On New Year’s Eve 2019, I stood atop Calton Hill with some friends, looking over the city of Edinburgh as midnight and a new decade approached. The city was ablaze with light, and then twelve struck - the sound and flare of fireworks in the night sky! It was beautiful, standing with perhaps a few hundred others, looking over the city as a new era seemed to dawn.
Well, decades are just convenient fictions and there’s no reason apart from superstition to believe that the beginning of a new one means anything much. Still, I thought on that New Year’s Eve: this is going to be a good ten years, for sure. The twenties again - parties and flappers! Meaningless, of course. And anyway, a few months later we were in lockdown, at the mercy of a pandemic the likes of which we hadn’t seen for a century. And, hell, if history did obey such simplistic laws, the twenties, I should have realised, were also destined to be a decade of economic devastation and rising totalitarianism…
And so now, as 2021 nears its end, I reflect back on the fun and optimism of that night two years ago. It seems so recent yet feels so distant. The last night of 2020 and the first morning of 2021 I spent alone, and that looks set to be the case again this New Year’s. Will we ever get out of this pandemic? More to the point: do we really need to fear the virus so much now? More and more I think that it’s time to just live with the damn thing.
Anyway, enough of all that. Time to look forward to 2022 - and to reflect on 2021 in preparation for the new year. My first half-year on Substack has been fun. As you’ll know, I’ve been on hiatus for a little while, but I intend to relaunch in January - perhaps I shall post my plans before then (and if you have any suggestions as to what you’d like to see, I’m all ears). Meanwhile, I thought I’d continue my tradition of listing, in no particular order, the best books I’ve read this year (not necessarily from this year, let me emphasise). As ever, I have no strict rules nor do I inhibit myself with numbers: I choose what I choose and I choose however many I choose and that’s that, thank you very much. Some of these books are re-reads, others are first-timers. Now, here we go:
Intellectual Freedom and the Culture Wars by Piers Benn (2020). A rich and deeply philosophical defence of free speech and free enquiry. I wrote about it for Areo Magazine here.
Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis (1954). Surely I don’t need to spell this one out? Funny and moving and a classic; that’s all I’ll say.
Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison (1952). An American classic, controversial then for its universalism (and thus controversial now, no doubt).
The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon (1965). Conspiracies, paranoia, psychedelia, and a gay bar called ‘The Greek Way’; what else can one ask for?
The Revelations by Erik Hoel (2021). The debut novel by Hoel, who is, annoyingly to those of us who are neither, both a brilliant (neuro)scientist and a fantastic writer. Seriously: watch this man. He’s destined to become one of the greats of literature. I wrote about the novel for Areo here.
American Pastoral by Philip Roth (1997). Another novel that hardly needs my approval: a stone-cold classic, a disturbing and panoramic and prescient dissection of the American century and the American future.
Books Do Furnish A Life: Reading and Writing Science by Richard Dawkins (2021). The latest collection of shorter writings by one of the scientific and literary giants of our era, this book is full of beauty and insight. I wrote about it for Areo here.1 (A bonus: Dawkins’ new book Flights of Fancy, released just last month, is also a triumph, combining as it does his excellent writing and explanatory powers with Jana Lenzová’s gorgeous illustrations.)
Everything by George Orwell. For my dissertation this year I wrote about Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia (1938), Animal Farm (1945), and Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949), with reference to many of his other works, and, though I have read these more than a few times before, I can’t help but adding them here (again), under a general recommendation of everything the man ever produced.
Holding the Man by Timothy Conigrave (1995). I’ve watched the film based on this memoir so many times and it never fails to move me. This year, I decided to read the memoir itself, and I was no less moved. It is, simply, one of the most beautiful love stories you are ever likely to read - and it is also a tale of deepest humanity, of triumph and resistance and loss and beauty. Read it - and watch the film! Truly a universal story. (A bonus: Russell T Davies’ 2021 AIDS TV drama It’s A Sin is also well worth a watch; it is vulgar and sexy and heart wrenching and haunting; perhaps the greatest masterpiece from a man who has already produced his fair share of them.)
Children of Time by Adrian Tchaikovsky (2015). A modern sci-fi classic - an exceptionally clever evolutionary epic. I never expected to become so fond of giant spiders.
Kindly Inquisitors (1993; expanded edition 2013) and The Constitution of Knowledge (2021) by Jonathan Rauch. A classic defence of free speech and its long-awaited spiritual sequel in defence of truth and liberalism (broadly conceived). I wrote about the latter for Areo here and helped to host an event for Free Speech Champions with Rauch; see here.
The Frontiers of Knowledge by A.C. Grayling (2021). I have no idea how Grayling does it: he knows so much and can compress it into the most elegant and accessible prose, all the while casually providing his own startlingly original observations. This book is an ode to knowledge and truth, a delineation of what humanity has learned across various fields so far - and how far we still have to go. I wrote about it for Areo here.
And the Land Lay Still by James Robertson (2010). An epic novel of recent Scottish history, spanning many decades and charting the lives of many characters. I wrote about it on Substack here.
The Rise and Fall of Osama bin Laden by Peter Bergen (2021). A biography of one of the evilest men of recent times by one of the foremost experts on jihadism. I wrote about it for Areo here.
