Books read in 2021: Part 3

In Part III, two more industry figures pick their reads of the year: Dana Cooperson of Blue Heliotrope Research and ADVA's Gareth Spence. 

Dana Cooperson, Founder and Principal Analyst at Blue Heliotrope Research

My reading traverses different ground from that of other invited analysts to this yearly section. In addition, my ‘avoid new releases’ approach means my picks are not from 2021. And before jumping straight into recommendations, I’ll preface my comments with an homage to communal aspects of reading that have meant so much to me, especially during these two Covid years.

My two book groups managed to meet steadily during the pandemic, sometimes while sitting outside in the snow, covered with blankets and sipping hot tea.

Beyond ensuring a steady stream of titles to read and discuss, the ladies in my book clubs have supported and encouraged each other through births and deaths and all the highs and lows in between. I tried a third, online alumni book club, this year, but meh: what it provided was not even close to the tight-knit book club experience I treasure.

I have also appreciated the annual August in-person ad hoc book club and reading recommendations sessions that grew out of my college experience, and which have been going strong for 40 years now. My daughters and I also exchanged books and discussed them this last year.

The books I most appreciated of the 20 or so I read in 2021 were those that offered interesting, deep, and well-written windows into people, places, cultures, and identities I didn’t know I needed to know more about. Here are my top picks:

My favourite 2021 read was the 2019 Booker Prize winner Girl, Woman, Other, by Bernadine Evaristo. This funny and touching novel spans space and time to weave the stories of twelve mostly female, mostly Black, and mostly British characters and their ancestors. The characters’ narratives intersect in surprising ways that don’t feel at all artificial or manipulative. The book’s unique style and structure add to the storytelling.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith, is a fantastic autobiographical novel published in 1943. It details the hard yet full life of Frances Nolan, who grows up impoverished in Williamsburg to first-generation parents from immigrant families (one Irish, one Austrian) in the early 20th century. The descriptions are so vivid, and the main character so tenacious, determined, and smart, that the book is positive and affirming despite its often tough subject matter (alcoholism, abuse, poverty).

My daughter, who had taken an Asian-American literature class in college, suggested The Sympathizer, a 2016 Pulitzer winner by Viet Thanh Nguyen. Like “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn,” the subject matter (the fall of Saigon, spying, torture, betrayal, being a stranger in a strange land) is not a simple read. But the characters are again so vivid, the narrative so darkly comic and satirical, and the historic subject matter so relevant to today that I found the book riveting. (Note: Nguyen published a sequel in 2021 that I’ve yet to read.)

American Dirt, by Jeanine Cummins, tells the harrowing tale of a group of desperate migrants trying to complete the dangerous trip from Latin America to the US. As I started reading it, a friend who hadn’t read it noted the controversies swirling around the author (she’s not Latinx enough for some) and the plot (lambasted by some as ‘immigrant porn’). Whatever: I read the book and loved it. This gripping novel made the plight of desperate migrants more real to me than any news story had done.

Other book recommendations:

• The Vanishing Half: A Novel by Britt Bennett, regards two African American sisters from the US South who make very different choices (one passes as white) and how their futures and families are affected by their choices.

• Afterlife, by Julia Alvarez, concerns a retired English professor who is suddenly widowed and trying to figure out how to live her life and deal with her three sister

• The Great Believers, by Rebecca Makkai, is about the AIDS crisis in Chicago. It bounces between 1985 and 2015 as it follows a group of gay men and their born and made families. I found the plot (who lives, who dies) a tad manipulative, but the book shined a light on a pandemic and its victims that we should never forget.

• The Miniaturist, by Jessie Burton, which is set in 17th century Amsterdam, is an atmospheric, magical, and suspenseful novel that made the era of the Dutch East India Company come alive for me. You did not want to be poor, female, Black, or gay in 1686 in the Netherlands, so this book is dark.

• Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil: A Savannah Story, a non-fiction novel by journalist John Berendt, describes a 1980s murder and trial in Savannah, Georgia. Readers will not easily forget the town’s many characters, especially The Lady Chablis.

It seems fitting to end my 2021 recommendations with a recent read, Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, about a young man whose moral decay and debauchery is recorded by his painted portrait even while his body retains its unsullied youth and beauty.

Wilde sure had a way with words: his descriptions of 19th century London high society are as sharp as any knife. For example, Lord Fermor was “a genial if somewhat rough-mannered old bachelor, whom the outside world called selfish because it derived no particular benefit from him, but who was considered generous by Society as he fed the people who amused him.”

I’ll close with Wilde’s musing on art from the last epigram in the novel’s preface: “We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely. All art is quite useless.”

Gareth Spence, Senior Director of Digital Marketing and Public Relations at ADVA.

It’s been a grey and wet holiday season in the UK. Ideal conditions for hunkering down in front of the fire and building a reading list for 2022. If you’re doing the same, here are two suggestions for your book pile.

Both recommendations can loosely be filed under the topic of the American Dream. The first one stretches the rules as it’s only available as an audiobook. It’s Miracle and Wonder: Conversations with Paul Simon, by Malcolm Gladwell and Bruce Headlam.

I was reluctant to listen to this book. I’ve grown tired of Gladwell’s writing style and his tendency to reduce human nature to a digestible catchphrase. Still, the opportunity to hear Simon talk about his career proved too compelling.

As a child, I was an avid listener of Simon. His work shaped my early notions of America and the American Dream. In the book, Simon talks extensively about his anthemic tunes. Where the ideas came from, how the songs were shaped and how his relationship with his music has changed during his long career.

It’s fascinating to hear Simon talk openly about his past. If you have any interest in his songs or the musical process, you’ll enjoy this book. Just try your best to overcome Gladwell’s gushing praise of Simon. The man could rob a bank and Gladwell would find artistic merit in it.

My second recommendation is Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century, by Jessica Bruder. This book is a powerful exploration of the flipside of the American Dream. It follows the lives of a growing community of people who have been cast aside by society and forced to find ways to live outside mainstream America.

Many of the people detailed are over 60 and have lost their homes and livelihoods. They now live in recreational vehicles, vans and even cars and spend their time in laborious, menial jobs. When they’re not working, they’re travelling the country, finding ways to embrace freedoms they never had before.

It’s sobering to read Bruder’s book as she spends over a year exploring this nomadic community. It’s hard to imagine that this group won’t continue to expand as life in America becomes ever more challenging.

But as difficult as it is to read, there’s also hope. The people show resourcefulness and resiliency in how they discover a new way to live and rediscover their country.