Us Versus Us: 2023 Year-End Review
It’s that time again. I want to talk about what I’ve read, what I’ve done, and what I’ve learned in the Year of Our Lord two thousand twenty-three. That’s enough of an intro, right?
What I’ve Read
Every year, I set out to read 20 books. Due to a bout of insomnia, I finished book 21 this morning. I do not count picture books, un-published books that I read for work, or poetry chap-books. There’s no good reason for this, other than it feels like it would be too easy to inflate my numbers and insist that I read over 100 books this year (which, including the dozens and dozens of picture books we own or borrow, is easily true).
Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind by Yuval Noah Harari. I don't often read non-fiction, but I really enjoyed this look into the evolutionary history of humanity. It was entertaining, enlightening, and educational.
Humanity Lost by Meghan Douglass. This book was very short, and never quite made me feel truly horrified. However, the plot was enjoyable and the circumstances the characters faced felt creepy and scary. I wanted there to be more character building.
Shadow of the Hegemon, Shadow Puppets, and Shadow of the Giant by Orson Scott Card. These are not Card’s best works. I enjoyed them well enough, but but the geopolitics of earth could never fascinate me as much as the intergalactic and existential scope of Ender’s Game and Ender’s Shadow.
Ashes, Ashes by Jessica Goeken. This was a fun urban fantasy romp. In many ways, it didn’t feel like it was “for me,” (the POV character is a teenage girl dealing with some of the angsty worries you might expect) but it never really kept me from enjoying the story. The worldbuilding was strong. It was well edited, well paced, and easily the best self-published book I’ve read this year.
The Alloy of Law, Shadows of Self, The Bands of Mourning, and The Lost Metal by Brandon Sanderson. I think it’s finally time to admit that I am a Fanderson (and yes, I know that’s not what most fans of Sanderson actually call themselves.) Although I didn’t love all four of these books, I did really like them all, and absolutely loved Shadows of Self. I enjoyed the way Sanderson played with themes of religion and asked questions about the possibility of free will in a universe that absolutely does have a nearly-omnipotent god.
The Kaiju Preservation Society by John Scalzi. While the premise of this book is super interesting and fun, the book itself was not enjoyable to me. Filled to the brim with bathos, this book didn't take itself seriously at all, which meant the moments that should have felt tense didn't, and the moments that might have been jokes felt pandering, as if the author were trying to say "Hey, remember that thing you probably liked? I saw it too, so you should like this joke." The characters are sardonic and irreverent, but to the point of just being unlikable to me. I don't think they shared a single moment of genuine kindness and camaraderie that they didn't immediately mock themselves (and thus the reader) for enjoying.
The Black Prism by Brent Weeks. This book has a good premise and an interesting enough setting, but it was so bloated. A lot of the descriptions were overly intricate and long, as though the author didn't trust me to imagine what he was describing unless he labored over every detail; ironically, this made the writing feel obscure and nebulous. I often re-read a description of action and thought "Wait, what's happening? He did what?" I was looking forward to getting into a new fantasy series, but this one left me uninterested in the remaining books.
The Winter Queen’s Tale by Naomi P. Cohen. This book is well written with beautiful prose. In some places the plot drags a little, and I would have loved to see a clearer arc in the primary protagonist's journey, but this was an enjoyable read.
The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry by John Mark Comer. This book was very helpful. It forced me to rethink my relationship with technology and material possessions. It reflected back to me the ways some of my priorities have been twisted by the "American Dream" and a desire to seem prosperous even if I'm inwardly withering away.
Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut. This was one of the stranger books I've read. At many points, I felt I should be laughing, but wanted to cry; at others, just the opposite. I can't decide if it's the silliest tragedy, or the most depressing comedy. Either way, I loved it.
Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White. I love this book and I loved reading it to my 4yo son.
The Original Adventures of Hank the Cowdog by John R. Erickson. I loved these books as a kid, and read it to my 4yo son. It mostly holds up from when I was a kid. Though some of the genre tropes feel like they probably couldn't be written nowadays, I'm not sure if it should be considered inappropriate since it's all canines.