Pretty much everything by Salman Rushdie. I’ve mentioned it before, but I’ve been on something of a Rushdie odyssey for the past few months. Some of his stuff I’m reading anew, some of it I’m re-reading. I have not thus far been disappointed. Among the best: Midnight’s Children (1981), Shame (1983), Haroun and the Sea of Stories (1990), The Moor’s Last Sigh (1995), The Ground Beneath Her Feet (1999), and Step Across This Line: Collected Non-Fiction 1992-2002 (2002). My favourite of all his works is The Satanic Verses (1988), whose literary merit is still unfortunately obscured by the fatwa. I’ve written about Rushdie many times. For Areo I wrote about the fatwa, for Quillette I tried to do some justice to The Satanic Verses as a work of literature, and on Substack I wrote about Haroun and the Sea of Stories.
How Hitchens Can Save The Left: Rediscovering Fearless Liberalism in an Age of Counter-Enlightenment by Matt Johnson (forthcoming, 2022). A bit of a cheat this, but I was privy to the manuscript version of my friend Matt Johnson’s forthcoming book about Christopher Hitchens. I shan’t spoil much except to say you should most definitely read it when it comes out.
A Hitch in Time: Writings from the London Review of Books by Christopher Hitchens (2021). And while we’re on Hitchens, it was nice to see a new collection of his essays published in time for the tenth anniversary of his death. An excellent and wide-ranging volume, this is peak Hitchens. His analytical abilities are at their sharpest here, especially in the piece on Isaiah Berlin, which must count as one of the most quietly devastating critiques of an intellectual ever written (while also managing to pay its target some serious compliments). Keep an eye out for my forthcoming piece in Areo about this book.
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams (1979; 2020 anniversary reissue of 2009 edition with Russell T Davies foreword). I’ve admired Douglas Adams for a long time, but shamefully have never read his most famous book until now! Again, I hardly need to comment: funny and brilliant and silly and fearless and philosophical, nobody can really imitate Adams, however much they try. (A bonus: I have, of course, read some of Adams’ other work, including his brilliant Last Chance to See [with Mark Carwardine, 1990], which I wrote about here.)
Phew! Last year I had seventeen best books, so at least I haven’t expanded too much (if only the same could be said of my waistline…). Now, before I go, I’m going to be even more self-indulgent and list, without comment and in no particular order, some articles I wrote this year that I think are not bad at all, actually (and, for good measure, some podcasts and other miscellaneous appearances of which I’m at least slightly proud):
‘Free speech for all: lessons from Hong Kong’ (The New Taboo, Issue 1, Autumn 2021). On page 7 of the flipbook viewer here.
‘Donald Trump, Free Speech Champion? Give me a break, says Daniel Sharp’ (Free Speech Champions Comment section, December 5).
‘The Quiet Erasure of David Hume Tower’ (Volume 41, No. 2, February/March 2021 issue). A revised and expanded version of my Areo essay on the subject. Behind a paywall but I can provide a copy if you ask.
‘Blowjobs and Makeovers: Hitchens’ Comic Writing’ (Areo, 17th December 2021).
‘The Lessons of Evolution: A Review of “A Hunter-Gatherer’s Guide to the 21st Century” by Heather Heying and Bret Weinstein’ (Areo, 27th October 2021).
‘China’s Uyghur Prison-State’ (Areo, 8th October 2021).
‘On Islamic Fascism: Reflections on 9/11 Twenty Years On’ (Areo, 11th September 2021).
‘Naming the Unnameable: Salman Rushdie, Christopher Hitchens and the Defence of Free Speech’ (Areo, 17th May 2021). My contribution, the first to be published I believe, to the special issue of Areo on free speech, to mark Iona Italia’s ascension to the editorial throne.
‘The Trick of Evocative Science Writing: “Books Do Furnish a Life” by Richard Dawkins’ (Areo, 20th April 2021).
‘A Feminist Hero: “Prey” by Ayaan Hirsi Ali’ (Areo, 1st March 2021).
On 23rd September 2021, I spoke with Mathew Giagnorio on his Modes of Inquiry podcast about many things, including: dissidence in Islam, woke culture, free speech, and Free Speech Champions. See here.
On 15th December 2021, I appeared as a guest on Iona Italia’s Areo-associated Two for Tea podcast with Ben Burgis and Matt Johnson to discuss Christopher Hitchens on the tenth anniversary of his death. See here or here.
I guest-hosted Iona Italia’s Two for Tea podcast on 22nd April 2021, interviewing her about some big changes at Areo Magazine. See here.
On 6th July 2021, I co-hosted, with Inaya Folarin Iman, a Free Speech Champions drop-in with the writer and activist Jonathan Rauch, in which we discussed trolls, disinformation, free speech, cancel culture, and more, inspired by his new book The Constitution of Knowledge. See here for the recording of the event.
Right, I think I’ve gone on quite long enough. All that remains to be said is: Happy Christmas. Or, lo, Saturnalia! Or whatever you prefer. (I’m an atheist who likes Christmas, but I do prefer to see it, in Hitchensian terms, as a good old pagan booze up.) And a glorious 2022 to you, too, of course. Thanks for reading my Substack this year. There’s but one direction in which to go now:
Onwards.
DJS xx
Here’s a pet theory I’ve been meaning to consider at greater length: one of the reasons Dawkins draws such ire from so many is that he is a better writer than almost anyone else, and because the accusations of ‘scientism’ flung at him (usually by the lazy) so pitifully fail to stick when held up against his rich poetic sense (and his vast knowledge and appreciation of poetry and literature, displayed throughout all his books). And to repeat a point I never tire of making: anyone who thinks science a subject unfit for emotion and art is a philistine. If you fail to thrill at Darwin’s dangerous idea or Einstein’s relativistic revolution, you have little business laying claim to art or beauty or the aesthetic sense.