The events of 2020 weren't necessarily the reason I exceeded my Goodreads target of 165, and 179 not my highest total anyway. Several were slender but intense poetry books; the fattest an unintentional re-read of Jilly Cooper's 'Riders'. (There were quite a lot of comforting re-reads, but that forty-four of them were five star has to be a reason for celebration.)
So, in no particular order, these, read for the first time, were (probably) my top Ten.
Stan Barstow A kind of loving: I am kicking myself for not having read this when it was
first published. So real, so authentic, such depth of philosophy from Vic
Brown, and so painful a series of events.
Jane Casey: The Cutting Edge: I cleared the day to read this. Followed the sun
from the front of the house to the back and finished with a satisfied sigh
after five.
James Cormac: The Surfacing: Without doubt, it was the writing - un-showy and quiet - that
so superbly sustained this. All the more spectacularly for the white blankness
of the landscape and the sustaining of the tedium of the days
Claire Fuller Our endless Numbered
days: That, in all its oddness and its
fairy-tale-for-adults atmosphere, it immediately ensnared me and kept me glued
until I finished it, says much for the mesmeric quality of the writing, which
maintained an the ever-present potential for evil all the way through.
Lesley Glaister: Easy Peasy: Nuances and depths of each of the characters; the understanding
the capacity for cruelty we all possess, the misunderstandings and ignorances
of childhood, the later fears and inappropriate behaviours as adults.
Mary Loudon: My house is falling
down: It left me reeling, wondering about what if and
why and how and what.
Benjamin Myers: The Offing
: I didn't anticipate this being such a smooth
and sweet and easy read; another one begun at lunch and finished before tea.
Michael Ondaajte: Warlight: That, in all its oddness and its fairy-tale-for-adults
atmosphere, it immediately ensnared me and kept me glued until, in the second
sitting, I finished it, says much for the mesmeric quality of the writing,
which maintained an the ever-present potential for evil all the way through.
Ray Robinson: The mating habits
of Stags: a book about place and relationships,
regret and misunderstandings, the tension of it tight and gently ever-winding, beautifully, mesmerisingly told
Frank Westworth’s ‘Killing
sisters’ trilogy: Hell. I've just finished this and feel as if
I've been mugged.
