Does listening to audiobooks count as reading? Here it does. Let’s discuss your favorite reads — or listens.
All tagged nonfiction
Greg Marshall wasn't diagnosed with cerebral palsy until he was 30 — despite a lifetime of surgeries, a limp and parents who knew all along. "Leg" is funnier than it has any right to be given its raw material, occasionally recalling early Sedaris, and sneaks up on you with genuine emotional weight by the end.
A West Point history professor and combat veteran makes the case that indigenous dispossession, racialized slavery, hyper-capitalism and militarism built modern America — and that questioning our national mythology is the most American thing we can do. Dense, deliberately uncomfortable and relentlessly bleak.
RuPaul's memoir is part origin story, part philosophy manifesto — and at its best when he finally drops the motivational-speaker polish. The hustle is real, the narration is excellent and the final chapters are genuinely moving. But the warmth that makes him so compelling on TV occasionally softens the harder truths this story deserved.
Chris Jones, a scientist and blogger turned reluctant activist, connects those dots. “The Swine Republic” examines how agricultural runoff – largely from excess fertilizer and animal waste – has poisoned Iowa’s rivers, lakes and drinking water for decades and why that should concern us all.
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.
This isn’t an easy read, even in graphic form. It’s confrontational and, at times, exhausting. But it pushes back against the comforting fiction that racism is episodic or aberrational. The book argues that racist ideas are adaptive — that they evolve to protect power. Addressing them requires confronting the structures and narratives that sustain them. As an entry point, this is a solid place to start.
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.
By the end, “Sink” felt like a polished diary – confessional and a little depressing, but largely more meaningful for an audience of one.
“Year” is not simply a memoir of grief; it is an exploration of how the mind bends and folds in the face of incomprehensible loss. In just over 200 pages, Didion maps the terrain between shock and mourning with a precision that is at once clinical and devastating.
This is a hard book beautifully written, and one I’m glad I read. It reminds you that the line between health and sickness, between the life you planned and the one you get, is thinner than we like to believe.
While this started as homework, it became one of my most unexpectedly enjoyable reading projects in years. Binging Sedaris felt like watching a long-running sitcom that occasionally veers into tragedy.
It’s a dense book – beautifully written, but the kind of writing that demands you be fully present. I couldn’t listen for more than about 45 minutes before my mind drifted, not because the content was dull, but because it’s a lot to absorb.
A juicy, unflinching memoir from a former Facebook exec exposing toxic leadership, global consequences and the cost of unchecked idealism in Big Tech.
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.
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.
“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?
Robin R. Means Coleman and Mark H. Harris lean into their respective expertise – academic and journalist – to explore the evolution of Black representation in horror, organizing their insights around themes, tropes and industry trends that often mirror shifting racial attitudes in America.
While “Run” may not yet match the polish of “March,” it lays a promising foundation for future installments. For now, it earns a place on my shelf as a testament to Lewis’s legacy and a reminder that the fight for equality – though officially decades past – continues to reverberate today.
For readers interested in a nuanced look at coming out later in life, particularly in the mid-2000s – a time when acceptance was growing but still fraught with homophobia and fears of ostracism – “The Lie” offers an authentic, if imperfect, reflection.
As usual, Larson’s storytelling brings history to life in vivid detail, a rare skill in nonfiction, but here, the ambitious scope feels unwieldy – even for a pro. The concurrent narratives and numerous characters create a sprawling account, yet “Demon” lacks the cohesion and emotional depth that defined his best works.
