Michael C. White's 3 favorite reads in 2025

• 2023
• 2024
• 2025

Of all the many things I loved about this powerful novel, the one that most grabbed me by the throat and wouldn’t let go was the central character, Corby (warning: spoiler-alert). Sent to prison for the unimaginable crime of accidentally killing his own son while under the influence of alcohol and drugs, Corby was, at first, an immature and self-centered man-boy, the sort that America produces in abundance. At first, as many would in such a horrific situation, he tries to deny or at least deflect much of his own guilt—onto his wife, his cold father, the authorities, anyone but himself. While in prison, Corby sees around him the supposed worst of society; initially he perceives them and himself as morally miles apart. Slowly, however, as the days turn into weeks and then into months (Lamb cleverly posts the days of Corby’s sentence at the beginning of each chapter the way an inmate would cross them off on a calendar), he sees in those around him a certain irrefutable humanity that their incarceration can’t strip from them. It is in prison, finally and ironically, where he can fully admit to his crime, accept the terrible guilt of his actions, and begin the slow and arduous path to redemption. A very powerful ending that left me drained but feeling that the novel had attained its goal: to make us feel both the profound guilt of Corby’s action and the final expiation of that guilt.

Makkai’s novel, a National Book Award finalist, details, in vivid and visceral ways, the AIDS crisis of the 1980’s and its aftermath. Makkai made me feel what it was to be a gay man in an era during which Ronald Reagan turned his back on them; she details all of the joy and heartache of being in love with someone who, at the same time, made you fear for your life being with that person. Of all the books and movies concerning AIDS, this one situated you so intimately inside the mind and heart of a gay man named Yale that you felt you there. Not merely a sympathetic onlooker, but one of them. Like all of us, Yale is at once generous and kind, thoughtful and insightful, but also petty and selfish, cowardly and angry. In Yale, Makkai has created a character that doesn’t want your sympathy but does demand your empathy. When he says, “Thirteen thousand dead gay men, and Reagan’s too busy,” it’s not just about politics; it’s about life and love, fear and death. It’s about our common humanity.

While many of the these wonderful poems were published over a century ago, they are as relevant today as they were then. Hughes charts the pain, suffering, and joys of being Afro-American in a country that was then, and is still now, a very racist place. But the book is neither a polemic nor merely a plea for a downtrodden people. It presents equally the heartfelt joys and deep pleasures the world affords us. One of my favorites is “Mother to Son,” advice that a black mother bestows upon a son, telling him that the uphill climb in life is difficult but “don’t you turn back.” The poems, as a whole, provide the reader with the Hughes’ profound sense of delight, suffering, and, ultimately, endurance. I found this book of poems a powerful yet accessible read for the twentieth-first century reader.