Greg Walklin

Nonfiction > Fiction?

A few years ago, during an interview with Phillip Roth, the conversation turned to reading habits. Roth admitted to interviewer Jan Dalley that his reading habits had changed significantly as he’d aged. “I’ve stopped reading fiction,” he said. “I don’t read it at all. I read other things: history, biography. I don’t have the same interest in fiction that I once did.” Dalley then asked him why, and he replied enigmatically: “I don’t know. I’ve wised up.”

This year marked a new reading milestone for me: for the first time in my life, I read more nonfiction than fiction in a year. Although I read about 19 novels or short story collections this past year—the same count as the year before—I read more nonfiction than I had in the past (27 books). Steadily, the amount of novels and short story collections I’ve read has gone down the last few years, from 22 in 2023 and 2022, to 24 in 2021 and a whopping 33 in 2018. I’m not sure I’ve “wised up” in any way, but I suppose I’ve changed.

Although I have no evidence for this, I suspect this kind of dynamic often happens to certain types of readers as they age. Certainly it happened to Phillip Roth, although at a much later age and after a lot more fiction reading than I have. Literature, Barthes famously said, is the question minus the answer, and perhaps as we get older we are looking more for answers than questions. Similarly, Javiar Marías once said that literature “doesn’t properly illuminate things, but like the match it lets you see how much darkness there is.” Now, if it may be a sort of metaphor to make my point, I find myself using the flashlight option on my phone all the time.

Another explanation may be my profession. I’m not a full-time writer (I’m not sure I’d even say part-time. What’s less than part-time but more than nothing?). Reading books that I thought could help me in my job—such as a book about problematic government technology implementations, or administrative law—exert some kind of pressure to read more nonfiction. I’m drawn to the practical benefits of understanding policy issues, legal topics, or the context of something I may encounter in my professional life.

Another explanation may be focused more on the reasons I read fiction. I don’t read hardly any science fiction, fantasy, or genre fiction; not because I look down on them, but only because I don’t find the work terribly engaging. (Caveat: I keep coming back to “The Lord Of the Rings” over and over.) My interest has always been with literary fiction, and that’s not always page-turning or easy to settle down with after a long day of work and child care or during a beach vacation. Nonfiction is often just as mentally demanding, and so some of the pure pleasure in reading fiction in that way is diminished.

But it is also true that I have not found as much fiction as engaging as I once did. I’m probably missing some authors, but even books read this year by authors I love (Toni Morrison, Lauren Groff) didn’t resonate for me as much as their other works did before. I am willing to admit that is more in the reader than the writer, but if that is true–well, why is that the case? Like literature, I have no answers in this post.

Anyway, on to the highlights of the last year.

The Book Side Quest

The Aeneid, Virgil

I’ve been on a sort of reading side quest over the last few years, to work my way through all of the Ancient Greek and Roman classics. Last year was “The Illiad,” so “The Aeneid” was the next up, being in essence a sequel to Homer’s epic.

What struck me most about Ovid’s masterwork—beyond the poetry—was just how obviously situated it was in its own time and place, using the story so neatly to set up mythology. (It reminded me a bit of the accusations against some originalist jurisprudence, of manufacturing history to meet political end. If that is the case, it is obviously not a new enterprise.)

Quick ranking of these classics, for fun’s sake:

1. The Odyssey – Emily Wilson’s translation is the new standard (for me at least)
2. The Metamorphoses – the breadth of stories that found so many other myths and stories in literature make this worthwhile.
3. The Aeneid – see above
4. The Illiad – too many boring battles. The Achilles stuff is the best (and probably the reason I should read “The Song of Achilles” at some point.) This could be higher if I’d waited for Wilson’s new translation, given her track record.
   

The Legal Books that Shaped My Thinking

Law’s Empire, Ronald Dworkin

Another book I had been meaning to read for years finally came my way in 2025: “Law’s Empire” by Ronald Dworkin. I’d only read little bits of his writing here and there, and had once been to a talk he had given on campus—which he spent mostly on the Two-State Solution to the Israel/Palestine conflict—so reading his legal philosophy was long overdue. It was revelatory. His section simply breaking down what is law—what things go beyond the simple words of a statute—would have been mind-expanding enough for me if that was the sole insight of the book. Some of it still assuredly sailed over my head, but Dworkin writes so clearly at other times that it sure feels like it stuck.