Kokoro by Natsume Soseki. While the prose of this novel is succinct and unassuming, it manages to capture a depth of fear and sorrow that few other novels have conveyed. It is a melancholy book that reminds me how important it is to speak truth and love whenever the opportunity presents itself.
Pippa Speaks Up! by Elizabeth James. Such a sweet and important book. The writing is believable and age appropriate, and the illustration is fun. I do somewhat wish the conclusion had taken a bit more time, as I felt things wrapped up more hurriedly than I expected.
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis. Every few years, I like to journey back to Narnia. This was my first time taking my son with me. I loved it.
Beloved by Toni Morrison. Morrison's prose is stunning, surprising, beautiful, powerful. But it is also dense and subtle and rarely straightforward. This is a book that made me feel stupid at times because I felt certain there were layers I didn't understand. Perhaps that I cannot understand. Even so, I think it's good for me to feel humbled by what I consume at times.
What I’ve Done
This year has felt, in many ways, like a total blur. It’s difficult to remember what has even happened this year, and I often feel like I haven’t really accomplished anything. But here’s the bits and pieces I can recall.
I continued working as a contract copywriter for a couple Christian ministries.
I parted ways with a non-traditional publishing house for whom I had been doing various editing roles.
I lost a major client for my editing business.
I finished a short story that needed a conclusion since last summer.
I became a substitute teacher.
I took on the role of primary care-giver for my sons to support my wife’s move back to teaching full time.
I booked a trip for my ten year anniversary (coming summer of 2024).
I took up writing flash-fiction.
I won second place in a flash-fiction contest.
I submitted my work to litmags.
I continued writing limericks for #LimerickSunday.
I refused to start calling Twitter “X.”
I took my older son camping for the first time and read him chapter books by flashlight.
I gained a few new clients for my editing business.
I started going to therapy.
What I’ve Learned
This year has been hard. I’m exhausted. I have thoughts like a locust plague swarming in my mind and I don’t know how to organize them into something worth reading. Something comprehensible.
I’ve been thinking a lot about how divided the world feels. Every issue, from the wildly important to the bafflingly inconsequential feels like a battlefield. You have to choose a side, and if you don’t, both sides will assign you to their opposition. Then, to make things worse, we’ve tied those inconsequential issues to the wildly important ones.
“You don’t want to hear about the pop star dating the athelete during the color commentary of the ballgame? You must be a woman-hating troll who’s insecure about your own masculinity.”
“You don’t really care that the newest live-action remake cast a person of color for a role that was once animated as white? You must be a woke liberal Marxist who hates everything about America.”
It would be naïve to suggest there’s literally zero overlap between some of the small issues that people get riled up about and some of the substantive differences between ideological opponents. And I hope it doesn’t sound like I’m trying to justify rude, inappropriate behavior or excuse prejudiced, discriminatory worldviews. I just don’t understand why we all have to be so certain that every single issue is a cut and dry issue of right vs. wrong.
What if we gave one another grace? What if we showed some humility? What if we defended our beliefs with explanations of how we came to them (or, heaven forbid, an acknowledgement of what evidence might persuade us to change our minds) instead of insinuations, labels, or personal attacks? What if we stopped making insulting generalizations about people we don’t know just because we have a disagreement?
What if we chose to show kindness and compassion to people even when they don’t deserve it? Especially when they don’t deserve it.
I honestly don’t think we are all as different or divided as we seem to think we are. I think we can find ways to seek common ground. I think we can give one another (and ourselves) time and space to confront new ideas that might seem scary. To ask questions and seek understanding. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the differences are truly irreconcilable.
But I do have one last question.
Who benefits from keeping us at one another’s throats? Who reaps the reward of ensuring we hate one another? I don’t know the answer, but I suspect it’s the people who are already in power but can’t seem to accomplish anything that tangibly improves the lives of common people.
