Sam Leith

Meg Mason’s novel follows Sophie, a heartbroken literary-festival technician who becomes intensely infatuated with the famous writer Lilac Dunne. The review praises Mason’s wan, witty prose, her handling of pathos and bathos, and her sharp observations of everyday pleasures, humiliations and literary culture. Sophie’s parasocial fascination becomes complicated when she meets Lilac in person, though the review argues that Lilac is less psychologically developed than Sophie and functions partly as a plot device. Overall, the novel is judged a humorous, touching and knowingly metafictional story of obsession and literary celebrity.

Melissa Albert’s first novel for adults follows Guinevere Sharpe, whose childhood was fictionalized in her mother Edith’s famous Ninth City books. After Edith and Guinevere’s father die in a fire, Guinevere manages the family literary legacy while remaining estranged from her brother Ennis, an uncanny conceptual artist. The novel blends psychological drama, haunted-house fiction and dark fairy tale to examine creativity, exploitation and the damage caused when writers turn family life into art. The review praises its atmosphere, accumulating mysteries and exploration of the creative process, but argues that its many plot strands dilute the story, Edith remains insufficiently developed, Guinevere’s relationship with Hank lacks weight, and the ending feels rushed.

Jem Calder’s debut novel follows Joey, a 23-year-old aspiring poet, and Chuck, a 35-year-old aspiring novelist with a drinking problem, as they meet and fall into an unstable relationship. The review praises Calder’s precise depiction of contemporary, digitally mediated life—marked by texts, push notifications, vapes, rental e-bikes and online identities—alongside his controlled, affectless prose and sharply observed details. Beneath its fashionable surface, the novel is presented as a warm, traditional romance concerned with the inner lives and emotional disjunctions of its protagonists.

Will Maclean’s Solace House is reviewed as an exuberant gothic horror novel set in the summer of 1993, where stranded student Alex Lane joins a university clean-up crew working in an abandoned asylum beside the decaying mansion of reclusive poet Edwin Flayne. The house’s hoarded contents, occult mathematics, thin-place mythology, mysterious identities and psychedelic mushroom experiences produce a heady mixture of magic, mystery and cosmic horror. The review praises the book’s energy, entertainment value and satisfying late twist, while noting that its 500-plus pages can feel overstuffed and that its attempts to depict realities beyond human comprehension sometimes become strained.

A curated reading list assigns one significant book to each year from infancy through age 25, arguing that children's and young adults' reading should be driven by pleasure rather than duty. The recommendations range from picture books and children's classics to novels and poetry addressing adolescence, race, repression, mental illness, mortality, war, feminism and social responsibility. The list responds to declining levels of reading for pleasure among young people and draws on recommendations from writers including Julia Donaldson, Katherine Rundell, Michael Rosen and Jacqueline Wilson.

John Tottenham’s debut novel follows Sean Hangland, a bitter 48-year-old aspiring writer working in an independent Los Angeles bookshop while struggling with writer’s block, resentment and fears of failure. The novel’s repetitive monologue deliberately reflects its narrator’s stagnant life and contains occasional sharp comic moments, but the review finds that its grumpy-bookseller premise, contemporary references and interchangeable customer characters become tedious. Despite endorsements from Colm Tóibín and Rachel Kushner, the reviewer concludes that the book’s prose is overly effortful and that its black comedy does not match the wit of works such as Black Books or A Confederacy of Dunces.

Ned Beauman, writing under the pseudonym Kit Burgoyne, turns a political kidnapping plot into an exuberant 1970s-style horror romp. Activists abduct Adeline Woolsaw, heiress to the exploitative Woolsaw Group, only to discover that she is pregnant with an occult entity and does not want to return home. The novel delivers gore, supernatural violence, twists and dark humor, while offering only limited engagement with corporate power, activism and character psychology. The review concludes that its principal achievement is its energetic, highly entertaining storytelling rather than sociopolitical subtlety.

Mick Herron’s ninth Slough House novel draws on the real-life Stakeknife scandal, in which MI5 protected an IRA enforcer, and follows River Cartwright as he investigates secrets preserved in his grandfather’s archive. The review praises Herron’s flamboyant prose, dark humour, witty dialogue and intricate plotting, while noting that the series’ comic tone can sometimes weaken its emotional peril and pathos. It concludes that the formula remains vigorous and that the novel delivers a significant development for the series.

Dan Brown’s return with The Secret of Secrets reunites readers with symbology professor Robert Langdon in Prague, where a consciousness-related discovery, a threatened manuscript, secret laboratories and a supposed golem drive a conspiracy thriller plot. The review condemns Brown’s clumsy prose, implausible science, contrived characters and relentless exposition, but acknowledges that the rapid cliffhangers, action and extravagant twists make the novel highly readable for audiences who enjoy his formula.

Stuart Jeffries’s book examines how different societies and philosophical traditions have defined and responded to stupidity. The review praises its lively, wide-ranging treatment of rationality, wisdom and virtue, including Western philosophy, Daoism, Confucianism, Buddhism and Hannah Arendt’s reflections on Eichmann. It argues that the book’s central concept remains difficult to define and that its discussion often becomes a rambling history of the opposites of stupidity rather than a coherent history of stupidity itself.

