Accidentally cribbed a little list down last night, of books I’d somehow, embarassingly, to my own detriment, not got around to reading in 2008. No excuses, really. I mean, as usual, I read just a whole tower of novels, but I couldn’t even start to say how many or what they were. Had never considered keeping track, really. Though it could be cool, except then I’d probably figure some way to make it a schedule, a chore, reading, and that’s not at all what it’s about. It’s a place you find to hide, a touchstone that’s always there; a doorway, like everybody says.
And, so, though I hope to remedy this in the by-and-by, here’s the doors I already regret not having opened this year:
Let the Right One In, John Ajvide Lindqvist and Ebba Segerberg (I suck, yes)
Leather Maiden, my hero Joe R. Lansdale (this confirms it)
2066, Roberto Bolano (I haven’t even hit The Savage Detectives, I mean; good grief)
The Love Song of Monkey, Michael S. A. Graziano (my guess is that too many people haven’t read this yet)
The Graveyard Book, Neil Gaiman (think I gave this twice as a gift just now, too)
Burial of the Dead, Michael Hogan (a blurb from Clevenger even, which means it’s some serious writing)
Anathem, Neal Stephenson (I even went and saw him)
Just After Sunset, Stephen King (though I did fondle it a few times, and continue to)
The Plague of Doves, Louise Erdrich (some days, she’s my all-time favorite-ever writer)
BASS 2008, Rushdie (though, lately, I always wait until January to read the new one, as I assign it for workshop, and want to discover the stories with my students)
I could also add old ones I’m still behind on, I suppose, some of which are now on my Spring syllabus: The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao; Martin Dressler; The Mysteries of Pittsburgh; Midnight’s Children (yes); J.R.; The Zombie Survival Guide (in spite of how much I dug WWZ); What is the What; A Prayer for Owen Meany; any China Mieville.
2009 holds a couple I’m very much looking forward to, too: Vanilla Ride, from the always-excellent Joe R. Lansdale, and Three Weeks to Say Goodbye, from CJ Box, a writer I’ll follow into the woods just over and over. Too, there’s Paul Tremblay’s teasingly-delayed The Harlequin & the Train, hopefully. It’s very, very cool (he’ll also have The Little Sleep, which Lansdale’s blurbed). Oh, and yeah, I’m there for The Solomon Key as well, should it surface. And Godspeed. Definitely Godspeed.