A Year in Reading: Patrick Nathan
On January 1st, I wrote in my notebook that it was “time to renew my usual promises and take artificial, arbitrary steps toward bettering myself and living a different life.” I made a list of aspirations, which included things like “Return writing to its centerpiece in your life,” and “Reduce temptations for distraction.” Fortunately, aspirations always take place in the future tense. I did, however, “read widely and daily,” and came close to learning “constantly.” Despite—or perhaps because of—2017’s relentlessness, I’ve read more books this year than any previous, and I do feel changed, somewhat, because of it.
Seeing—a subject I’ve been circling for years—seemed especially important after the simplistic, stupid, and reproducible narrativesand , but also: ’s ; ’s brilliant and comforting ; and ’s callow, insensitive itself an accidental defense of mediocrity). I read more (), and more (the diaphanous as well as every “On Photography” column in ). Cole’s work led me to ’s , which might be the most fun I’ve ever had not understanding a book, and ’s . I read ’s engaging history of the Polaroid, . (Funny story: Polaroid Corporation specifically discouraged the use of Polaroid as a noun, i.e. “check out this Polaroid.”) I read ’s terrifying biography of and ’s ; in both, the photographer is an agent of death.
