There’s Always This Year was an incredible piece of literature, sports writing and an essay all in one, and I am so here for it. Abdurraqib is one of this generations most incredible artists. His prose shines beautifully in this book, which complements well his ability to immerse the reader inside of a basketball game.

Hanif is one of the greatest nonfiction writers right now. His ability to connect the person moments with larger themes in unmatched. I think this is his most personal book yet and I am eager to recommend it to patrons

Thanks for the publisher for this title, I had to pause so many times to take notes and just breathe. Hanif is one of the great ones. We are lucky to have him in Columbus. He writes from the heart and gives so much of himself in every essay and poem.

"If I hadn't made it clear there, this is all about the good fortune of who gets to make it out of somewhere and who doesn't."

"You are going to have to catch me. You are going to have to climb, and I know you want no part of the world this high up. Find the point where you are unkillable and jump toward it if you can."

Hanif Abdurraqib's book is a sort of essays, sort of poems, on what makes watching sports magical.
With a countdown clock running, we reminisce on our dreams. In sports, in basketball, miracles can happen. We see them in the big games, the come-from-behind game-winning buzzer-beater shot. But it is the miracles on the small court that can stay with us. This magical game at your high school or pickup game—something unbelievable that will never show up on a television set but will be orally recounted and remembered for generations—stories made legend.

Hanif weaves this tale of legends and myths: guys who had a miraculous game but never made it out, a team that was unkillable for a season and then quietly disappeared, a season of bad-luck teams suddenly becoming champions, that feeling near midseason when you look at your fellow fans and think this might be our year—all wonderfully captured. Of course, so much of this is about Ohio, about getting out and making it big. It is about watching the Cleveland Cavaliers and seeing something magical come together, if even for a few moments. This book is one of my favorite this year.

Favorite Passages:

But please believe me and my boys made up handshakes that were just ours, ones where we would slap hands and then make new, shared designs out of our bent fingers, pulled back and punctuated with a snap. We would break them out before parting ways at the bus stop to go to our separate schools, and break them out again upon our return at the end of the day. The series of moves was quick, but still slow enough to linger. Rarely are these motions talked about as the motions of love, and since we are talking about our loves over our enemies, lord knows I will take whatever I can to be in the presence of my people. To have a secret that is just ours, played out through some quiet and invented choreography. A touch between us that lingers just long enough to know we've put some work into our love for each other. We've made something that no one outside can get through.

“…you are going to have to catch me. You are going to have to climb, and I know you want no parts of the world this high up. Find the point where you are unkillable and jump toward it if you can. “

When he started at one end of Market Square Arena in Indianapolis and ran, catapulting himself from the free-throw line (yes, the actual free-throw line!) and remaining, suspended and extended, for what feels, even now, like a glorious hour. Your finest hour. The hour you've dreamed of living again ever since the final grains of it kissed the mountain of sand at the bottom of the hourglass. Have you ever been in the air so long that your feet begin to fall in love with the new familiar, walking along some invisible surface that is surely there, that must be, as there is no other way to describe what miracle keeps you afloat? How long have you been suspended in a place that loves you with the same ferocity and freedom as the ground might, as the grave might, as a heaven that lets you walk in drowning in gold might?

If we don't talk about what we do beyond the frantic moments of what we do, then we can convince ourselves that there is a newness to each clumsy encounter. That we're mostly strangers, drifting toward each other, desiring only touch and nothing else. And in the hour that is our hour, a window opens and we can breathe out all the sad stuff. Find a closet for our tapestry of aches. Both of our mothers had died, which might bond us in another world, if we were considering falling in love and not simply pouring ourselves into what would otherwise be vast, lonely gaps of living.

Your ball is your ball, and depending on how you and your folks are livin', you might not see a new one for a while. And so, of course, praise to the person who made a way with a bald rock, and a little path of concrete that was their concrete, and a rusted rim with no net. Those be the noblest of hoopers. The ones who, back then, you had to keep an eye on. Cuz they've done all the hard shit already. Once they get a little bit of a grip on something new, it's lights out.

Yes Lord, I am thankful today again for every reminder of how I have outlived my worst imagination. I will walk slowly through the garden of all that could have killed me but didn’t.

The people I trust most understand a love like that, understand it even if the money from the record deal got them out of a place, or if ball got them out of a place. Call it war, call it whatever you want. You wouldn't know what to do with your face turned toward the blaring dawn, having survived another handful of hours that someone didn't want you to. There is no language I can find for the affection of repeated survival. To know you haven't been caught just yet. That with some luck, you never will be

If things have gone wrong enough for a long time, anyone can become a god.

With enough repetition, anything can become a religion. It doesn’t matter if it works or not, it simply matters that a person returns.

