The Ann Brownell Memorial Essay is awarded annually to the most reflective or entertaining essay on the year's reading experience. Brownell twice authored that essay before her death in 2008.

From the 2014 Reading Contest, this year's winner: Marian Davis.

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In 2013, I got to move to Portland. In 2014, I got to retire. Retiring has made me absolutely smugly, self-satisfyingly gleeful. I now describe myself as the happiest, most relaxed (read - lazy) person I know. But to be able to retire in Portland, a true reader's town, now that's a magical proposition.

"Lila," by Marilynne Robinson, at Broadway Books

When you retire, the question everyone asks is, "What do you do with your time now?" Depending on my relationship with the inquirer, I sometimes make stuff up to give the impression of being an active, vital person. Or, sometimes, I tell a version of the truth in which I casually mention reading as one of my many interesting activities. But to people who know me well, and to people who I want to look straight in the eye without blinking or letting my eyes slither to the side, I simply say "I read".



And what a fabulous, blockbuster, sensational year of reading it has been! For me, this means plopping down, or lying down, or standing up - it hardly matters - at any time during the day or night to read my book. If, like me, you've been tied to a demanding job for decades, the ability to read at two in the afternoon with no phone ringing, no text dinging, no emails piling up and no one looking beseechingly through your office window holding up fingers to mean just give me five minutes, is a gift like no other. And, I've been supported in my reading excesses. My dearly beloved just looks at me and says, "Ah, snout in a book again I see - the love affair continues."



Anyone reading this essay knows that reading is an end in itself. You understand the excitement of cracking open the new book, or seeing it appear on your kindle or iPad. (I'm not a purist. All mediums work for me.) You know the private calculation you are always performing to figure out how to get back to that book without neglecting your loved ones, being rude or just plain disappearing. You understand how to take an extra three minutes in the bathroom, an extra five in bed, and way too many at day's end when you should turn off the light. And it's not just the what, it's not just the content, it's the activity. It's eyes roving printed words, mind captivated by the other world, real world cares and woes set aside, being lost and found in the book.

About eight years ago, I met a charming woman who asked me to recommend some reading for her. I didn't know her at all, really, but liked her and wanted to give her a book list that she would take seriously. Well, I suppose I wanted to impress her with the depth and breadth of my recommendations. I worked on the list for some hours, all from memory, as we were not at home, and I had limited reference material. I wrote (what I thought) were clever little comments about the books and what she might discover. I'm sure most of it was modern English-speaking authors, with a little Jose Saramago or Peter Hoeg thrown in for good measure. She graciously took the list from me, glanced at it with a little smile, and said, "Oh, did I mention that I graduated from Barnard with a degree in Russian literature? You know, once you've read the Russians in Russian, well, nothing else ever quite measures up." I grimaced sheepishly, my lips stretched uncomfortably over my front teeth and squeaked, "Shakespeare?"



I learned a lesson. I mention the lesson because it occurs to me that Steve's contest is a place where it doesn't matter what I recommend as long as I like it. What freedom and fun that offers! I thought of my favorite reads this year in two categories. The first is "books that I loved." The second is "books that knocked my socks off." Is there a difference and is it important? Well, perhaps only to me, but let's see if it comes through for you.



Under "books that I loved" I have three: "Lila" by Marilynne Robinson, "Let Me Be Frank with You" by Richard Ford and "On Such a Full Sea" by Chang-rae Lee. I have read all previously published works by these authors, so certainly I have a well-established bias.



"Lila" - Can the woman set down a sentence or phrase that isn't flawless? Does anyone writing today, or ever, reveal a character so thoroughly that I feel I understand them completely while being an entirely different sort of person myself? I am at a loss for the superlatives needed to describe the beauty of her prose. While reading, I am so enchanted that it is an effort to still my inner voice which keeps popping up to interfere with "look at that! Read it again! Oh, it's so perfect! How does she do that?!" In the story, Robinson creates incredible dynamic tension with Lila's uncertainly about whether she will stay or flee. I was on edge, holding my breath, wanting her to stay and understanding that leaving might be a necessity for her. I felt that if I hugged Lila, she would feel solid and grounded while also feeling like a will-'o-the-wisp. It's a magnificent balancing act that only someone with Robinson's talent can accomplish.

