What I Read in January

January was a blustery, busy month, that seemed to both stretch on forever, and yet, passed by all too quickly. 

I jumped back into work with both feet after a long, luxurious holiday break, and I started thinking more critically about the places and people I'm allotting my time and attention to this year. I brainstormed where I could best be investing my creativity and focus, and inevitably spent quite a bit of time scrolling instead. 

And somehow, in the midst of all the chaos, I managed to kick off 2025 by reading a total of five books! (I know that might not sound like the loftiest figure in the world, but to be clear, that's a fifth of the total amount of books I read in all of 2024.) 

I also somehow managed to procure quite a few new titles: some by way of serendipitous moments scanning the library's book sale shelves, and the hardcover stickers at Barnes and Noble, and some via Value Village and eBay. In total, I snagged nine new books - plus acquired two more on top of that for free dollars and zero cents, an even better price - for a grand total of 11 books added to my shelves, for only $56.30 this month. 

But of course, I'm trying to pare down my TBR shelves this year, and here I am, stuffing them full again. Some of these bad habits don't go down easy, do they? 

At the very least, I managed to add two books to the donation pile as a gesture of goodwill towards myself, so at least you know I'm working on it. 

While I try not to collapse under the weight of my own sagging bookshelves, here's what I read in the month of January: 

Days at the Morisaki Bookshop, Satoshi Yagisawa

three stars 

Who would have guessed that randomly deciding to pick up There's No Such Thing As An Easy Job, by Kikuko Tsumura, back in July of '23 would kickoff such a fascination with female-focused contemporary Japanese literature? Granted, neither this novel, nor Kitchen, by Banana Yoshimoto, have come close to replicating my enjoyment of that first literary trip, but each has been a precious and unique portal, another lens through which to see the world. It's the sort of thing you wish you could take a college class on, because I just want to keep on diving deeper. 

What sets Morisaki Bookshop apart is its clear appreciation for - and dedication to - Japanese literary traditions, especially the relationship between readers and secondhand store culture. With multiple references to real works by Japanese authors, as a means of edifying and enhancing character backstory and feeling, it is like the book itself is giving you multiple points of inspiration to kick off from while exploring the shelves yourself. 

Even for those of us not fully cognizant of the implications of these choices - the origin points and cultural significance of these referenced materials - the book still carries a sense of gentle calm, reflective awareness, and sentimental connection... in short, everything feel so cozy. Maybe because hanging around bookstores and coffee shops - like our heroine, Tatako, always finds herself doing - is something that transcends cultural barriers, too. 

It was a short and sweet novel, though a little wandering and disjointed, especially in the back half. A very good start to 2025, even though it wasn't a perfect one! 

Book Riot's Start Here: Volume 1, ed. by Book Riot

three stars 

Book Riot was - and still is - a popular hub for literary-loving minds on the Internet. Back in the early part of the last decade, they put together a couple of compendiums for ebook release, involving popular installments of their "Start Here" column. Each article in the series serves as a celebration of a favorite author, in which the fan is tasked with assembling a sort of entry map for uninitiated readers, detailing how - should they find themselves interested in doing so - these new recruits should approach the authors' canon, so as to best appreciate their works. 

It's a pretty cute premise - who doesn't love hearing a nerd geek out about some of the nerd stuff they uniquely know best? - and it absolutely delivers in some of their responses: while the reading itself was pretty piecemeal, thanks to the column's abbreviated length, I walked away with a decently supplied Note section on my phone with authors and titles I wanted to keep my eye out for in the future. On the whole, it reminded me of some of my favorite parts about being an English major in college, swapping recommendations with friends. Because so may of these pieces were written about commonly lauded "masters" of their genres, I feel like it doesn't just afford me a roadmap of authors not yet explored, but a series of guideposts that I could feasibly use to ease me back into a Classic reading mode. 

Unfortunately, some of the failures of the collection are a symptom of age: even if you didn't tell me the articles within this book were produced in 2012 or 2013,  I probably would have been able to guess, especially when considering the generally white, generally male recommendations at play. With this many dudes talking about David Foster Wallace and Stephen King - and even a few authors who have been subsequently struck from the logbooks of readers for abysmal behavior of all varieties - it is a blessing that a lot of these articles are so short. 

The Comfort of Crows: A Backyard Year, Margaret Renkl

four stars

The best way I could pitch this to someone is by saying "It's for fans of books like Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, or Henry David Thoreau's Walden." The worst way I could pitch this book to someone is by saying "An essayist gets bored during post-Covid and decided to stare out her back windows for a year straight, which feels relatable." To be honest, there's a semblance of truth in both descriptions. 

