The Best Books of 2012: Lists by The New York Times, NPR, The Guardian and More

If books fig­ure into your hol­i­day gift-giv­ing plans, then we’ve got a lit­tle some­thing for you — a meta list of the best books of 2012. It’s now Decem­ber, the final month of the year, which means that news­pa­pers and mag­a­zines can start tak­ing stock of 2012 and declare their favorites.

The New York Times Book Review announced The 10 Best Books of 2012 this week­end, just a few days after nam­ing the 100 Notable Books of 2012. Some famil­iar names appear on the win­nowed down list — Robert Caro, Dave Eggers and Zadie Smith — but I’m most tempt­ed by Jim Holt’s Why Does the World Exist?: An Exis­ten­tial Detec­tive Sto­ry. The ques­tion has crossed my mind late­ly.

The Wash­ing­ton Post boils down three lists — The Best Graph­ic Nov­els of 201250 Notable Works of Fic­tion50 Notable Works of Non­fic­tion — to one. Behold The Top 10 Books of 2012. Fic­tion-wise, I’m not blown away by the picks. But, when it comes to Non­fic­tion, they’re on the mark with House of Stone: A Mem­oir of Home, Fam­i­ly, and a Lost Mid­dle East by Antho­ny Sha­did, the award-win­ning New York Times jour­nal­ist who died ear­li­er this year in Syr­ia.

You can find more good reads with “Best of” lists cre­at­ed by NPR, Pub­lish­ers Week­lyEsquire, Huff­Po and The Guardian. And if you’re look­ing for a deal, don’t miss this: Amazon.com is now offer­ing 40% off books appear­ing on its list of 2012 Edi­tors’ Picks. Mean­while Audible.com has pro­duced its own list of favorites, and it’s worth high­light­ing if only because, when you sign up for a Free Tri­al, you can down­load one of their selec­tions (or pret­ty much any oth­er audio­book you want) for free. Learn more and ini­ti­ate the free down­load here.

Now my dear fel­low read­ers, it’s your turn. We want to hear what books (pub­lished in 2012) left the strongest impres­sion on you. Give us your thoughts in the com­ments sec­tion below and we’ll pub­lish the Open Cul­ture Best of 2012 list lat­er this week. We look for­ward to hear­ing your picks!

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Arthur Conan Doyle Discusses Sherlock Holmes and Psychics in a Rare Filmed Interview (1927)

While Scot­tish physi­cian and author Arthur Conan Doyle died in 1930, he seems almost whol­ly of the nine­teenth cen­tu­ry: a trained sci­en­tist who fer­vent­ly believed in “spir­i­tu­al­ism” and fairies, and an accom­plished and pro­lif­ic writer whose most famous character—that most log­i­cal of detectives—had a cocaine addic­tion and more per­son­al quirks than the aver­age neu­rot­ic. Like Joseph Con­rad, Doyle sailed–as a ship’s doctor–to Euro­pean colonies in West Africa and found him­self deeply affect­ed by the bru­tal exploita­tion he encoun­tered. And like Con­rad, he seems to embody a turn-of-the-cen­tu­ry British­ness poised between old and new worlds, when Vic­to­ria gave way to Edward and moder­ni­ty limned the Empire. Although the age of film and of tele­vi­sion have always embraced Sher­lock Holmes, his cre­ator belongs to the age of the nov­el. Nev­er­the­less, he agreed to the 1927 inter­view above, pos­si­bly his only appear­ance on film. In the brief mono­logue, he dis­cuss­es the two ques­tions that he most received from curi­ous fans and jour­nal­ists: how he came to write the Sher­lock Holmes sto­ries and how he came to believe in “psy­chic mat­ters.”

Doyle attrib­ut­es the cre­ation of Holmes to his sci­en­tif­ic train­ing, and to a keen irri­ta­tion when read­ing detec­tive sto­ries whose pro­tag­o­nists stum­bled on solu­tions by chance or nar­ra­tive non sequitur. He also describes his admi­ra­tion for a colleague’s impres­sive “deduc­tive” abil­i­ties. What if, Conan Doyle rea­soned, the detec­tives had the pow­ers of a doc­tor? Oh, had he lived to see his premise flipped in House (and sue for roy­al­ties). Doyle also express­es his amuse­ment at the creduli­ty of his read­ing pub­lic, many of whom believed in the real­i­ty of Sher­lock Holmes and Dr. Wat­son and who sent them regards and advice. At this point in the inter­view, Doyle turns to a sub­ject upon which many thought him cred­u­lous: psy­chic and super­nat­ur­al expe­ri­ence. He goes to some lengths to estab­lish his bona fides, say­ing that he stud­ied spir­i­tu­al­ism for forty-one years and did not arrive at his ideas in haste. But Doyle was eas­i­ly tak­en in by sev­er­al hoax­es and insist­ed through­out his life that Har­ry Hou­di­ni pos­sessed psy­chic pow­ers, despite Houdini’s protests to the con­trary. It seems this was one area in which Doyle’s rea­son failed him—in which he resem­bles the mys­ti­cal Yeats more than the skep­ti­cal Wat­son and Holmes.