"Let Me Be Frank with You" - This book is definitely for the over 50 set - or older. Having followed Frank Bascombe's life for many years, I like him best now. He's very clear about who he is, what's been good in his life, where he lives in his regrets, the sorrows that never fade, and the humor and irony with which he views his life, or life in general. Richard Ford, as a writer, is very, very funny. He's an expert mischief maker. He also captures the zeitgeist in a way that feels true. Are we diminished as people when we age? Certainly loud choruses of popular thinking will rise up everywhere shouting no, no, we are all better as we age! But, Frank Bascombe, and I, know that you become somewhat invisible. It's not so bad.



"On Such a Full Sea" - The title comes from a Shakespeare quote (here he is again). It is Brutus in Julius Caesar:



"There is a tide in the affairs of men.

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune:

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

On such a full sea we are now afloat,

And we must take the current when it serves,

Or lose our ventures."



Chang-rae Lee writes compellingly on any theme he chooses. This is a dystopian novel, but not strictly so. Both the horrors and the joys of the future come in unexpected ways. Fan, our heroine, is most interesting because she is most ordinary, both by her own estimation and that of others. She has a single purpose, and pursues it without looking right or left, moving in the straightest line possible, motivated by love, need, and doing what's right from her narrow world view. By her actions, transcending what anyone thought achievable, she creates legend that people cling to for guidance and hope. Fan intuited the tides and the sea. In Lee's world, what we assume might be good, well, with a closer look, of course it's not. Lee creates a weird and unimaginable world, but with his skillful, quiet prose leads us into thinking - could the future possibly transpire this way? Well, maybe. And would that be so bad? Oh, yes, it would. We need to pay attention to those currents.



Here are the "books that knocked my socks off." They are "The Stories of John Cheever" by John Cheever, and "The Jewel in the Crown" by Paul Scott.



I had certainly previously read John Cheever short stories, probably in my relative youth. I read them now with confidence in my judgement and opinions. No science fiction or mystery writer in my experience is scarier than John Cheever. Roiling beneath the smooth and phony surfaces of mid-twentieth century USA suburbia are violence, potential violence and fear. Nothing is as it seems. The eruptions take your breath away. I know I made sounds while reading him along the lines of "ooof - socked in the gut!", and "what the heck - oh no!" And, it's insidious, like a dormant worm in your brain that's just a little bit worrisome and then crawls out your ear at the dinner table. Disaffected youth? Lives shattered by alcohol, infidelity, attempted murder, loss and disappointment? Don't move along, folks, slow down and watch the disasters as told by a master.



The Raj Quartet has been sitting on my shelf for many years now. From an overstuffed bookcase, I plucked "The Jewel in the Crown," and could not put it down until the last lucid word. I've rarely, perhaps never, read a novel with broader scope that seems as fresh and pertinent today as it did in 1966. One reviewer said it's a "merciless tour de force and powerful commentary on colonialism, racism, class and caste prejudice, religious and cultural differences in a dangerous time with emotions running high in a very complex environment." As I wear my fleur-de-lis in honor of the murdered in Paris, I think the reviewer had the date wrong for "Jewel." It's not about the 1930s - it's about 2015. I am saving the rest of the Raj Quartet to savor over time.

To wind up, I can't resist telling you about a few more books. Included here are wonderful, new-to-me authors, and books that any fiction/literature reader might just like to grab and go.



David Shafer, with "Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot," has already made a name for himself in this entertaining first novel of no random occurrences and intelligent, rational paranoia. David is a Portland resident. If you liked Dave Eggers' "The Circle", this is better.



Please, just read Lorrie Moore's "Bark." It's really funny. Though I suspect you will notice the underlying pathos while you are laughing.



Lydia Davis has been a forerunner/leader in challenging the notion of what makes a short story. In "Can't and Won't" the mundane becomes thrilling. She's so good that she can tell an entire story in ten words. Maybe eight. Maybe less.



Elena Ferrante in "My Brilliant Friend" writes with a fierceness that seems quintessentially Italian. What passion! What drama! What joy!



And, reliably bringing surprise and delight were the new offerings by familiar and beloved authors such as Jhumpa Lahiri, David Mitchell, Kate Atkinson, Ian McEwan, Harurki Murakami, Margaret Atwood, and John LeCarre. I was so excited and effusive when David Mitchell was signing "The Bone Clocks" for me, that he started backing up in his chair. I think the poor man suspected me of being a stalker.



When I mentioned to my dearly beloved that I was submitting my list and writing this essay, he said, "You must end with the king is dead, long live the king." With reading, it is always long live the king. My 2015 reading is well underway, my wish list is long, my urgency high, my enthusiasm boundless. It will be the best reading year ever.

-- Marian Davis

marianedavis@gmail.com