My Favorite Books of 2024

Since the beginning of this blog I have been posting my top ten films of the year (the 2024 edition will appear in mid to late January after I’ve caught up with all the recent releases) and for the past five years and randomly once before then, I’ve posted my top ten TV shows. The glaringly obvious question is why haven’t I posted a list of my favorite books of the year? The answer is: I don’t know. One stumbling block is that I don’t necessarily read a lot of newly released books in a year. I would guess that in some years I might read more than a dozen new books but in another half that. So unlike for TV shows and movies with this list I’m not restricting myself to what was released in the past twelve months, of for that matter, the past twelve or 120 years. Also unlike my film and telly lists, I’m not putting the list in order as one often does with a top ten. The exception being that the first two books listed are my favorite non-fiction and fiction books I read this year. Also note that I did not include books that I re-read, if they’re on this list I never read them before 2024. Finally, this list includes sixteen books (actually eighteen but I’ve twice lumped two together). Why? I don’t know. I suppose because these were the standouts and a top ten wasn’t enough and why feel restricted to a total ending in zero?

Caste: The Origins of our Discontent by Isabel Wilkerson This is a book that everyone in the country should read although there being so many functionally illiterate racists in the country that’ll never happen. Certainly to understand the United States Wilkerson’s book is a must. Caste explores racism in this country in a way different than anything I’ve previously read. It’s challenging and accessible and vitally important. 

In Memoriam: A Novel by Alice Winn. To me one of the most amazing things about this debut novel is that it was written by a young woman. It is a great example of how thorough research can inform a novel. Ms. Winn must have spent nearly as much time researching as she did writing. In Memoriam centers around two young British men who meet in school and then join the army as World War I breaks out. It is a love story, a war story, an epic. It is moving and brutally realistic. It recalls a past time so vividly that it’s hard to believe it wasn't written contemporaneously. The book is a singular achievement that I cannot recommend highly enough.

A Fever in the Heartland: The Ku Klux Klan's Plot to Take Over America, and the Woman Who Stopped Them by Timothy Egan. Reads like a really good novel. The 1920s, the KKK, a con man, a brutal murder, a plan to rule the country, an amazing story from an amazing writer.

Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingslover. You need to be an extraordinary writer to take a much and long beloved novel like David Copperfield and give it a modern twist that succeeds. Ms. Kingslover pulled this feat off with a setting of modern-day Appalachia. It would be sacrilege and wrong to call it the equal of the original but it would’d be a stretch to say that this one of the best novels of the 21st century.

The Postman Always Rings Twice by James M. Cain. I read a lot by Cain this year and could only wonder what took me so long. He’s right up there with Raymond Chandler as one of the great writers of “hardboiled” detective stories. His writing is sparse but evocative. He can say more in one sentence than other writers can in a page. Postman is my favorite of his books.

The Passenger and Stella Maris by Cormac McCarthy. The books are companion pieces, the last from McCarthy. For me McCarthy is the type of writer who makes me feel I’ve no business even trying. He ranks among this country’s great and here are two more books in evidence of that.

The Vegetarian by Han Kang. Reading this book was a visceral experience and I can think of no higher praise for a piece of literature. Ms. Kang's Nobel Prize in literature was well-earned. An a times shocking book but always compelling.

Prequel: An American Fight Against Fascism by Rachel Maddow. I don’t really enjoy watching Ms. Maddow do her schtick on TV, I find the way she talks off-putting, but the woman can write. This is the second book of her’s I’ve read, Bag Man: The Wild Crimes, Audacious Cover-up, and Spectacular Downfall of a Brazen Crook in the White House being the other and I am duly impressed. Prequel is the story of the rise of and fight against fascism in the U.S. in the 1930s, a topic of great interest to me and of course one that is relevant to today.

In the Woods and The Likeness by Tana French. These are the first two novels by Mr. French. I only recently completed Into the Woods and am currently reading Likeness so technically I don’t suppose it should be on here, but my blog, my rules. I’ve got to credit the missus here who recommended the author to me. Into the Woods has all the elements of a great detective story including interesting and relatable characters and a well-plotted engaging story. I’m looking forward to reading the other half dozen or so books she’s written.

The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach. I saw a shabby copy of this book in a little free library, hardly judging a book by its cover I was for some reason intrigued. I gave the beginning a quick skim and immediately knew I had to procure a copy, this one wouldn’t do. Good move. An excellent book that touches upon sports but delves deeply into relationships. A thoroughly engaging read.

The Sweet Hereafter by Russell Banks. I’d long admired the film based on the book and had recently read another Banks novel so gave The Sweet Hereafter a go and am glad I did. It’s as moving and thought-provoking a book as I’ve ever read. 

