23 Things I Loved in 2023

another letter about the best things I read, saw, and listened to this year

Dear friends,

My goodness, it’s been ages—I’ve missed you! I feel the need to apologise for vanishing and then I have to remind myself that I’ve promised nothing but sporadic writing in the creation of Here/Hear. In any case, I hope you can forgive an extended pause. Since I last wrote, I enjoyed a blissful summer vacation, finished teaching another term, and obtained a visa to continue working abroad. Life moves, and swiftly at that.

I write to you now from the States, where I’m currently spending my winter break, soaking up the long mornings, the naps in the car, and the afternoons reading on the couch before I return to London for a new school term and the new year. I’m aware that I write to you on the 31st, a day that can be polarising as it ushers in another trip around the sun. And I get it. On one hand, the start of the new year is nothing more than another weekend gone by, but on the other, it’s a chance to begin completely anew. I try to find a balance between these two perspectives, realising that each day is an opportunity to start again but also regarding January itself as a collective pause, a reflective moment we share to take stock, to wonder aloud, to make change.

All of which is to say, here (and as I did last year), I wanted to reflect on my favourite bits of art/media, this list a small exercise in “taking stock” of what brought me joy and awe in the last year. My preamble could continue, but I’ll finish now and simply say I hope you enjoy—and that I’m grateful you’re here xo

BOOKS

There is a beautiful quote I read in Catherine Newman’s Waiting for Birdy (a terrific little book we should all also read) just this month about feeling “a little weepy and nostalgic... with something that's not quite happiness,” and I highlighted it because this year has had me drawn, again and again, to books that capture that exact sentiment, a type of love for each other and the world that escapes words. I have no complaints.

Darling by India Knight: I adore Nancy Mitford’s The Pursuit of Love, and yet—dare I say!—India Knight’s homage to the classic might do it one better. Her modern adaptation is a lesson in loving fully, deeply, and without hesitation, each character imbued with the spirit of their original inspiration but also the delightful new energy of a modern adaptation. I want to hug it and read it again and probably will.

Fight Night by Miriam Toews: No book is perfect and this I know, but Fight Night comes mighty darn close. In her multigenerational family tale, Miriam Toews flaunts a joyous sense of humour and an ear for witty dialogue, proving herself the skilled and magical writer we can only aspire to be (hyperbole, perhaps, but I stand by it). Add it to your shelf of books that explore what it means to be both a human and a good one.

Amy & Lan by Sadie Jones: Have you ever read a book that had you finish with a small sigh, swept up in its wonderfulness? That was me finishing Amy & Lan a few weeks ago, reluctant to let the young protagonists and best friends go. Amy and Lan’s narrative voices so effortlessly convey the wonderment of childhood that every minute spent with them on Frith, their families’ communal farm, is a treasure and a half.

Inciting Joy: Essays by Ross Gay: To live at the same time as Ross Gay! We are so lucky. I’ve already written about Inciting Joy—claimed it as “one of the best books I read this year”—and my opinions around it haven’t changed. Each essay is better than the last; strung together, they are a reminder that joy is in itself a right of which we are all worthy. (His 2023 release, The Book of (More) Delights, which I just had the pleasure of finishing this week, is just as good.)

The Vanderbeekers Ever After by Karina Yan Glaser: I could write a dissertation on my love for The Vanderbeekers series (one could say I’ve already started), but pardon me an additional mention. The last installment, The Vanderbeekers Ever After, came out this fall and it was everything I could ask for in a concluding book. It holds at its centre the radical but necessary act of showing up for one another; it also made me and my mom both cry. How’s that for a recommendation?

Saving Time: Discovering a Life Beyond the Clock by Jenny Odell: Jenny Odell and I are kindred spirits, a fact I knew from her fantastic How to Do Nothing and only affirmed reading her stand-out sophomore release, Saving Time. Less a contribution to the productivity genre than it is a sharp, widely-researched posthumanist and anti-capitalist manifesto, it was a book my soul needed and still needs.

THEATRE

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

I’m one to look for trends in my media consumption, and so it seems my love of the tenderhearted followed me to the theatre this past year. If my favourite books were of the sentimental sort, the theatre I most enjoyed similarly employed a swelling of emotion to make a point. And yet again! No complaints.

Operation Mincemeat (Fortune Theatre, London): I hate to admit it, but I’m sometimes sceptical of West End musicals, convinced that the majority of them exist only to make money with little regard for the actual story. Leave it to Operation Mincemeat, a musical comedy about a secret World War II operation (of all things!), to prove my cynicism wrong. Like the thousands of audience members before me and since, I loved every second.

Standing at the Sky’s Edge (National Theatre, London): Had you talked to me in February, I was likely playing the cast recording of Standing at the Sky’s Edge, a new musical inspired by the work of Richard Hawley, on repeat. I couldn’t get enough. The production makes a transfer to the West End in the spring, so we can all revel in the stunning vocals and heartwrenching book about a British housing estate across multiple decades (again: of all things!) once more. 

The Confessions (National Theatre, London): This is the second National Theatre production on the list, but had you also seen The Confessions this past fall, I think you would agree it’s for good reason: it was a masterclass in playwriting and performance alike. Add it to our list of art that portrays life in all its entangled human layers.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (Southwark Playhouse, London): Jethro Compton and Darren Clark’s musical adaptation of Benjamin Button is nothing short of superb. The only shame is that there is no original cast recording available so all I can offer you is a YouTube clip and my endorsement for when it undoubtedly (and rightfully) is revived once again.

