First, my favorite living writer released The Passenger and Stella Maris recently. I’ve read The Passenger already and am still reeling. Looking forward to getting into Stella Maris next month or first thing in 2023.

Second, Michael Farris Smith’s Rivers. Smith’s body of literary work is not to be misjudged. Track wholeheartedly with his affections.

Third, the incomparable P.D. James. Wow, what a mind. In this piece we see a bit into what makes her tick.

Fourth, another biography of Melville. The more I read, the more I see the debt the world owes Melville for his masterpiece, Moby Dick.

Fifth, The 13th Valley was a novel about the Vietnam War I read when I was 17, and fascinated with all-things-Vietnam-war-related vis-a-vis “war novels.” I’d read the masterful The Things They Carried and all the Caputo stuff, but this novel really got me. It still does.

Sixth, to state the obvious, we’re amidst the rebirth of pagan religiosity in the West, earth worship, and a return to sexual madness that is doomed unto divine judgment. And Teichrib’s magnum opus is a central text to understand the West’s love affair with its undoing.

Seventh is a novel I’m only marginally familiar with. It promises to be a bit of a stretch for me, at least in terms of subject matter, but we shall see.

Eighth and finally, though not in order of literary ranking, is Franklin’s Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter. Franklin has become one of my favorites.

Tolle lege. Take up and read.