The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides. Another case of a film I loved so why not try the book. I wrote about it earlier this year on this here blog.

King: A Life by Jonathan Eig. This is one of those biographies for which the word “magisterial” was coined. It’s a cradle to grave look at the great Dr. King’s life but is not hagiography. We get the dark side of the story as well. Best of all it made me more fully understand an already familiar figure.

Means of Ascent (The Years of Lyndon Johnson) by Robert Caro. I’ve been chipping away at all of Caro’s LBJ books for years but zipped through Path to Power which is a quicker read than the others and may be the best of the lot. It examines, in wonderful detail, LBJ’s stealing of the 1948 Texas senatorial election. An amazing but true story.

The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith. Having just watched the latest film version of the story (the excellent Ripley on Netflix starring Andrew Scott) I finally read the book and it didn’t disappoint (though the second of the series did). It’s quite a feat to write a book that is a page-turner even when the story is well-known by the reader. A great companion to any version you’ve seen on the screen.

Harlem Shuffle by Colson Whitehead. He hasn’t written a clunker yet. Whitehead is one of the best novelists currently plying his trade and this is but one example. 

Holy Christ! Not a Lot of Christ in Christmas Movies (Thankfully)

Carol, no Jesus but there are lesbians

There’s not a lot of Christ in Christmas movies. The holiday on December 25th is ostensibly about the birth of Jesus of Nazareth who, as you may have heard, is believed by some to by the son of God. Yet Hollywood has downplayed the whole Jesus business. I, for one, am grateful that Christmas films tend to be secular in nature. Here’s a look at my favorite Christmas films and how much Christianity they inflict on us (spoiler: not much).

It’s A Wonderful Life (1946) Capra. At the beginning of the movie we meet three characters, one an angel, who seem to reside in heaven though no reference to the kingdom of God is mentioned. We also hear people directing prayers to the almighty. In the last quarter or so of the film the angel, Clarence, is present and he has supernatural powers but we don’t hear anything about Jesus.

Christmas in Connecticut (1945) Godfrey. Not a word about God or Jesus that I can recall.

Fanny and Alexander (1982) Bergman. Nope, nary a word about the “savior’s” birth.

Mon Oncle Antoine (1971) Jutra. Ditto. (Someone dies but he's not resurrected...wait, that's Easter, never mind.) 

The Shop Around the Corner (1940) Lubitsch. Not a word.

Rare Exports (2010) Helander. Same again.

The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek (1943) Sturges. Ibid..

Happiest Season (2020) DuVall. Hardly. (There are gay characters, however.)

Carol (2015) Haynes. Again no Jesus, but lesbians.

Tangerine (2015) Baker.  This time transvestites and no, no Jesus.

The Bishop’s Wife (1947) Koter. Okay so you would think a film that centers around an angel (Cary Grant) giving assistance to a bishop (David Niven) and his wife (Loretta Young) would be chock full of Jesus. You’d be wrong. There is a bit of religion in the film but just a smidge and only veiled reference to the son of God, or even God herself. 

Home Alone (1990) Columbus. There’s a scene in a church with hymns being sung, but that’s about it.

Home Alone 2 (1992) Columbus. Not even that.

Elf (2003) Favreau. Yeah, right.

A Christmas Carol (1951) Hurst. Tiny Tim talks a little about Jesus but not to the extent that it gets annoying. This goes for all the other versions of the story.

The Holdovers (2023) Payne. Nope.

Trading Places. (19830 Landis Not a peep.

Miracle on 34th Street (1947) Seaton. The miracle here is unrelated to a deity bringing about virgin births.

A Boy Called Christmas. It Happened on Fifth Avenue. Remember the Night. Muppets Christmas Carol. Miracle on 34th Street. The Man Who Came to Dinner. No, no, no, no, no and finally no.

There you have it. I can’t speak for the millions of Christmas films that Hallmark, Lifetime and Netflix churn out but from what I gather they are mostly free of Jesus.

If you want some Jesus in your movie you can always watch The Last Temptation of Christ, but then again, it’s not set during Christmas.

A Standoff Between Fowl is Reported

My walk to the gym takes me by San Pablo Park in Berkeley. The park takes up a city block. It features two baseball diamonds and a field suitable for all manner of sports including soccer, flag football and whatever you call that competitive frisbee game. There are also tennis courts and a tot lot. There’s room aplenty for picnics and barbecues and I’ve been to a few birthday parties for wee ones there. It’s a historic site having hosted Negro League baseball games some ninety years ago. Many prominent future tennis and baseball stars got their starts at San Pablo Park. 

