My 2022 in Books
Holy smokes… 2022 was definitely one for the books.
I read A LOT more than I thought I would this year. For some reason, especially as pandemic restrictions eased up, I thought I would spend less time reading and more time out and about. But I ended up reading more, going outside more, and reading outside more. Truly a beautiful combination. And reading 12 books more than my reading goal, (I aimed for 40 and reached 52 [~ 1 book/week]), was possible because the ever iconic medium of AUDIOBOOKS!
My First Half of 2021 Review Round-Up
It’s hard for me to believe that 2021 is halfway over. It’s bizarre really, but I’m excited. Watching much of the world begin to move again fills me with hope, but I’m cautious. It almost as if we’re all butterflies who’ve just emerged from our chrysalises of collective grief waiting for our wings to dry to then figure out the whole flying thing. Anyway, during these past few months of metamorphosis, reading books has been one of the few things keeping me at least a semblance of sane. My pace of reading has slowed down a bit since picking up on some writing projects, but I’m fortunately still on track to meet my Goodreads goal for the year. 20 books down and 20 to go! I don’t leave reviews for all the books I read and/or listen to, but I’m trying to get into the habit of doing so more often. Reviewing books helps me grow as a reader and a writer and also, it’s a lot of fun! So without further ado, here are the books I’ve reviewed during the first half of 2021…
Listening to Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon While Taking My Braids Aloose
There was something very honest about listening to a Black woman tell a story about Black people while I was doing a very Black thing. It felt very central, ancestral. Toni Morrison’s voice was softer, more delicate than I expected it to be. But there was also something raw and coarse about it, in a very familiar way. If you listen closely, you discover that there’s something buried in her voice, like there’s a thick lump of molasses caught in her throat, like she’s swallowing back what’s not quite sadness, not quite rage, but more like the awe of both of them. Listening to her felt natural and intimate, like my kinky hair roots, the story unraveling like my braids.