Four novels, all set to be published this summer. All four are probably not to most people’s reading taste but they all were to mine.

Queen’s Gambit is the story of Katherine Parr, the final and surviving wife of Henry VIII. She’s got an interesting story and it’s told well both from her perspective and that of a servant, Dot, whom she brings from her own household to serve her when Katherine (reluctantly) becomes Queen. Even if you think you’ve read or watched everything you need to about the Tudors, this is worth a read, especially since it covers a relatively unexamined person and part of the story. Its perspective on Elizabeth is especially interesting, both from Katherine’s view and from Dot’s. As everyone who knows anything about Elizabeth knows, she and her final stepmother were close — until Katherine caught her last husband, the ambitious, vain Thomas Seymour, playing some sort of naughty bed game with the young adolescent Elizabeth. While Katherine was pregnant with his child. I was dreading that part of the story even though I knew it was coming — but Fremantle handles it with an interesting approach. A debut novel by Elizabeth Fremantle, who appears to be a worthy addition to the Tudor-writing historical fiction ranks. The book is scheduled for release on Aug. 6.

Blood & Beauty is about the Borgias, another telegenic Renaissance-era family (also the subject of a pay-cable drama from the same folks who brought us The Tudors). Sarah Dunant sets her books in medieval and Renaissance Italy and the Borgias offer incredible scope. I knew little about them, beyond their historical reputation as a bunch of depraved poisoners — this book provided a much better rounded portrait especially of Lucrezia, daughter of the ambitious Rodrigo Borgia (Pope Alexander VI). Even her ruthless brother Cesare is understandable, if not necessarily sympathetic. I enjoyed it thoroughly and look forward to the next installment — though it led me to some confusion over the dramatic choices in the Showtime series. But hey, I knew from watching the Tudors that the guy behind those shows is not all that concerned with historical accuracy so I’m going to assume Sarah Dunant’s sticking closer to the record until I learn otherwise. Dunant is probably best known for In the Company of the Courtesan; she may go stratospheric (into Philippa Gregory-like sales levels) with this one. Blood & Beauty publishes July 16.

Blood of Tyrants is speculative/alternative/fantastic historical fiction — the latest and apparently penultimate volume in Naomi Novik’s Temeraire series. I’ve blogged about this series before — the previous entry, Crucible of Gold was one of my favorite books from last year — and this is a worthy successor. As it opens, our hero Will Laurence has been shipwrecked on the shores of Japan and has amnesia. So even though most of his shipmates and fellow aviators think he’s dead and “his” dragon, Temeraire, desperately wants to find him, Laurence thinks he’s still an officer in the British Navy and has no memory of the last eight years, ie. the time he’s spent with Temeraire and learned a hell of a lot about dragons (and encountered Napoleon personally, and been court-martialed, and been made a prince in China and nearly died in both Africa and Australia and …  well these are adventure books, OK?). The series is often described as Patrick O’Brian with dragons and that works — it’s set in the British military during the Napoleonic wars. And it is cool to imagine military aviation coming into play a few centuries before it actually did, and how that might have altered things and worked in the culture of the time (few know it outside of the aviation corps, but there are a number of female officers because one particularly valuable breed of dragon, the poison-fanged Longwings, will only abide women as their captains). But the true appeal of the series, for me, is the way it fulfills an animal lover’s fantasy of bonding with intelligent, emotional beings who can, in this world, speak and express their opinons, sometimes irrational as they may seem (all dragons covet treasure and want to see their humans kitted covered in the Regency-era equivalent of bling whenever possible). I found myself, when reading this book, thinking of the relationship I’ve had with dogs and horses and how it often feels like you are holding conversations with them — and how you feel a responsibility for their care and happiness that goes far beyond mere ownership. It will be interesting to see how Novik winds up the series — this book ends with Napoleon on the march in Russia but she has previously shown no problem with materially altering history (Napoleon is currently married to an Incan princess) and kudos to her for the last line, which I won’t spoil here but which has to be a nod to that other dragon-loving fantasy writer, George R.R. Martin. Blood of Tyrants publishes on Aug. 13 — if you haven’t read the previous seven entries in the series, that would make an excellent –and fun! — summer reading project. I will be sorry to see this series end but will try to view it as I do my favorite TV shows when they go away after a few seasons — better to go out with quality than trail on forever just because someone is willing to pay you to do so.

