2025 By The Books

In 2025, I read a lot of good books. And I just read a lot: 57 books total, nearly as many as in 2024, which was my highest count in a decade. I continue trying to squeeze as many books as possible into my life, while also trying to accept that so many more will have to go unread. My reading selections for the year shifted back toward new releases, with more than half of what I read published in 2025, and most of the rest from the previous few years.

I've kept up my practice of writing about my impressions to share via Goodreads and my monthly reading recaps, even though more books to review means more investment of time that could be spent reading. (Or, you know, writing my own novel.) For me, part of the joy of reading is the delight I get from reflecting on the books, getting analytical, and discussing stories with other people.

Reflecting on 2025, certain reading experiences stand out. I started the year with A HALF-BUILT GARDEN by Ruthanna Emrys (from my January recap), a story that's optimistic about people working together in difficult times. The novel is set in a future where humanity has made some progress against the damage of climate change, and the arrival of aliens creates new problems to solve. I love science fiction that succeeds at both building out ideas on an ambitious scale and focusing in on effectively drawn characters. I carried the inspiration and hope of this book through the rest of the year.

Another favorite, THE STRANGE CASE OF JANE O. by Karen Thompson Walker (March), illustrates a different type of speculative fiction I love, one where there's a slipperiness that resists categorization. In this novel, a psychiatrist presents his account of treating a patient with an unusual mind who is troubled by experiences she can't explain. I found a deep pleasure in the careful unfolding of the plot and the characters' investigation of the intriguing strangeness.

Many of the books I read in 2025 fall between and across multiple genres. I've become a big fan of well-detailed historical fiction that also breaks away from the bonds of reality, and the year's best example is THE BUFFALO HUNTER HUNTER by Stephen Graham Jones (also March). On the Montana frontier in 1912, a white pastor hears the confession of an Indian man who appears too young to relate firsthand the decades of his people's suffering that he's witnessed. The novel combines real and supernatural horrors in a viscerally gross but engrossing story.

As it happens, I read a second fascinating book with a unique, genre-bending approach to the shameful history of racial violence in America. THE TREES by Percival Everett (September) is a comedic mystery horror with an over-the-top, page-turning plot involving the victims and perpetrators of lynchings.

Several more of my top reads mix supernatural elements with the emotional stories of characters excavating family and personal histories. In LESSONS IN MAGIC AND DISASTER by Charlie Jane Anders (October), a witch tries to help her mother emerge from a long period of mourning by sharing the secrets of magic, a plan that goes badly when her unpredictable mother turns out to be scarily good at casting spells. CURSED DAUGHTERS by Oyinkan Braithwaite (November) is a twisty family drama about generations of women who live under a curse, and the daughter who everyone says is a reincarnation of her doomed aunt. In THE UNVEILING by Quan Barry (also November), a kayaking excursion sets out from an Antarctic cruise ship, and things go horrifically wrong, especially for the main character, who isn't always sure what's real in the best of circumstances.

Two more great books from 2025 play around with genre by using inventive formats and featuring characters who are fans and creators of fiction. METALLIC REALMS by Lincoln Michel (August) masquerades as a volume of annotated science fiction stories, with chapters of commentary that provide context and plot about the writers. The novel's protagonist is the compiler of this work, a fan who takes himself and his subject far too seriously. In A/S/L by Jeanne Thornton (July), three teens meet online in 1998 through a shared interest in playing and developing ASCII art fantasy games, as well as experimenting with identity and gender. By 2016, they've lost touch, but they're pulled back into each other's orbits in a story that develops with intriguing narrative shifts, including sections of IRC text chat and email.

I did also read and love some novels that remain firmly in the real world. The main character of FONSECA by Jessica Francis Kane (August) is the real author Penelope Fitzgerald, and this novel imagines the events of an actual 1952 trip she took to Mexico with her young son in hopes that the journey would pay off financially. THE GREAT BELIEVERS by Rebecca Makkai (November), another work of historical fiction, concentrates on the AIDS crisis in Chicago, following characters from the gay community in the 1980s and from among the survivors decades later. And in the tightly-plotted WOODWORKING by Emily St. James (March), a high school teacher in South Dakota comes out as trans to the only other trans woman she knows, one of her teenage students, and an uneasy mentorship begins.

As always, my reading for the year was almost entirely fiction, but the few exceptions were all outstanding. ONE DAY, EVERYONE WILL HAVE ALWAYS BEEN AGAINST THIS by Omar El Akkad and BEING JEWISH AFTER THE DESTRUCTION OF GAZA: A RECKONING by Peter Beinart (both June) are two powerful books about not looking away from the death and devastation in Gaza. Both take a long view of history and have much to say about facing the reality of violence and oppression in the world.

The other work of nonfiction I read was THE LIONS OF WINTER: SURVIVAL AND SACRIFICE ON MOUNT WASHINGTON by Ty Gagne (September), the harrowing account of a 1982 search and rescue mission for lost climbers that led to the death of a rescuer. Finally, I ended the year with poetry, HOW TO COMMUNICATE by John Lee Clark (December), an excellent collection by a DeafBlind poet and historian with the theme of communication, including barriers and innovations.

I hope there's something in my list of favorites to catch your interest, and I hope we all find many more good books to read in 2026!

December Reading Recap

I closed out the year with a poetry collection in addition to the usual assortment of novels. In my next post, I'll take a look back at my reading year as a whole.

→ HOW TO COMMUNICATE by John Lee Clark: This excellent collection of poetry includes a range of styles and subjects, but the theme of communication remains prominent. Clark is a DeafBlind poet and historian who is active in the Protactile movement, so his perspective on communication includes many personal and historical barriers as well as innovations. He writes about these in ways that are often emotional and just as often quite funny. "On My Return from a Business Trip" and "Goldilocks in Denial" are both good examples of Clark's insightful humor.

