The Ephemeric

This piece of non-fiction caught my attention due to the strong reviews and a premise to explore the mechanics of colonising another world, not in a sci-fi way, but in a very grounded, real-life context. How would people live, how would they eat, sleep, and maintain social relations? How would society function? The kind of interesting, practical questions that rarely get asked in sci-fi because they don't make for gripping fiction. 

However, the book’s breadth is also its weakness. Zubrin’s coverage can feel overwhelming and often shifts abruptly between topics, sometimes at the expense of depth or critical balance. Digressions into speculative sociology, governance, or cultural norms sometimes distract more than they illuminate, and the book doesn’t grapple enough with the political, financial, and logistical realities that will determine whether such a future is feasible.

It all comes back to the simple fact: no one really has the answers to these questions. If we did, we'd have done it already. Zubrin's take is intellectually interesting, but ultimately holds no more water than anyone else's. 

I had high hopes for this one. A highly anticipated debut novel that had drawn comparisons (perhaps unhelpfully in retrospect) with authors like Taylor Jenkins Reid. The Three Lives of Cate Kay weaves an intriguing story about identity, reinvention, and the cost of running from your past. The premise is compelling enough: an elusive bestselling author finally revealing her true self after decades of hiding, a story that affords plenty of drama, showbiz glamour, and twists.

That said, the novel doesn’t quite deliver on its promise. The narrative occasionally feels bogged down in backstory, predominantly focusing on the less interesting aspects of the plot with segments that drag and undercut momentum. Some character decisions rely on miscommunication or contrivance more than believable psychology, which can strain the reader’s suspension of disbelief. While there are moments of real emotional insight, they are unevenly distributed across the book, making the overall experience thoughtful but ultimately uneven.

A bit of a change of pace here. David Squires is a cartoonist for the Guardian, and kind of a national treasure. His strips cover primarily the sporting world with elements of politics and current events, with a remarkable combination of wit and insight. His work includes strips as silly as re-imagining José Mourinho as a stroppy teenager (Emourinho), to a hard-hitting deep dive on the labour conditions in the run up to the 2022 World Cup in Qatar. Then there is my personal favourite on Bobby Charlton and the memory of the Munich air disaster, which might genuinely move you to tears. 

Chaos in the Box is a collection of his work, with added commentary from the artist himself. The work is brilliant, of course, and the commentary provides fascinating insight as to the process and thinking that goes into what Squires does. I only wish there was a little more of it. The bulk of this book is just a reprint of the comic strips, with the additional writing ultimately a fairly small number of pages. A great read, well worth your time, nevertheless.

On paper, The Antidote sounds like a winner. Blending Dust Bowl-era historical fiction with elements of magical realism in a way that feels both ambitious and symbolic. Set in a struggling Nebraska town during the 1930s drought, the novel weaves together multiple narrators: a prairie witch who stores townspeople’s memories, a determined young basketball player, a mysteriously fertile farmer, and a New Deal photographer with a time-bending camera, while exploring themes of memory, trauma, and historical erasure.

However, the book’s impressive scope can also work against it. With numerous plot threads, shifting viewpoints, and big thematic ambitions, the narrative sometimes feels unfocused and overstuffed, with certain subplot resolutions feeling abrupt or underdeveloped. It feels like each tale is a tool to touch on the themes and political points of the book, rather than a compelling and fully structured story in its own right. Storytelling through vignettes can work. Storytelling as a way of illustrating a central thesis can work. But the story itself should be complete and interesting, not just a means to say something.

Another one that sounded great on paper. The debut novel of Silvia Park, Luminous tells the story of three estranged siblings, children of a robotics pioneer, against the backdrop of a murder investigation in a near-future unified Korea. The setting is fresh and fascinating, and the subject matter both timely and ripe for a good sci-fi story, but unfortunately it rarely makes the most of its potential.

At times the pacing feels uneven, and the story tries to juggle many themes and subplots, which can make the narrative feel cluttered and less focused than it could be. The ideas themselves are clever, but have been done better by other authors, and while the setting is unique with tons of potential, it barely ends up actually featuring in the novel and doesn't affect the plot or tie into the themes in any satisfying way. Most disappointingly, the writing quality isn't really all that great, with the occasional cringey cliche description, or over-explained joke that doesn't really land. 

Overall, Luminous is a thought-provoking and imaginative read with plenty of compelling material, but its ambition sometimes outstrips its execution.

A new Taylor Jenkins Reid novel is always a cause for excitement. Atmosphere is a thrilling, emotionally rich novel that follows the great TJR playbook of blending historical fiction (in this case set against the backdrop of NASA's early Space Shuttle era) with intimate character work. The novel follows a group of trainee astronauts, the relationships they form with one another, and tests the limits of that bond when forced into making life or death decisions.

I love TJR and I also love things relating to space, so in theory this novel should be like a new level of nirvana for me. But while I very much liked this novel, I have to say I found it less compelling than some of her other work. Part of this comes down to the decisions in the narrative structure. Atmosphere starts with a space mission gone awry, and then basically drags that one scene out over the entire novel, with the bulk of the text instead focusing on flashbacks depicting the events that led up to that moment. It just about works, but the stark drop after that opening chapter does create these pacing issues where part of you is always itching to get back to the present day action, instead of really immersing yourself into the story. 

Take nothing away from it, though. The story is excellent and thought-provoking, the characters as rich and compelling as one might hope, and the action is gripping, page-turning stuff, albeit slightly hampered by the prolonged pacing. Atmosphere is a great read, even if it does end up feeling a bit like potential unfulfilled.

