Meltdown: Greed, Scandal, and the Collapse of Credit Suisse, Duncan Mavin, 2024

 

Rating: 4/5

This is one of those non-fiction books that arrives with a built-in sense of drama. The story of Credit Suisse, a 166-year-old banking institution collapsing under the weight of its own excesses, is inherently compelling. A 300+ page non-fiction book either needs to be anchored in rich history and narrative tension or offer deep, original insights to justify its length. Fortunately for Mavin, the former is certainly true here. He traces the arc of the bank over several decades, from its conservative Swiss roots to its eventual transformation into a sprawling, risk-hungry global institution. That said, for someone familiar with financial markets, there are no real insights. And for most who aren’t, this story may not hold quite as much appeal as the author perhaps assumes.

My own interest in the book was more personal. I was a relatively senior employee of Credit Suisse for about 10 years, albeit in a small international operation. Being far removed from the shenanigans at headquarters, I was initially bewildered by how the bank could dig itself into a hole year after year, then angry that the greed or foolishness of a few senior individuals was damaging the stock—which formed a significant part of my compensation—and ultimately saddened that the efforts of local teams to build a strong franchise over nearly two decades came to little. An important reason for picking up this book was to understand why this happened. The reasons, as laid out here, are fairly straightforward: weak risk controls, a lack of ethics, the greed of a few at the top, and a focus on short-term individual gains rather than the long-term stability of the bank, exacerbated by frequent changes in top management. So … no real new insights really.

There were, however, a few things that stood out as new or surprising. Contrary to the perception that most of Credit Suisse’s chaos was recent, its troubles date back to at least the 1970s, when it logged about $800 million in losses while helping wealthy Italians hide money through offshore entities. I also hadn’t realised that Swiss banks were required to pay $1.2 billion in reparations related to dormant accounts from the Nazi era – accounts where little effort had been made to trace rightful heirs. From there, the bank seemed to lurch from one controversy to another: helping wealthy Americans evade taxes, violating US sanctions, and becoming entangled in corrupt dealings in Mozambique, eventually culminating in the rather bizarre episode of spying on its own senior executives.

The epilogue ties together this long decline with the final collapse, which feels almost inevitable in hindsight. Years of missteps had eroded trust to such an extent that the institution became extremely fragile. What is striking is how little it ultimately took to trigger the end – market jitters, a random tweet, and even confusion around whether SNB stood for Swiss National Bank (the central bank) or Saudi National Bank (Credit Suisse’s largest investor). In the end, it was not just decades of poor decisions but a complete loss of credibility that sealed Credit Suisse’s fate. Mavin tells this story adequately, though at times the narrative does feel very familiar.

Pros: Interesting long-term narrative of Credit Suisse’s decline, several lesser-known historical episodes

Cons: Lacks fresh insights for readers familiar with financial markets, may not hold strong appeal for those without prior interest in the subject.

Demon Copperhead, Barbara Kingsolver, 2022

 

Rating: 5/5

This is the second retelling of a classic that I’ve read in about a year, the first being James by Percival Everett. When I first picked up both books, I did so with a fair amount of scepticism. Retellings often feel like clever literary exercises rather than fully realised novels in their own right. Would revisiting familiar narratives really produce anything fresh or meaningful? In both cases, happily, my doubts proved unfounded. Much like James, Demon Copperhead turned out to be a deeply engaging and rewarding read. Kingsolver takes the broad scaffolding of Dickens’s David Copperfield and relocates it to the modern American South, amidst the opioid crisis crafting a story that feels both recognisably Dickensian and unmistakably contemporary.

One of the novel’s greatest strengths lies in its writing, particularly the voice of its narrator. Demon’s first-person perspective is vivid, sharp, and emotionally immediate. The result is a voice that carries both humour and pain in equal measure. Through Demon’s eyes, we see a world shaped by poverty, addiction, and neglect, yet the story never sinks into despair. Kingsolver also excels at character work, with each person in the supporting cast each person shaped by their own circumstances and compromises. Equally striking is how the novel transforms Dickens’s nineteenth-century concerns into modern equivalents. The hardships of Victorian England become the crises of contemporary rural America, particularly the devastating reach of opioid addiction. 

That said, the book is not without its minor shortcomings. At times the plot follows the contours of David Copperfield closely enough that attentive readers may anticipate certain developments before they occur. This structural loyalty can reduce the sense of narrative surprise. The novel’s length may also feel slightly indulgent in places. These are small quibbles rather than major flaws, however.

Thinking back to James, I ultimately found Everett’s novel the more inventive of the two. By retelling The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn from Jim’s perspective and introducing entirely new elements, Everett created a work that felt less like a reinterpretation and more like a bold reimagining. Demon Copperhead, in contrast, stays closer to its Dickensian blueprint. Yet this faithfulness does not diminish its achievement, and the strength of the storytelling easily earns the book a five-star rating.

