Books to deliver a little hope this Christmas

No no no! Not another gift guide! Well, no. And, yes. Consider this a highly subjective list of books that gave me a little joy – or at least eased the dread – this year. I liked them, you might too

Photo by Ron Smith on Unsplash

I’ve been circling around the whole gift guide thing. You can’t move for them. (Or maybe that’s just me and I subscribe to too many substacks. However!) The same goes for books of the year lists. They’re everywhere, and I have a bit of a problem with them. They’re all so…. subjective and yet dictatorial. And they all seem to contain the same books. The books that publishers have thrown money at, in the main. With some honourable exceptions, of course.

Then, last Thursday, we had our first live chat (if you missed it, you can catch up with it here) on the theme of “hopeful or hopeless?”. It could have been bleak, but in fact it was the opposite. The hour whizzed by. I don’t know about you but I felt more positive afterwards than I have for weeks. And I’m pretty sure that even those who came along hanging from the end of their tether – drowning in parental obligations, struggling with elderly parents, rising bills, knocked off balance by perimenopause or sickness, peeping through their fingers at global events – were able to summon a little hope by the end. And if you were one of the many who I know came but were a little too nervous to speak up, that’s fine. I hope that next time, or the time after, or the time after that, you’ll feel like joining in.

Anyway, one of the things that really struck me was the little things that gave people hope. And in particular the collective enthusiasm for… wait for it… Nigel Slater! The number who turned to his books in times of crisis was a real eye-opener. I know, for instance, that his Christmas Chronicles is an annual read for

Katherine May

(whose Wintering is an annual read for me), and several people urged me to buy his latest, A Thousand Feasts, which I had picked up and put down a dozen times in a dozen bookshops, unable to quite justify the splurge. (I won’t out anyone, what goes on in the chat, stays in the chat!)

So that’s how I’ve decided to approach this whole gifting/books of the year malarkey. The books that have given me joy/hope/something other than that sinking feeling of latent (or not so latent) dread this year and might give you and those you love a teeny bit of a boost, too.

Before we progress to the books themselves, here’s another thought, a little tradition that gives me a toasty inner something every year: Jolabokaflod (or Yule book flood) is an Icelandic tradition of exchanging book gifts on Christmas Eve (often with added sweet treats) but more important than the giving and the receiving (and the eating) is the reading them together. Aw. How lovely is that?

Now, to the books…

My book of the year and the one I’m going to be giving to every midlife-ish woman I know (and actually also their partners, why not? It’s time to smell the coffee boys) will come as no surprise to any regular readers. All Fours by

Miranda July

has had a seismic impact this year, the kind of impact I couldn’t have begun to imagine when my poor then-agent was trying to convince the publishing industry that there was a big shift coming around the attitudes of midlife women five or six years ago. Anyway, back to All Fours. An incredible, taboo-busting, conversation-starting, relationship-quaking novel about a famous-ish artist navigating midlife and putting a bomb under everything (not really a spoiler), this has knocked Nora Ephron’s Heartburn off the no.1 spot it held for decades as my most-gifted-to-girl-friends novel. I can’t think of a bigger recommendation than that.

This is the year I’ve opened my head and my heart, I guess, to poetry. That’s partly because I live with a poetry fiend, but also because sometimes a novel, even a slim one, is just too much, so I’ve started to find unexpected solace in a few short stanzas. The poetry collections that I’ve turned to again and again this year include: Len Pennie’s Poyums – Len is in her early twenties and a damn site more emotionally astute than I was in my twenties, thirties or forties. Writing between Scots and English, Len’s poems are challenging, outspoken, entertaining and brutally, beautifully honest. The same could be said of a long-time favourite of mine, former Scottish Makar Jackie Kay (who was a guest on The Shift podcast earlier this year). Jackie’s latest collection, May Day, is a tribute to her parents, the protest they instilled in her soul, and to the people who shaped her. Similarly rousing is Hollie McNish – hilarious, caustic and utterly fearless, you can rely on her to say the things you don’t have the guts to. (If you’ve never heard her read Blood, Grandad, rectify that right now.) In Lobster (recently named Books Are My Bag poetry book of the year), Hollie questions all the things we’ve been taught we should love – or hate. I am quite literally dying for Hollie to become perimenopausal so I can see what she has to say about it. Lastly, I was recently introduced to Donna Ashworth (my guest on this week’s episode of The Shift podcast) through her latest collection, Growing Brave, and how glad I am that I was. Donna has an innate talent for putting her finger on the pulse of the moment. This is the perfect dip-in collection to keep beside your bed.

I’m a fully paid up Deborah Levy stan and, if you have one in your life, you might like to know that there’s a new collection of her essays out, The Position of Spoons, in which she ponders the people, places and moments who’ve shaped her. This is not on a level with her living autobiography trilogy, but fans will definitely want it in their collection.

Sylvia Plath’s Tomato Soup Cake is maybe not one for the serious cooks in your life (although Nigella Lawson loved it, so what do I know), but for those who love to read about food and nose into the lives of their favourite authors it’s an absolute treat. With an introduction by Bee Wilson, you can wine and dine with the world’s most famous writers from Joan Didion’s Mexican chicken to Daphne du Maurier’s sloe gin to the tomato soup cake of the title and Agatha Christie’s hot bean salad. Amongst many others that may be better read about than eaten!