You can down­load free copies of The Adven­tures of Sher­lock Holmes from our col­lec­tions of Free Audio Books and Free eBooks. You can also find four adap­ta­tions of Sher­lock Holmes in our col­lec­tion of Free Movies Online.

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

Kurt Vonnegut’s Tips for Teaching at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop (1967)

Few who dip into Kurt Von­negut’s work come away with­out the influ­ence of his voice. If we can judge by his let­ter to Richard Gehman (click here to read it in large for­mat), this will go for his per­son­al cor­re­spon­dence as much as it does for his fic­tion. In addi­tion to such nov­els as Slaugh­ter­house-Five, Cat’s Cra­dle, and Break­fast of Cham­pi­ons, Von­negut left behind a great many let­ters, some of the most inter­est­ing of which have just come togeth­er in a new 464-page col­lec­tion. We pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured one of Von­negut’s dis­patch­es from the army, writ­ten to his par­ents at age 22. 22 years after that, he wrote the above page to Gehman, him­self a not­ed man of let­ters. It con­tains the one thing for which near­ly ever ded­i­cat­ed read­er of Kurt Von­negut must long: advice from Kurt Von­negut.

“Morn­ings are for writ­ing,” Von­negut tells Gehman, “and so are most of the after­noons.” The recip­i­ent was prepar­ing for a teach­ing stint at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Iowa’s famous Writer’s Work­shop. Von­negut’s own tour of duty there from 1965 to 1967 put him in a posi­tion to offer wise coun­sel. “The class­es don’t mat­ter much,” he writes, a sen­ti­ment that will strike cre­ative writ­ing teach­ers as at once dispir­it­ing and sen­si­ble. “The real busi­ness, head-to-head, is done dur­ing office hours.” He also has much to say about uni­ver­si­ty life and how to cope with the remote­ness of Iowa City. “For­get your lack of cre­den­tials.” “You go to Cedar Rapids for seafood.” “Can­cel class­es when­ev­er you damn please.” “Every so often you will go nuts. All of a sud­den the corn­fields get you.” “Run with the painters. I did.” “Go to all the foot­ball games. They are great.” Beyond these points, the let­ter only gets juici­er — as a true Von­negut fan would expect. Again you can read it in large for­mat here.

via Slate

Relat­ed con­tent:

22-Year-Old P.O.W. Kurt Von­negut Writes Home from World War II: “I’ll Be Damned If It Was Worth It”

Kurt Von­negut Reads from Slaugh­ter­house-Five

Kurt Vonnegut’s Eight Tips on How to Write a Good Short Sto­ry

Kurt Von­negut: “How To Get A Job Like Mine” (2002)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

William S. Burroughs’ “The Thanksgiving Prayer,” Shot by Gus Van Sant

“Thanks­giv­ing Day, Nov. 28, 1986” first appeared in print in Tor­na­do Alley, a chap­book pub­lished by William S. Bur­roughs in 1989. Two years lat­er, Gus Van Sant (Good Will Hunt­ing, My Own Pri­vate Ida­ho, Milk) shot a mon­tage that brought the poem to film, mak­ing it at least the sec­ond time the direc­tor adapt­ed the beat writer to film.

If you’ve seen Bur­roughs use Shakepseare’s face for tar­get prac­tice, or if you’ve watched The Junky’s Christ­masyou’ll know that he was­n’t kind to con­ven­tion or tra­di­tion. And there are no pris­on­ers tak­en here, as you’ll see above. Now time for a lit­tle Thanks­giv­ing din­ner.…

h/t Boing­Bo­ing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Gus Van Sant Adapts William S. Bur­roughs: An Ear­ly 16mm Short

William S. Bur­roughs Reads His First Nov­el, Junky

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Philip Roth Reads the Last Pages of His Last Work of Fiction: “The End of the Line After Thirty-One Books”

After half a cen­tu­ry and 31 books, Philip Roth casu­al­ly announced last month in an inter­view with a French mag­a­zine that he was call­ing it quits. He actu­al­ly made the deci­sion back in 2010, after the pub­li­ca­tion of his Book­er Prize-win­ning nov­el Neme­sis. “I did­n’t say any­thing about it because I want­ed to be sure it was true,” the 79-year-old Roth told New York Times reporter Charles McGrath last week in what he said would be his last inter­view. “I thought, ‘Wait a minute, don’t announce your retire­ment and then come out of it.’ I’m not Frank Sina­tra. So I did­n’t say any­thing to any­one, just to see if it was so.”

