Does listening to audiobooks count as reading? Here it does. Let’s discuss your favorite reads — or listens.
All tagged nonfiction
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.
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.
"Woe" serves as both a touching tribute to a beloved cat and a comforting reminder to those who have lost a four-legged friend that their sorrow is valid and shared.
While the graphic novel was initially intriguing, it felt a bit lacking in depth, particularly considering its length. I also began to question the necessity of Backderf telling this story. He was only a passing acquaintance of Dahmer, so the armchair psychology and hindsight observations felt a tad inflated.
This is a classic for a reason. Nothing I say about this novel will diminish its relevance, but I must be honest with myself and others when I say that I didn’t really enjoy it.
Alexander Chee’s essay collection is first and foremost a showcase of his nearly unmatched talent. It's a celebration of the craft, of teaching and of the relentless pursuit of one’s artistic vision. Yet, for all its brilliance, the book is dreadfully boring.
An interesting retrospective on how sitcoms helped pave the way for broader queer acceptance, with “Hi Honey, I’m Homo!” Matt Baume offers a mostly lighthearted read for fans of pop culture and LGBTQIA+ history.
Through original and sourced research, the author traced the often fraught path to introduce positive portrayals of queer people to the masses, but this isn’t the kind of behind-the-scenes tell-all that will help elevate the book beyond its niche target audiences.