Pros: Beautifully crafted narrative voice, rich characterisation, emotionally powerful themes of resilience and survival, and a thoughtful modern reworking of Dickens’s story.

Cons: Predictable moments for readers familiar with David Copperfield

The Thinking Machine, Stephen Witt, 2025

Rating: 3/5

I have been wanting to read a good book on Nvidia for a while and was debating between Stephen Witt’s “The Thinking Machine” and Tae Kim’s “The Nvidia Way”. In the former, Witt offers a narrative account of Jensen Huang and Nvidia that stands in quiet contrast to Tae Kim’s book which seems to be largely concerned with organisational culture, management discipline, and repeatable processes, Witt positions his work as a more personal exploration. That distinction is what led me to this book. I picked it up hoping to understand the man behind Nvidia better – not the mechanics of execution, but the human elements.

A good biography, particularly of a contemporary business figure, has a few essential ingredients in my view. It should ideally surface insights or anecdotes that are not already part of the public record, offering the reader something genuinely new. Alternatively, even familiar material can work if the underlying story is complex, conflicted, or inherently dramatic. Finally, the narrative shape matters. Lives, like companies, rarely progress in clean arcs, and a sense of uncertainty often makes the story more compelling.

Viewed through that lens, “The Thinking Machine” feels somewhat constrained. The book offers little in the way of new revelation; much of it reads as a polished narration of Nvidia’s well-known history. The story itself is also notably linear. Huang co-founds Nvidia, the company steadily grinds forward, places an early bet on parallel computing, then spends years in relative obscurity before AI finally provides the long-awaited payoff. While the outcome is undeniably impressive, the journey lacks sustained tension. Huang emerges as driven, but rarely conflicted, which leaves the narration feeling more observational than intimate.

That said, the book has some clear virtues. Witt writes with clarity, the pacing is brisk, and the book never feels bloated. For readers looking for a coherent, readable account of how Nvidia became central to the AI revolution, “The Thinking Machine” does its job well, even if it stops short of probing deeply.

Pros: Clear narrative, accessible writing

Cons: Limited insight

Starter Villain, John Scalzi, 2023

Rating: 5/5

Starter Villain is my first John Scalzi book and it turned out to be a gleefully unhinged outing. On the face of it, the story is about Charlie Fitzer, a divorced substitute teacher scraping by, who suddenly finds himself the unexpected heir to his estranged uncle’s empire. Only, this empire doesn’t involve businesses or stocks or real estate—it involves lairs, minions, and a seat at the table of the world’s supervillains. From there, the plot barrels forward, embracing every madcap possibility it can conjure, all the while keeping the reader hooked with a blend of dry wit and satire.

To call the book a madcap ride would almost undersell it. There’s a point where the protagonist sums up his predicament: “Instead I’m here on an island in the Caribbean, being told I need to talk to the dolphins in the middle of a labor action about some whales that might have torpedoes, armed by a secret society of villains who want access to a storeroom full of objects probably looted from the victims of the friggin’ Nazis and who are maybe willing to blow up my volcano lair to get it.” That single sentence works as a synopsis of the book’s spirit.

The novel also carries a sly undercurrent of satire. Beneath the jokes is a commentary on modern greed, corporate hierarchies, and the absurd lengths humans will go for power. Scalzi makes sure the barbs land even as you’re laughing. Yes, it’s lightweight in parts, but it feels intentional – Scalzi isn’t trying to write a grim epic, but a sparkling, escapist caper. If you are looking for a book that sets out to entertain above all else, this one does the job.

Pros: Madcap imagination, witty, sharp humour

Cons: Some readers may find this silly

The Miracles of the Namiya General Store, Keigo Higashino, 2012

Rating: 3/5

Keigo Higashino’s The Miracles of the Namiya General Store is one of those books that left me unsure of where exactly to slot it. Is it a self-help novel? Not quite, as much of the advice presented in the book is half-baked. Is it magical realism? Perhaps, though the magical element is understated. Is it simply a collection of interlinked short stories? That feels closer, but still not the full picture. The book weaves advice columns, time slips, and personal dilemmas into something that resists neat categorization. For some readers that slipperiness will feel refreshing, for others a little unsatisfying.

The premise is undeniably charming: people write letters to the long-closed Namiya General Store seeking advice, and three young delinquents hiding out there decide to answer them. What follows are a series of tales that link the past, present, and future in curious ways. The advice itself, however, often feels scattershot. Sometimes it seems sensible, at other times vague, and in a few cases it takes the “easy way out” by leaning on knowledge of the future, which raises questions about how meaningful or fair that guidance really is. What lingers most from the novel is its intricate web of connections across time. Characters from seemingly unrelated chapters end up linked — by chance, by fate, or by their shared history at a children’s home that recurs through the book. 

