Best of 2015

2015 was a really good year for books - I read less than in 2014, but enjoyed more of them, so I figure it balances out. It was actually quite hard to pick my favourite finds of last year - it started out as a huge list - but I've whittled it down to the these seven, which I would recommend to everyone and anyone. Yep, fewer than last year, and the year before that - I'm getting more discerning in my old age.

The Invasion of the Tearling by Erika Johansen (2015)

It’s no coincidence that two of the four books I read twice in 2015 were Erika Johansen’s Tearling books – they’re utterly fascinating, with The Invasion of the Tearling having only the slightest of edges on its predecessor (in my opinion). It’s ostensibly about a young queen, Kelsea, reclaiming her throne from her corrupt uncle and waging war on his seemingly-immortal ally, but there are many more facets to this story than such basic fantasy fare and it is certainly a lot darker and uglier than I expected it to be. I’ve not found another novel this year that blindsided me so much, in that it defied every expectation without disappointment. The best way I can think to describe it is that it’s got the strong female protagonist of Throne of Glass, mixed in with the murky morals and power-struggles of A Song of Ice and Fire, finished off with a dash of The Handmaid’s Tale – quite a potent mix, I’m sure you’ll agree.

H Is For Hawk by Helen MacDonald (2014)

The only wholly non-fiction title on this year’s list is one I almost certainly would not have read, given that I’m generally not a fan of non-fiction, and (until I read this) I had precious little interest in birds of prey and how to train them. Nevertheless, I was drawn to it early last year because I heard that it was mostly about the author grieving for her father after his sudden death, and – at the time of reading – I knew I was about to lose a close family member. Whilst I can’t say I expected any tips on how to handle grief (something I’ve been privileged enough to not experience often), the subject matter did strike a chord that normally would not have existed, and was an unexpected source of comfort, as well as knowledge. MacDonald does not sugar the pill here – she can be quite stark - but her impeccable writing and a knack for striking phrase makes this an honest but beautiful book to read.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chobsky (1999)

What I love about this book is the gentle optimism: Charlie, the titular wallflower, is a shy freshman with a lot to be sad about – his best friend committed suicide before the beginning of the book, his favourite aunt has died, and Charlie himself is suffering from an unspecified emotional trauma. Yet his befriending of the older siblings Patrick and Sam shows him that he has something to offer to the world, that life can be lived wholly and happily, despite what it might throw at you. It’s a novel full of heart and feeling, carefully eking out its secrets for maximum impact without ruining the overall redemptive feel. Comparatively, the only book to make me feel as bittersweet in recent times as Wonder by R. J. Palacio.

I Want My Hat Back by Jon Klassen (2012)

I make no apologies for this inclusion. Yes, it’s a picture book for children. Yes, it’s only 40 pages long. That doesn’t make it any less entertaining or clever, and there are several books I have read this year that were much, much longer and much less interesting than this. A bear has lost his favourite red hat, and so goes asking around his woodland pals if they have seen it without much luck. Hope is lost, and the bear is desolate, until a deer helps him recall a rabbit that was acting rather suspiciously… It’s really quite dark for a kids’ picture book, and it doesn’t surprise me that a lot of the reviews on Amazon mention that whilst some children don’t think much of it, the adults certainly do. Personally, I think it’s hilarious, beautifully illustrated and very clever.

In Cold Blood by Truman Capote (1966)

I’d been warily circling this novel for some time before I read it: my recently discovered love of crime novels had lead me to it, as had the tantalising pull of a novel researched and written with the assistance of Harper Lee, but its status of ‘true-crime’ put me off (I’ve never been a fan of those kind of books). Eventually though, with the urging of an author I admire, I took the plunge and immersed myself in the novelisation of the true, brutal murders of Herbert Clutter and his family in Kansas, 1959, and the subsequent hunt for the killers. This is a confusing book to read: on one hand, everything – including blatant suppositions and questions on the truth of certain events – is presented as fact. On the other, the story-like narrative makes for compelling – and distancing – reading: it’s all too easy to forget that these are not characters but real people, real murderers and real victims. I read this compulsively, constantly having to remind myself to not take Capote fully at his word, and spent several hours after finishing reading about Truman Capote, the Clutters, Dick Hickock and Perry Smith. 