There are things we know about cities—the ones we live in, the ones we visit, the ones that seem like ours during the right run of hours. But this story ends in an act of forgetting. At least for now, in this moment. Which, I must tell you, is almost over. It was a delight to drink from this dream, but know, the bottom of the glass, tilted to our mouths, is visible enough to offer a reflection. Hold whatever sweetness you can in your mouth for a little longer. Ignore the glass, dropped to the floor, fractured into an army of shards. This is how we begin the other story.

to be nothing but rage I know this to be what comes after swinging wild punches at the air and imagining the faces of your worst demons the cops the politicians who call the places you love war zones the helicopters that won't let you sleep that claw through the walls and wake up elders and children and goddamn I remember at my feet that blood-stained concrete just split right in half and opened up and I want a whole city underground if it does not love my people I want to bury the new condo developments instead of my people I want to bury the craft breweries and the barcades and the mixed-use helltowers instead of my people I want the statues melted down I want the mothers of murdered children to do it I want the heat to rise from a statue's vanishing and last for ten summers I don't want apologies anymore no not this time I want the mayor to walk through a place he called a war zone at night I want people to get real honest with themselves about what war actually is I want the schools to have heat I want the schools to have air I want the riot gear thrown in the river the river that was blue when I was a boy but now leaves brown streaks as it runs away from the city I want the brown river to carry the riot gear to some other hell and I want the babies to stop passing out in school do you hear me I want a whole city under the ground some days but I at least want the rain I at least want something to wash the blood away so that no one who loved him has to and somewhere beyond the blood what I don't remember is

If I hadn’t made it clear there, this is all about the good fortune of who gets to make it out of somewhere and who doesn’t.

Hanif Abdurraqib is one of our times greatest writers and this collection of essays is no different.

Beautiful. Moving. Heartbreaking.

4.5 lovely, poetic stars

I am Not a basketball fan. (I especially detest the squeak of the shoes on the floor.) But I did love There’s Always this Year by Hanif Abdurraqib. The author tells his story through his fascination with basketball, particularly Ohio basketball.

The essays touch on winning and losing, homelessness and hope, family and friends, hope, racism, hair, aging, prison, faith, hope, championships and losses, oh, yeah, did I mention basketball? I could relate to Hanif’s musings despite our differences and me not being a basketball fan. He puts things eloquently, but never pretentiously.

I love that each ‘quarter’ of the book counts down the seconds and includes a time-out. Clever.

“Yes, praise be to the underdogs and those who worship in the church of slim chances.” The writing can be very serious, speaking of black men murdered by law enforcement officers. The fabulous writing is vivid and visual. I could see the action along with the rhythmic prose.

Thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for providing an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.

this was my first hanif book and i will say it def lives up to the hype. the authors words are like poetry. this book looks like it's about basketball but it's really about grief,. I hope to maybe reread this with some friends one day. i think it would make for a great book club discussion.

There is really just no one quite like Hanif Abdurraqib. In what is probably his most personal work, Abdurraqib tells the story of a city, of a basketball team, of an icon in Lebron James. But even more so than a story about basketball, There’s Always This Year weaves together James’ career and Hanif’s upbringing in Columbus - two black men from Ohio who always wanted to fly.

The writing in this is exceptional, Hanif evokes so many emotions as he winds through both his and James’ trials and tribulations. It’s packed with solemn reflections on being black in America, nostalgia for home and for the past, and so much heart it leaps off the pages.

I’ve said it before, I would read Abdurraqib’s grocery list. I also think we should all aspire to love something as much as Hanif Abdurraqib loves Ohio, a love story truly for the ages.

Hanif Abdurraqib reflects on his childhood in 1990s Columbus, Ohio, exploring basketball's cultural significance and the complexities of success, role models, and personal storytelling. Through lyrical prose, he weaves themes of joy, pain, and hope, challenging readers to rethink their perspectives on culture and identity.

As a kid who grew up loving and playing basketball, I was really interested in this memoir. I received a digital copy from NetGalley and the publisher for review, and I paired it with the audio. All thoughts are my own.

There is nothing like listening to someone tell their story. The reflections hit harder, my interest is greater, and the story feels more real. I loved how this story was told, relating it to LeBron James and other basketball stars. The prose in this book is *chef’s kiss* amazing. There were times I listened to a section more than once. The last 10% was really impactful. I will definitely revisit this one in the future.

Hanif is an incredible storyteller. I felt for him, when he won and when he lost. Joy and pain, love and sadness, luck and hard work. There’s so much valuable information here.

Fully recommend and would absolutely pair a physical or digital book with the audiobook for maximum impact.

You might know Hanif Abdurraqib for his poetry, or perhaps for his 2017 bestselling essay collection, They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us, named book of the year by over eight outlets, including BuzzFeed, NPR, and CBC. You might also know him for his beloved music criticism podcast, Object of Sound. Or you might know Hanif Abdurraqib, as some may have first encountered him, for a viral image of him presenting on Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Your Type.”

