Favorite Books I Read in 2023
Not including rereads and in no particular order, here are the books I loved the most this year.
Titles & Authors, from top left to bottom:
Fluids by May Leitz
Nevada by Imogen Binnie
Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson
Perfume: Story of a Murderer by Patrick Suskind
Valencia by Michelle Tea
The Sheltering Sky by Paul Bowles
Ada, or Ardor by Vladimir Nabokov
Summer by Edith Wharton
"The Echo & the Nemesis", "Life is No Abyss", "The Interior Castle", "Bad Characters", and "In the Zoo" by Jean Stafford
Bad Behavior by Mary Gaitskill
Pedro Paramo by Juan Rulfo
Crash by J.G. Ballard
I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem by Maryse Conde
Erasure by Percival Everett
Persuasion by Jane Austen
White Noise by Don DeLillo
Maud Martha by Gwendolyn Brooks
Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro
White Teeth by Zadie Smith
The French Lieutenant's Woman by John Fowles
The Passion by Jeanette Winterson
Ghosts of my Life: Writings on Depression, Hauntology, & Lost Futures by Mark Fisher
Girl Flesh by May Leitz
Here's to a new year, full of great reading!
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A kind of banalisation of celebrity has occurred: we are now offered an instant, ready-to-mix fame as nutritious as packet soup.
J. G. Ballard
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Re/search - Complete Volumes of Zines and Extra Texts : V. Vale : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive
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“For Vaughan, events have no meaning and do not even seem to be phenomenologically present until they are captured and mediated by some means of mechanical reproduction. The image is at the hands of the text's characters thus the subject of both fetishisation and exorbitation: nothing is more real than the image, and without the image there is no longer any real.”
Andrzej Gasiorek on J.G. Ballard and Crash.
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“For several minutes I gazed at this wrecked car, reassembling its identity. Terrifying events rolled through my mind on its flattened wheels. What most surprised me was the extent of the damage. During the accident the hood had climbed over the engine compartment, hiding from me the real extent of the collision. Both front wheels and the engine had been driven back into the driver’s section, bowing the floor. Blood still marked the bonnet, streamers of black lace running towards the windshield wiper gutters. Minute flecks were spattered across the seat and steering wheel. I thought of the dead man lying on the hood of the car. The blood rolling across the bruised cellulose was a more potent fluid than the semen cooling in his testicles.”
- Crash, J.G. Ballard
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