Once again, hello there, friends! I am nearly a month late, but, without further ado, it is time to highlight the favorites of 2021.
I tried to choose only three for each, but albums needed four: two cast albums, two non-cast albums.
Here we go!
Fiction
The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune: this novel was, without a doubt, my top read of 2021. It is pure, unadulterated joy, the love of found family and the existence under their protective umbrella oozing from every page. The characters were so cleverly designed: fantastical creatures, yes, and certainly quirky, but grounded enough that I felt I’d gained eight new friends by the end of it. I’ve a soft spot for Theodore; never have I wanted a wyvern more in my life. Delving into this book felt like burrowing into a warm, comforting blanket; every time I opened to a new page, a fresh smile pulled at my lips. That’s not to say it’s not a serious novel: Klune addresses themes of ostracization, prejudice, loss, isolation, and anxiety in stride. He simply knows how to balance them with joy and acceptance. I am in love with this book. It is a new comfort book. I want to hug it to my heart forever.
The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern: Morgenstern’s 2011 novel is a classic favorite, and I took far too long to read it. It proved an immediate addiction. Atmospheric, mystical, dark, and romantic, I was sucked in from the first page. Morgenstern’s characters are unique and lovable, a carnival of grounded whimsy all their own. Her plot, however, was simply stunning: labyrinthine and explosive, I’ve no doubt it took forever for her to design; the jumping between points of view, chronology, and prose stylings were clever and clear, giving me just enough information to tantalize me onward. It’s a world I would live in time and time again. I never wanted it to end. It caused a horrific book hangover, let me tell you. ;)
Daisy Jones and the Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid: yet another book I took too long to get around to, my introduction to Jenkins Reid has left me wanting to read everything she’s ever written. Told in the style of a series of interviews covering the rise and explosive fall of 1970s band Daisy Jones and the Six, Jenkins Reid excels at character design (each member beautifully individual, yet very clearly pulled from the shelves of Fleetwood Mac, who inspired the piece) and the art of foreshadowing. You could see the decline coming from a mile away. What I think is most enticing and warming about this book, though, is Jenkins Reid’s signature humanization of glitz and glamor. These people have fame and fortune, an inarguably privileged life, yet their pain, told in tales of loneliness, depression, addiction, and being taken advantage of, is something so universal. My heart was pulled this way and that. I cannot wait to watch the Amazon Prime adaptation.
Non-Fiction
Spinster by Kate Bolick: my absolute favorite non-fiction of 2021 (and, frankly, one of my favorite non-fiction reads of all-time), I wrote about my deep love for this book in this March/April post. Part anthropological study, part memoir, part observation on feminism and feminist studies within the culture of marriage over the past century or two, I gained a quick obsession with Bolick’s writing style. She is snarky, smart, and passionate; she is vulnerable, accepting, and open. I loved following her journey from independent child to questioning young woman to yearning 30something to accepting spinster. Her discussion and study of her “awakeners”—Maeve Brennan, Neith Boyce, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Edith Wharton, and Charlotte Perkins Gilman—led me to revelatory discoveries of history and literature, and some deep inner thinking when it came to myself. I still haven’t decided who my “awakeners” are, but I’ll get there. Best of all, Bolick does this all with the greatest sense of humor and a vibrant personality. I recommend this book to everyone I meet (with prompting, of course).
Eighty Days: Nellie Bly and Elisabeth Bisland’s History-Making Race Around the World by Matthew Goodman: this book came on recommendation from my mother, and I am so glad I read it. Following the infamous race around the world between famous Nellie Bly and now-lesser-known Elisabeth Bisland, Goodman’s writing reads more like a fictional adventure story than anything else; you will find no dreary statistics or fact regurgitation here. This fabulous cast of characters, helmed by the revolutionary female journalists, could make for a story all their own. The plot, though real, is nearly unbelievable. And Goodman is unapologetic in both his praise and criticism of the ladies. I’ve lost a lot of respect for Nellie Bly after reading this, with her racist, colonialist, self-serving ways; Elisabeth Bisland, on the other hand, is someone I’d love to cover in my “Bygone Badassery” series: she’s certainly not without faults, but I fell in love with her character and carriage. In short, this was a fantastic book, even if it could’ve been about 80 pages shorter (Goodman loves his random diatribes).
