Film critic David Denby, writing of his experience revisiting, in his forties, the Great Books core courses he had taken as a freshman at Columbia University thirty years earlier:

I was reading seriously, reading Homer, Plato,
Aristotle, Sophocles, all the Greeks. But I needed more time. Life got
in the way—a good life, but in the way. I had always known it
would, but I was determined not to rope off my school adventure, not to
become a hermit, anything medieval or cloistered, but to remain a
modern middle-class man, living my life as normally as possible. As if
I had any choice! There were days when I wanted to be free just to
study, to eat at any hour and sleep whenever I wanted to, unshaven and
raw as an eighteen-year-old—and then the little one, Thomas, would take
my hand and lead me into his room to show me something he had drawn,
pulling me away from Plato, and I was exasperated but grateful, because
a child's hand is like nothing else on earth.

I didn't read as many books last year as I usually do, because the
lion's share of my reading time was devoured by matters related to the
presidential election. 2009 is already off to a better start: am
halfway through my third novel already. (One of them, The Uncommon Reader—a
delightful read, by the way—was very short, a novella really. Also, my
mother has arrived to help with the baby, whenever the baby decides to
make an appearance, and so as far as my children are concerned, I am
chopped liver. It is lovely, sometimes, to be chopped liver.)

Anyway: 2008's reading list. Several of the books I enjoyed most were the handcrafty sort.

I count these as "books read" because I really did read them, cover
to cover, eagerly slurping down every single syllable of text and
caption. Maybe this year—in the latter half, because I expect my arms
to be happily full for a while—I can put some of this reading into
practice.

As for fiction, most of the novels I read were children's books:
some old favorites, read aloud to the kids, and some first-time reads
for me, so I could discuss them with Jane. Of the latter, I most
enjoyed Beth Hilgartner's A Murder for Her Majesty,
a middle-grade suspense tale set in Elizabethan times, about a young
girl forced to hide in a boys' choir after her father is murdered by
court rivals, and Scott O'Dell's The King's Fifth,
another fine piece of historical fiction, this one about a young
Spanish mapmaker whose quest for the fabled Seven Cities of Cibola
leads him into a hornet's nest of intrigue and danger.

I read some excellent nonfiction this year. I've already raved about Alice Gunther's inspiring Haystack Full of Needles and the transformative Outside Lies Magic by John Stilgoe. Another standout was Neil Perrin's collection of essays about lesser-known literary gems, A Reader's Delight.
A sweet friend sent me a copy for my birthday last year, and I savored
the essays one by one throughout the year. (I wrote about Perrin's A Child's Delight here.)
Both the Perrin books have added a column full of enticing titles to my
TBR list. One of my reading plans for 2009 is to treat myself to some
of those books.

Another interesting nonfiction book I read in '08 was Elizabeth Warnock Fernea's A Street in Marrakesh.
I met the author at a neighborhood Christmas party a year ago; she was
the mother of the host, Laura Fernea, who appears in the book as a
thirteen-year-old girl. In the late 70s, the Fernea family lived in
Marrakesh for a year. It was Elizabeth's husband's work that brought
them there, but the book focuses on the domestic scene and Elizabeth's
struggles to get to know her Muslim neighbors. Gradually, awkwardly,
connections are formed and Elizabeth is invited into other women's
homes, and her yearning to see the real lives of her neighbors—not just
the blank faces presented to tourists—is fulfilled. The book is a
fascinating look at a culture so tremendously different from America's,
but it is more than a travel book: it's a moving, honest account of
Elizabeth's vulnerability and determination. Her efforts to cross the
'stranger in a strange land' barrier are sometimes rebuffed, sometimes
embarrassing, but she presses on nonetheless. I was hoping for another
opportunity to chat with Elizabeth, but the annual Christmas caroling
party didn't happen this year. Maybe next year. (As I write, I'm struck
by the irony of my own shyness—here I am waiting for the big
neighborhood party rather than making the kind of personal overture
Elizabeth herself would never have shrunk from!)

There were other good books on my list in 2008, but I can smell my
mother's good cornbread just about ready to come out of the oven. I'd
like to say I'll write about the rest later, but we all know how
unlikely that is. Unless this baby tarries another week, in which case
maybe I'll have all too much time to blog!