My year in books: what I read and what I loved in 2020

Stacks of old books. Photo by Ed Robertson on Unsplash.

Is 2020 done yet? No? Maybe this blog post is just wishful thinking then. But I’m planning to coast to the end of my reading year on a gentle sea of escapist froth, and so don’t think I’m likely to read anything else that would make me change my overall assessment of the year’s reading, so let’s do this.

Here are the books I loved the most, the book I liked the least, and just some general thoughts about how reading kept me going during this garbage year.

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My month in books: July 2020

A photo of three camels. Photo by Bernd Bangert on Unsplash.

I feel more excited to write this blog post than I have in some time, because I really loved a lot of what I read this month, and I want to share it.

There’s a Victorian pastiche with cannibalistic dragons, a chapter that saved 16 hours of my life, and a romance that finally dares to ask the question: “What if Jonathan Franzen was hot?”

I hope at least one of those sounds intriguing. This will also be a long post, because I finished 9 books in July. Let’s go!

Continue reading “My month in books: July 2020”