Fake Geek Girls: Fandom, Gender, and the Convergence Culture Industry by Suzanne Scott: this was an impulse buy from Bluestocking Collective in LES, and I did not regret it for a moment. While this is certainly the most traditional non-fiction on the list (it’s the closest to an academic paper, for sure), I rarely found it dry. Scott’s (com)passionate research on gender within geek culture, and how it extends its reach into other areas, was fascinating; as a self-professed geek myself, I found connections both warming and angering, and a way to better my writing and art into the future. Her speaking of the mainstreaming of geek culture, of affirmational vs. transformative fandom, and of pervasive misogyny arriving, in part, as the oppressed oppressor becomes oppressor (complicated, but it makes sense, I promise), was eye-opening. And, like I said, not really dry. This is essential reading for any of my gamer geeks, sci-fi nerds, and/or comic book lovers out there.
Plays
Indecent by Paula Vogel: I love Paula Vogel. As a person, as a playwright, as an artist, as an activist, I love Paula Vogel with my whole heart. Yet I had not read Indecent, her 2017 Tony-nominated play, until last year. And holy shit, my friends. My mind gobbled up the clever chronology and dedicated research; my heart was torn in two, sewn up, then yanked apart once more. Telling the story of Shalom Asch’s 1923 play of Jewish identity and queer love, which was closed for indecency and caused the Jewish cast to be deported and, ultimately, perish at Auschwitz, Vogel is open-hearted and needfully aggressive with her memorialization of their lives. Smartly, she oscillates between joy, devastation, and hope, her girls dancing in the rain a beautiful illustration of love’s defiance in the face of horror. Just reading it made me tear up; I can’t imagine what watching it, complete with its insanely good klezmer music of remembrance, would do. I am in love with this piece, and forever will be.
Pussy Riot, or: Everything is P.R. by Barbara Hammond: another impulse buy, this time from the Drama Book Shop, left no regrets. To know me is to know I love immersive theatre, subversive tales, and badass women. Hammond’s work has all three and more. Based on the kangaroo court trial of three members of Pussy Riot in 2012 (direct transcripts are often used), Hammond’s is a piece that thrusts the audience directly into the show: it actually begins in the lobby of the theatre, where sirens ring out and several audience members (mingling actors) are arrested; to get in, you must pass through KGB security. From there on, you are immersed in a compelling array of characters: from Pussy Riot to interned history professor to shot-down journalist to murdered British linguist to Putin and Madonna, each character, from a different timeline, is so intentional and well-sculpted. Equal parts riotous, funny, disturbing, and heart-wrenching, I fell in love with this play immediately. I would kill to see it live.
Waterbearers by V. Efua Prince: Waterbearers was a play I was privileged enough to read during my time on the Selection Committee for the National Women’s Theatre Festival, one that I couldn’t stop thinking about for weeks afterward. It is a choreopoem comprised of three black women, a young Dancer, a middle-aged Singer, and an older Narrator; using interwoven song, chant, dance, and historical monologue, Prince’s play speaks of black women and intergenerational trauma via an exploration of their connection to water. Rhapsodic, wrenching, and hopeful, there is pure magic within these words. It is an unapologetic celebration of black womanhood, and an honoring of ancestry. It is poetic, inviting, compelling, and boisterous in all the best ways. Prince’s play deserves so much more attention than it’s already received, and I will sing her praises for the rest of time.
Film
Parasite (Bong Joon-ho): okay, okay, yes, cinephile friends, I know, I’m late on this. I only just watched Joon-ho’s masterpiece in 2021, and, even then, in was for a film class I was taking at the time. But worry not: I appreciated its brilliance immediately. There is so much I could go into here: from its statements on deadly classism and hierarchy, to the complexity of the actors’ performances, to the fantastic framing and coloration of the cinematography, to the genius of the music used, I don’t think there is a single thing wrong with this 2019 thriller. It’s unsettling in the most stunning of ways, and it left me with churning emotions and a blown mind (and the inability to see cellar stairs the same way ever again). I highly recommend. Seriously, highly recommend.
