The comfort reread, and what it says about your life right now

I have a small, slightly embarrassing ritual. When I can’t decide what to read next, I reread something I already know. Sometimes it is one chapter. Sometimes it is the whole book, like slipping into a familiar coat that still fits even if I have changed shape in the meantime.

This is the point where the productive part of my brain tries to intervene. You could be reading something new, it hisses. You could be expanding your horizons. You could be… achieving.

The BookTok canon is getting older, and that is not an accident

There is a particular kind of TikTok video that makes me laugh and then immediately makes me suspicious. You know the one. Someone holds up a book that looks like it could do structural work in a small house, says they were “not prepared”, and then cuts to a string of reactions that suggest the novel has personally rearranged their internal organs.

Sometimes it is a brand new release. Increasingly, it is not.

The quiet power of slow books

Some novels refuse to be hurried. They ask for patience, not because they’re difficult, but because they move differently. You don’t tear through them. You live in them.

I was thinking about this as I slowly make my way through Lonesome Dove, by Larry McMurtry. It’s that kind of book. There are, of course, plenty of others.

Climate fiction and Neurodivergent narratives — The rise of conscious storytelling

Something’s shifting in the novels. The stories feel sharper somehow, as if they know they’re not just here to entertain. They’re here to nudge us. Sometimes to provoke us. Occasionally, to jolt us out of complacency.

Two trends stand out in this tide of literary urgency: the rise of climate fiction (or “cli-fi” if you like your genres neatly abbreviated) and a richer, more authentic representation of neurodivergent characters. These aren’t new themes in literature, but they are being handled with a depth and immediacy that feels uniquely 2025.