The trio at the heart of the frame story are sharply drawn. Atsuya, hot-headed and impulsive, wants quick solutions. Shota, in contrast, tends to pause and think things through. Kohei, the quietest of the three, often mediates between them. However, their character arcs do not get fully fleshed out and seem somewhat abrupt.

Higashino’s prose, at least in translation, is simple and elegant. The language flows easily, never bogging the reader down with unnecessary complexity. This makes the book accessible even when the structure is fragmented. Overall, I would give The Miracles of the Namiya General Store a 3 out of 5. It is touching in parts and often clever in how it connects disparate lives, but the unevenness of its advice and the overreliance on coincidence keep it from being truly remarkable.

Pros: An intriguing premise, simple and elegant

Cons: Uneven advice sections, heavy reliance on coincidence

Brief Answers to the Big Questions, Stephen Hawking's, 2018

Rating: 4/5

Published posthumously, this book brings together Stephen Hawking’s final thoughts on ten of the most profound questions we face. His daughter, Lucy Hawking, and the Stephen Hawking Estate were closely involved in shaping this collection, ensuring it reflects his voice and vision. This is Stephen Hawking’s final message to the world — a collection of ten essays tackling some of the most pressing and profound issues of our time. The chapters span a wide range of topics: from the existence of God and the future of artificial intelligence, to whether time travel is possible and how we might survive as a species. 

What makes the book compelling is Hawking’s ability to engage with such heavy questions without losing sight of his audience. He never talks down to the reader, yet he rarely lets the science become impenetrable. Two chapters especially stood out to me. Chapter 1, where he addresses the question “Is there a God?”, is striking for its clarity and honesty. While he’s respectful in tone and careful not to ruffle religious feathers unnecessarily, he is still frank and direct in stating his views. And Chapter 5, on black holes, is probably the most accessible and elegant explanation of the subject I’ve come across. Hawking distills decades of research into a few pages of crisp, often witty, insight.

That said, despite Hawking’s efforts to simplify concepts and keep a touch of humour throughout, the book does get a bit dry at times —  an understandable challenge given the complexity of the material. Some chapters are simply more engaging than others. Still, this book is a wonderful parting gift — a thoughtful, accessible summary of how Stephen Hawking saw the universe, our role in it, and the questions that should drive us forward. Highly recommended for anyone curious about science, philosophy, or the future of humanity.

Pros: Ambitious questions, clearly explained science, and Hawking’s trademark curiosity.

Cons: Occasional dry stretches and uneven pacing across chapters. 

The Hidden Girl and Other Stories, Ken Lay, 2020

Rating: 4/5

This is a collection of 19 short stories that span genres and centuries – from ancient China to distant, post-human futures. Like The Paper Menagerie, the first thing that strikes you about Ken Liu’s work is the audacity and range of his imagination. But compared to that earlier collection, this one leans more toward science fiction, with many stories exploring uploading, artificial intelligence, and digital consciousness. There are still glimmers of Chinese myth and fantasy, but the speculative here feels more tech-driven than a collection of myths.

Among the standout stories for me was The Reborn, a tightly woven tale of alien colonization, memory manipulation, and rebellion. Another highlight was The Hidden Girl, which blends Tang dynasty history with speculative action. On the more emotional side, Memories of My Mother and The Message were moving stories about the fraught dynamics between parents and children – especially when that relationship is strained.

Not all stories landed equally well for me. Like most short story collections, this one has its weaker links. Some stories feel too abstract, or conceptually interesting but emotionally flat. Thoughts and Prayers, while powerful, was deeply disturbing. The three-part series beginning with The Gods Will Not Be Chained and concluding with The Gods Have Not Died in Vain didn’t resonate with me as much as the others. Though rich in worldbuilding, I found these stories emotionally disengaging.

Overall, this book is worth a read for its highs and its continued testament to Liu’s unique ability to humanize the speculative. It’s always difficult to rank stories in a collection like this, where each piece might resonate differently with each reader. Still, if I had to pick a few that stood out: (1) The Reborn for its imaginative exploration of identity and colonialism, (2) The Hidden Girl for its unique blend of historical fantasy and moral growth, (3) Memories of My Mother for its elegant and affecting time-bending portrait of maternal love, and (4) The Message for its quiet and redemptive take on estrangement and reconciliation.

Pros: Inventive ideas, emotional depth in select stories, and a range of tones – from action to meditation.

Cons: Several stories, particularly in the uploading/digital consciousness arc, felt repetitive or slow.