Ali Smith’s Winter captures the starkness and emptiness of the season, with death lingering on the periphery. The writing is beautiful — poetic yet bare — with every reference carrying weight and poignancy.
One character unexpectedly shifts the relationships between three family members, bringing warmth and reconnection from an unexpected place. While I didn’t enjoy the characters as much as those in Autumn, I warmed to them by the end, which I think was the point. It falls short for me in that respect, where I enjoyed Smith’s political commentary and writing style, I didn’t care much for the characters in the novel.
Overall, this was a reflective and meaningful read that perfectly embodies winter’s stillness.
Nettle & Bone felt like a Frankenstein’s monster of a story, cobbled together from familiar fantasy tropes and bits of other books I’ve read before. While the premise initially intrigued me, I quickly found myself disengaged. The narrative relied heavily on clichés, and the plot lacked originality, making it difficult to stay invested.
The characters didn’t leave much of an impression either. I struggled to care about their journeys or outcomes, as they felt more like archetypes than fully fleshed-out individuals. Rather than offering a fresh take on fantasy, the book leaned into predictable elements, which gave me an overwhelming sense of déjà vu throughout.
Ultimately, it wasn’t gripping enough to hold my attention or offer anything new to the genre. While I can see how some readers might enjoy its familiarity, it just wasn’t for me.
Born to Run was an interesting read but didn’t quite live up to my expectations. The pacing felt quite slow, especially in the first half, which made it hard to fully immerse myself at the beginning. However, I appreciated how the author described the people involved, particularly in the context of the final race, which was one of the highlights for me.
At times, I found myself getting into the flow of the story, only for the topic to abruptly change or drag on for too long, which disrupted the experience. I also expected the book to delve more deeply into the science of running, but that aspect felt underexplored.
Overall, while it had some enjoyable moments, it lacked the consistency and focus I was hoping for.
While this book has been praised for its storytelling, it falls short in providing an authentic or responsible portrayal of racism. Instead, it perpetuates outdated white saviour themes and fails as a tool for educating readers on the ongoing realities of modern racism.
Written in the 21st century by a white woman for a predominantly white audience, the book seems designed to make readers feel good about ‘how far we’ve come’ rather than confront the persistence of systemic racism. It perpetuates damaging stereotypes and includes deeply offensive language. For example, a black character is compared to a cockroach and as being ‘black as asphalt’. While the author might claim these reflect the era, such descriptions dehumanise and harm.
Viola Davis, who starred in the film adaptation, has since expressed regret about her involvement, saying she ‘betrayed myself, and my people,’ because the maid’s voices weren’t the ones that were heard.
Though Kathryn Stockett is undoubtedly a skilled storyteller, it’s problematic to tell a story about experiences she can’t imagine living. We should instead focus on centring black lives and reading widely from black authors.
Ali Smith’s Autumn is a beautifully written exploration of time, memory, and human connection. Often described as the first post-Brexit novel, it’s far more than a political commentary—it’s a symphony of memories, weaving together personal and collective histories to remind us of the fragile threads that tie lives together.
Smith masterfully captures how forgotten experiences shape the present, emphasizing the ephemeral nature of memory. Through the poignant relationship between Elisabeth and Daniel, the novel meditates on the idea that once a person is gone, their unshared memories vanish with them. It’s a haunting reflection: eventually, all of us will be forgotten.
Although the season of autumn isn’t mentioned constantly, its essence is deeply felt throughout the novel—in both its themes and its writing. Like autumn itself, the book is reflective, melancholic, and imbued with a sense of transition, decay, and quiet beauty.
The narrative also interrogates aging, deftly revealing how a brilliant past can fade into the margins when one is old, overshadowed by societal disregard. Yet, Smith offers hope in her portrayal of the bonds between people—connections that transcend time and history.
Autumn is a thought-provoking, tenderly crafted novel that lingers long after the last page, reminding readers of the fleeting, yet profound, beauty of life.
I’ve quickly become obsessed with The Shepard King series—these books are definitely a new favourite. Gothic, mysterious, and utterly gripping, they’re the first books to make me this hooked in months.
The writing style perfectly balances poetic elegance with an eerie undertone that fits the dark, magical world Gillig has created. The magic system, centered around cards, is incredibly unique and one of the most inventive I’ve come across. It’s intricately tied to the plot, adding layers of depth and intrigue that make the story even more captivating.
What I especially appreciated was the series’ brevity—just two books. It’s clear the author had the entire story mapped out before writing, allowing the plot and characters to feel meticulously thought through and fully developed. There’s no unnecessary filler or drawn-out arcs; every detail feels intentional and impactful.