One of these books is not like the others, as the old Sesame Street ditty goes. Men in Miami Hotels is a contemporary noir, set in Key West but it’s a wholly different creature from the usual subtropical mystery/detective novel — it has more in common with the work of Thomas McGuane than Carl Hiaasen or James Hall. Cot Sims is a journeyman gangster for a Miami crime lord. He returns to his hometown of Key West to help his mother, who has been kicked out of her hurricane-damaged home by code enforcers and is camped out underneath. It is recognizably Key West in a lot of keenly observed ways, though a smaller less transient — and more violent — island than the real one (it appears to be a Key West inhabited entirely by Conchs and visiting Miami gangsters). Sims quickly gets himself into serious trouble by stealing a bunch of emeralds from his Miami crime boss and is basically on the lam from then on, throughout Key West, mainland South Florida and eventually Havana. I particularly liked the action in the cemetery, where Cot spends some time hiding out in a friend’s family crypt. I’ll admit that I admired this book but didn’t find it captivating the way some crime fiction that is considered genre can captivate me (most recently, Lyndsay Faye’s Gods of Gotham). But for those who prefer their crime with a more literary approach, or who read in order to admire language, this is a great read and I hope it finds its audience. It deserves to. Men in Miami Hotels will be released July 2.

The only bad thing I have to say about this book is that its title is impossible to remember. And I still don’t even know what miniver is. How Konigsburg got away with her long and obscure titles beats me (her first book is called Jennifer, Hecate, MacBeth, William McKinley and me, Elizabeth). It must have been before marketing departments had much sway in publishing houses.

But write the title down and get hold of this book if you have the slightest interest in history, medieval history, women’s history any of that. This is the story of Eleanor of Acquitaine. And what a premise — it is recounted by Eleanor herself, along with several people she knew during various periods of her life. They’re in heaven, waiting to see if her second husband, Henry II of England, will be allowed out of purgatory to join them. It was the origin of my lifelong fascination with Eleanor — any woman who had been Queen of France, then run away with a younger man to become Queen of England — had my attention. Her other adventures along the way — like joining her first husband on a Crusade, or joining her sons in rebellion against her second husband — just added to the allure. Plus all that cool medieval stuff. It’s just brilliant.

For the last year, almost all of our books have been in boxes. (I use the first person plural here to refer to my husband and me, not in some pretentious royal sense, by the way.) We packed in March of last year, moved in April and have been recovering ever since. A few times over the last year, I thought maybe we shouldn’t have so many books in the first place because we managed to get along without them. But I missed them — not just specific books I wanted for a specific reason, but the comfort of those volumes we had kept because we loved them so — and those that we hadn’t read yet, so they were still full of promise.

In the last month we finally got our friend Rudi to build the set of bookshelves we had envisioned. No, that’s not true. We envisioned a big set of shelves on a mostly blank wall. Our architect friends told us we should fill in the entire wall, all the way up to the peak. Rudi took that concept, and the existing circular window, and turned it into art.

A little more than a week ago it was finally done — the fitting and cutting and sanding and varnishing. It was finally time to start emptying the boxes. Then we had to figure out how to shelve the books.

I hadn’t worried about this too much — in fact, I’d looked forward to it — because I’d assumed that since I work in a library, my opinions on this would rule the day. I wasn’t planning to insist on Dewey Decimal shelving (or, God forbid, Library of Congress). But I figured we’d divide it by fiction vs. nonfiction, shelve the fiction alphabetically like we do at the library, and shelve the nonfiction roughly by subject.