Substack has become a significant outlet for literary writers seeking direct relationships with readers, alternative income and freedom from traditional media gatekeepers. The guide recommends 15 newsletters by authors including Margaret Atwood, Hanif Kureishi, George Saunders, Salman Rushdie, Roxane Gay and Miranda July, highlighting their varied offerings: serialized fiction, memoir, criticism, cultural commentary, writing instruction, multimedia experiments and reader communities. While the platform’s patronage model and interest-based discussions are praised, the newsletters differ widely in tone, price and activity, with some offering substantial paid content and others functioning primarily as intimate or experimental extensions of the authors’ work.

Etgar Keret’s seventh short-story collection is praised for its surreal premises, metaphysical humor and matter-of-fact treatment of extraordinary events. The stories range across parallel universes, alien encounters, alternate afterlives, simulated realities, AI companions and time travel, while remaining grounded in ordinary experiences such as loneliness, dating and bureaucratic modernity. The review highlights the Israeli-Palestinian violence explored in “A Dog for a Dog” and the pandemic allegory “Outside,” but emphasizes that the collection offers literary responses rather than overt political statements. Translated from Hebrew by Jessica Cohen and Sondra Silverston, the book is presented as a multiverse of concise, inventive narratives.

The 2025 Carnegie awards highlighted a trend toward children’s books exploring male friendship, masculinity, trauma and gang culture. Glasgow Boys by Margaret McDonald examines two looked-after boys who respond to trauma through aggression and avoidance, while King of Nothing by Nathanael Lessore shows how friendship can challenge a teenager’s status-driven, influencer-shaped worldview. Authors and librarians argue that boys often prefer male protagonists and that relatable books may help reverse declining reading habits, build empathy and counter the influence of the online manosphere, though reaching disengaged readers remains difficult.

High-concept fiction is enjoying renewed popularity because its easily communicable premises help books pass through marketing channels and attract readers, while also providing flexible devices for exploring grief, love, identity and social anxieties. Florence Knapp’s The Names, Kaliane Bradley’s The Ministry of Time and Solvej Balle’s On the Calculation of Volume exemplify the trend, alongside earlier successes such as Life After Life, The Time Traveler’s Wife, The Power and Cloud Atlas. Writers argue that loosening genre boundaries and declining prejudice against science fiction have expanded the audience, but that a striking premise succeeds only when matched by literary quality.

Richard Ayoade’s debut novel presents an alter-ego narrator making a documentary about the invented playwright Harauld Hughes, whose lost film and elusive associates lead to a deliberately fruitless investigation. The book’s elaborate fictional apparatus—including Hughes’s supposedly complete works, critical material and timelines—pushes it beyond a conventional comic novel toward conceptual art. Its satire targets presenter-led television documentaries and their formulaic language, while its absurdist characters and understated wit make the failed investigation entertaining and ultimately worthwhile.

Stephen Fry’s Odyssey concludes his four-part retelling of Greek mythology with chatty, modern prose that favours humour and immediacy over epic grandeur. The review praises its accessibility, comic energy and occasional poetic power, while noting its treatment of violence and omission of Telemachus’s massacre of the maidservants. Fry’s extensive footnotes add scholarship, linguistic observations and contemporary parallels. Beneath the jaunty style, the book develops a larger theme: the movement from a world ruled by gods and bloodlust toward one governed by human reason, law and moral responsibility.

Will Self’s novel reimagines his mother Elaine’s life as a thwarted writer and faculty wife in 1950s upstate New York. Set amid academic rivalry, marital dissatisfaction, psychoanalytic tensions, infidelity and wider anxieties over race, nuclear war, the Red Scare and Jewish identity, the book presents Elaine’s deteriorating mental state through jagged chronology, hallucinations, body horror and dense stylistic effects. The review finds the novel claustrophobic and often laborious, with few laughs and little direct fidelity to the historical record, but praises the force of several set pieces and Self’s intense portrayal of a woman trapped in a grimly patriarchal society.

Children’s stories shape imagination, moral development and lifelong reading, but their historical canon also contains racism, sexism, classism and other exclusionary attitudes. Rather than discarding older books wholesale, adults should edit or contextualize offensive material while preserving their literary value. Screens, social media and video games such as Fortnite can be addictive, yet books, television, comics and games have always influenced one another and can help children discover reading. The key is to follow children’s interests, allow them to enjoy popular culture and avoid treating traditional books as superior to other forms of storytelling.

Sam Freedman argues that Britain’s political failures stem less from individual personalities or ideologies than from a dysfunctional governing system. Centralization, weak scrutiny, short-termism, fragmented funding, outsourcing and poor connections between institutions have left government simultaneously overpowered and unable to deliver. The review highlights his criticism of wasteful contracting, strained relations between ministers and judges, and inadequate parliamentary oversight. Freedman proposes greater autonomy and tax-raising powers for devolved authorities, stronger select committees, civil-service and Lords reform, rebuilt state capacity and more selective outsourcing. He warns that unless politicians learn to relinquish power and improve institutions, the system may produce more damaging outcomes.

Michael Nott’s biography presents Thom Gunn as a formally rigorous, guarded but warm poet whose life encompassed sexual freedom, drug use, San Francisco’s gay scene and the AIDS crisis. Gunn’s enduring relationship with Mike Kitay and his chosen gay family provided stability, while his later addiction to speed, exploitative relationships and deteriorating health culminated in his 2004 death from acute polysubstance abuse. The review praises Nott’s research, sympathy and reading of Gunn’s poetry but criticizes the biography as excessively detailed and roughly 200 pages too long.