Although Roth had been pri­vate­ly telling friends about his retire­ment for two years, accord­ing to David Rem­nick in The New York­er, the pub­lic announce­ment came as a shock for many. From his 1959 Nation­al Book Award-win­ning debut Good­bye, Colum­bus and Five Short Sto­ries and his out­ra­geous­ly fun­ny 1969 clas­sic Port­noy’s Com­plaint through his remark­ably pro­lif­ic late peri­od, with its steady stream of beau­ti­ful­ly craft­ed nov­els like Oper­a­tion Shy­lock, Sab­bath’s The­ater and The Human Stain, it seemed as though Roth had the cre­ative ener­gy to keep writ­ing until he took his last breath.

But per­haps if we’d paid clos­er atten­tion we would­n’t be so sur­prised. In this 2011 video, for exam­ple, which shows Roth read­ing a few pages from Neme­sis after it won the Man Book­er Inter­na­tion­al Prize, he basi­cal­ly says it: “Com­ing where they do, they’re the pages I like best in Neme­sis. They con­sti­tute the last pages of the last work of fic­tion I’ve published–the end of the line after 31 books.”

Relat­ed con­tent:

Philip Roth on Aging

Philip Roth’s Cre­ative Surge and the Death of the Nov­el

Philip Roth Pre­dicts the Death of the Nov­el; Paul Auster Coun­ters

David Sedaris Reads You a Story By Miranda July

Thanks to his fre­quent appear­ances on radio’s This Amer­i­can Life, David Sedaris pos­sess­es one of the most rec­og­niz­able author voic­es in the world. Simul­ta­ne­ous­ly light and insin­u­at­ing, it has come to seem as much a part of his oeu­vre as the San­ta­land Diaries and his anec­dotes about his par­ents, sib­lings and boyfriend. His arch spin on var­i­ous region­al and gen­er­a­tional phras­es is noth­ing if not instant­ly rec­og­niz­able.

What a plea­sure, then, to hear the sin­cer­i­ty with which he deploys this instru­ment in ser­vice of a fel­low author’s work. Invit­ed to choose a sto­ry to read aloud for the New York­er’s fic­tion pod­cast, Sedaris went with “Roy Spivey” by Miran­da July, anoth­er writer who could nev­er be accused of hid­ing behind her work. One sus­pects there are ele­ments of auto­bi­og­ra­phy with­in this tale, though don’t dri­ve your­self nuts try­ing to fig­ure out the iden­ti­ty of the male movie star seat­ed next to the main char­ac­ter. Just enjoy the non-wink­ing gen­eros­i­ty with which Sedaris embod­ies July’s female nar­ra­tor, even when called upon to get her through a bath­room scene that — in spir­it, any­way — recalls one of his most cel­e­brat­ed, non­fic­tion­al fol­lies.

(Speak­ing of which, stay tuned for the post-sto­ry inter­view for the sort of admis­sion Sedaris fans have come to crave.)

For more lit­er­ary read­ings, see our pre­vi­ous post: The New Yorker’s Fic­tion Pod­cast: Where Great Writ­ers Read Sto­ries by Great Writ­ers.

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day’s region­al accent does noth­ing for her book sales.

The Best Music to Write By, Part II: Your Favorites Brought Together in a Special Playlist

Last Fri­day, we raised the top­ic of writ­ing to music, and we asked all of you out there what music you write to, if you write to music at all. The num­ber and vari­ety of your sug­ges­tions was a lit­tle over­whelm­ing, and very wel­come, and pro­vid­ed a wealth of rec­om­men­da­tions to put togeth­er into a playlist. There was quite a lot of agree­ment among you and a near-con­sen­sus on instru­men­tal music over vocal. But it also came as no sur­prise that Open Cul­ture read­ers’ tastes span a range of gen­res, cul­tures, and peri­ods and that every­one who wrote in seemed to raise the bar a lit­tle high­er for drop-dead gor­geous, med­i­ta­tive com­po­si­tions.