The Gracekeepers by Kirsty Logan (2015)

This is the only audiobook on this list: I’m still tentatively listening to them, but on the whole I find that unless I’m allowed to pay as much attention to them as I do a print or ebook, they can be forgettable and confusing (not to mention more expensive). This, however, bucks the trend, and I do have a theory on this: the author was the narrator, which meant she had a deeper understanding of how the novel should be read than any other voice-actor. She knows the characters, the dialogue and the world better than anyone else, and that shines through in her narration, making it a pleasure to listen to. Even so, the tale of a girl called North, her bear and a floating circus in a world swallowed by water would be beautiful no matter what format you experienced it in.

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mantel (2014)

This came out towards the end of 2014, and swiftly became one of the most talked about books of 2015 with good reason. Set in the immediate weeks before, and the years after, an apocalypse, there are comparisons to be made with Atwood’s MaddAddam trilogy - not least Mantel's chillingly casual turn of phrase. However, her approach is refreshing in that her vision of a post-apocalyptic world spreads much further forward in time than you might expect – instead of focusing on the immediate aftermath, the survival instincts and the tentative attempts at rebuilding society, her attention is on a society already rebuilt (albeit rudimentary) and functioning. The main action is in the vein of a thriller, with a troupe of Shakespearean actors incurring the wrath of a so-called Prophet on their travels around settlements, but the bits that really hooked me were those casual, almost Atwood-esque references to the terror of the plague, which I'll end this post with: 

"Of all of them there at the bar that night, the bartender was the one who survived the longest. He died three weeks later on the road out of the city."

Living In A Serial World - The Sequel

In my opinion, any time is a good time to get stuck into a great book series, but there are two optimal seasons of the year for it: the first is the summer, when you’re going on holidays and want to slip seamlessly from one book to the other on the beach. The second is winter, when a good long series is just an excuse to stay put on the sofa. Back in June I wrote a list of recommended series, but since then I’ve discovered or thought of a few more, and with Christmas creeping closer I thought now was a good time to pass on the new discoveries so you’re all set for the holidays. Bit more of a mix, here – you’ll see some detectives, some fantasy and some pretty gritty YA. As before, images are taken from the first book in each series. Get stuck in.

The Tomorrow Series by John Marsden (7 books, with a sequel trilogy)
I’m going to get this one out of the way fairly early because, whilst it’s an amazing series, it’s also incredibly bleak at times. Set in Australia, a group of teens make a camping trip into a remote part of the bush. When they try to return about 5 days later, however, they find that their town has been invaded by an unknown hostile nation, and all their families imprisoned in the Showground (where, conveniently for the invaders, the town had all gathered to celebrate Commemoration Day). The teens, living in the 90’s without the internet or mobile phones, have no idea how much of the country is affected, or what’s happened to their families. They have two choices, then: surrender to the invaders and hope for the best, or try to avoid their clutches by waiting out the war and occasionally waging guerrilla warfare (guess which option they pick...). If this sounds far-fetched that's because it is a bit, but the way the story is handled is not: this isn’t a few kids digging ditches to make people’s ankles twist, or siphoning petrol out of trucks (much how I imagine the Famous Five would take care of ‘baddies’). People get maimed, captured and blown up; kids get killed and kill in turn. People suffer from PTSD and relationships change dramatically. I wasn’t expecting it to be as blood-soaked or grim as it was but for all that, I read the books compulsively and was at a bit of a loss when it was over.

The Queen of the Tearling by Erika Johansen (3 books and counting)
The first in this series was one of those books where I saw it everywhere but refused to read it for ages, but when I eventually caved (as I always do), I found I'd been a stubborn ass who’d hurt only themselves because it's really, really good. At the beginning of the first book, Kelsea (stay with me – I know the name is a bit crap) is hiding out in the forest with her elderly foster parents. Kelsea is not like any other orphan, though – she’s the heir to the Tearling throne, which is currently under the corrupt rule of the Regent, her uncle, who wants her dead so he can rule as King. Then there’s the threat of the Red Queen, the sorceress who rules a neighbouring kingdom with a bloody fist and has a grip on the Tearling already - Kelsea’s ascension to the throne is not going to be an easy one, especially when only a handful of people know she lives. The best thing about this series is, you think you have the measure of it at the beginning – forgotten princess, corrupt relative, nemesis Queen, etc etc. You really, really don’t. These books are not quite fantasy, are a bit sci-fi, with some Game of Thrones-esque politics and most importantly, are utterly unputdownable.

