Happy Wednesday, everyone! Wednesdays also mean WWW Wednesday updates. WWW Wednesday is a bookish meme hosted originally by SAM@TAKING ON A WORLD OF WORDS. 

The mechanics for WWW Wednesday are quite simple: you just have to answer three questions:

  1. What are you currently reading?
  2. What have you finished reading?
  3. What will you read next?
www-wednesdays
What are you currently reading?

It’s already the middle of the week — how time flies! I hope everyone’s week is going well. The good news is that we only have two more days to go before the weekend. I hope everyone makes it through the workweek. Also, we are already in the final month of the year, and tomorrow is Christmas. Happy Christmas Eve, everyone! This also means that in just a couple of days, we’ll be welcoming the new year. How time flies! With the year approaching its inevitable end, I hope everything is going well for everyone. May blessings and good news shower upon you. I hope your prayers will be answered. I hope the remaining weeks of the year are filled with healing. I also hope everyone is doing well — both physically and mentally — and that you’re making great strides toward your goals. May the rest of the year be kinder to you and reward you for all your hard work.

Like in previous years, I have been spending the rest of the year ticking off books from my reading challenges. It has now become a tradition for me to spend the latter part of the year catching up on these goals. I am currently reading Elizabeth George Speare’s The Bronze Bow, a book I acquired nearly a decade ago. However, like most of my books, it was left to gather dust on my bookshelf. For this reason, I included it in my 2025 Beat the Backlist Challenge. It is the 20th book on the list that I have read, making this year yet another successful one—at least in terms of the challenge. Honestly, when I encountered the book during a random foray into a bookstore, I had no idea who the author was. Still, it piqued my interest, which is why I made the purchase. Nearly a decade later, I finally got the chance to read it. Originally published in 1961, the book won the Newbery Medal for excellence in American children’s literature a year later. I did not expect it to be a work of children’s literature; nevertheless, it has commanded my interest.

The novel transports us to first-century Galilee, Israel. At the heart of the story is Daniel bar Jamin, who lives during the time of Jesus of Nazareth. This was one of the elements that immediately stood out to me when I began reading—the biblical connections. However, this does not hamper my desire to explore the story. Daniel’s uncle and father were imprisoned by the Romans. By the time he was eight, he hated and distrusted them, seeking revenge for his father’s death. Shortly afterward, his mother died of grief. Traumatized by these events, Daniel’s younger sister, Leah, was believed to be possessed by demons and never left the mountains. Although their great-grandfather twice removed took them in, he eventually sold Daniel to Amalek the blacksmith. Amalek proved to be a cruel master, prompting Daniel to run away to the mountains, where he was rescued by Rosh, the leader of an outlaw band of rebels. There is a lot to process early on—adventures and misadventures alike. I have only just begun reading the book, but I am already invested in the young boy’s story.

What have you finished reading?

After a couple of slow reading weeks, I managed to get a badly needed push over the past week. I was able to regain a semblance of reading momentum that allowed me to complete three books. I suppose this was partly driven by the fear of not being able to complete my two major reading goals this year: my 2025 Top 25 Reading List and the 2025 Beat the Backlist Challenge. The first of this trio, however, is not part of either goal. Still, I have long meant to read N. Scott Momaday’s House Made of Dawn, especially following his passing last year. Interestingly, before the pandemic, I had never encountered the Native American writer. I discovered House Made of Dawn through an online bookseller, and it immediately piqued my interest.

House Made of Dawn suffered the same fate as many of my other books—it was left to gather dust on my bookshelf. At the heart of the novel is Abel, a young Native American who, at the start of the story, returns to Walatowa, his home in the Jemez Pueblo in New Mexico. The Second World War, in which he served, has just ended. However, the trauma he experienced during the war followed him home. Emotionally devastated, he turned to alcohol and was even too drunk to recognize his grandfather, Francisco, his only remaining relative. Abel’s mother and older brother, Vidal, had already passed away when he was young, leaving him in the care of his grandfather. Francisco is respected within the community and is renowned as a skilled hunter. He is also a devoted participant in the village’s religious ceremonies. From a young age, Francisco instilled in Abel a strong sense of Native traditions and values. However, the war irreversibly altered Abel’s psyche, severing his connection to spiritual and physical wholeness. Returning home after the war was nostalgic for Abel, as memories of his childhood resurfaced. Still, he struggled to reconnect with his homeland and community.

Through the village priest, Father Olguin, Abel was introduced to Angela St. John, who employed him to cut wood at her house near the reservation. Fascinated by his animal-like qualities, Angela promised to help Abel leave the reservation and find work elsewhere. However, a series of unfortunate events ultimately led to Abel’s incarceration. After completing his sentence, he moved to Los Angeles, only to find himself eventually returning to his homeland. The novel is deceptively slender; however, it probes a wide range of themes. Among the most prominent is the exploration of the meaning of home, extending into questions of belonging and identity. The novel also examines humanity’s relationship with nature and its connection to our existence. Religion, tradition, and even the nature of storytelling itself are likewise explored by Momaday. Winner of the 1969 Pulitzer Prize, House Made of Dawn has certainly commanded my attention. It is no surprise that it is widely regarded as a hallmark of Native American literature—a seminal work that helped bring Native American literature into the mainstream.