Mark objected on the grounds that “systems never work.” (Tell that to all the cataloguers and shelvers in the world, honey!) But I quickly realized that in our particular situation, he was right — my proposed system wouldn’t work — or if it did, it would require regular use of an extension ladder. We are both very fond, for example, of the works of Michael Chabon. But if we went alphabetically, he’d wind up 13 feet up.

Our fabulous new bookshelf does indeed go all the way to the peak. Which is 15 feet. It doesn’t include a ladder. It probably should, but attaching hardware to this baby would kill me. So the books going on the high-up shelves are books that, by necessity, we don’t expect to be consulting any time soon. Which means they are absolutely perfect for the books that used to make us feel terribly guilty for taking up shelf space. Books we’ve read, don’t expect to read again but just can’t let go of. Books that loved ones gave us that we can’t bear to give away .I’ve got a few like that from my dad, who was a serious book hound in his later years. I treasure “Yesterdays: A History of Massachusetts State College 1863-1933,” a book about the institution that later became UMass Amherst, where my parents both spent their entire working lives and is my alma mater. But I don’t expect to sit down and read it any time soon, if ever.

Mark agreed with the fiction vs. nonfiction divide, with a couple of exceptions where ambidextrous authors like Nick Hornby are shelved all together, or a novelist’s single book of essays — like Chabon’s “Maps and Legends” – go with his other works. Our Trinidad section includes fiction and non. Otherwise, fiction is kind of a free-for-all though it’s been unexpectedly liberating to just be able to put the books wherever we choose, defying the tyranny of the alphabet. We grouped writer’s works together. We put things within arm’s reach that are either in the lineup or likely to be soon. Both of us are working our way, slowly, through Patrick O’Brian so those books have a nice chin-level spot. I’ve arranged some recent writers from the Key West Literary Seminar together, something I’d never get away with at a “real” library except as a temporary display. I’ve got a section of galleys which we get at the library — if I don’t get to them in a certain amount of time, I tend to give them away so they’ll circulate. True crime, a growing interest especially the historical stuff, is on the bottom shelf. It’s a tad inconvenient but it’s accessible.

Nonfiction was both easier and trickier. Except for the high-up books, we agreed to group those basically by subject — but our categorizing is broad to say the least. There’s natural history/science. There are essays, nonfiction about literature (including essays) and a small section of books about books. There’s European history, English history and American history. I put those in mostly chronological order, though I separated out the omnibus volumes from the books that chronicle more specific times and people. I was the littlest bit sorry to see that I apparently purged Norman Davies’ massive tome “The Isles,” which had been sitting on my shelves reproaching me, both for being silly enough to buy the damned thing and then not reading it, for well over a decade. I’d actually have room for it now and the shelves would suit a four-inch monster like that. And I always feel comforted to own a bunch of doorstopping tomes, in case my library and I survive the apocalypse and my Kindle purchases aren’t available in the post-apocalyptic era.

We’re still settling into our relationship with this bookshelf. I plan some minor re-organizing within the natural history/science section. But it’s just about set and it is truly wonderful to have almost all of our books in one place. The scariest part is that there is room to grow.

Not very closely related but still interesting, if you’re interested in things like shelving and classification is this recent blog post from a reference librarian, objecting to the label “non-fiction” as an organizing concept for libraries. I’d never thought about it but it IS kind of irritating that such a broad and diverse array of books is most essentially defined by what it is not.

One small downside: I almost never browse for a book any more, or am caught by surprise by a new title from a favorite author.

Recently, though, I came across a couple historical novels — one by Tracy Chevalier, whom I like a lot, and one a first novel that appeared on our New Books shelf without my having read any advanced press.

