Towards the end of December, I like to share my favourite books from the year preceding. In the past, I’ve kept track of the number of books I’ve read, but in 2023, in common with a few other things, that practice has been lost. Suffice to say, I’ve read a lot of books, a mix of fiction and non-fiction across a wide range of genres. If I had to pin myself down to favourites, nature writing blended with memoir tends to appeal most, both in terms of the books I like to read, and what I personally like to write. What follows is a bookish tour of my year, highlighting the publications that stood out for me. I hope they offer some inspiration for festive reading, or ideas for your reading pile in 2024.
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In January, I loved Cathy Rentzenbrink’s Everyone is Still Alive, a poignant account of family life, suburbia and the machinations of play dates and early parenthood. It’s a beautifully observed, tender story which will appeal to anyone who has ever navigated the shifting sands of relationships while parenting young kids. I also adored Write It All Down, Cathy’s guidebook for writers and memoirists. In this gentle hug of a book, Cathy writes like she is chatting with you over a cup of tea.
In February, I devoured Fearne Cotton’s Bigger Than Us — a weaving-together of personal stories and insights from spiritual practioners and thought leaders. Including sections on shamanic wisdom, yoga, meditation, sound healing, astrology and planetary movement, it was exactly the kind of intervention I needed during a bumpy period early in the new year. The book led me to work on my self-awareness and consider how I was expressing (or repressing) instinctual energies and emotions. All of this fostered a good deal of personal development, reminding me of the impact books can have on our wellbeing, our equanimity and our health.
In spring, I immersed myself in Caro Giles’ Twelve Moons, a tender account of motherhood, the moon, and landscape. Caro writes beautifully on the experience of mothering four daughters, neurodiversity, and finding solace under vast Northumberland skies. Set during the period of Covid-imposed restrictions, the book achieves something I particularly enjoy in memoir – the elevation of everyday moments. If you’re looking for a truly gorgeous read, I can recommend Twelve Moons.
Over the summer, I loved Malachy Tallack’s Shetland-based novel The Valley at the Centre of the World, a beautiful account of island life, relationships and belonging. Despite having never picked up a fishing rod, I was equally charmed by Malachy’s Illuminated by Water – a delightful meditation on the lure of fishing and the outdoors. Rebecca Smith’s Rural was a timely and well-researched exploration of the lives of the working class countryside, while Penny Wincer’s Tender was a compassionate account of the nature of caring. Before a visit to Orkney in August, I read Maggie Fergusson’s George Mackay Brown – The Life, a biography of one of my writing heroes, whose personal legacy seems every bit as appealing as his poetry and prose.
During September, Marchelle Farrell’s Uprooting offered an early autumn treasure. In this memoir of roots and gardening, Farrell tends her English country garden while exploring colonial legacies, both personally, and in Trinidad, where she was born. Uprooting is full of lyrical, poetic prose with a power as gentle as the stream that meanders through Marchelle’s garden. In the autumn, I also loved Hermit, Jade Angeles Fitton’s account of a reclusive lifestyle, landscape, and the nature of hermitism around the world.
By November, the pleasure I normally derive from reading had been lost following the death of our beloved dog, Brody. The only books that interested me were those involving animals and the many joys of dogs. It took The Highland Vet from local vet Guy Gordon to return me to the comforts of reading. If you enjoy the TV series on which the book is based, you’ll love this account of a year at the most northerly mainland veterinary surgery in the UK. Sally Huband’s Sea Bean, a memoir of beachcombing, chronic illness and the search for a coastal treasure quietly encouraged me back to my local shoreline. Meanwhile, On Grief and Grieving by David Kessler and Elisabeth Kübler-Ross provided some of the most compassionate and empathetic insights on grief I’ve found.
Most importantly, perhaps, the book reminded me that the pain we experience through loss is also the very thing that can help heal us.
Which is, of course, testament to the power of books in helping us find meaning, pleasure and solace in our lives.
G. x
Merry Christmas and best wishes for 2024.
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