From an unfamiliar name, my next read took me to a more familiar one. It has been a decade since I first encountered Margaret Atwood. She and her works are ubiquitous in the literary world, and her body of work is essential reading. My first novel by the highly heralded Canadian writer was Bodily Harm, which left only a faint impression on me. Thankfully, this initial experience did not preclude me from exploring her other works. I would eventually read some of her most recognized titles, including The Handmaid’s Tale and the Booker Prize–winning novels The Blind Assassin and The Testaments. At the start of the year, I listed Alias Grace as part of my 2025 Top 25 Reading List, and with it, I finally completed the list.

Alias Grace, which is also included in 1,001 Books You Must Read Before You Die, is the sixth novel by the acclaimed Canadian writer that I have read. The novel is inspired by the real-life story of Grace Marks, a poor Irish immigrant and servant in Canada. When the story begins in 1859, we learn that Grace is serving a life sentence. In 1843, she was convicted of the brutal murders of her employer, Thomas Kinnear, and his housekeeper, Nancy Montgomery. Another servant, James McDermott, was hanged. Still, mysteries surround the murders, prompting a committee—composed of gentlemen and ladies from the Methodist church and led by Reverend Verringer—to advocate for Grace’s pardon as part of their broader social reform efforts. They believed she was innocent. Unfortunately, their efforts proved futile, falling on deaf ears. The committee then enlisted Dr. Simon Jordan, a psychiatrist, to assist in proving Grace’s innocence. Grace claims she cannot remember the events of the day of the murders and exhibits symptoms of hysteria, hence Dr. Jordan’s involvement. The group hoped he would demonstrate that Grace was a hysteric rather than a murderess.

To understand the circumstances surrounding the case, Atwood transports readers into Grace’s past, although Dr. Jordan initially begins his inquiries by questioning her dreams. Grace proves evasive, prompting him to probe further into her life history. She grew up in Ireland before her family emigrated to Canada. Her mother died during the journey, leaving Grace and her siblings under the care of their alcoholic and abusive father. Upon arriving in Toronto, he forced Grace to find work. She eventually secured a position as a live-in servant in the home of an affluent family, where she befriended a maid named Mary Whitney. Grace’s narrative alternates with Dr. Jordan’s notes, written in the third-person point of view. This dual perspective allows readers to witness the story unfold from multiple angles. So, is Grace truly a murderess? Alias Grace surprises in its conclusion—I certainly did not anticipate the turn of events. Nevertheless, I am in awe of how Atwood weaves the tale. Throughout the novel, she probes familiar themes of female sexuality, memory, and gender dynamics, while also exploring power, class, justice, and, of course, the intricacies of storytelling itself. Alias Grace is another magnificent work from Atwood.

Rounding out this three-book stretch is Thomas Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49. Before I began perusing must-read lists, I had never come across the American writer, nor had I encountered any of his works. Although he is a literary titan, Pynchon has maintained a reclusive existence, and his public presence is meager at best. I suppose this only adds to his allure. Moreover, his works are frequently recommended and regularly appear on must-read lists, with several titles included in 1,001 Books You Must Read Before You Die. During the pandemic, I finally read my first Pynchon novel, Gravity’s Rainbow. However, it was only this year that I expanded my foray into his oeuvre. The Crying of Lot 49 is my fourth Pynchon novel.

Interestingly, I listed this novel as part of my 2025 Beat the Backlist Challenge—although I initially thought it was Inherent Vice that I had included. In the end, I read both novels, along with what I believed to be his latest work, Shadow Ticket. In any case, The Crying of Lot 49 differs from the other Pynchon novels I read this year. Originally published in 1966, it is, so far, the shortest of his works. The novel follows the fortunes of Oedipa Maas, a young, disgruntled housewife living in the fictional Northern California suburb of Kinneret-Among-the-Pines. At the start of the story, she receives a letter from Metzger, the lawyer of her recently deceased ex-boyfriend, Pierce Inverarity. Oedipa has been named executrix of Inverarity’s last will and testament. Inverarity was a wealthy businessman who virtually owned the Los Angeles suburb of San Narciso, leaving behind a vast estate of investments and real estate holdings. This revelation naturally baffles Oedipa, who last heard from her ex-boyfriend a year earlier. By this time, Oedipa has been married to Wendell “Mucho” Maas, a rudderless radio jockey and ephebophile. Their marriage, however, is lackluster. Oedipa soon meets Metzger, a strikingly handsome former child actor, setting the stage for the novel’s increasingly bizarre developments.

At this point, the story becomes even more intriguing—something I expected from Pynchon. Additional elements quickly emerge. For instance, Inverarity had ties to the American mafia and was allegedly attempting to sell the bones of forgotten U.S. World War II soldiers to a cigarette company for use as charcoal. This discovery prompts Oedipa to investigate further, drawing her into a labyrinth of conspiracy theories. In the process, she uncovers a centuries-old feud between two mail distribution companies. One is Thurn and Taxis, a real enterprise that operated from 1806 to 1867 and was the first private firm to distribute postal mail. As conspiracy gives way to paranoia, Oedipa struggles to rationalize what she has uncovered. In many ways, the novel underscores the human search for meaning while serving as a critique of the breakdown of communication in modern society. The exaggerated characters Oedipa encounters have much to say but little interest in genuine connection. As a result, Oedipa is unable to establish meaningful relationships, reinforcing the novel’s themes of alienation and isolation. Overall, The Crying of Lot 49 is another compelling and intellectually stimulating work from Pynchon.

What will you read next?