The Last Runaway is Tracy Chevalier’s first book set in the U.S. so I’ll admit I was dubious at first. But the lead character drew me in from the first (not only because I sympathized with her seasickness as she crossed the Atlantic from England to America in the 19th century and realized the voyage was so traumatizing that she could never cross again). It’s set in a Quaker community in Ohio before the Civil War — so the Underground Railroad was active as slaves made their way to Canada. The Quaker community, while opposing slavery in general, is divided in how far they should go in helping runaways even as the Fugitive Slave Act increased the pressure on them to help those trying to recapture the runaways.

Chevalier is best known for Girl With A Pearl Earring but my favorite of hers remains The Lady and the Unicorn (I’m the medieval-adoring geek who will go see those tapestries over and over again). I also liked Burning Bright, her book set around William Blake, and Remarkable Creatures, about English women who were fossil hunters in the 19th century.

The new book was Accidents of Providence by Stacia Brown, a first novel set in 17th century England — a period that is neglected compared to the overpowering Tudors but offers a rich landscape as the country went through Civil War and conflict over religion and political structures that divided families, classes and communities. The story revolves around the fate of an unmarried woman who bears a child and buries its corpse — requiring the state to charge her with murder, whether the child was stillborn or not.

The jacket copy says Brown wrote this book using material from her dissertation on martyrs in 17th century England. I hope we’ll see more fiction from her, and hope the book is successful enough to inspire others to write about this period in English history.

Another newish historical novel I read recently didn’t spring on me unawares as the previous two but it’s well worth a read, especially if you like historical crime fiction and are looking for something on American shores. The Gods of Gotham by Lyndsay Faye is set in 1840s New York, as the city is recovering from a catastrophic fire and establishing its first real police force. Another major factor is the increase in Irish immigration — viewed as a Catholic invasion by some Protestant residents — that is about to be increased manyfold by the potato famine. I first gave this book a try months ago and I’ll admit I was turned back by the language — Faye has goen to great lengths to use the terms of the time but it felt forced on my initial attempt. For some reason, on my second attempt, it won me over and I was soon enthralled. If you liked Caleb Carr’s early novels, this would be a good one to try. Also recommended for people like me, who are tired of waiting for C.J. Sansom to get back to Shardlake or Ruth Downie to tell us what the medicus has been up to lately in Roman Britain.

I’ll confess I caught less of the second session, which I already regret, but I thoroughly enjoyed what I did see starting with Colm Toibin’s masterful keynote on Thursday night that discussed the poets Thom Gunn and Elizabeth Bishop, both poets whose work shows “grief and reason battling it out,” according to Toibin — along with the work of Robert Frost and Joseph Brodsky.

Both Gunn and Bishop were stylistically and personally opposed to the trend of confessional poetry that swept through their chosen field in the 1960s, which certainly did not mean they had not suffered through traumatic times in their lives. Quite the opposite. And it doesn’t mean those traumas didn’t show up in their poetry. Bishop “buried what mattered to her most in her tone,” Toibin said, most tellingly in the villanelle “One Art,” about “the art of losing.” Toibin calls it “a poem about what cannot be said.”

I also didn’t know, until Toibin told us, that Bishop wanted the line “awful but cheerful” inscribed on her tombstone. It’s the closing line from her poem “The Bight,” about Key West.

Other not-quite-random stuff from the seminar:

Ann Napolitano, who includes Flannery O’Connor as a character in her novel A Good Hard Look:

• “You’re supposed to be from the South if you write about Flannery O’Connor. I had barely been to the South.”
• “There is no way that I could imagine hanging out with Flannery O’Connor. I just think she would eviscerate me in about 30 seconds.”
• “Trying to get inside the skin of someone who is very prickly and you don’t think would like you is a peculiar experience.”

Brad Gooch, author of Flannery, a biography of the same writer:

• “She was her own biographer in the sense she saw her life clearly and created it.”
• “As a biographer … I have to stop where the facts stop. It’s sort of annoying, but grounding as well.”
• “The thing about biography is that no matter how inspired you get, you sort of need a fact to get from one sentence to another.”
• Both Gooch and Napolitano were, in very different ways, inspired to write about O’Connor by “Habits of Being,” a collection of her letters.