The Cormoran Strike Novels by Robert Galbraith (3 books and counting)
I’ll start out by admitting: I have a few problems with these novels. Rowling (alias Galbraith) can write a great story, but there’s been barely any attempt to differentiate Cormoran Strike from any other modern detective. He drinks too much; he’s got a war record; his ex-girlfriend still exerts control over him even though he knows they’re bad together. His main USP is that he’s the bastard offspring of an aging rock-star and a super-groupie, which does get used from time to time in the series but on the whole is for character back story. That being said, they’re really enjoyable stories that keep you on your toes – the first novel in particular, The Cuckoo’s Calling, kept me guessing all the way through. You know that Cormoran’s relationship with his younger, dazzling secretary, Robin, is straight out of How To Write a Crime Novel 101 but you’re still invested all the same, and Robin’s professional and efficient approach to crime-solving contrasts typically - but nicely – with Cormoran’s own bull-in-a-china-shop attitude. I guess what I’m trying to say is, if you don’t mind your detectives being cut from the usual cloth, you’ll enjoy these. If you don’t – well, the crimes and criminals should still be enough to hook you, but you have been warned.

The Amy Lane Mysteries by Rosie Claverton (4 books, 1 novella and counting)

This (currently) ebook-only detective series is, to use a tired metaphor, a breath of fresh air in a fairly overcrowded detective market. Sure, it shares a few tropes with Cormoran Strike: odd-couple team? Check. Romantic tension? Check. Crotchety contact in the police who reluctantly helps out? Check. But the detective in question, Amy, is an agoraphobic hacker; her assistant Jason is her ex-con cleaner, and the action takes place in Cardiff and the surrounding countryside. The books rumble on at great pace and the storylines are really well plotted, but the appeal here is Amy: in a double-whammy, Claverton has created a main character with a debilitating mental illness who uses technology as the main way to solve crimes, rather than trying to dodge it for ruining the fun (‘Unfortunately, Detective McCrime’s electricity was cut off and his phone drowned in the whisky he’d drank last night, so it looked like he’d have crack this case, old-style… Just the way he liked it’.) if you like crime novels but you’re getting bored by the tropes, then these books are for you.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians by Rick Riordan (5 books)

First thing you should know about the Percy Jackson novels: they’re written with middle-grade kids in mind (is that year 7/8 in UK schools?). Second thing you should know about the Percy Jackson novels: that doesn’t matter one bit, because they’re extremely clever and fantastic fun. After being attacked by a harpy on a school trip, Percy is taken by his best friend Grover (who turns out to be a satyr) to Camp Halfblood, a summer camp for the offspring of Greek gods run by a disgraced Dionysus and Chiron the Centaur. There, he discovers that not only do the Gods exist and have children running around the world, but that he’s the son of one of the Big Three, Poseidon, and that his Uncle Zeus has got it in for him because he thinks he’s a thief. So begins Percy’s adventures as he struggles to prevent a war between the gods, and comes to terms with his own demi-god status. The stories are crammed through of retellings, allusions and easter eggs – my favourite being Medusa running a garden centre that specialises in statues – so there’s plenty here for people who are fans of Greek myths, but even if you’re not it’s still a great story. If you’ve seen the films, don’t be put off – Rick himself has never seen them because he had no involvement in the screenwriting or production, so you can be sure the books are much, much better.


The Baby Ganesh Detective Agency by Vaseem Khan (3 books and counting)
This one didn’t quite make it onto the list because it’s a new series with only this title currently available, and my criteria for this list was that there had to be at least two titles released with more to come.  But I couldn’t NOT give this one a mention because it was just so much fun to read. Again, like the Cormoran Strike novels it can be quite trope-y and a bit predictable, BUT THERE’S A BABY ELEPHANT IN IT (I’m not giving away any spoilers, it’s pretty much on the first page). On the day Inspector Chopra retires, two things happen: a young boy turns up seemingly drowned but possibly murdered, and Chopra’s uncle leaves him a baby elephant, Ganesh. I can neither confirm, nor deny, that Ganesh helps Chopra solve the mystery of the dead boy, but I can tell you that this was an utterly charming book with moments of genuine tension and even more genuine hilarity, and I’ll definitely be reading the second when it comes out.
UPDATE: two more books have since come out, at last legitimising the inclusion of this series in the list.

