Does listening to audiobooks count as reading? Here it does. Let’s discuss your favorite reads — or listens.
All in Audiobook
Edward Cahill's debut novel follows three very different men caught in the same pre-Stonewall police raid — a Wall Street banker, a Columbia professor and an Irish kid from the Bronx with nothing left to lose. A character study disguised as a mystery, with strong writing but some issues with pacing and repetition.
Douglas Stuart's third novel returns to familiar Scottish working-class terrain — religion, repression, queer identity and small-town suffocation — but with a maturity and balance that makes it his most nuanced work yet. A slow-burning character study built around sacrifice, self-destruction and a confrontation between two people who know exactly where to cut.
Patricia Highsmith's landmark 1952 lesbian novel is radical in its courage but punishing in its pacing. Carol's opacity is the central problem and a single letter shows what the novel could've been.
Grant Ginder's multi-decade friendship novel is funny, honest and quietly devastating — a sharper, more literary take on the terrain Steven Rowley covers.
Kathryn Stockett spent a decade in literary exile. "The Calamity Club" is her case for a second act — and it delivers. A feminist Depression-era novel about eugenics, found family and three women who need each other to survive. Better written than "The Help," anchored by two exceptional narrators and one of the year's most resilient protagonists.
"Kin" follows two motherless women raised side-by-side in Jim Crow Louisiana whose lives diverge sharply but whose bond never does. Tayari Jones at her most immersive — a story about platonic love, chosen family and the friendships that shape us longest.
Maria Semple's "Go Gentle" arrives disguised as a madcap Upper West Side comedy and pivots into something far darker and more resonant. A Stoic philosopher, a stolen Greek statue and a third act that retroactively reframes everything — including what it cost one woman to rebuild her life after losing it completely.
It’s an intergenerational family saga, yes — and that structure is familiar — but Hakes integrates real historical and political texture more convincingly than many sprawling historical fiction attempts. It left me more emotional than I expected, and I would absolutely read Hakes again.
Leigh Stein's influencer-age Gothic has sharp ideas about technology and self-image — but ambition outpaces execution.
Overall, this was a quick, thoughtful crowd-pleaser with enough emotional depth (keep the tissues nearby in the final pages) to feel earned rather than gimmicky. Book clubs will eat it up.
“A History of Loneliness” is a powerful literary novel exploring the Irish Catholic Church abuse scandal through the eyes of a well-meaning but complicit priest. Set across several decades, this character-driven story examines faith, silence, and moral responsibility with John Boyne’s signature emotional restraint and sharp prose. Ideal for fans of historical fiction, complex character studies, and books like John Williams’ “Stoner” or the author’s own “The Heart’s Invisible Furies.”
The drama escalates to a level that strains credibility, particularly around the Olympic fallout and the Sochi scheming. At a certain point, the twists feel less sharp and instead repetitive bloat. I kept thinking this could have been 100-pages shorter. It’s not high art, but it’s also not trying to be.
The first half may test some readers’ patience. The characters can be a little grating and the story wanders. But if you stick with it, the back half becomes something much more endearing and honest.
Often labeled feminist horror, the book’s sharpest menace isn’t supernatural but social: rigid expectations around marriage, reputation, and female behavior, and the quiet normalization of violence against women. That tension works well early on, grounding the protagonist’s unraveling in her environment.
Even at under 200-pages, it occasionally felt longer than it needed to be. Some of the deeper historical sections dragged, especially when the narrative moved away from Henry and into more abstract history. I found myself most engaged when Green leaned into the anthropological and human rather than the historical.
Earlier on, I felt like I had stumbled onto a hidden gem, one that was sharp in its observations about Reconstruction without being preachy or sentimental. Instead, the novel veers into revenge-thriller territory and loses much of its credibility. Had this been published after Percival Everett’s “James,” I might have assumed Fancher was trying to chase the same idea.
This isn’t a thriller in the traditional sense, and it isn’t interested in justice or closure. It’s a story about complicity, self-erasure and the lies we tell ourselves in the name of family. Perfect for fans of “Dexter” or “Yellowjackets.”
This isn’t an easy book, nor an unimportant one. Rashad has strong ideas, clear anger and real imagination. But too many concepts are crowded into too few pages, and the novel ultimately lacks the polish and focus needed to make its themes land with full force.
An uneven but occasionally rewarding listening experience, “The Book of Delights” is structured as a yearlong project in noticing joy, in the form of short essays—some only a paragraph, others a few pages—each documenting a small delight from Ross Gay’s daily life.
For a novel dealing with reproductive justice, eugenics and coerced sterilization, “Take My Hand” was surprisingly compulsive. It moved quickly without ever feeling careless. Readers drawn to emotionally grounded historical fiction — Kristin Hannah fans in particular — would likely move through this fast, even though it was in no way a light read.