Brenda Wineapple on biography:

• As a child, “Biography was a genre I didn’t understand or really much care for.”
• On telling a professor at an academic conference that she was writing a biography: “‘How did it feel,’ he asked, ‘to work on something so theoretically regressive?’” This while swirling sherry condescendingly in his plastic cup.
• “What haunts the house? I think that’s what the biographer has to discover.”
• “Biography matters because people matter. They matter to us because we want to know them and understand them.”
• “Biography is an invasion of privacy made palatable and jusifiable .. by the empathy that inspires it.”

D.T. Max, author of “Every Love Story is a Ghost Story,” a biography of David Foster Wallace:

• On DFW’s college-age ambition to go into politics: “The thought that David Foster Wallace wanted to be a Congressman from Illinois is so weird.”
• On writing a biography soon after a subject’s death: “The laptop lid opens after the casket closes.”
• Biography is “the only nonfiction genre that’s survived basically unchanged for the last 200 years.”
• On meeting readers with tattoos of lines from DFW’s novel “Infinite Jest,” or the dates they began and finished the book: “This is not what biographers are used to encountering.”
• Comparing the reaction to DFW’s death to the reaction to the deaths of John Lennon and Kurt Cobain: “There was a way in which David was toucing people the way musicians usually do.”
• “If grief and sadness are what brought a lot of us to Wallace over the years, I certainly don’t believe it’s what kept us there.”

I’ll give the last word to Geoff Dyer, even though he speaks in long discursive sentences that are very difficult to get down accurately, especially if you’re busy listening for his next witty comment:

• I recognized his surprise, as an undergraduate, when he realized “how quickly doing English came to mean doing criticism.”
• I was surprised and delighted to hear him call F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “Tender is the Night” “one of my two favorite novels of all time.” I loved that book, too, even though, at least in this country, “The Great Gatsby” gets most of the critical love.
• “Thomas Mann’s ‘Death in Venice’ is one of those books everyone has read. You’ve all read it, even if you’ve not done so personally.”

If there’s one image from this Seminar

Colm Toibin at the 2013 Key West Literary Seminar, Writers on Writers. Photograph by Nick Doll.

Session 1 of this year’s Key West Literary Seminar wrapped up yesterday. If you missed it, I suspect recordings will be showing up soonish on the Seminar’s audio archive site. And we’re getting particularly good coverage this year on Littoral, the Seminar blog and from WLRN, the public radio station in Miami. If you’re Twitter-inclined, check out the hashtag #kwls – you’ll even see eminences like Judy Blume and James Gleick chiming in along with us lesser mortals in the audience. This year is not as Twitterific as last but we don’t have William Gibson and Margaret Atwood with us (though Gibson is scheduled to return next year — don’t wait too long to sign up for 2014′s Seminar, The Dark Side, because it’s selling fast). As has quickly become tradition, Jason Rowan is back making custom-crafted cocktails, tailored to the year’s theme. Keep an eye on his blog, Embury Cocktails, for recipes and more information in the near future.

Phyllis Rose opened with a wonderful keynote address Thursday night, examining John Hersey (for whom the Thursday event is named) as a lens through which to view the whole writer vs. person question. Is the man Key Westers saw riding his bike around the island the same person who wrote “Hiroshima” and “A Bell for Adano”? The answer is, of course, no and yes. Rose was also refreshingly dismissive about the overwhelming adoption of deconstruction and other French-influenced critical approaches toward literature, which tortured those of us who were English majors in the latter part of the 20th century and dared to think that writers’ lives and times might influence their work. For literary scholars who didn’t feel like sacrificing themselves on the altars of Derrida and Foucault, literary biography became “a welcome oasis during the desert years of deconstruction,” Rose said. “Writers about writers were rescued by readers who wanted to know about writers’ lives.”

