This year’s books: George Orwell The road to Wigan pier, Helen Garner The season, Bruce Johnson The Lord of the Rings, vols 1-3, Raymond Chandler The big sleep, Graham Greene Stamboul train, George Orwell The lion and the unicorn, Thomas Pynchon Gravity’s rainbow, Matthew Hollis, The Waste Land: A biography of a poem, George Orwell Coming up for air, Melanie Cheng The burrow, Tim Winton An open swimmer, Dante The divine comedy, Fyodor Dostoyevsky The Brothers Karamazov, Noni Hazlehurst Dropping the mask, Diana Reid Signs of damage, Elaine Feeney Let me go mad in my own way, William S. Burroughs Queer, Andrea Di Robilant Autumn in Venice: Ernest Hemingway and his last muse, Helen Garner, Chloe Hooper and Sarah Krasnostein The mushroom tapes, David Szalay Flesh, Kate Mildenhall The hiding place, Patrick McGilligan Woody Allen: A travesty of a mockery of a sham, Vrasidas Karalis On Patrick White’s dilemmas, Hisham Matar The return and currently I’m on Sebastian Faulks Human traces.
Some rather large ones this time around. Gravity’s rainbow I’d need to read again really to get a handle on it – it’s vast and deeply confusing and I’m sure there’s lots I missed. Funny that in Knives out Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) says to Marta Cabrera (Ana de Armas) ‘I anticipate the terminus of gravity’s rainbow.’ She replies, ‘Gravity’s rainbow?’ and he says, ‘It’s a novel.’ She says, ‘Yeah I know. I haven’t read it though.’ He then says, ‘Neither have I. Nobody has. But I like the title.’ I’ve often wondered if this means perhaps that Rian Johnson is mates with Thomas Pynchon, who is known to be obsessively reclusive. The book also features in Glass onion when Serena Williams is reading it while she waits to see if anyone wants her fitness assistance.
A roman a clef usually disguises the true identities of the people it utilises, but Dante doesn’t bother with such niceties in The divine comedy. This was educational as I’d never heard of a lot of them, and finding they were real people was quite fascinating. Hell is crowded.
The brothers Karamazov was cause for humour as I read it in the waiting room at my doctor’s; with the bookmark about a third of the way through she said, I hope you didn’t read all that while you were waiting for me! With mental health one of the things we talk about, I was able to say, I have to live to finish this book! Not happy with the ending, it was a long way to go but I’m pleased that I got there. Ever since I read Notes from underground about thirty-five years ago I’ve been very fond of Dostoyevsky, and this was my first reading of Karamazov so I regard it as a bit of a milestone.
Helen Garner’s The season is simply beautiful. I’m a huge Garner fan and have been since time immemorial but this book had a poetry and a love that was truly astonishing. And it’s about football, where you mightn’t expect to find so much of that. The exquisite depiction of the author’s relationship with her grandson just has to be read to be believed.
McGilligan’s biography of Woody Allen is tremendous. I loved his book on Alfred Hitchcock and this one similarly addresses both the life and the work with seriousness and profound awareness and it’s really impressive.
So I managed monthly posts for a year, as I promised I’d do. Every year is different; next year will bring new books, new music, a new journey. I hope everyone reading this had a delightful Christmas or Hanukkah and that 2026 is full of surprise and delight.
30/xii/2025