Out of all of your rec­om­men­da­tions, I have made a selec­tion of six­teen artists that I believe is rep­re­sen­ta­tive. (Apolo­gies if your sug­ges­tions didn’t make the cut—there’s bound to be some bias here). What­ev­er your pos­ture and pref­er­ence for vol­ume lev­els, light­ing arrange­ments, or time of day or night, you might try on each of these while you tap away at your lat­est piece of work. Who knows? You could strike a new rhythm, hit an unfa­mil­iar groove and shake out of a too-famil­iar rut, or shift the tem­po just so, change per­spec­tive, tem­per an unruly mood….

Or maybe just find some cool new music to dig while you cook din­ner.

Last week’s post began with Miles Davis’s In a Silent Way, which I believe inspired some jazz lovers to com­ment. Komiska sug­gest­ed the top-notch Mod­ern Jazz Quartet’s ren­di­tion of “Lone­ly Woman” (above).

Bill Evans’ name also came up quite a bit in your sug­ges­tions. Below is his “You Must Believe in Spring.”

Min­i­mal­ist com­pos­er Steve Reich, and oth­er con­tem­po­raries of his like Philip Glass, got many a men­tion. Below is a live per­for­mance of the first two sec­tions of Reich’s Music for 18 Musi­cians.

Ambi­ent syn­the­siz­er music by the likes of the Scot­tish duo Boards of Cana­da, Tan­ger­ine Dream, for­mer Cocteau Twin Robin Guthrie, and Bri­an Eno came up quite a bit as well. Com­menter Emma Gray Munthe men­tioned the work of less famous but very influ­en­tial elec­tron­ic com­pos­er Jean Michel Jarre. Lis­ten to his ground­break­ing album Equinoxe below:

A few of you point­ed out that any kind of music serves to dis­tract from your process. Cheeky Michael West said as much and more how­ev­er with his lacon­ic ref­er­ence to John Cage’s 4’33″, the ulti­mate min­i­mal­ist com­po­si­tion. Below, lis­ten to (or observe, rather) an orches­tral inter­pre­ta­tion of Cage’s con­cept:

(more…)

The Best Music to Write By: Give Us Your Recommendations

Writ­ing is hard. It’s hard to begin, hard to con­tin­ue, hard to fin­ish. To write suc­cess­ful­ly and con­sis­tent­ly requires an alchem­i­cal com­bi­na­tion of dis­ci­pline and inspi­ra­tion so per­son­al that read­ing advice on the sub­ject amounts to watch­ing some­one else die to learn how it’s done. And while it often feels enlight­en­ing to read about the habits of, say, Stein­beck or Austen, their meth­ods are non-trans­fer­able. You’ve got to find your own way. So it is with writ­ing to music. It’s always there in the back­ground, goad­ing you on qui­et­ly. Not every­one writes to music; not every­one can. But a good many do, includ­ing Wired con­trib­u­tor Steve Sil­ber­man who calls the prac­tice one of many rit­u­als writ­ers use “to evoke that elu­sive flow of inspi­ra­tion.”

Sil­ber­man just wrote a piece for Neu­roTribes in which he sur­veyed ten authors on their favorite music to write by. One of Silberman’s own choic­es, Miles Davis’s In a Silent Way (above), is one I’m steal­ing. With its bril­liant assem­blage of musi­cians and haunt­ing mood­i­ness it sets the per­fect tone for my process. Also, there’s no singing. Like Sil­ber­man, I can’t com­pete with a wise, wit­ty lyri­cist (he men­tions Elvis Costel­lo, I pre­fer Mor­ris­sey). In Sil­ber­man’s piece, John Schwartz, a New York Times reporter, lis­tens to noth­ing. Jane Hirschfield, a chan­cel­lor of the Acad­e­my of Amer­i­can Poets, likes David Byrne, Dylan’s Mod­ern Times, and Gillians Welch’s The Har­row and the Har­vest. Wired con­tribut­ing edi­tor David Wol­man makes a playlist of most­ly indie-pop songs enti­tled “Write the Book!” His main cri­te­ri­on for the songs he choos­es: DO NOT BE BORING! My default writ­ing music is exem­pli­fied by Aus­tralian three-piece instru­men­tal rock band Dirty Three (below).

So now it’s your turn, read­ers. Do you write to music? If so, what is it? What artists/composers/albums help you find your rhythm and why? Can you stand lyrics in the music you write by or no? Leave your selec­tions in the com­ments. On Mon­day, we’ll com­pile them in an arti­cle and leave you with a great Open Cul­ture playlist. Whether you find some­thing you can steal or not, it should be a fun exer­cise.

*See our fol­low-up post with a list of your favorites here

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

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