Count me among the weirdos who keep track of their yearly goals. As December blurs into January, I try to take stock of how I did or didn’t complete last year’s goals, and use that information to fine-tune my goals for the upcoming year.
I more or less hit my reading goals (I know some people are averse to such a thing, but I’ve found they help me diversify what I read, to my benefit and enjoyment). I exceeded what I aimed for in terms of books and pages read, but I didn’t get around to reading a Big Book (500+ pages) or re-reading anything. As for writing, I’m overall happy with my work throughout the year—which I get into below—though I wrote fewer columns than I wanted or intended to. This year, I’m hoping to hit somewhere between the goal I set out for myself (25 columns), and the number I actually wrote (18).
But both my reading and writing goals for 2023 look quite different from last year’s, because I’ll be starting grad school this year, getting an MFA in nonfiction from Bennington College. In the program, I’ll be reading more and more purposefully than I usually do, and my writing will be focused on a book-length project that I hope to finish (or come close to finishing) by the time I graduate.
Regardless of how your 2022 was—mine, for what it’s worth, was a mixed bag, with some wonderful highlights and some terrible lows—I appreciate those of you who read this newsletter, or read my work, or just read in general, really. You could do almost anything else with your time, and I don’t take that for granted. Here’s to better things in 2023.
Books of 2022
I read 30 books this year: 13 nonfiction, 12 fiction, 5 poetry. Here is a full list if you’re interested, but below are the 10 that stuck out the most, in the order I read them.
Big Happiness by Mark Panek (NF)
The story of local boy and sumo wrestler Percy Kipapa, but also the story of Hawaiʻi itself, and the fights that defined both. A masterful work, easily the best piece of nonfiction I’ve read about Hawaiʻi.
300 Arguments by Sarah Manguso (NF)
A book of aphorisms, but one that feels highly curated and deliberately sculpted. It’s not just 300 well-written sentences or smart-sounding paragraphs; it expands, diverts, contracts and contrasts in purposeful ways.
I’m Waiting For You by Kim Bo Young, translated by Sophie Bowman and Sung Ryu (F)
The kind of science fiction I love: driven by ideas but anchored by humanity. Two sets of interconnected stories that will make you think about life and relationships and the meaning of it all.
When We Cease to Understand the World by Benjamin Labatut, translated by Adrian Nathan West (F)
The stories of (real, nonfiction) genius scientists and mathematicians which, in many cases, stays very true to their lives with only minimal fictive inventions mixed in (which, adhering to Mary Karr’s theory that even a teaspoon of catshit in a sandwich makes it a catshit sandwich, means this a work of fiction). The blurring of fiction and nonfiction create a profound reading experience (and slight tremor of dread), where you never feel like you know what’s real and what isn’t. It is ultimately, like art and science, an attempt at truth.
Dog Songs by Mary Oliver (P)
Wonderful meditations on dogs and life and life with dogs.
On Knowing Oneself Too Well by Takuboku Ishikawa, translated by Tamae K. Prindle (P)
Ishikawa died of tuberculosis when he was only 26, but he left behind a prolific body of work. This collection is a life in verse.
People from My Neighborhood by Hiromi Kawakami, translated by Ted Goossen (F)
A short story collection where each story is really more of a vignette of a different person in the neighborhood (hence the title). The characters sometimes wander into each other’s stories, and some recurring threads are spun throughout the book. Kawakami is subtle and strange and disarmingly charming.
Stoner by John Williams (F)
A quiet masterpiece following the unremarkable life of William Stoner, whose life changes when he attends university and discovers a passion for literature. He becomes a professor, gets married, has a daughter and dies, and in between all of that, an entire human life takes place. It’s precise and poignant, heartbreaking and hopeful.
Shaky Town by Lou Matthews (F)
A novel of short stories where the main character is ultimately the city of Los Angeles. Matthews is a former mechanic and street racer (among various other jobs) who knows LA as intimately as anyone, and this is a love letter to its enormity and strangeness, the people he knows and observes, and the stories drifting through its vast city limits.
Seek You: A Journey Through American Loneliness by Kristen Radtke (NF)
A graphic nonfiction book that blends research and memoir into a smart, searching exploration of loneliness.
Some things I wrote this year
Aside from my column, I wrote four essays, three of which—one for The Fine Art of Violence and two for Hana Hou! Magazine—aren’t currently available online. If they end up on the internet I’ll be sure to mention it in future newsletters, otherwise I highly recommend buying a physical or digital copy of The Fine Art of Violence, and/or subscribing to Hana Hou! by clicking the links above.
For my Civil Beat column, I mostly wrote about education. Here are some of the highlights:
I’m A Teacher And I’m A Babysitter. You’re Welcome
Schools Don’t Cause Societal Tensions But They Can Address Them
“Failing” Schools Make An Easy Political Target But The Reality Is Far More Complex
Kids And Teachers Love Summer Vacation, But Does It Make Sense?
If Parents Want More Of A Voice, They Need To Have More Of A Presence
I also wrote about some non-education things:
A Boxing Club For Troubled Youth Gets New Life In Kalihi
Resisting The Cynicism Of Another Election
Bad Tourists Are Not Going To Behave Better Just Because We Ask Them To
Finally, I wrote a handful of magazine pieces. Here are two that can be read online:
Is There A Way Out Of Hawaii’s Housing Crisis?
I tend to agree with E.B. White when he said that writing is never fun (another way I’ve heard it said is “I don’t like writing, I like having written”). Still, the raw materials of writing—reading and thinking about ideas and talking to smart, interesting people—is endlessly fascinating, and a true joy. This year I talked to painters, architects and b-boys; activists, politicians and scientists. Among others. To everyone who spoke with me for a story, thank you for your time and trust.
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