When a book becomes too heavy to hold: Reading A Little Life

Some books draw us in gently. Others demand something from us. A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara is a novel that does both. 

It's a book, which, for me, was packed with such overbearing emotional weight, emotion so densely packed like bodies pressed together on the tube, that it is a challenging read.

The Booker goes blokey: what David Szalay's Flesh tells us about masculinity in fiction

David Szalay's Flesh is many things: stark, relentless, deeply bodily. But above all, it may be the most blokey Booker winner we've ever seen. With its monosyllabic protagonist István, a Hungarian immigrant who becomes a strip-club bouncer, chauffeur, and then a mysteriously wealthy man, Szalay has brought back something long missing from the literary stage: the unvarnished, working-class male.

Not since the heyday of Martin Amis, David Storey or even Alan Sillitoe has literary fiction made space for this kind of protagonist. 

When pop stars read serious books: what book clubs mean now

Once upon a time, the book club was a quiet affair. A circle of friends, a bottle of wine, and a novel discussed with enthusiasm or polite disagreement. Then came Oprah, and everything changed. Her televised picks turned literary taste into a shared national ritual, making authors overnight sensations and cementing the idea that reading could be collective, not solitary. 

But today’s book club looks very different. When Dua Lipa recommends This House of Grief to her 90 million followers, or Florence Welch posts her annotated copy of The Bell Jar, something deeper is at play. Reading has become performance, identity, and, unexpectedly, power.

How Glasgow Boys reinvents the coming-of-age novel in Scots

When Margaret McDonald, at just twenty-seven, became the youngest-ever winner of the Carnegie Medal for Glasgow Boys, it felt like more than a milestone. 

It was a reminder that the future of children’s fiction lies not just in big ideas, but in the pulse of regional voices, stories told in our own tongue, rooted in place and people.

McDonald’s novel does exactly that. It is both tender and raw, steeped in Scots dialect, wrestling with the myths of masculinity, brotherhood and belonging. Banjo’s voice catches you from the very first pages, and you just want to keep turning.