Reading Dworkin and his interpretive theory of the law was a great contrast to the two Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. books that I happened to read ahead of it: the justice’s great long essay “The Path of the Law,” and Stephen Budiansky’s superlative biography. The opening overview of Holmes life that Budiansky provides may be the best biography opening I’ve ever read. His witty précis and litany of Holmes aphorisms had me laughing out loud.

Every year I usually read a few contemporary legal books, and this year has been no exception. A few were audiobooks (including a summary of the Brett Kavanaugh hearings, Erwin Chemerinsky’s recent polemic against SCOTUS’s criminal caselaw, and Geoff Berman’s memoir of his time as a federal district attorney). Joan Biskupic’s newish book (“Nine Black Robes”) and Michael Waldman’s (“The Supermajority”) were both informative on current court happenings, although I didn’t find myself agreeing with all that much of their criticism. Finally, Cass Sunstein and Adrian Vermeule’s 2022 book on administrative law (“Law and Leviathan”) perhaps sailed over my head a little, except when they surmised that the Chevron deference doctrine wouldn’t be overturned (whoops). Otherwise I did appreciate their framing of administrative law norms and in-depth discussions of the different interpretative principles.

The Books I Found Most Engaging

Below are some of my favorites for the year.

Fiction

James, Percival Everett

Libra, Don DeLillo

Everybody (including my wife) who said “James,” the reworking of “Huck Finn” from James’ perspective, was great, and they were all right.

It seems like in my reading of Don DeLillo novels, I’ve started with the books I liked the least, only to enjoy him more each time. I’m now on my sixth DeLillo book, if I’ve not forgotten one. Either DeLillo is clicking for me or I just read the books in the wrong order. “Libra” may be my favorite novel of his, even more so than “Cosmopolis” or “White Noise.” (“End Zone,” “Zero K” and “Underworld” were all, well, underwhelming). While I don’t believe in any Kennedy Assassination conspiracies, I will acknowledge that if there was indeed one, it was probably something similar to what “Libra” imagined. Poetic, deep, and filled with memorable characters, I can finally see, I think, why DeLillo maybe deserves to be in the top ten all-time American writers.

Poetry

Normal Distance, Eliza Gabbert

I didn’t have a lot of luck finding poetry I found particularly engaging this year, with the exception of rereading some old Ted Kooser poems, and the (new to me) “Normal Distance” by Eliza Gabbert, a writer whom I was only familiar with on Twitter (back when it was called that and back when I used it). These poems were arresting and aphoristic and unpretentious, and many felt just like that voice inside your head: “Good luck feels like bad luck waiting to happen, but bad luck still just feels like bad luck.” Sign me up for any future book of her verse.

Nonfiction

Reagan: His Life and Legend, Max Boot

Recoding America: How Government is Failing in the Digital Transformation and How We Can Do Better, Jennifer Pahlka

In all the nonfiction I read this year, Max Boot’s biography of President Reagan, “Reagan: His Life and Legend,” stood out. It was the kind of evenhanded treatment that the subject deserved. In all the “legacy” talk of Reagan, it seems like we’ve forgotten just how mercurial, charming, and accomplished he was. He saved more than a hundred people from drowning as a lifeguard. He was able to balance practical compromise with consistent political base popularity. (I think we forget how this used to be possible.) He was beloved by his wife and staff but not by his children. He could charm anybody at a party, but preferred to stay at home in his bathrobe and slippers and his Reader’s Digest. Endlessly interesting to try to understand, and always underestimated.

Meanwhile, Jennifer Pahlka’s book on government failures in the digital area was the kind of practical and insightful account I’m glad somebody has finally written. Pahlka’s a veteran of digital solutions for government problems, and her incisive examination is essential reading for anybody trying to implement technology in government. This type of thing is little understood but often far more important than acknowledged.

For the last 15 years, I’ve been tracking my reading. I thought I’d share a post with some of the notable things I’ve read in 2023.

After all these years, though, I’ve come to see tracking as double-edged sword. On one side of the blade, tracking gives one strong insights into what information one has digested, fictional worlds entered, and lets one look back and remember books one may have otherwise forgotten. On the other side, all of this tracking can sometimes making reading seem to be “another thing,” or a task to check off a list.

While I intend to keep tracking in 2024, I may sit out the “challenge” in Goodreads. Reading, for me, is something I find personally engaging and fulfilling—it’s not a competition.