The last two winters the main grass area of the park has been fenced off and unavailable for the public during the teeth of winter (aka the rainy season) for “renovation.” I think they just want to keep people off it. When I was a youth (and dinosaurs roamed the Earth) parks were available year ‘round. By the time I started coaching soccer, fields were given more protection that a rare Ming vase. If there’d been a touch of rain the night before, fields were closed the next day. When I was a kid we literally played in the pouring rain.

As I was saying before I interrupted myself, the field is fenced off. It is thus currently occupied by ducks. Lots of them. There is apparently much for them to feast on. Yesterday as I neared the park I noted a flock of turkeys, well, seven of them, I don’t know if that qualifies as a flock. One can also refer to them as a rafter of turkeys, though who does? In any event there were at least seven gobblers walking in the direction of the park. They were all rather large, not a child among them. It is not unusual to see turkeys in Berkeley and we often find them in front of our abode. There are usually one to four of them with two or more appearing to be youngsters. So to see seven adults was unusual. What was also unusual was what they did. They halted their march, stood outside the fence and commenced to make a racket while directing their attention at the ducks.

The ducks in turn initially looked perplexed. What were these fellow winged creatures and why all the noise? The ducks started backing away although the fence meant that they were safe from a turkey attack. All the while the ducks kept close watch of the turkeys perhaps out of a mixture of curiosity and concern.

I eventually discerned that (as the cops say in moving pictures) there was nothing to see here and I was better off moving along. 

Living in a large urban area one does not often see wild animals in confrontation. We’re well-used to dog-squirrel confrontations and cats stalking birds but that’s pretty much the extent of it. And that’s the extent of my story. From there I went to the gym where I did the usual. Stretches, calf raises, planks, push-ups, sit-ups, lat pull-downs, tricep raises, arm curls, twenty minutes on the stair master, ten minutes on the elliptical, cool down stretches and Bob’s your uncle. 

I’ve started taking my post work-out showers at home, which I did yesterday. Then it was time for a beer (of the non-alcoholic variety) and fish jerky while listening to carols and boring my wife by relating the story above. We watched the 1984 A Christmas Carol starring George C Scott. I quite like it and Scott is a very good Scrooge though Alistair Sim still reigns supreme for me.

After work today I’m off for a week to celebrate the yule, I’m all about it. Favorite time of year and all that.

My Ten Favorite TV Shows of 2024

 

Andrew Scott in Ripley

1. Last Week Tonight With John Oliver — Always one of the top shows of the year and often the very best. Informative and funny and downright important. Downright indispensable.
2. Ripley — Andrew Scott was brilliant as the titular character in this, the best adaptation of the Ripley story. It had me reading the source material. Terrific production and even knowing the story each episode had one on edge.
3. Baby Reindeer — Challenging but well worth it. One of those series that is all the more compelling because it’s “based on actual events.” It’s a show that forces you to look at your own life and experiences and that is both discomforting and supremely rewarding.
4. Derry Girls — Okay this show did not have any new episodes this year indeed it ended two years ago. So I’m cheating. But I absolutely adored this Irish comedy and it’s superior writing and wonderful cast. Only a shame that there were but nineteen episodes. 
5. Late Night With Seth Meyers — Seth is funny, humble, charming and very intelligent. His Closer Look segment is always must-watch TV. It's a consistently good show.
6. English Teacher — The best new sitcom I saw this year. This gay-themed look at a high school English teacher is a far cry from the Father Knows Best and Ozzie Harriet fare of TV’s younger days. Hoping it gets a long run.
7. Hacks — Yes Jean Smart is fantastic, everyone knows that, but so too is her co-star Hannah Einbinder. Together they’re magic and this latest season was for me far and away the best so far.
8. The Great British Baking Show — I surprised myself by telling my wife I wanted to watch the newest season with her. She’s seen all previous seasons. I don’t know what inspired me but my instincts were spot on. Thoroughly enjoyed it even when my favorite was eliminated shortly before the semis. What is it about Brits baking that was so fun? Don’t know, but it was.
9. Only Murders in the Building — Impossible to go wrong with Steve Martin and Martin Short heading the cast and Selena Gomez consistently proves she can hold her own with the comedy legends.
10. Shogun — A grand production in the great tradition of the epic TV mini-series. Sets, designs, costumes, special effects all first rate and all in service of a truly remarkable story. Great cast too.

From the Winter War to Berkeley’s Finn Hall, an Immigrant’s Story

My father in 1945.

Below is the speech I made earlier today at The Finnish Hall in Berkeley as part of the commemoration for Finnish Independence Day.

