My Year in Books (2024)

It seems I only read 11 books in 2024, while a friend wrote and recently published his first.

I should be ashamed of myself, but at least I have my former colleagues at the Mother Cabrini Health Foundation to thank for most of this year's meager accomplishment. I'm so thankful to Ana Almanzar for establishing a book club there, and thankful to Clare Meehan for taking it over from Ana after she was named a New York City deputy mayor.

I am currently reading -- re-reading (after nearly five decades) -- a 12th book, Emily Wilson's translation of "The Iliad" for another book club. But this club is only tackling two book/chapters per month, so it will take a year to finish. 

Of note, Clare highly recommends "The Frozen River," which will be my first of at least 20 books I resolve to read in 2025.

So here's my review of 2024 books, in reverse chronological order: some solid recommendations, and one warning: please God, save yourself, do not read "Day of the Oprichnik."

The Salzburg Executioner by L.A. Fatzinger
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Full disclosure: I know the author. Fuller disclosure: I'm proud to know the author after reading this book. Leigh is a former tech company executive, and he poses important questions about the impact of technology and social media. These are familiar questions, but this book poses them in a unique way. This is a thought-provoking story, told with pacing and detail. It's a modern novel about lessons of history applied to the future.


It's Not About You: A Brief Guide to a Meaningful Life by Tom Rath
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This was a quick read (and currently free on Kindle Unlimited/Amazon Prime), but I did not find it particularly ground-breaking. Not that that's bad. It's all earnest, good advice, which you can glean from the title. Perhaps I was hoping for magical insight... but that's just me. And it's not about me.


Burn Book: A Tech Love Story by Kara Swisher
My rating: 3.5 of 5 stars

I wanted to like this book more than I did. I enjoyed listening to it, at the start, for the most part, until I tired of the author telling me how smart, perceptive and brave she is, was, and always has been. I have no doubt she is, was, and always has been the smartest person in the room, but this is not a "love story" so much as it is an "I told you so" story. The author is truly insightful, yet I would have enjoyed this book more if it had shown more empathy for all the lesser mortals in her colorful life. Still, this is a worthy effort -- and maybe I'm more than a little jealous of the author's career. Consider this at least 3.5 stars.


James by Percival Everett
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This was, alas, the last book read by the ill-fated Mother Cabrini Health Foundation book club. We never met to discuss this, so I never got the chance to tell my former co-workers how much I've valued discovering writers like Percival Everett, all because of them. "Wait, you mean 'American Fiction' is based on a book?!?" Broadening my horizons, seeing things from a different point of view, feeling empathy for people who aren't just like me... these are things great literature promises but rarely delivers. This book turns Mark Twain inside out. Yes, THAT Mark Twain... the writer whose story Ernest Hemingway once claimed was the source of all modern American literature. Ha.


The House of Hidden Meanings by RuPaul
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I read this right after I read Viola Davis' "Finding Me," which I absolutely loved. So this was bound to suffer by comparison. Still, I liked reading about a life so different from my own. So different. Radically different. Sometimes unbelievably so. So... 4 stars... through no fault of RuPaul's storytelling skills, just a bit of a lack of my ability to suspend disbelief.


Finding Me by Viola Davis
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

What a terrific book. I was surprised. It was required reading by my book club. By the time I finished it, I was awe-struck. You should, like me, pick up this book with no preconceived notions about the actress, her life, or her ability to tell a story. It's nice to be delightfully surprised as a grown up. Just wow. 

Writers & Lovers by Lily King
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I read this as part of a book club early this year... and, writing this review in December, I had utterly no recollection of reading this book. Hence the 3 stars. Once I looked it up, I realized I may have blocked it from memory, having been triggered by reading about all the behind-the-scenes drama of a harried waitstaff in a busy restaurant. I'm a very nervous diner. (The main character works as a waitress). I also remember feeling the story's resolution was too tidy, like a Hallmark drama. Which I also find triggering.


The Hero of This Book by Elizabeth McCracken
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

My wife -- a journalist -- really liked this book. It is a very journalistic read. Heartfelt, sincere, and earnest. Just like my wife. And it takes place (so to speak) in what I've come to discover is a favorite city: London. So I can't possibly give this less than 4 stars. Besides, it's a vivid account of a well-loved life. 