In There’s Always This Year, Abdurraqib turns his attention from the radio to the courts, chronicling the era of basketball he grew up alongside of in Columbus, Ohio. The book is equal parts sensitive personal memoir and Homeric ode to Ohio’s legends, both triumphant and defeated: LeBron James, Estaban Weaver, Kyrie Irving, among others. Throughout these historic highs and lows, Abdurraqib weaves meditations on precarity and fantasy, on homecomings and exits, on the metaphorical and material ways a sport can hold a neighbourhood together.

Because it is Abdurraqib, the text is romantic, guided by feeling over fanatical statistics. He finds intimacy as easily in enmity as comradery, and it’s his palpable adoration—for the game, for his friends, for his heroes, and for his home—that carries readers from page to page. Fans of basketball will, no doubt, revel in his nuanced and impassioned relationship to the sport, but those unfamiliar with layups and free throws will be just as compelled by his generous, genius cultural criticism.

Intimacy, Abdurraqib argues, is rooted in attention, and what a gift it is to be scrutinized by this poet-essayist, to be his subject. Innovative and illuminating, There’s Always This Year is a love letter in the fullest sense of the term.

When Hanif announced this book I was like "look I don't know anything about basketball but I do know that Hanif Abdurraqib is one of the greatest writers of our time" and so l ordered it. Then I attended a few events around New York where he talked about this book and it became very clear that you don't need to understand basketball to get this book because it's about place & grief & devotion-themes were all familiar with one way or another.

This book was brilliant and also deeply romantic. It's clear Hanif is in love with Columbus and his idea of ascension is not a sort of ascension in which you leave the place you're from behind in pursuit of your dreams but an ascension in which your dreams can be reached within the place you're from because it is a place you love and more importantly-it loves you back.

How blessed we are to live at the same time as Hanif, someone who has the ability to take all the jumbled up feelings many of us have and turn them into words and sentences and paragraphs and entire novels that make you feel known.

I'm not a particular fan of basketball, but in Abdurraqib’s hands, I couldn’t get enough of that world. From Columbus, Ohio to LeBron James this is an inventive, wide-ranging work. Abdurraqib shares fascinating anecdotes and details about the game, and uses the ball itself as a gateway to explore the passage of time, the fragility of life, and the joy of rooting for the underdog. I was so impressed with this author's outstanding storytelling and will absolutely be exploring his backlist.

A fascinating memoir on basketball and life and the intersection of the two. Masterfully written, and the beauty of the prose draws you deeper and deeper into the story.

Really insightful book about class, basketball, and the authors experiences with religion as well. I haven’t thought about sports in this way before. The author has a singular voice and appreciated learning about his experiences

I believe Hanif Abdurraqib cannot write a bad book. You don’t have your know anything about basketball to enjoy his lyrical storytelling. His stories bring me to tears every time, both happy and sad. He had a way of connecting the games to his experiences and moments in time that just make sense.

Hanif has done it again. I absolutely adore his writing and even though I am not a basketball fan, his essays about it were so great and wide-reaching outside of the sports world

Hanif is a genius and I will read anything he writes. I didn't have reading a book about basketball on my 2024 bingo card but this will be a fav of the year for sure!

There's Always This Year
By Hanif Abdurraqib

This book is a paean to basketball and black men. It speaks to the writer's love affair with the sport – and such stars as Michael Jordan and the Fab Five at Michigan in the 1990s.

While most of this book was outside my area of interest, the author did make one statement that resonated: "So much of the machinery of race-and/or culture-driven fear relies on who is willing to be convinced of what."

For fans of basketball and fans of memoirs, especially memoirs about basketball, "There's Always This Year" is the book for you. Set mainly in Columbus, Ohio, Hanif Abdurraqib wrote about lyrical, poetic in style book about his reflections on life and basketball. Abdurraqib narrates the ups and downs of his life alongside the highs and lows of his city's basketball team, the Cleveland Cavaliers. I'm not a huge sports fan, but his fanaticism for basketball, from high school games to the big leagues, inspired me to pay closer attention to how sports underscores the culture of where I live. Sometimes it seems that Abdurraqib is rambling, but then he pulls the thread through the story he is telling to emphasize his life's meaning, especially one shaped so deeply by Columbus. I really liked the book and think you will too!

I've never been disappointed by a Hanif Abdurraqib book and this one is no exception. As someone who would not consider themselves a basketball fan, I found a lot to relate to because although the main theme here is baseball there are also looks at life lessons, pop culture, and more. This would be a GREAT book to recommend to baseball fans but it would also make a good recommendation for anyone who is a fan of cultural critique or nostalgia.