Tools

I use Apple Notes to keep the running list, along with other detailed information, but I also track in Goodreads and using the BookTracker iOS app.

Highlights

This year I finally read Founding Brothers by Joseph Ellis. I’d read his most recent book, American Dialogue, connecting the founders with contemporary issues, and had snagged a hardback of this Pulitzer-winner at a library sale. “Founding Brothers” was astonishing—I find Ellis to be much more engaging than some of the other historians of the period, especially psychologically. I’m recommending Ellis to anyone who loves reading about the founders as much as I do. I purchased a copy of “American Dialogue” as a gift for my dad.

Demon Copperhead, Barbara Kingsolver’s latest, was the finest novel I read this past year. It’s a masterpiece. This was the first Kingsolver book for me, after a glowing recommendation from my wife. Her characters are rich and so distinctly clear products of their environment and upbringing, something not often seen in the American literary fiction I’ve read, at least.There is more Kingsolver in my future.

One of the six books I reviewed this year, Fernanda Melchor’s This is Not Miami, was perhaps the finest. And it’s also my favorite book of the year, alongside “Demon Copperhead” and “The Family Roe” (more on that last one later). If you want to see more of my thoughts on it, head overto Literal Magazine.

The Tyranny of Merit, by Michael Sandel, was another one of those nonfiction books I’ve read recently that has clarified my perspective on things. His central insight is that the rhetorical or political focus (often by Democrats) on meritocracy has an insidious side, that of making folks who didn’t “win” the meritocracy—really, most of us—feel disillusioned while those that did—say, the Harvards and Yalies—feel that they deserve their success perhaps more than they really do. Sandel is self-aware enough that being a Harvard professor doesn’t interfere with his clear understanding and clear-eyed insight into the way his students have changed, but not for the better.

Lastly, The Family Roe was perhaps the best nonfiction book I read in 2023. It took Joshua Prager a decade to write it, but the effort was worth it. Prager is not an apologist for the court decision, nor a loather of it, instead focusing on the people involved: from unhappy and enigmatic Norma McCorvey, or “Jane Roe,” to the eccentric lawyers, and even more eccentric (and tragic) abortion opponent Mildred Jefferson. He discovered a lot of new information, especially about McCorvey. The book also makes one think hard about the role of courts and legislatures when it comes to abortion—but not in a partisan or black-and-white manner.

Old Fiction Favorites

More novels this year by Toni Morrison; Richard Dooling (my old law prof!); Don DeLillo (Cosmopolis, which might be the finest book of his I’ve read); Cormac McCarthy; and Richard Yates, among others.

The Supreme Court

Perhaps because I’ve returned to the practice of law, my reading on legal things has stepped up this year. Among the selections: Supreme Inequality by Adam Cohen; The Shadow Docket by Stephen Vladeck; “The Family Roe,” Showdown: Thurgood Marshall and the Supreme Court Nomination that Changed America by Wil Haygood; and The Most Dangerous Branch by David Kaplan. The Kaplan was a nice balm for me, with good critical analysis of activism by both the “conservative” and “liberal” justices, which was needed after reading the more left-leaning critique of Cohen. It’s a strong defense of judicial minimalism. Vladeck’s analysis of SCOTUS’ usage of its non-opinion writing power—a good recent example of “judicial triumphalism,” I bet Kaplan would think—was also fairly balanced, it seemed to me, even if Justice Alito apparently hates him and Vladeck is transparent about leaning left. Haygood, meanwhile, further convinced me that Thurgood Marshall would have been a top-25 American of all time, even if he hadn’t served on the Supreme Court. (Though Kaplan did note that, despite his overwhelming greatness as a lawyer, Marshall sometimes may have phoned it in on the top bench.)

Poetry

In 2023, I read a bit more poetry than I have in years past—seven or so full length books of verse. First, I kicked off the year by finally reading through all of the original edition of “Leaves of Grass,” having read bits of Whitman for years, ever since I crashed a Whitman conference on campus as a college student.

The highlight was Donald Justice’s New and Selected Poems. I’d never encountered Justice, the “poet’s poet” before, but I found his poems to be engaging and startlingly relevant. (“Men at Forty” being the most on the nose.) Perhaps it was this poetry reading that inspired me to start submitting poems of my own. (My first published poem, “The Siege of Baghdad,” is forthcoming at Bookends Review.) Other highlights include a series of poems from the perspectives of jurors by Rita Dove, and several startling Louis Glück verses.