My Friends is a compelling piece of work from NYT best-selling author Fredrik Backman. Opening with vandalism at an art gallery, a frantic escape, and the development of an unlikely friendship. This is a heartfelt, character-driven novel about the lasting bonds formed between a group of teenagers who find solace and joy in each other amid difficult home lives, and how that bond later ripples into a stranger’s life decades later. Backman’s warm, witty prose and his ability to render friendship, grief, and resilience with emotional clarity make many scenes genuinely moving, and his explorations of art, loyalty, and memory give the story a strong thematic core.

However, the book doesn’t entirely avoid the familiar pitfalls of its genre: some plot threads feel unevenly developed, the tone swings between light and heavy in ways that can undercut momentum, and the emotional payoff isn’t as consistently satisfying as it could be. For readers who enjoy slice-of-life literary fiction with depth and feeling, it’s a worthwhile and affecting read, even if it doesn’t land as powerfully as some of Backman’s best work.

Getting back to non-fiction, Charles Fairchild’s Since I Left You is one for the music-lovers out there. A thoughtful and engaging exploration of The Avalanches’ landmark debut album, placing it into its broader historical, technological, and cultural contexts. Fairchild digs into how the record’s sample-based innovation reflected and anticipated shifts in popular music, and his writing gives real insight into what made the music resonate at the turn of the millennium.

This work does exactly what it says on the tin, and if you are a fan of the album, or of music and the music industry itself, then this will make for a very satisfying read. It is a niche piece of writing though, and its relatively narrow focus and emphasis on context over narrative can make it feel more like a cultural study than a standalone appreciation of the music, and some readers may wish for more personal reflection or broader thematic payoff.

Overall, Fairchild’s book is an informative, often rewarding read for fans of the album. Insightful and well-researched, though occasionally too specialized to fully captivate a general audience.

This one was recommended to me as a read on what it means to be a parent in this day and age, and a re-thinking of traditional modes of raising a child. The book aims to rethink parenting from the inside out by encouraging adults to reflect on their own childhoods, validate emotions, and build deeper connections with their children rather than relying on traditional “fix-it” parenting tactics. 

But while there's some good stuff in here, there are also some things that just aren't borne out by the general expert consensus, and in particular her views on sleep-training are considered quite controversial. As with most things in life, it's about balance, and this book doesn't really do a good job of acknowledging that.

In general, any time you read something written by someone who tells you "everyone else is wrong, this is how you should do things" you should always be very skeptical, especially when presented in a non-bespoke, one-size-fits-all format like a book. One person's opinion is just that. Expert consensus exists for a reason. Everyone's situation is different.

Sticking with a theme here, we have Solid Starts. Solid Starts is based on the emerging view that, actually, young children can be exposed to solid food at a much younger age, and in fact may benefit from doing so. Exploring food at an earlier age, even if just to play with it, hold it, lick it, rather than actually eating, may be associated with being a less picky eater later in life, establish a healthy early relationship with food, and even reduce the risk of choking by developing familiarity. The book very meticulously talks you through the theory behind the idea, the arguments for it, and provides guidance for how to do this safely.

There's a few issues here that need to be acknowledged. Solid Starts isn't just a book, it is a company, and they have an app. Of course they are going to present a one-sided view of the discussion, and indeed the book does often feel like glorified marketing for the app. But the ideas explored here are actually pretty good. The logic is reasonable, the book is thoroughly researched and sourced, with a great deal of credible expert opinion and evidence-based data coalescing around many of these ideas, which you can find from outside research. So while certainly you need to think objectively and consider other viewpoints, there does seem to be some real merit here, and personally I am a fan of the idea.

So here we are, decades after The Northern Lights/Golden Compass first hit bookshelves, and Philip Pullman's long awaited sequel trilogy finally draws to a close, and... it is a bitter disappointment. The original trilogy is an iconic masterwork, an indelible piece of youth literature with profound intellectual depth and imagery. But as good as it was, that original trilogy left a generation of readers with a sharp lack of emotional closure. Providing this closure was, for many, the mission statement of this sequel trilogy. But after a long, meandering three books, I'm not sure it ever really justified its existence.

The sequel trilogy is essentially about Lyra and Pan, estranged from the events of the first trilogy, and how they reconcile with one another. Did that really require three books, the last of which is almost 700 pages long? I'm not so sure. It might have been justified if there were meaningful larger world-lore implications, or a revisiting to Will's world, or just something that expanded the story, but there really isn't. Instead what we get are some philosophical musings that don't really make much sense, some story threads that are hinted at and then never developed, and a whole lot of filler that really adds nothing. Yet somehow despite the length of this volume, the ending still manages to feel rushed. Look, it's not all bad. Some bits are entertaining, the quality of the writing is excellent throughout, but try and summarise the key plot points across these three books, and you could probably do so in one page. Try doing the same for the (actually much shorter) original trilogy and see the difference. 

Closing out the year on a high note. This Way Up is a delightfully quirky dive into the weird and wonderful world of cartography (which is actually way more interesting than it sounds), brought to life with the same dry humour and infectious enthusiasm that made the author's Map Men YouTube series a hit. Packed with fascinating anecdotes about famously flawed maps; from missing countries to implausible borders and bizarre misprints; the book balances historical insight and geography trivia with genuinely laugh-out-loud moments. 

Even if the subject matter seems dry or uninteresting to you, it's the with and humour with which it is delivered that makes this such an excellent read (as indeed is the case with the YouTube channel). Foreman is a truly impressive talent who deserves a wider audience, and perhaps this is the first step. Whether you’re a seasoned map geek or just “map-curious,” there’s a surprising amount to learn and enjoy in each chapter.

So there it is. Twelve months in books. Can I keep it going another year? You bet, because reading is awesome.