanced reader copies of books whenever she decides to do a clear out. I had been dying to read this book after watching the Fleishman Is in Trouble adaptation on Hulu with Jesse Eisenberg and Claire Danes, when one fateful day, me and Ham were strutting back home and lying at the top of a pile in a giant Fresh Market bag, there she was, four months before her publication date. Thank you universe!
From the author of Fleishman Is In Trouble, comes an equally immersive tale, this time about a wealthy family on Long Island.
This book is a tragedy. And I had an amazing time. It follows the Fletcher family, whom we meet as a trajectory-defining event occurs: the dad gets kidnapped. For a week, the husband of Ruth and father of Nathan, Beamer, and Jenny is held for ransom. When he is returned and pronounced safe and sound (well, safe, probably not sound), the family—in classic fashion of that generation—decides the best course of action is to never speak of it again. You can only imagine the havoc that decision wreaks.
The book fast-forwards 40 years and into the lives of the adult children. Nathan is paralyzed by fear, Beamer turns to any and all vices to mask his mediocrity, and Jenny is so hellbent on disavowing her family’s wealth that she ruins her own life bit by bit—each tale more tragic than the last, if you can believe it.
The book is separated into parts, and I loved how the tone and inflection and language and overall vibe changed to match the personality—and neuroses—of each character. Nathan’s part was pure anxiety as he held a death grip on his life, and watched it fall apart anyway. Beamer’s was so chaotic, all over the place as he actively avoided and explained away his addiction. Jenny’s was arguably the worst of all, and therefore the most impressive writing: delusional, gaslighting herself into believing she was the good amongst the rest of her family’s evil.
This book is so entertaining; like a car crash, I couldn’t possibly look away. There is no drama like family drama, especially *wealthy* family drama, and this book delivers that in spades. — 4 very good, very long books
4. After You’d Gone by Maggie O’Farrell
One of my best friends was asking me for a recommendation recently, and I categorically said: Maggie O’Farrell. Between Hamnet, The Marriage Portrait, I Am I Am I Am, and this one, I am a complete stan.
I think I felt every single possible emotion one can feel while reading After You’d Gone by Maggie O'Farrell. The description leaves you with an alluring, if not confusing, premise: the main character boards a train from London home to Scotland, sees something at the station, turns right back around to London and ends up in a coma after an accident. A lot to know going in, and the answers to the questions left from that premise are so artfully laid throughout the novel. Love, loss, humor, hope, despair, generational baggage, unlived lives, rejection, acceptance—it has it all. Also! I went to log it into Goodreads and was shocked to find it was written in 2000! It felt as resonant and relevant and vivid almost 25 years later. Maggie is timeless. — Nov
3. The Perfectionist's Guide to Losing Control: A Path to Peace and Power by Katherine Morgan Schafler
I think about this book, and the title and types of perfectionist, frequently. This book was so helpful in reframing my relationship with being a perfectionist, but also how I approach work and life at large. It’s helped me see the validity and power in my procrastinator-perfectionist tendencies, but also how I can work to tackle the not-so-good aspects of that. A work in progress!
The Perfectionist’s Guide to Losing Control has shook me to my core. I have always resonated with the self-proclaimed title of perfectionist, but have had my qualms about the negative context it consistently seems to hold. This book makes the case that perfectionism is not always a bad thing! It can, in fact, be a positive force in your life. She argues that at the core of perfectionism is ambition and desire to succeed, whatever the means to each individual, which can be, but doesn’t have to be, considered toxic or unhealthy. The book is so validating in the way it expresses how when “maladaptive” behaviors are shifted to “adaptive” behaviors, we’re able to use our perfectionism for good, as fuel to accomplish our goals and fulfill our wildest dreams. It outlines five different “types” of perfectionists—I’m a procrastinating perfectionist, with a lil touch of Parisian perfectionism on the side. The examples the author uses to illustrate her points made me feel like she set up a hidden camera on me. This book is so enlightening, comforting, and motivating. — Mar
2. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is an instant favorite. Complete and deep understanding of its place in the literary canon. Never felt a love for a character like the love I have for Francie. This book was healing. Part of me wishes that I read it when I was younger, closer to Francie’s reality in her teen years, when it would have provided more of a sense of solidarity and comfort. But reading it now as I’ll be 30 in a couple weeks hit differently in a quite emotional way, as evidenced by the tears welling as I finished it on the plane. Watching Francie grow up, start to experience the rites of passage, and build the beginnings of a life for herself was sentimental, nostalgic, it was everything. I felt equal parts anxious and eager for what lies ahead of her. I felt so protective and so fulfilled and so grateful for her. — May
Since reading, I read this New Yorker article that gave me another perspective to round out my perception of the book. It has a darker take, highlighting the poverty and fear laced throughout Francie’s Brooklyn. The article urges that we don’t ONLY see A Tree Grows in Brooklyn as a fun, young classic American coming-of-age tale. It’s complex, which makes me appreciate the book even more.
1. Blue Sisters by Coco Mellors
This one earned the top spot because when I think back on all the books I read this year, this is the one that I remember truly, genuinely not being able to put down. I had to see where these sisters went and how they got there, immediately. The hope I mention below is like an ethereal bubble that surrounds my memory of this book.