I really liked this collection. I found the ideas more accessible than poetry on average, and I recognized and appreciated that occasional meanings were not fully accessible because I don't know Braille, Protactile, etc. I was glad to have some concepts from these introduced, and to receive an introduction to DeafBlind history. The book prompted me to do additional reading on assorted subjects, but that homework isn't required to enjoy these poems.

→ FLUX by Jinwoo Chong is a disorienting book to dive into without knowing anything, as I did, but that's part of what made the experience fun for me, so I won't reveal too much. The novel opens with a first person narrator (unnamed for a while) addressing a fictional character who's loomed large in his mind since childhood, a detective from an old TV show. His love for the series has been recently complicated by disturbing revelations about the actor who portrayed the character, making him reexamine the show's other problematic aspects. These issues of celebrity and fandom are explored throughout FLUX, but the plot that eventually emerges is about something else entirely. The narrator's uninspiring but stable job at a magazine is yanked away when the company is acquired, and his day only gets worse from there. Then a second narrative thread adds a science fictional layer to the story and increases the mystery of what's going on.

I was fascinated by all the storylines of this novel and enjoyed trying to understand how everything fit together. Many pieces click in satisfying ways by the end, but much is also left unexplained. While I would have preferred a little more clarity, particularly on a couple of events that seemed to be leading to reveals that never came, I was generally okay just soaking in Chong's engrossing story world. A major current of grief runs through the novel, leading to some emotionally affecting scenes. I recommend this to readers who are up for these challenges and interested in unusual science fiction, especially stories that play with time.

→ CHANGING PLANES by Ursula K. Le Guin is a set of travelogues about imagined worlds that lets Le Guin focus on the anthropological details she's so good at. The book is organized around the premise that while stuck in the misery of an Earth-bound airport, it's possible for travelers to pass the time by changing planes of existence and visiting other realities. Each chapter focuses on a particular plane (a planet, basically) and the cultures of its generally humanoid inhabitants. Usually one or a few characters emerge, along with a bit of plot, but these are less stories than well-presented bits of worldbuilding.

I'm a big fan of Le Guin's invented cultures, and I enjoyed this collection and its mix of tones. Most of the chapters contain some humor, and many tackle dark subjects, often together. For example, "Great Joy" concerns a plane developed with resorts themed around holidays popular among American Earthlings, then considers the native population pressed into service of this enterprise. Some sections are sort of thought experiments about how a type of society might function, like in "The Silence of the Asonu," where people possess a spoken language but rarely utter it past childhood. My favorite was "Seasons of the Ansarac," which describes a culture with a distinctive migratory life cycle and brings it to life in evocative detail.

→ MIDDLE SPOON by Alejandro Varela unfolds as a series of emails the main character is writing but not sending to his ex-boyfriend, Ben, in an attempt to process the heartache of their breakup. The two men were involved for about a year, and they were deeply in love. But Ben ended things because the narrator is also in a loving but open marriage with his husband of 20 years, and Ben reached the difficult decision that being part of a polyamorous relationship couldn't work for him. So the heartbroken narrator writes email after unsent email about his grief and his inability to move past it, thinking back on the relationship and describing how he's getting through his days. He shares his heartbreak with his very patient husband and his increasingly less patient friends, as well as his two therapists (who he keeps secret from each other!). Occasionally he switches things up to complain instead about systemic failures of entities like the United States health care system, making points that are valid while still kind of trying everyone's patience. And that's about all that happens.

I expected something different when I started this book, imagining from the title and marketing that it would focus on a poly relationship occurring, rather than not occurring. Then I expected something else different as I read and imagined several shifts that might transpire, rather than nothing much really changing within the span of the story. I often didn't have a clear sense of when I was meant to be sympathetic to the narrator and when I was meant to find him ridiculous, which frustrated me. There's some interesting material over the course this novel, but I was mostly disappointed to not get any of the other versions of the story that I imagined.

→ THE PARIS EXPRESS by Emma Donoghue: A train leaves Granville on the coast of France one morning in 1895, scheduled to reach Paris in the late afternoon. The novel introduces numerous characters: the four crew members and a wide variety of passengers traveling in the first, second, and third class carriages. Over the course of the seven-hour journey, the story checks in with each character periodically, exploring personal concerns and developing small dramas. Hanging over the story is the foreshadowing from the end of the first chapter, that this train is "heading straight for disaster."

I was drawn to this novel for the same reason Donoghue was drawn to fictionalize the real-life incident it depicts: Photographs of the aftermath are striking and invite questions about what happened. But what happened turns out to be fairly simple, and only the final few minutes of the journey are truly relevant. So to weave in more tension, Donoghue invents a different potential threat, a misdirection I wasn't wild about. The bigger problem, though, is that there's not much life to most of the scenes. The characters, including notable figures who were in France at the time but not actually all on the train together, tend to deliver exposition about their biographies or discuss social issues of the time in ways that don't feel natural. I wanted a more interesting version of the story, with more nuance.

Donoghue wrote the remarkable ROOM, and I was expecting the same high caliber of writing from this book. I may still try another of her historical works, since several reviewers say they're better than this one.

Good Stuff Out There:

→ Lincoln Michel considers Books as Art Projects: "Yesterday, I got two pieces of mail that were completely different approaches to making books as art objects. The first was the new issue of the McSweeney's magazine, which is designed as a 1980s Lisa Frank-style school binder complete with a spiral notebook, plastic geometric ruler, and more. The second was the first installment of Benjamin Percy's apocalyptic-novel-as-serialized-newspaper The End Times.... I was excited to receive both not just because I paid for the subscriptions, but because they are interesting physical objects in an age when much of my reading is done on a cellphone or laptop screen."