A sporadic sample from the rest of the weekend:

From Judith Thurman, biographer of Isak Dinesen and Colette and staff writer for The New Yorker:

• “Fiction is high-minded betrayal and biography is dirty-minded fidelity.”
• One of Thurman’s early jobs was translating pornographic movies. “It’s freelance work that I heartily recommend because it’s easy — you just have to understand the words ‘Yes…. yes!’ and ‘More!’”
• Translation is “yoga for the mind and for the ear.”
• “One definition of the truth is that which is untranslatable.”

From Brenda Wineapple, biographer of Nathaniel Hawthorne and Gertrude and Leo Stein, author of a book about Emily Dickinson and Thomas Wentworth Higginson:

• On her subjects: “I prefer them deader and deader.”
• Emily Dickinson is “the elusive subject par excellence.”
• Oscar Wilde quote: “Biography adds new terror to death.”

Most amazing fact learned at this year’s Seminar (so far):

• Bram Stoker based the character of Dracula on Walt Whitman (amazing fact supplier: Mark Doty). Edmund White followed this with a comment on why vampire is so often code for gay in literature: “You meet someone, you kiss them and you turn them into you.”

More from Edmund White, biographer of Genet and Proust, literary critic and author of a biographical novel on Stephen Crane:

• “Politics and literature are opposites. Politics are all lying and literature is all truth-telling.”
• “Having come out when I was 12, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be closeted.”
• On fiction vs. nonfiction: “The contract with the reader is entirely different.” That’s why he calls the books about his life autobiographical novels, not memoirs. “Once they’re called novels, you’re free to do whatever you want.”

From Jay Parini, biographer of William Faulkner, Robert Frost and John Steinbeck and author of biographical novels on Melville and Tolstoy:

• Leon Edel’s five-volume biography of Henry James is “better than Xanax” as a treatment for insomnia. “He’s the Xanax of all writers.”
• On the difference between writing biographies of Jesus (his most recent subject) and Gore Vidal (his next subject): “At least Jesus didn’t think he was Gore Vidal.”
• “Biography is a form of fiction. …. I love to read biographies, even bad ones.”
• In writing biography, “you’re not presenting a life. You’ve giving an illusion of a life.”
• To Edmund White: “I read your biography of Genet. I thought it was a great novel.”

Literary subjects that KWLS panelists attempted as grade-schoolers:

• Phyllis Rose: Eleanor Roosevelt, after her mother rejected her earlier choice of the Duchess of Windsor as a suitable subject for an assignment to write about “an admirable woman.”
• Edmund White: Peter the Great. “I was absolutely power-mad as a child.”
• Brenda Wineapple, at 10 years old, wrote the first chapter of a novel and gave it to her father, whose response was “But there’s no plot here.” Wineapple: “My career as a novelist was over.”

Books I have purchased (so far):

• The Master by Colm Toibin
• Promised Land: Thirteen Books That Changed America by Jay Parini
• Footsteps: Adventures of a Romantic Biographer by Richard Holmes, who isn’t at the Seminar but the book was mentioned several times

If all of this makes you eager to sign up for Session 2, it’s not too late. It all starts again Thursday night with a keynote I’m really looking forward to: Colm Toibin talking about Elizabeth Bishop. That’s Toibin in the photo, by the way, speaking at the podium that Cayman Smith-Martin and his crew built from books they got from us here at the library — they were otherwise destined for the recycling plant so it’s great to see them serving literature one last time.

Fiction:

This year for me, fictionally, was all about the sequels. Like everyone else I adored Bring Up the Bodies, Hilary Mantel’s Booker Prize-winning follow-up to her Booker Prize-winning Wolf Hall. If you can’t get enough of the Tudor era, having a fine novelist at the top of her form inhabit that era — from a previously underrepresented viewpoint, that of Henry VIII’s minister Thomas Cromwell — is literary nirvana.