Last Night in Soho (Edgar Wright and Krysty Wilson-Cairns): apparently last year was the year of the thriller (in fairness, I didn’t watch a ton of films in 2021). This was a Halloween release attended with my mom and my sister, drawn in by its stellar cast and tantalizing time period. We were not disappointed. It held clever mystery writing by Wright and Wilson-Cairns, impeccable practical film techniques by director and crew alike, and one of the most evocative, atmospheric environments I’ve seen on film in a while. The parallel jumpcuts and mirrored characterization were fantastic, and Anya and Tamsin deserve every bit of praise they’ve had heaped on them. I had very few qualms (I think the ending ruined the point it was trying to make, for instance), but, overall, I loved it.
Black Widow (Cate Shortland, Jac Shaeffer, and Ned Benson): in case you haven’t figured this out yet, I am a Marvel geek. Though I’m not entirely caught up on the MCU yet (I’ve still got Shang-Chi, Eternals, and the finishing of their TV shows; fake fan, I know), I am a massive lover of this universe and its supreme cast of characters. Though I loved Spider-Man: No Way Home in December of 2021, I think Black Widow pushed just slightly past it. Between Natasha and Yelena’s characterization and chemistry, the cleverly designed journey of anger and acceptance, the touching statement on family and sacrifice, and the onslaught of badass women, I was thrilled by Black Widow’s long-overdue solo film. I cannot wait to see where Yelena goes from here.
TV
The Witcher (Lauren Schmidt Hissrich): The Witcher is one of Jay’s favorite video game franchises, so we of course jumped on Season 1 last year and Season 2 this year. Though there are certainly some issues with the adaptation from book to screen, and some storylines were a little meh this season, I find this world incredibly addictive. The care and detail that goes into either finding environments emblematic of the fantasy world of the books and games, or creating said environments, is fantastic: it feels an all-enveloping mysticism the entire time. More importantly, though, these characters are impeccable. Henry Cavill, Anya Chalotra, Freya Allan, and Joey Batey (as Geralt, Yennefer, Ciri, and Jaskier) are a force to be reckoned with; bolstered by the likes of Kim Bodnia, Anna Shaffer, Graham McTavish, and Adjoa Andoh, they are the reason you keep watching the show. They are incredibly flawed, funny, strong, sensual, uncertain, loyal beings, and their arcs are simply *chef’s kiss* so far. Even weird writing can’t slow them down (a particular spoiler-free shoutout to Anya here). Can’t wait to see Season 3!
(And that’s kind of it – I didn’t watch much new TV this year! Trying to catch up on several things, and in the middle of many.)
Audio
What’s Her Name (Dr. Katie Nelson and Olivia Meikle): as you know, I love badass women. I love history. I love highlighting forgotten women of history. And I love storytelling. This podcast, my favorite find of 2021, combines all of that. Sisters Katie and Olivia are well-researched, well-spoken, managing to create a compelling historical narrative that keeps me leaning forward with every word spoken. I’m catching up on them (they had published a lot of episodes before I found the podcast), but I look forward to every new upload. They’re fantastic, and perfect for those long commutes.
Khadija Mbowe (they/them): Khadija is a video essayist, their self-descriptor being “a ‘cool, fun, *young* millennial aunty’ talking sbout whatever they want.” Usually, their essays exists in the realm of race, gender, sexuality, and entertainment; they’re phenomenal at highlighting the interconnectivity between identity markers, and at exposing the inequities within the world, namely within America and Canada. Some examples of videos: “The history of dog whistle politics,” “Algorithms and skin tone bias,” “The Media and the Missing…,” “East Asian stereotypes…,” “Stereotyping, Black masculinity, the role of fantasy, and Fetishism,” and “Color-blind vs. Identity-conscious casting…” Not only well-researched, Khadija is also inviting and self-correcting, and is funny as all hell. I love them. I love everything they put out there. I learn so much, both about the topic they’re addressing and what I need to look more into. Subscribe to them, like, yesterday.
