Does listening to audiobooks count as reading? Here it does. Let’s discuss your favorite reads — or listens.
“My Friends” often feels like it’s trying very hard to be profound. Like it’s auditioning for an emotional response rather than earning it. There are moments, Backman always has a few, where a single line cuts through the noise and makes you stop. Unfortunately, these ideas are buried in a story that feels chaotic and bloated, trying to juggle too many themes without characters that can hold them together.
Stephen King still knows how to tell a pulse-pounding story, but if he wants to keep his cultural edge sharp, he needs to start asking harder questions about who gets to be the hero – and who keeps getting cast as the victim and the threat.
Hall isn’t writing heroes or villains, she’s writing about people who believe their own rationalizations – even as they unravel the lives of others.
If you’re looking for a quick, affirming read with queer representation, a strong voice and a refreshingly gentle tone, “Here” is a great way to spend an afternoon.
“Bad Gays” starts with a provocative thesis: queer history is too often told through sanitized narratives of heroism and progress. What happens, Huw Lemmey and Ben Miller ask, when we shift the lens to those queer figures who were not brave icons, but bigots, fascists, abusers or simply complicated people making morally gray choices in a hostile world?
Some novels feel like memoirs, not because they’re confessional, but because they pulse with lived-in truth. “Bad Habit,” Alana S. Portero’s autofictional debut, is one of those books.
“Tell Me How to Be” isn’t perfect. It’s sometimes overwrought, and Akash will test your sympathy, but it’s also culturally honest without pandering and willing to sit in discomfort. It shows real growth from Patel’s earlier work and enough promise to make me want to see what he does next.
“Bolla” isn’t a book you’ll want to live in for long. It offers no comfort, no catharsis, only the slow, painful truth that repression – personal or political – rarely leaves survivors.
If you asked me what this is about, I’m not sure I could tell you. It has several subplots, but no single throughline, and maybe that’s the point. This is a book about transient relationships – the people who find you when you’re at your lowest, who don’t fix you but show up anyway.
This year, my Pride Month reading list is an act of deliberate protest. I’m prioritizing queer stories that push boundaries: books by trans writers, by authors of color and by creators outside the U.S. Because the most powerful thing we can do in the face of erasure is bear witness – and keep reading.
If you're newer to poetry, this is a great entry point. There's enough cultural reference and narrative grounding to make you feel like you’re “getting it,” even if some symbolism is out of reach.
I started this website with very modest expectations. But it has grown beyond anything I could've imagined. I still do it for me, but I'm so glad it's reached thousands of people from every corner of the world.
Even the weaker stories carry flashes of what makes Sittenfeld compelling: the sly observation, the perfect turn of phrase, the ability to make a character feel ridiculous and real in equal measure. This is objectively not a bad book, it’s just not Sittenfeld at her best.
To White’s credit, she doesn’t sensationalize the crimes. But she also doesn’t probe their emotional or societal aftermath in a meaningful way. For a book so rooted in real trauma, it feels oddly detached. If you’re deeply immersed in this genre or invested in Iowa true crime, it’s a decent diversion. For anyone seeking nuance, emotional insight or literary ambition, it falls short.
A solid addition to Stephen King’s bibliography, though it may not stand alongside his most enduring works. The stakes in each story feel high, and while not every piece reaches the heights of his best work, the collection as a whole offers a compelling, if occasionally uneven, journey into King’s evolving narrative style.
I don't give five stars easily and almost never to a series book, or a YA novel, but “Sunrise on the Reaping” earns it. Propulsive, gutting and almost unbearably tense, it takes the familiar structure of the series and makes it feel more personal, more political and more devastating than ever.
To his credit, Baldacci doesn’t sanitize the war. He allows his characters to bristle at their government, at the Americans and at each other. The book isn’t burdened by a need for patriotic polish, and its refusal to lean into easy sentimentality is refreshing.
Ultimately, this collection serves as both a time capsule and a stepping stone in Abdurraqib’s evolution as a writer. It lacks the full polish of his later work, but the rawness and energy make it an essential read for those who appreciate music, culture and the ever-shifting landscape of America.
It’s a curious novel, blending fiction with recognizable realities, that made me care about a family I would have rather forgotten. So I’m surprised to say I’m glad I picked it up. Not because of the subject matter but because it proves Sittenfeld is one of the most fascinating writers working today.
While the romance at times veers into saccharine territory – declarations of love come frequently, and some gestures, like the grand finale at Wrigley Field, feel cinematic to a fault – it is counterbalanced with an exploration of what it means to forgive, even if forgetting is not an option.