Anteeksi, isä. (Excuse me, father.) Being a typical Finn, my father would not be pleased with me for talking about him so much, especially as I’m going to say so many nice things. But I’m not here to today to brag about my old man. No, today I’m using his story as an example of the type of Finn who in the first half of the 20th century came to the Bay Area and other parts of the U.S. and made a better life for themselves and their progeny.

In settling in the U.S. my father never forgot where he came from. Like other Finns, he clung to his roots, his culture and his language while enjoying the fruits of prosperity in America.

Typical of Finns who immigrated to the U.S., he deeply loved two countries and lived comfortably in two worlds.

Aimo Johannes Hourula was the first of eight children born to Saimi and Otto in Nivala in the north of Finland. He was born in the dead of winter — and I suppose it would be redundant to call it a cold Finnish winter as if to suggest there’s any other kind. We’ve all heard the old saw of parents and grandparents claiming to have trudged miles to school in the snow. Aimo literally did.

Not surprisingly Aimo could not continue schooling beyond his teen years. Going to a university would have seemed a wild fantasy. Instead he worked in saw mills. His family had enough of everything. No one ever went to bed hungry. But Aimo knew there was a better life out there somewhere for anyone willing to look for it. Though he lived and had grown up a long drive from the coast he also dreamed of taking to the sea.

By the time he entered his twenties, big trips for him had been going to Kemi and Oulu. He was content with life but dreamed of more. All such dreams were put on hold when the Soviet Union invaded Finland in the Winter of 1939. There was no question about his enlisting.

Later in life Aimo would begrudgingly talk about fighting the Russians. My father told of sleeping outside in thirty below zero weather. Of taking Russian prisoners and how scared they were and underdressed for the occasion and even giving one his dinner. He told of watching comrades die in battle, and the white snow covered with red blood. He talked of not knowing whether he had killed anyone. Yet despite all the horrors of war he claimed never to have been scared. Aimo insisted that he was simply doing a job. Typical Finn.

As history tells us the Finns fought bravely with roughly four Russian soldiers dying for every Finn killed. But the sheer numbers of the enemy were overwhelming and defeat was inevitable.

Disheartened, my father returned home. But not for long. It was time for him to actualize the dreams he’d had. He went to Petsamo and got on a merchant marine ship. He was going to see the world.

He picked one heckuva time to do it. World War II was raging and the seas were not safe. Twice he was on ships that were strafed by German planes, Later he was on a ship that was torpedoed. More on that in a minute.

One of his first stops was New York. Imagine coming to New York City after living in small town Finland all your life. He was mesmerized and fascinated. At age 24 he saw people of color for the first time. He sampled many foods for the first time, including certain fruits. Aimo remembered buying a grapefruit thinking it a large orange. Years later he could laugh at the memory of taking his first big bite of grapefruit. 

Among the things he found in New York was other Finns. At the time there was something of a Finntown near Harlem. He remembered an African American grocer who greeted him by saying: “mitä poika haluaa.” It blew his mind.

Aimo made New York his home base but continued to sail seeing the world. He had long stops in Australia and Argentina. When I was a child he told me that he stayed in those cities because he liked them. I got the R rated version when I was older, in both cities he’d met a woman. And in both cases he fled when the conversation turned towards marriage. He was decidedly not interested in settling down, he had more to see. 

On a Sunday morning in January 1944 in the Arabian Sea he was at the helm of a Liberty ship when he saw plenty in the form of a periscope from a Japanese submarine. He called the first mate to have a look see but the mate told him not to worry, that they weren’t looking at a periscope. Seconds later they were very much looking at a torpedo heading their way. The ship’s cargo included TNT. Needless to say the missile missed the TNT but it did enough damage to sink the ship. My dad and crew were soon picked up by a Norwegian tanker and taken to Iran. Undaunted by the experience, Aimo quickly got on another ship and continued his travels. Typical Finn.

Later he enlisted in the U.S. Army. He wasn’t keen to leave the merchant marines but wanted to serve his new country and being in the army was a quick route to U.S. citizenship. Soon after the war ended my father met a graduate student at Columbia University named Kerttu Kurki who was born of Finnish parents in San Francisco and had grown up in Berkeley. In fact her father, my grandfather, Emile Kurki, was one of the men who helped build this hall.

My parents had a whirlwind romance, marrying a few months after meeting. A year later they moved to Berkeley. Shortly after that Aimo joined the Finnish Brotherhood and was a regular at this hall for various functions for the next 60 years. We celebrated his 90th birthday here and later held his memorial service here.

