Does listening to audiobooks count as reading? Here it does. Let’s discuss your favorite reads — or listens.
All in Audiobook
Larry McMurtry’s Pulitzer Prize–winning novel “Lonesome Dove” turned 40 this year, and it’s easy to see why it still resonates. On the surface it’s about a cattle drive from Texas to Montana, but beneath the gunfights and frontier myth-making, it’s really about fidelity, friendship and the cost of dreams.
This is a sprawling, character-driven horror novel mixes crime, grief and the supernatural, but at nearly 600-pages, the pacing often drags. Still, the depth of character and atmosphere kept me engaged.
This is not for casual viewers—it’s for fans who can still quote Randy’s rules and know the opening kitchen scene beat for beat. Cullins validates that obsession and proves “Scream” didn’t just terrify—it truly rewrote the rules of horror.
Chuck Tingle’s “Lucky Day” blends gore, grief and cultural critique into absurdist horror that’s unsettling, chaotic and surprisingly moving.
The ’90s flashbacks pop with life, but the present-day story plods along with frustrating choices and contrived reveals. Nostalgic and eerie in spots, yet ultimately feels phoned in.
While not a modern masterpiece, it is an audacious, bloody and often grimly funny ride that pairs the bourgeois nihilism of Bret Easton Ellis with the horror of Stephen King and the commentary of Octavia E. Butler and Margaret Atwood.
Set against the fall of Imperial Russia, the aftermath of revolution and the emotional cost of survival, this character-driven story explores love, identity, grief and the burden of secrets carried across generations.
A harrowing, deeply human account of the Hiroshima bombing told through the voices of survivors. M.G. Sheftall dismantles sanitized narratives and explores the lasting cultural, emotional and moral impact of August 6, 1945.
A charming premise wears thin in this whimsical novel about a Kyoto clinic that prescribes cats for emotional healing. Sweet but repetitive, with a standout first story and a touching finale.
A powerful, slow-burning portrait of Dust Bowl-era migration, “The Grapes of Wrath” explores poverty, resilience and injustice through the Joad family’s harrowing journey from Oklahoma to California. John Steinbeck’s writing is dense but rewarding, culminating in one of literature’s most haunting final scenes. A brutal yet brilliant American classic.
I struggled with how the novel “tames” Faina. Though she’s not Indigenous, the parallels to forced assimilation are hard to miss, and Ivey doesn’t quite engage with that. Faina is wild and otherworldly, and the story asks her to shrink herself in exchange for love and belonging. In the end, her freedom costs her everything, and I’m not sure it had to.
High-concept fiction always walks a fine line between bold and baffling, but “The Bees” topples into the latter. If you like your dystopias with a side of entomological fever dream, by all means. Otherwise, buzz past it.
Lisa See’s The Island of Sea Women explores the unique matriarchal culture of Korea’s haenyeo divers on Jeju Island, set against major 20th-century events like Japanese occupation and the Korean War. While rich in historical detail and cultural insight, the novel struggles to deliver emotional depth or strong character development. Best for readers interested in Korean history and women’s roles in wartime, but don’t expect a gripping fictional narrative.
In the end, “Everyone Dies Famous in a Small Town” is a missed opportunity. It gestures toward interconnected trauma and small-town claustrophobia but only occasionally brings those themes to life with the clarity and resonance they deserve.
In this bold and imaginative novel, Bob the Drag Queen reimagines the legendary abolitionist as a returning historical figure determined to tell her story on stage. With help from a once-famous hip-hop producer, Tubman creates a Broadway-style musical that blends history and humor. Packed with sharp writing, emotional depth and two original songs, this audiobook is a powerful mix of speculative fiction and accessible historical storytelling.
If you enjoyed “The Measure,” there’s a good chance you’ll find something to appreciate here. But for those hoping for a bolder leap forward, this one never quite recaptures the promise of its setup.
Kevin Wilson books usually follow a pattern: high-concept premise, strong start, then a slow unraveling into sentiment or chaos. “Run for the Hills” still asks you to suspend disbelief (a lot of it), but for once, the absurdity holds.
This is a novel about space, yes, but it’s also about constraints. What it means to want something enormous, only to realize you may have to make yourself smaller to reach it. About what it means to live within institutions that weren’t built for you.
“Say You’ll Remember Me” didn’t reinvent the genre, yet it respected it. In doing so, it chipped away at my resistance. I still have reservations about the formula, but I understand the appeal. And yes, I’ll read the next one in this series.
“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.
