1918
10 books
- The prose literally grows up with Stephen, from baby talk to feverish theology, and the hellfire sermon in the middle will scare you even if you've never been Catholic. Slow going in spots, but if you like watching a mind assemble itself, this is that.
- Eminent Victorians non-fictionStrachey takes four Victorian saints (Florence Nightingale, General Gordon, Cardinal Manning, Dr Arnold) and quietly, elegantly lets the air out of them. If you enjoy watching someone commit polite assassination in beautiful prose, this is very good company.
- You follow Jim Burden’s memory of Ántonia from a bleak Nebraska childhood into the complicated fullness of adult life, and the prairie slowly becomes a place of loss, work, and hard-won belonging. It’s quiet and sometimes melancholy, but Ántonia’s stubborn vitality gives the book its warmth.
- Pessoa writes as four different poets, invented people with their own biographies, and each one feels real: Caeiro the shepherd who distrusts thinking, Campos howling in the Tobacco Shop. If you like poetry that argues with itself about who's even speaking, this gets under your skin.
- The Education of Henry Adams non-fictionYou get a sly, self-questioning education in how a brilliant man misunderstands his own life, told in the oddly distancing third person. Adams moves from Civil War Washington to the Virgin of Chartres and the Dynamo of 1900, making this dense, funny, restless book rewarding if you like ideas with a human bruise underneath.
- John Carter lands back on Mars in the one valley everyone believes is heaven, and it turns out to be a slaughterhouse run on religious fraud. Pure pulp, breathless and silly in spots, but the pace never lets up, and fair warning, it ends on a brutal cliffhanger.
- You get a wonderfully odd blend of World War I submarine adventure, lost-world fantasy, and dinosaur peril, narrated by the capable but rather old-fashioned Bowen Tyler. The Caspak sections feel dreamlike and episodic, so it suits you if you enjoy pulp adventure with strange anthropology more than polished realism.
- You get a slim, strange book of parables and prose poems, where a man’s stolen masks become a way of talking about the selves you perform for others. Gibran can turn syrupy, but if you like mystical, compact writing with a philosophical sting, you’ll find yourself rereading it.
- You spend most of it wanting to shake George Minafer, this spoiled boy who wrecks his mother's one chance at happiness, and yet Tarkington makes you ache for him as the automobile quietly buries his family's whole world. Sad, sharp, and gentler than you'd expect.
- You settle into John Carter’s fiercely personal race across Barsoom, where loyalty to Dejah Thoris matters as much as swordplay and every strange city seems to hide another danger. It’s melodramatic, pulpy, and wonderfully earnest, best read for the momentum and sheer oddness rather than psychological subtlety.