Also in Tudor-land but with a contemporary, and paranormal, perspective was Shadow of Night by Deborah Harkness, sequel to her blockbuster A Discovery of Witches. In this book, the protagonists travel back to the time of Elizabeth I in search of answers about their history, their destiny and the powers of academic scholar and reluctant witch Diana Bishop. The best shorthand description I can come up with for these books is Harry Potter for Grownups.

I also loved Crucible of Gold, the seventh entry in Naomi Novik’s Temeraire series Napoleonic Wars — with dragons! No honestly, it’s awesome — of course thanks to George R.R. Martin and HBO dragons have a little more cultural cache than when I first started raving about this series. To be perfectly honest, the last couple entries weren’t as engaging as the first three, but I was invested enough in the series to keep going and I’m so glad I did.  The newest book is definitely back on track. Here’s hoping she keeps going with this story as long as Patrick O’Brian did with his Aubrey-Maturin series.

Nonfiction:

I’m going to go with the collected works of Rick Geary, who does historical true crime in graphic format under the rubric A Treasury of Victorian Murder and A Treasure of 20th Century Murder. I read a bunch of them this year and I can’t pick a favorite. They’re all fantastic.

I also loved Out of Sheer Rage by Geoff Dyer, his memoir/meditation on not really getting down to writing a critical study of D.H. Lawrence, though the book does include many interesting considerations of Lawrence as Dyer checks out various Lawrence hangouts. Dyer will be here for the Key West Literary Seminar next month (both sessions!) and I am simultaneously dying to hear him in person and terrified to hear what he’ll have to say about Key West. He is hysterically, viciously funny on the less appealing characteristics of various tourist towns he visits in Out of Sheer Rage so I’m guessing we’ll be in for it from him, sooner or later.

Honorable mentions:

People Who Eat Darkness by Richard Lloyd Parry – Contemporary true crime done extremely well, with nuance and compassion. Blessedly free of sensationalism and righteousness.

Live By Night by Dennis Lehane — Another sequel of sorts, a follow up to The Given Day and even better, in my opinion. Set in Boston and Tampa during Prohibition. Fans of Boardwalk Empire should check it out.

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn — The bestseller that keeps on going — and for good reason. I gulped this one down in just a couple sittings.

The Twelve by Justin Cronin — Yes, yet another sequel, this one to the post-viral-vampire-apocalyptic The Passage. He jumps around in time and wields a huge cast of characters and you manage to stay with him. As with Mantel and Harkness, I’m now trying not to count the days until the final installment in the trilogy.

I can’t get enough of end-of-the year best lists. If you’re like me you can’t do better than this source, a blog by Large-hearted Boy. In the individual list category, I loved this one. And I appreciate the large-mindedness of NPR in their different categories. They even acknowledge that smart people read romance!

The books by this year’s authors include some serious — as in long and demanding attention — books. But don’t let that discourage you. While you may not be up for wading through a magisterial Literary Biography, especially during the distractions of the holiday season, there are plenty of other books that you may find surprisingly entertaining, as well as edifying.

We’ve just put up a display of books by Seminar writers at the Key West Library so if you’re in town stop by and check it out (the display is in the Reference Department, turned over the summer into a more open reading room if you haven’t been in recently).

As usual, I haven’t read every single writer who will be appearing at the Seminar. But I have read enough to make some recommendations, especially for those who might feel apprehensive about this year’s theme. My top choice is one of my all-time favorite nonfiction books: Parallel Lives by Phyllis Rose. I love this book so much I’ve bought it, given it to a friend, then bought myself another copy because I had to know it was available. We have it in the library, both in hard copy and as an ebook. Rose, a part-time Key West resident, writes about the marriages of five Victorian writers (or four marriages and one long-term cohabitation, that of George Eliot and George Henry Lewes). It’s got the satisfactions of high-toned literary gossip — most of these matches were, in some way, disastrous — but also offers the chance to reflect on what it means for personal, domestic life when one partner is an artist, as well as the dynamics between men and women, both between individuals and within a context very different from our own.