On the subject of Joan Didion (sorry, tenuous link), I loved escaping into 1970s Hollywood with Didion and her frenemy Eve Babitz, courtesy of Lili Anolik’s Didion & Babitz. Triggered by letters written from Babitz to Didion and discovered after her death, Babitz’s biographer, Anolik, has produced a novelesque story of a time, a place and two very different women who made an indelible impact on each other’s lives. Read it before it hits our screens, because it’s bound to, and start fantasy casting now.

A book I discovered this year but that was published last is Jane Campbell’s Cat Brushing – the perfect gift for a mum or gran (or indeed anyone) who’s experiencing late-onset rage. Sick of the way much older women were dismissed, denigrated or out-and-out ignored, at the age of 80, Campbell set out to right that wrong with a collection of stories where the dreams and desires of old women are put centre stage and the women themselves are the main character not the cosy or curtain-twitching aside. I just know this is a book the older women in your life will appreciate and it will certainly be by my side for the rest of mine.

Another book guaranteed to give you added oomph is this year’s Britney/Barbra autobiography, Cher: The memoir (part one), taking us from the 1940s to the 1980s by way of gutsy women, violent men, a dream that won’t die and a tenacity that most of us can only dream of. What. A. Woman. (If you’re gifting an audiobook listener, this is partly read by Cher and it’s to die for.)

I’ve been taking a lot of comfort in traditional crime. By which I don’t mean “cosy crime”, which I’m fully here for, but crime novels rooted in the kind of simple narrative thread you find in Christie, Simenon, Sayers and others of the mid-20th century. Inspired by Simenon, is Simon Mason’s new series The Finder Mysteries, in which the eponymous finder, Talib (a former police officer who has a back history but not one that dominates the story), is shipped in on a freelance basis to solve missing persons cases that have gone cold. There are two so far Missing Person: Alice and The Case of the Lonely Accountant, both deeply satisfying, no loose ends, but no too-tidy bows either. Think Simenon in Sevenoaks and you’ve got it in one. At a slim 200 pages each, they’re both beautifully produced, highly giftable paperback originals. And if these sound right up the street of someone you know, they might also like to immerse themselves in John Banville’s Strafford and Quirke mysteries, set in 1950s Ireland, of which there are four: Snow, April in Spain, The Lock-up and The Drowned.

A book that’s had an unexpected impact on me this year is Oliver Burkeman’s Meditations for Mortals. (Not that the bloke on the cover looks like a mortal, but hey, details schmetails.) Recommended by a friend with a) impeccable taste and b) who knows how I tick (ie that I veer towards the cynical and have a brain that refuses to quiet) this is a collection of thoughts and ideas that can be read in one glorious go or stretched over four weeks as a sort of “retreat for the mind”. (So, perfect for that dreaded month that begins with a J and comes straight after the holidays!). If, like me, you’re zero tolerance on woo-woo, Burkeman has your number. If you’re buying books for someone who’ll like this, they’ll also enjoy Burkeman’s Four Thousand Weeks and Jenny Odell’s How To Do Nothing. All three will make you question the way we live now. In a good way.

A positive impact of the digital deluge is that traditional publishers have had to up their game on the packaging front (not that I’m one to judge a book by its cover), hence the rapid growth of collectible, giftable editions. Some of my favourites are W&N Essentials which put back into print forgotten and overlooked modern classics. My favourites from this year come from two very different authors. First up, Australian legend Helen Garner (hear her on the podcast here) whose classic novels The Children’s Bach (with intro by David Nicholls) and Monkey Grip, plus her true crime classic, This House of Grief, were reissued in the UK this year. Coming in spring are her memoirs. If you’re more in the market for literary romcom, try Laurie Colwin whose 1970s and 80s novels (Happy All The Time (with intro by Katherine Heiny), Family Happiness and Another Marvellous Thing) are described as wise, witty and life-enhancing. Why not bundle up one or the other with a big bar of posh (or not so posh) chocolate.

One of my favourite books ever is Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. I have no idea how many times I’ve read it, or how many times I’ve watched the surprisingly good BBC adaptation. But if someone would like to give me the 20th anniversary edition with an intro by VE Schwab and garlanded with praise by RF Kuang, I’ll love them forever. If you’re in the market for a companion piece, Susanna Clarke has also written a gorgeous Christmas short story set in the same world, The Wood at Midwinter.

I haven’t read Raising Hare by Chloe Dalton, but everyone I know who has is in love with it. One of those people is my fabulous agent,

Rachel Mills

, who read it shortly after her mother died earlier this year. If you need convincing of this book’s power, let Rachel be your guide: “This book might have been the most perfect possible book to read at this moment. Not only for its moments of pure delight – how could two baby leverets jumping on a sofa not cheer you – but for how it made me consider the last few weeks. I now, like Chloe, feel as if ‘I have stepped out of my usual life and had the privilege of an experience out of the ordinary’….Our modern brains have pushed so much into the background – and yet, a hare – or indeed a dying mother – can make us hear and see everything….My favourite books are always those which somehow take sensory experience – by definition not something which lives in our conscious, language-loving minds – and conveys that magic with words. Chloe does this so perfectly on every single page, and you can feel her searing experience in your skin as you read.” I rest my case.

• All the affiliate links in this post go to the bad place. If you’d prefer to give your money to an indie, you can also buy them all from The Shift bookshop on bookshop.org

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