Verity Ritchie (she/they): Verity is another video essayist, a self-described “trans genderqueer bisexual gender witch.” That should be enough to either entice or frighten, and, honestly, I think they’d be down for both. Verity discusses LGBT and bisexual history and representation, feminist and queer media studies, and queer identity within a culture of compulsory heterosexuality. She does each with the best dry humor I’ve ever heard, blunt-yet-accepting language, and clearly passionate research and care. I jump at each of their uploads. Some video examples: “How Bisexuality Changed Video Games,” “Commodifying Bi Validation: Loki vs Russell T. Davies,” Good LGBT Representation is Boring,” “Bisexual Activism in the 70s,” and “Saving MJ: The Feminism of the Spider-Man Films.” Fan. Tastic. Stuff. Once again, subscribe, like, yesterday.
Albums
The Light and The Dark (Delta Rae): okay, so, yes, technically these are two albums. But they’re sister albums—one cannot exist without the other—so it doesn’t count. I discovered Delta Rae—a folk rock band of “southern storytellers”—this last year, and they have joined the shortlist of performers I would love to see in concert. These two albums epitomize what they’re known for: fantastical lyricism, mythos, tight harmonies, rock belt and ballad vibrato, and exceptional percussive musicality. They switch between the rough screams of rock and the fluidity of indie folk with utter ease, and their evocation is that of ancient myths. I adore them. Favorite Songs: “Burning in Carolina,” “Any Better Than This;” “Out of the Badlands,” “All Good People,” “Shadows of Vegas”
Give Me a Minute (Lizzy McAlpine): I loved this album so much that I recently got an email about me being one of her top listeners. I don’t know if I should be proud or ashamed (I vote proud), but, either way, I am a fan of this album. Filled with gentle acoustic and poetry of lyrics, Lizzy’s album has become my go-to for comfort and emotion. I play her often while I’m writing, an inspiration and a low-key cinematic. Listen to her if you need to feel something. Favorite Songs: “Pancakes for Dinner,” “To the Mountains,” “How Do I Tell You?”
Miss You Like Hell (Quiara Alegría Hudes and Erin McKeown): I totally forgot to include this album on my “Best of” Instagram post, and I am weirdly upset about it. The reason? Quiara Alegría Hudes (with some help from composer McKeown) has crafted a brilliant piece about family, love, grief, and trauma. Following the cross-country trip of Olivia and Beatriz, an estranged mother/daughter duo (the latter an illegal immigrant), Hudes’s musical is a poignant examination of our times and a loving rendering of generational divide and connection. The music swims effortlessly between contemporary MT, country, folk rock, and a near-Disney feel, sonically crafting the Mexican-American experience. It is a joyous ride that will leave you reeling at the end, with love, with tears, with gratitude, with disbelief. This needs more productions. Now. (Also, as a needed side note: Gizel Jiménez, who voices Olivia on the album, has one of the most beautiful, controlled voices I have ever heard in my life, oh my GOD) Favorite Songs: “Sunday,” “Bibliography,” “Lioness,” “Dance with Me,” “Yellowstone,” “Miss You Like Hell"
Lizzie (Steven Cheslik-deMeyer, Tim Maner, and Alan Stevens Hewitt): I’ve definitely waxed poetic about Lizzie before, so I’ll leave it at this: this female-fronted, female-played punk rock musical about Lizzie Borden is one of the best things I have ever heard in my 23 years. Cathartic, unapologetic, vulnerable, and explosive, it is entertainment and devastation and hope at its finest. Listen now. Favorite Songs: “Will You Stay?”, “Shattercane and Velvet Grass,” “This is Not Love,” “What the F*** Now, Lizzie?!”, “Thirteen Days in Taunton”
A special shout-out, as well, to the video game masterpiece that is Mass Effect. Thoughts upcoming for that beauty, don’t you worry. I would sacrifice my life for those characters.
That’s all for now, friends! If you’ve read/seen/listened to any of these, let me know what you thought!
Rhiannon
Comments