I’ve Never Read It
Reaction to the New York Times’s “Best Books of the 21st Century”
I love lists. Rankings. What’s the best; what’s the worst. They’re fun. They help us organize our thoughts, think through our emotions, our connections, our prejudices, and they can also reveal parts of our character — good and bad.
On the other hand, I think lists are really dumb.
Who puts these lists together? What biases do they have? And then there is the subjectiveness of it all. I think “Eleanor Rigby” may be the greatest pop song ever written, but that certainly may not be how you feel. A song about a lonely church lady? Really? Still, on my list, it’s tops. But then there’s the matter of what mood I’m in and what day it is. “Eleanor Rigby” may be knocked off her pedestal when I hear “In My Life” or “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” or “The Boxer” or “Like a Rolling Stone” and even “Hey Ya” by Outkast or “Love Shack” by the B-52s. (Those last two are my guilty pleasures.)
But this post is not about music, it’s about books, and about my well-read and not so well-read life.
The New York Times recently released over a few days what their editors consider to be the “Best Books of the 21st Century.” To Kill a Mockingbird and The Great Gatsby would not be considered. Different century. This is about the last twenty-four years. The list got me thinking about my reading habits, what I like, and maybe even my own literary failings. For instance: I have never been able to get all the way through Ulysses. I tried in college, I tried years after, I tried two years ago. What does that say about me? About me as a reader, a writer? I love Joyce’s short stories, especially “The Dead.” But Ulysses? Nope.
Lists like this are always up for discussion. But they also reveal something about us. I won’t go through the entire list of 100 books, but consider some of the top twenty and certainly the top five.
Cormac McCarthy’s The Road is a gem. Marvelous book. Not my usual genre. But it doesn’t matter. The writing is remarkable. Love this book. It is number-thirteen.
On the other hand, Marylin Robinson’s Gilead is number-ten and like Ulysses, I can’t get through it. What’s wrong with me? One of the best books of this century and I can’t get past page twenty-five?
Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking is number-twelve. Deserved. Didion was a genius, and this book is so intimate and honest that it hurts.
Then there’s Austerlitz. I’m embarrassed to say that I don’t know this book. I know W. G. Sebald, the German literary icon. I love his book After Nature. But this one, well, how did I miss it? I’m searching now for a used copy. It’s ranked at number-eight.
I read Robert Bolaño’s 2666, all 900 pages. It’s a masterpiece. But I wouldn’t read it again. It was like having a job. It’s number-six on the list.
The top five books, according to the NYTs are Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections, The Known World by Edward P. Jones, Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel, The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson, and at the top Elena Ferrante’s My Brilliant Friend. I’ve read two. And although they were “good” books, they didn’t rise to the top, at least for me. Number-100 on the list is Tree of Smoke by Denis Johnson. Number-100? I’d put it in the top twenty-five. But, then again, subjectivity and taste. Of all 100 books, I’ve read twelve of them. Hmm. Should I have read more? Should I have tried harder? Should I be at the library now or the bookstore?
Where are you when it comes to the “best books?” Are you loathing the fact that of the 100 best books of the 21st century, your favorite is not there? Are you feeling well-read? Or maybe, under-read, really under-read?
In the end, books and music, what we like and what we don’t, frame our character, our emotions, our world. They are parts of our being. What we read, what we listen to, and what we don’t, says so, so much about who we are and how we see the world.
But after studying this list — what I’ve read, haven’t read, and simply can’t read — I now have no idea who I am. Maybe defining myself through lists is more about what Whitman said, “I contain multitudes.” Yes, I have read Walt Whitman. He is not on the list, of course. Not of the 21st century. So, it doesn’t count. Still, what we read, reflects on who we are but can also influence who we will be, or even who we want to be.
And I’m still working on that. Aren’t we all.
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David W. Berner is the author of several award-winning books of fiction and memoir. His book Daylight Saving Time is now available for pre-order.