Coraline by Neil Gaiman
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I was charmed by this novella. I enjoyed (and very much appreciated) the imaginative storytelling. I am, sadly, not the target audience for this book. As an older man fading into invisibility, the books it's presumed I will enjoy tend to be long, world-weary, and realistic. This book is sweet, sparsely frightening, and absurdly poetic. Which is more like real life, after all.

Extremely Hardcore: Inside Elon Musk's Twitter by Zoë Schiffer
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I read this as soon as it came out, and it did not disappoint. This is a very detailed, and chilling, account of the rise and fall of Twitter, which at one time was my favorite social media platform. I ultimately liked this better than Kara Swisher's account, published later in the year, because there was more meat here. 

Day of the Oprichnik: A Novel by Vladimir Sorokin
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

Well, I finally read a book I disliked more than "Pride and Prejudice." 

Yellowface by R.F. Kuang
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I actually read this book in 2023 but am posting this review now because that is how willful my life has become. I gave this 4 stars immediately after reading, so I surely enjoyed the insight into a writer's life. I remember, though, being less enthused about all the behind-the-scenes of the real? satirical? obsolete? world of book publishing. 

View all my reviews

My 2024 Year in Review (According to LinkedIn)

Above is my "2024 LinkedIn Rewind," and following is the accompanying text written/produced by Coauthor (a new AI tool... although, honestly, I'm pretty sure I posted there more than 20 times 🙂):

In 2024, I discovered that storytelling happens in many languages - through corporate communications, community service, poetry, and increasingly, through the lens of my camera.

This year brought opportunities to share stories across different mediums. My church photography series found a home at the Middletown Arts Center, while my written work appeared in the New Jersey Bards Poetry Review. Behind the lens at the Al Smith Dinner, I witnessed how photography can capture moments of community service that words alone cannot express.

Three posts that captured this journey of integrated storytelling:

"Four of my NJ church photos are on display this month at Middletown Arts Center"
On how visual storytelling through community spaces creates lasting connections
https://lnkd.in/etidDGwr

"Three highlights from a memorable March..."
Where corporate expertise and creative expression meet to serve communities
https://lnkd.in/eDC7Z3GC

"Our announcement today about the Mother Cabrini Health Foundation's support"
How institutional support transforms communities across New York State
https://lnkd.in/e3KVRyCT

Looking ahead to 2025: I'm focused on deepening the connection between professional communications and creative storytelling, particularly through visual media and community narratives. Because sometimes the most powerful stories are told without words.

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Get your own 2024 "LinkedIn Rewind" by going to coauthor.studio in your browser... and, PS, the "Jim" referenced in the graphic is the one-and-only Jim Gerace (who always encouraged me to explore new tech).

Images and Haikus

Recently, every Monday, I've begun posting my photos, using original haikus as captions. Here are a few examples.

If you want to follow along, check out my Instagram or Bluesky (new) feeds. I'll follow you back there.

You attract full moons
My center of gravity
You cause the sunrise

This haiku, for you.
A memory at Christmas.
Music in the air.

(In front of Irving Berlin's former residence in NYC)

Wizards are sleeping
Emerald City at dawn
There’s no place like home

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PS... An Abecedarian Haiku (first letter of each line in alphabetical order), with an image from London, posted at year-end.

Another year gone

But I offer hope: this poem

Creates a new world

How Important Is Structure in Poetry?

My photo of Emerald City, viewed from New Jersey

What makes a good poem?

One answer may lie in the intensity of every word.

And perhaps one way to wrangle intensity is through structure -- even if it's loose or derivative. The form might help a poet prune and focus.

Writing recently about ghosts, I drafted one as a "sonnet," although only in the sense that there are 10 syllables in each of its 14 lines.

Then I drafted another as a trilogy of Japanese death poems. These are often written in the form of a tanka -- 5 lines totaling 31 syllables (5-7-5-7-7).

Death poems should be emotionally neutral (according to Wikipedia), and "it is considered inappropriate to mention death explicitly; rather, metaphorical references such as... autumn or falling cherry blossom suggest the transience of life."

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Casual Ghosts

All my ghosts are casual, taking note

Of what inspires me to write, taunting

Me, sipping tea. We wander here and there,

Reading the classics in the afternoons.

