I realized early this year that I do not read enough female authors. Reflecting on what I’ve read over the past two years, I think I may have only read like three books written by women. How dismal.
I suspect it’s a ratio thing — a lot of books on the shelves are penned by male authors, so it’s just more likely that when I do pick something up, it’ll be something written by a man. (And I shouldn’t have to say this, but just in case, I don’t have anything against male writers.)
But that’s hardly a good enough reason, is it? (Nope, it’s not.) I do feel it is important that I make more of an effort to read female authors, just to diversify my own reading habits. I already make it a point to read non-English books (translated into English, obviously) on a regular basis, so why not also make it a point to read more works by women too?
I’m not sure what kind of point I’m trying to make. Most likely no point. This is just my par-for-the-course rambling way of saying that I’m pleased to see a lot more women make it into my list of favorite books this year.
The Bone People by Keri Hulme
Pop the champagne and pass out the noisemakers because this is the best thing I’ve read all year, hands down. It’s a difficult story, and I’m sure elements of it will drive a lot of people to hate it — you know, like the rampant physical abuse of a mute child, and how frustrating the characters can be as they get in their own way. The novel is about Kerewin, a loner who finds a mysterious mute child in her home one day and becomes enmeshed in the lives of this child and his deeply flawed stepfather. It’s refreshing to read about someone who is cynical, but not cartoonishly so, and where they aren’t set up as someone who needs to undergo a complete personality transplant to be “saved.” She’s complicated and messy, like everyone else in the book; though admittedly, that does make it weird that it wraps up in a too-neat kind of way. But it’s such a beautifully written story, and a great glimpse into the Maori language and culture. There’s even a glossary in the back of the Maori terms used, though if you’re lazy like me, you won’t bother to refer to it until after you’re done reading the book to see if your “figure it out via context clues” method worked.
Augustus by John Williams
This is very similar to I, Claudius by Robert Graves, in that both are fictionalized accounts of the lives and reigns of Roman emperors. And maybe that is a very specific genre that I enjoy because I loved this one too. If you know of any other “fictionalized accounts of the lives and reigns of Roman emperors,” please alert me immediately to its existence. The only other thing I’ve read by John Williams is Stoner (I highly recommend it) but Augustus does not at all resemble it. To give you an example, I laughed quite a few times reading this — Williams does thinly veiled contempt quite well –, whereas I laughed approximately Not At All times reading Stoner. I will say, though, that it helps to know your Roman history to really appreciate this book, otherwise it’s a little too easy to get lost in the names of people and places and events.