A story of four sisters, three of which are grieving the death of the other. Coco ties the beautiful, painful, intricate threads of sisterhood so perfectly in this book. It was perfectly descriptive and masterfully told, hitting on themes that are universal and powerful whether you have sisters or not. I am constantly impressed by her ability to write a book that is equal parts swift and deep … I came away from both the book and her book tour talk with this pervasive sense of hope. That no matter what you’ve been through, are going through, are going to go through—life is worth not only living, but worth feeling and experiencing as deeply as one possibly can. Pure magic, this book and this author. — Sep & Oct
And some honorable mentions…
Wellness by Nathan Hill
Jack and Elizabeth fall in love in Chicago in the 90s. They’re both broken in their own ways (aren’t we all?) and become instantly inseparable, truly in their own world. Twenty years later, they’re married with a kid. Jack is an artist obsessed with bettering himself; Elizabeth is a researcher at a company called Wellness, specializing in the placebo effect (important detail). The deep, otherworldly connection that defined their relationship back then is no longer—they’ve become two separate worlds existing under one roof.
And the book is written that way too, switching back and forth between Jack and Elizabeth’s perspective, hearing about what’s consuming them and how they’re interpreting the other. The writing is verbose in the best way. The author takes his time outlining every inch of the emotions, tensions, frustrations, memories, and I was absolutely eating it up.
My favorite thing, though, was that the book had an overarching sense of optimism that was so earnest, so endearing, so lovely. Even through anger and distance and brokenness, this book proved that love—not just romantic love, but the multidimensional, existential variety—will make its way through, no matter what.
I’ve also never read a quote that so perfectly, effortlessly, gloriously describes that magic of loving someone and building a life with them quite like this one… — 4 very good, very long books
Intermezzo by Sally Rooney
This one is about two brothers, that’s right: men. But fear not, the drama and ennui and existential dread that Rooney is known for is still very much present here. You will still feel infuriated and annoyed with her characters, just as much as you’ll come to deeply understand them. Interestingly and uncharacteristically, I felt a sense of hope emanating from these pages too. This book was romantic and budding, if not optimistic. — Sep & Oct
The God of the Woods by Liz Moore
The God of the Woods takes place at a summer camp in the Adirondacks, moving through time from way back when the Vanderbilt-level wealthy Van Laar family settles there, to 1975, when a girl from the very same lineage goes missing.
The concept itself is intriguing: who doesn’t love a summer camp whodunnit? But the book surprised me with so many more layers than I initially imagined. Hearing from perspectives old and young, rich and poor, powerful and not, the story is multifaceted and deeply captivating.
The juxtaposition of the Van Laar family and the community of workers and families that keep the camp and the town running is executed flawlessly. It’s a piercing portrait of how wealth can warp your perception of reality, how wealth—its presence or its lack—defines your view of yourself, your environment, the world. Memory and truth are up for debate. That’s what this book does so well: who’s the victim here? Like a kaleidoscope, you’ll get a hundred different answers depending on where you’re standing. No one is all bad or all good, and that’s what makes humans, their stories, fascinating.
Another reason I loved this book—nature is a forceful, ever-present character. The woods are far more formidable than any person, than wealth, than all the power society can give. A storm changes lives forever, and familiarity with the forest is both a downfall and an opportunity. God of the Woods is not short on excitement, both manmade and natural. — 4 very good, very long books
Sociopath by Patric Gagne
I just finished an incredible memoir called Sociopath by Patric Gagne and it was riveting. The author has a PhD in psychology, studying sociopathy and its effects, and she is also a sociopath herself. She is the researcher and the subject. The book details her experience growing up with sociopathic tendencies—extreme apathy, inclination to do bad and violent things, anxiety over her lack of feeling—but without any language for it. She would search dictionaries and psychology resources high and low and found an abysmally small amount of information about sociopathy: she does all her psychology work and wrote this book so others would never have to have that experience. Throughout the memoir, she steals things, she breaks into people’s houses, she lies with complete ease, but she also falls in love and pursues knowledge with the hopes of helping people. Books like these are so important because they show that a label, like ‘sociopath’, can mean something very different and so much more than we see in movies or read in headlines. The writing is incredible, deftly and painstakingly drawing the nuances and boundaries of her feelings within and experience of sociopathy, making it honestly quite easy to understand. What a woman. — May
Didion & Babitz by Lili Anolik
The long-awaited (by me) story of the tumultuous, interwoven story of Joan Didion and Eve Babitz. Both lauded as “the voice of California”, these two writers couldn’t be more different in their sensibilities and therefore, literary output. I enjoyed this book so much and found it massively entertaining, DESPITE the fact that the author is clearly a Didion hater, very much Team Babitz, shameless in her obsession. This page below with quotes from both on the same topic—the Santa Ana winds—is the perfect encapsulation of the whole thesis of this book to me. It displays Joan as observer and connector with the wider world and the human experience, and Eve as a person living, feeling, experiencing life. Through this, the book presents two valid approaches to work and life: Didion’s—hard work and discipline and sheer will, finding and communicating the gold in the material around you; and Babitz’s: feeling and intuition and adventure, creating the material yourself. — Nov
Congratulations are in order if you made it all the way through. Thank you for being here. I’m excited about all the books to be read and book chats to be had in 2025.
I just made this into my 2025 reading list. 🫡