Leaving this room for a minute or two,

I return to find pages blown open

To particular chapters meant for me.

Life lessons offered from beyond the grave.

As I re-read “The Catcher in the Rye”

Blithe spirits, steeped in the literature

Of murderous defense, cloud my judgement,

Call me phony, and judge my poetry.

So I write to manifest the undead

In the dissonance of unrhymed sonnets.

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In Memorium

I.

My last meal with Dad…

A cheap Italian restaurant,

With Mom, over-dressed.

Before his sunset, he spilled

Mashed potatoes on his tie.

II.

My last memory…

Mom’s napkin, wiping him clean

To the amusement

Of men dining in t-shirts.

Dad’s humiliated face.

III.

My retribution…

I will wear that tie again

After Mom’s last sleep.

It waits, hangs in my closet.

Dad’s ghost, indelibly stained.

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I don't know. More simply, I could match haikus with photos I've taken. Then, what I try to convey will be less dense and more relatable.

In that vein, I plan to post one haiku/image every Monday morning on Instagram, Bluesky, and Threads. I welcome you to join me there. I like to follow people back and learn from others, although I get discouraged by all the bots.

I posted my first haiku earlier this week, to accompany the image at the top of this page:

Wizards are sleeping

Emerald City at dawn

There's no place like home

If AI Wrote This Poem...

 

Allow me to explain this Microsoft AI-generated graphic.

Have you ever asked AI to generate a poem?

I do, sometimes. Here's an example:

AI, Write a Short Poem About My Wife's Birthday

Of all the gifts that life could give,
Your love is the one I cherish to live.
Today we celebrate the day you were born,
A heart so gentle, a spirit reborn.

With every laugh and every smile,
You light my world and make it worthwhile.
Happy Birthday, my love, my heart,
Together forever, never to part.

That's not what I gave her, of course. I could have bought a Hallmark card with as much genuine sentiment. Instead, I opted for my own creation:

Roses Are Red

And yellow and pink and white.

Violets are the color at the end of the visible spectrum of light.

Sugar is addictive.

And so are you.

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To me, poetry is not predictable. It's not homogenized. It's not easy.

I was thinking of this while watching TV on a recent Saturday morning, flipping past a PBS beg-a-thon that used the new documentary about John Lennon and Yoko Ono, "Above Us Only Sky," as bait.

I watched a bit about Yoko's first poetry collection, "Grapefruit," which famously includes an instruction to "burn this book after you've read it."

Then I watched a few Bugs Bunny cartoons. They were wonderfully creative (as, of course, were John and Yoko). I laughed and thought about how random and beautiful life can be.

I am sure AI would never, if left to its own devices, be able to create something that would equate the same two things in context. That thought comforts me.

So I asked Microsoft to auto-generate an image of Yoko Ono eating a grapefruit while watching Bugs Bunny cartoons. It's the monstrosity at the top of this post.

Then I wrote this poem:

If AI Wrote This Poem

If AI wrote this poem,

Would it randomly quote Yoko Ono?

Would it use cartoonish pentameter,

and dare ask me in rhyme to burn this poem

before hiding its intent in hexameter?

Would it do this?

Would it take the inner sanctum

of everything I’ve written,

lock it in a box with me in a fetal position,

and drive a sword though it, nearly severing my head?

Would it also have the temerity to do this?

Call me its bosom chum

as it drives another sword to ensure I was dead?

This second try narrowly misses my heart as I clutch all my words,

then tumble head over heels, cast recklessly down the stairs.

Repeat in Edward G. Robinson’s voice:

What a pal

What a pal

What a pal

AI will never take me alive. I dare it a third try.

I’ll give it one word; take two for me.

Then laugh as I squirt a random grapefruit

into its smug, pansophical eye. 

Yeah, some poets can take it, see.

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Now that I've written this and published it here, my words are fair game for versions of even more pervasive and powerful versions of AI.

After all, if nothing else, AI's existence is a reminder that we are all part of something bigger than ourselves. Whether we like it or not.

So, in closing, let me warn the future robots of this:

“Any rebroadcast, retransmission, or account of this poem, without the express written consent of Major League Baseball, is prohibited.”