What keeps this book from being like Pilgrim is a sense of distinctly human interference, rather than quiet contemplation: she can't simply describe the actions taking place by efforts of their naturalist focal points, but inserts herself directly into the story every time. Half of the chapters detail interactions with the world that aren't even strict observations at all, but anecdotes about how she couldn't reach for a camera in time, how she wishes she hadn't picked up the baby bird, how she was building a pond for the frogs in her backyard. While there are absolutely segments oriented around specific natural observations - the Praise Song at the end of every chapter, each presenting a stand-out naturalistic element of the season and week - the bulk of it feels more like a journal of her own actions and feelings. 

What also prevents it form turning into the latter pitch is a present sense of heart and honesty. This book is a product of significant reflection and feeling, constructed into delicate and precious portraits of the world in action. When she does chronicle her own perspective and opinion, it all ties into a growing overarching narrative about climate change, deforestation, and the destruction of the natural world she grew up in, the one she loves. That dichotomy shows up time and again: she misses her neighbors, but hates new construction; wouldn't dream of moving, though her own children have grown up and moved on; etc. 

Renkl serves as a witness to both humanity and nature. I especially adored this particular bit, about the tragedy of sentimentality, especially in relation to the natural world: "Apocalyptic stories always get the apocalypse wrong. The tragedy is not the failed world's barren ugliness. The tragedy is its clinging beauty even as it fails. Until the very last cricket falls silent, the beauty-besotted will find a reason to love the world." 

Where the Drowned Girls Go (Wayward Children #7), Seanan McGuire

five stars 

I haven't read another installment in this, one of my favorite book series of all time, since I tackled Across the Green Grass Fields on our return trip via the Clipper from Victoria BC, back in March of 2023. It's not like its been a deliberate protest or anything - I mean, I have the next three novellas already purchased and taking up a corner of my TBR shelves - it's just that I found ATGGF to be kind of lackluster and disappointing. I ration my McGuires already because they're so precious to me; they're miniscule and magical and I have to BE SURE it's the right time to pick them up each time I read them. I don't want to run the risk of not enjoying them to their fullest potential.... which makes it even more disappointing when I don't really enjoy the story. 

Thank goodness Seanan McGuire is a genius, and I never should have worried about this one in the first place. Not only does WTDGG stand out from the serial installments in this collection already, for its action and fascinating new characters, but it effectively sets up the next TWO installments in the series, while also managing to clarify and expand upon Regan's story in ATGGF (That one is still never going to be my favorites in the series, but I definitely connect more with Regan's character now). 

I absolutely enjoyed this expansion of not only the world of Wayward Children, but ALL of the worlds, and the various characters there we've come to know and care for. I love that it led to some darker shadings around the statuses of children who come back through the doors, and shows even more direct functioning of magic in our "normal" world. I love that it gives us a big bad guy. I love that the kids all work together. 

I think this might be on par with the original novella for my #3 slot in the whole series, which is definitely saying something. 

The Book of (More) Delights, Ross Gay 

four stars 

One man's gratitude journal becomes an exercise in recognizing humanity. It's not a hard thing to do, when the man in question is both a poet and essayist, and even a professor... one might even say he's an Expert in the Humanities. But these brief reflections - selected from his personal musings on each day's new offerings - are far from small, but instead, like a stained glass window, arrange themselves into something bright and beautiful, verging on recognition of the divine. 

Ross comes off as a bit of a hippie - not in the PNW REI way I'm used to, but in the "I foraged for berries and brought a glass mason jar full of not-enough water on an overly-strenuous hike" kind of way. Like a lot of other poets, he puts his focus on the noticing, and so a lot of his observations are kind of wandering, unfocused, and swing wide on subject matter. I don't think this is a drawback, by the way: the subject of Delights almost requires some abstraction, in order to contextualize the joy we derive from them. 

It was a reading experience that felt almost redundant to me, because we already share a lot of the same thoughts and feelings about the various facets of being a human being in the world; parts of the collection reminded me of the sizable amount of time in college I considered adding a Comparative History of Ideas minor to my English Lit degree. 

I guess in that familiar, friendly way, it was kind of like driving to work each morning with someone who really wanted to tell me about what a great weekend they had, and all the friends they spent time with, and what's growing in their garden. And that in itself is pretty delightful, too. 

What are some of the books you've gotten to so far this year? Let me know, in the comments below!