For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When the Hue Gets Too Heavy (Apollo Theatre, London): I have no other words for Ryan Calais Camerone’s breakout play (inspired by Ntozake Shange’s brilliant choreopoem) other than tender. It returns to the West End this spring, and I hope all of us based in London are running, not walking, to grab a ticket to see it again.

The Nature of Forgetting (Shoreditch Town Hall, London): I learned this year of a marvellous festival called the London International Mime Festival. 2023 was its last year, but what a high it ended on, including in its line-up the phenomenal Theatre Re piece The Nature of Forgetting. Moving in its depiction of dementia, it reminded me that mime is actually pretty darn cool.

MOVIES

Scrapper

My consumption of things on the small screen was, to the dismay of my little sister, somewhat dismal, a case of there being too much to watch and too little time. But I frequented the cinema with delight; seeing a movie remained one of my favourite ways to spend an evening, a hobby I will no doubt continue into the new year.

Marcel the Shell with Shoes On: If there is a more Bella film out there than Marcel the Shell with Shoes On—the 2022 full-length mockumentary based on the short viral clips with the same character—I’ve yet to find it. Poignant and funny in equal measure, it is a testament to the power of kindness. I listen to “Peaceful Easy Feeling” and still tear up.

Theater Camp: For me, watching Theater Camp was like watching Fame: an experience of pure catharsis. There is an iconic scene in which an unqualified counsellor (played by equally iconic Ayo Edebiri) instructs the kids to act out the Kardashians using masks for lack of any better idea, and if that’s not sometimes the essence of my life as a drama teacher, I don’t know what is.

The Holdovers: I joined everyone and their mother in watching Alexander Paynes’ The Holdovers this holiday season, and I too joined everyone and their mother in finding so much to praise. The soundtrack! The lead performances! The cinematography! New England-born and a teacher myself, I’m probably biased, but I think it’s one of the best films to come out this year.

Scrapper: I am a sucker for advertising on the tube, apparently, as it was the posters in the Underground stations that led me to see Scrapper over the summer. I have no regrets. Like most art I fall for, it takes its young protagonist seriously in her grief, as well as her desire to be cared for. It’s a film that wears its heart on its sleeve, and I couldn’t love it more.

MUSIC

Sampha

I spent all of the summer unexpectedly in London, and I used a lot of that new free time to take walks and listen to albums in their entirety. Call it a simple pleasure. My favourites below are some of the particular standouts that emerged from that habit and have secured a healthy spot on my playlists in the time since.

The Brothers Gillespie’s The Merciful Road: My family lovingly teases me for my obsession with folk music, but I think it’s just a case of knowing what I like (hehe). Another way of saying that I’m not shocked but remain delighted to have discovered the music of the Brothers Gillespie this year. I saw them perform in October where they wished us all small blessings and I just wish I could say to them that their songs are one in return.

The Everything Now Soundtrack: I believe there are two types of people in the world: those who dig a television score and those who don’t. I’m part of the former, as evident by my love of Laura Mulva, Rupert Cross, and Theo Vidgen’s soundtrack for the Netflix series Everything Now. I haven’t seen the show and likely won’t get to it anytime soon, but the soundtrack has become a staple of my morning commute.

Sampha’s Lahai: I was counting down the weeks until the release of London-based singer Sampha’s second album (following the beautiful Process from 2017), but it was absolutely worth the wait. Listen to it—a distinctive blend of genre, soul and electronic melding into one—and you too will understand what I mean.

Kesha’s Gag Order: I’ve already mentioned Kesha’s fifth album in a previous newsletter, but I believe it’s worthy of a repeat suggestion. Clocking just under forty minutes, Gag Order is a short album but arguably, it’s one of Kesha’s best, showcasing her impressive vocals through lyrics that catch you (and your heart) off guard. I’ve listened to the whole thing again and again and again.

OTHER

Lazy Man’s Ratatouille, pictured on my kitchen table

To finish, a few wild cards that I couldn’t fit into the categories above.

Lazy Man’s Ratatouille: This recipe is called “Lazy Man’s Ratatouille” because it involves only five ingredients and takes about only five minutes of actual effort and let me tell you: it’s a dinner game-changer. I make it at least once a week, often for guests, and it’s like swaddling yourself in a blanket but in dish form. I can’t recommend it more highly.

The White Pages: One of the gems to regularly arrive in my inbox is author and organiser Garrett Bucks’ newsletter, The White Pages. His thoughtful weekly essays circulate a myriad of topics but are all housed under his desire to critically interrogate his (and, likewise, my) whiteness and his firm belief that we are capable of building a better world. To my white friends, especially, it’s absolutely worth subscribing to.

“Working with Wood, and the Meaning of Life”: Finally, I’ve proclaimed how much I’ve enjoyed the podcast On Being before. This year had me listening regularly while cooking meals, but I think my favourite episode would have to be the warm and introspective interview with actor Nick Offerman that aired in February. It’s a lovely collection of wisdom.

And that brings us to the end! I hope my rambles proved a bit of fun. As ever, I’m all ears for recommendations of your own. Are there favourite books of yours that escaped my attention? Films? Albums? Tell me them all.

It’s also worth saying: art can provide solace and an escape, yes, but more and more, I’m convinced that we need art as a means of dreaming and seeing and creating a different (and more compassionate) way of being in the world—and that is a powerful and radical act indeed. Let us nourish that vision together in the new year. I have high hopes for it.

With much love,
Bella

P.S. I’ve also put together a short list of my favourite London recommendations, which you can reference anytime on the Here/Hear home page should you ever find yourself across the pond and in need of a good bookstore, garden, museum, restaurant, etc., etc. I’ll add to it as the ideas come!