Aimo had started work as a carpenter in New York. Moving to the post war Bay Area was fortuitous. A building boom was just beginning. There was plenty of work. It was said in those days that if you wanted to find a Finn in Berkeley all you had to do was visit a construction site. On a lot of jobs my dad worked on the entire crew were Finns.

Aimo had it made. Relative to his upbringing, he was rich. He owned his own home, along with a car and truck. His wife didn’t have to work. He had health insurance, a strong union to protect his rights as a worker. He had money enough in the bank to invest. His home boasted a dishwasher, a refrigerator, a washer and dryer and a television set. Unimagined luxuries in Finland at the time. He even had a sauna, a little bit of Finland in the home. To my father it was a life of luxury. He had two sons — I was the second — who would have all the advantages he didn’t and would go on to achieve advanced university degrees. He took great pride in my brother and I and at the same time we revered him. He was, incidentally, a terrific father.

Being a typical Finn he was a hard worker who didn’t take days off and seemed to never get sick. At least not sick enough to stay home. He got up early on cold mornings and worked. He worked on hot afternoons. He didn’t complain. Typical Finn.

But it most certainly wasn’t all hard work. There were regularly functions at this Finn Hall. There was the Ski Lodge which he was member of. There were picnics, barbecues, parties, holiday and birthday celebrations. There were football and baseball games, track meets, boxing matches, there was fishing and hunting frequent trips to Tahoe to gamble and take in shows and ski. It seemed to be a constant whirl of gatherings and celebrations. Life was grand. And the weather here was something he and other Finns bragged to the people back home about.

My father always credited himself with leading a mini migration to the Bay Area. He wasn’t exaggerating. He coaxed his younger brother Unto to move here and reap the benefits of this land of plenty. He also inspired his cousins, Reijo and Laura Mehtela to move here. His sister-in-law Elsa, Unto’s wife, encouraged her sister Sylvi to come here with her husband. His cousins brought others too. There were good-paying jobs for everyone. Like most Finns my father had relatives here now to go along with his many friends and co-workers who were Americans of all stripes.

He loved his country all right and he also loved the Finnish Hall and the Finnish community it represented. Though being a typical male Finn of his generation he wouldn’t have said so, certainly not in those words. I recall when he met a girlfriend of mine who is today my wife of 37 years — hi Kathryn, how am I doin? — I asked my father what he thought of her. “Yeah, she seems all right.” He said. “Wow, I thought he really likes her.” He was always understated. Typical Finn.

The times were great for Aimo and other Finns, but life has a way of giving us an occasional slap in the face. My mother developed serious mental health problems. This was the kind of thing people didn’t talk about at the time, certainly not taciturn Finns. My father hadn’t a clue how to handle the situation. He was shattered.

But life isn’t so much about what happens to us as it is how we respond to it.

A typical Finn, Aimo was a tough guy, resilient. The type of person who gets right back up after being knocked down. I learned some valuable life lessons from him: no matter what you keep moving forward. You don’t stop and feel sorry for yourself. You’ve got things to do, you take the next step. This is nothing he ever said, his actions said it. He was not much for philosophizing, he was a doer. In other words, a typical Finn.

Eventually my father re-married and got on with his life. He never recovered from the shock of what happened to my mother but he didn’t let tragedy define him. The presence of  the Finnish community was integral to his finding joy in life again.

Aimo had a fulfilling and happy retirement, highlighted by six grandchildren a few of whom are here today. He lived to the seemingly ripe old age of 92 but in truth a freak fall cost him many more years that he’d seemed destined to live. Before the fall no one would have bet against him reaching 100.

A typical Finn my father never regarded himself as anything special. His kids, his grandchildren, sure they were special, but he saw himself as an ordinary guy.  It used to be that on this day in this place veterans of the Winter War were asked to stand. They received a hearty round of applause. I was sitting next to him the last time he was thus recognized. He sat down quickly, before the clapping had even ceased. “I don’t like this,” he grumbled. He didn’t want to be singled out for doing his duty. He was a Finn and Finns do what they need to do whether it’s build a house, attend a party, wash their clothes or fight in war. What’s the big deal? For my dad it was like being applauded for going to work.

I’ll close with this: a few months before the fall that ultimately claimed his life, an Italian filmmaker who’s played a role in our family, made a short movie about Aimo Hourula. In it my dad talked about his life, especially his various adventures. But what struck me was at the very end when he was asked for a general philosophy of life. It’s something I’d never thought to ask him. In response all he said was to be nice to people.

Of course he said that, because all his life he WAS nice to people. You know, a typical Finn.

Kiitos ja hyvää itsenäisyyspäivää. (Thank you and Happy Independence Day.)