I Forgot That Reading Is Fun

This might sound like a really odd thing to say but, last weekend, I realised that it has been a long, long time since I last read for fun. I voiced this discovery to my boyfriend the other night who – completely reasonably – laughed at me and replied, ‘But you’re always reading!’ This is an undeniable fact: I read on my commute, in lunch breaks, in the bath and before bed. On a bad day I’ll read for just under an hour – on a good one, nearer two. This is why I can steam through around 12 books a month – I read fast and frequently.

But when I read, I’m usually doing it to fill time. I read on my commute because it’s a 25 minute train journey. I read on my lunch breaks so I get a break from my computer. I read in the bath because having a good soak can get boring quickly without some literature to hand. I read before bed to help wind my brain down. I enjoy the books I’m reading, and I enjoy these little parcels of Designated Reading Time in my day, but it’s become part of my routine, and that’s kind of the problem – reading has become so institutionalised into my day, that when I have free time, I rarely reach for a book. Instead, I’ll watch a TV show or film, exercise, do some colouring in, go shopping, to the pub… all the things, in short, that I don’t usually get to do during in a working day. Reading is not one of those things – until last weekend.

I gave myself a payday present of two books last week – The Lake House by Kate Morton, and Career of Evil by Robert Galbraith. Normally these are books I’d buy on my Kindle, but when I discovered on Amazon that The Lake House hardback was only 30p more expensive than the ebook, that Career of Evil was actually cheaper to buy in print, and that if I got the two together it would get me free delivery – well, it was a no-brainer. Conveniently, the books arrived on the following Saturday, and the temptation to just ‘start’ one of these was pretty strong. However, not being a frequent hardback-buyer, I discovered an immediate problem with my new purchases: at 500-600 pages each, these were hefty books. Not exactly easy to cart back and forth to work, nor to hold comfortably in the bath or in bed. No, the only way I was going to be able to read these books was if I deliberately sat on the sofa or in the chair and read these, upright, like all good readers do in stock photographs. This, obviously, cut in on my film/TV/colouring/pub-going time, but I’d spent good money on these books because I wanted to read them, not just for the sheer fun of spending.

I wouldn’t say I was reluctant to deliberately choose to sit and read, but I was startled at how unnatural it felt. At first I thought I should be doing something else, but there wasn’t anything else that needed to be done – this was free time, leisure time, to be spent how I wanted. I didn’t need to explain myself or justify my decision to anyone, but I still had a nagging feeling of ‘you could be doing more with your time’. However – and this is hardly the plot-twist of the century – that feeling didn’t last long: within a few chapters I was thoroughly engrossed in Career of Evil, allowing my tea to turn cold as I became more invested in Cormoran Strike’s latest investigations. I read for over an hour, and at the end of it I still had that slightly-guilty feeling of wasted time – but now, I welcomed it, like an illicit treat. The next day I did the same thing, and the day after that, too. I was reading not just to pass time, but because I wanted to, because I chose to, because it was the thing I wanted to do most at that moment.  

I think the problem I created in my mind is that, reading is a rather singular activity, as Mr Hurst of Pride and Prejudice once said – my Designated Reading Times are nearly all points of the day when I’m on my own, and so when I’m not alone, I choose to do things that might be more inclusive of company and my boyfriend. I know I read a lot anyway – it seems silly to choose to read a book over any number of other activities, when I read so much in a normal day as it is. However, when I deliberately sat down and carved out some time in my day to read – as I’ve recently been hypocritically, pompously advising a friend to do – I found that actually, reading is fun. It’s not a time-waster, or a moment-filler – it’s something that can be done for the sheer joy of it, with the knowledge that you won’t have to put it down because you’ve reached your stop, or it’s time to go back to work, or the water has gone cold. I read so much, I forget that sometimes the best part about reading a book, is knowing you don't have to put it down.