The most difficult title to categorize but one of the best books I read this year is Geoff Dyer’s memoir/meditation on D.H. Lawrence, Out of Sheer Rage. It’s funny. It’s thought-provoking. It’s comforting, if you’re prone to procrastination. I wrote a whole blog post about it a few months ago. It’s very difficult to describe but it’s intelligent and entertaining. And you should be able to read it a whole lot faster than I did, assuming you’re not moving house after 14 years of accumulating stuff.

Some other nonfiction titles I can wholeheartedly recommend: Jane’s Fame by Claire Harman — if you’re a fan of Jane Austen on print and screen, this is an interesting examination of why her five novels have retained such a high profile in our cultural lives. New Ways to Kill Your Mother by Colm Toibin, an essay collection about writers and their families. Especially insightful about Irish writers, not surprisingly, though the last couple sections on James Baldwin are masterful. Judith Thurman’s biographies of Colette and Isak Dinesen are interesting and extremely readable (there’s a reason she’s a staff writer for The New  Yorker). Her essays on artists and writers are collected in Cleopatra’s Nose. As someone who grew up in and around Amherst, I’m always interested to hear more about Emily Dickinson so I can’t wait to see Lyndall Gordon, author of Lives Like Loaded Guns (yes, that’s a Dickinson biography), as well as biographies of Virginia Woolf, T.S. Eliot and Charlotte Bronte.

I’m looking forward to the discussions about writing about writers in fiction and there’s a great selection there, too: Flannery O’Connor (A Good Hard Look by Ann Napolitano), Sylvia Plath (Wintering by Kate Moses), Stephen Crane (Hotel de Dream by Edmund White), Edith Wharton (The Age of Desire by Jennie Fields). Jay Parini, who will be at the Seminar has written novels about Leo Tolstoy (The Last Station) and Herman Melville (The Passages of H.M.).

I was pretty sure I was going to like Dennis Lehane’s new book, Live By Night, when I read this line on page 36, referring to a gangster who had strangled a guy:

“It had been over opium, a woman, or a German shorthaired pointer; to this day Joe had only heard rumors.”

You just don’t get that many GSP references in fiction.

Fortunately, by the time I reached the end of the book I had lots of other reasons to like it. You can read them in my review that ran in today’s Miami Herald.

Awesome German shorthaired pointer photograph by Mark Hedden, shot yesterday at Wahoo Key.

Yeah, I know. That doesn’t make any sense.

Fortunately, I had other reasons to take a look at Gillian Flynn’s latest novel, Gone Girl, which is accomplishing that rare trifecta of critical acclaim, genre respect and bestseller status. I read her first novel, Sharp Objects, because a friend recommended it and because she was a writer for Entertainment Weekly, a magazine I like lot. Sharp Objects kept me up very late reading it, the very definition of a page-turner, even though its genre (thriller) isn’t my usual thing.

Gone Girl, as you may have read in several other places, has the same page-turning quality but Flynn has gotten better, fiendish in her plotting and almost unbearably smart in her characterizations. The unbearable-ness comes from the points of view of the characters themselves, especially Nick Dunne, who is suspected of doing away with his wife, Amy, after she disappears on their fifth wedding anniversary. Nick’s real-time first-person account is interspersed with entries from Amy’s diary from the previous seven years, tracking their relationship from giddy courtship to cool New York City couple (with a lovely brownstone in, where else, Brooklyn) to their current less cool and unhappy post-recession residence in Nick’s hometown of Carthage, Missouri.

Any plot spoilers would negate a lot of the reason to read this book so I’m going to stop here. All I’ll say is I’m glad I had good reason to overcome my contrarian impulses and give this book a read. Especially if you like psychological suspense and even if that isn’t your usual thing, it’s worth it.