Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, Gabrielle Zevin, 2022

Rating: 5/5

MORE THAN A GAME

Friendship, love, ambition, heartbreak and redemption are hardly novel premises for a book. Yet Gabrielle Zevin manages to make them fresh and interesting by setting her story against the backdrop of the video gaming industry. Zevin describes herself as a “lifelong gamer”, and her familiarity with the subject is evident in the way she brings the world of game development alive, from the creative process to the business and technical aspects. However, she never allows this detailing to get in the way of the story or make it inaccessible to readers who know little about gaming. At its heart, this is a deeply human story about relationships, and the gaming world provides a wonderfully unusual setting for it.

The story revolves around three characters – Sam, Sadie and Marx. Sam is intelligent, introspective and often difficult to understand, carrying the physical and emotional scars of an accident that has shaped much of his life. Sadie is fiercely creative, ambitious and independent, but also complicated. Their relationship is the central thread of the book, moving between friendship, professional collaboration and something that neither quite knows how to define. Marx is the more easy-going and emotionally balanced of the three, often providing the glue that holds them together. Their individual journeys and the changing dynamics between them make for a fascinating portrayal of friendship over several decades.

Zevin is an engaging storyteller, with an easy writing style that makes the book extremely readable. She moves effortlessly across the different phases of the protagonists’ lives, while bringing the fictional games to life with considerable imagination. The narrative is also refreshingly inventive, particularly towards the end, when a sort of redemption arc unfolds through the lens of an MMORPG (Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game).

The title is drawn from Macbeth's famous soliloquy, which describes life as a brief and ultimately meaningless passage towards death. I found the choice somewhat puzzling, given that the novel, despite its spectrum of emotions, is ultimately much more hopeful – the idea of starting again and having another opportunity to make things right, as in video games, runs through the book. Nevertheless, an unusual subject, complex characters and some wonderful storytelling make this a thoroughly satisfying read.

Pros: Original setting, memorable characters, inventive storytelling

Cons: The Sam-Sadie dynamics can be weary at times

London Falling, Patrick Radden Keefe, 2026

Rating: 5/5

ORDINARY STORY BUT EXTRAORDINARY TELLING

Patrick Radden Keefe’s “London Falling” begins with the mysterious death of 19-year-old Zac Brettler, who was found in the River Thames after falling from a luxury apartment block in London in 2019. Zac came from a well-to-do Jewish family, but had been leading a secret life as the book soon reveals. The circumstances surrounding Zac’s death were never satisfactorily explained and the police investigation left many unanswered questions. With the permission and cooperation of Zac’s parents, Rachelle and Matthew Brettler, Keefe spent several years investigating what had happened to their son, writing first about the case for The New Yorker, and subsequently, publishing this book. The result is a combination of true crime, family tragedy and investigative journalism.

The most impressive aspect of the book is the sheer extent of Keefe’s research. He goes through police records, phone messages, CCTV footage, financial records and location data, while also reconstructing the backgrounds of the principal characters and interviewing people connected to them. Along with the parents’ own detailed investigation, the book helps piece together a picture of what may have happened on the night Zac died. More importantly, Keefe’s involvement brought renewed public attention to a case that might otherwise have remained largely unknown. It offers some conclusive insights in what really transpired and for Zac’s parents, who had spent years trying to understand what had happened to their son, this may have brought at least some measure of closure.

Keefe also tries to make the book a commentary on London today – a city where vast amounts of international wealth coexist with organised crime, dubious businessmen and authorities that either turn a blind eye or simply seem remarkably incompetent. But I am not entirely convinced by this aspect of the book. The problem is that the foundation for this commentary is Zac’s story, which, stripped of its unusual characters and circumstances, is ultimately a rather ordinary and inconsequential one. A troubled young man invents an elaborate fantasy about wealth and status, gets involved with the wrong people and ends up dead. It is a tragedy, certainly, but it doesn't necessarily tell us much about London or the state of modern society.

I must admit that while picking up the book, and even during the early chapters, I wondered what all the fuss was about. It is an interesting story, but hardly an extraordinary one. What Keefe does brilliantly, however, is turn it into a deeply human story, particularly through the perspective of Zac’s parents and their determination to understand what happened to their son. And then there is Keefe’s writing. He has this ability to take mountains of investigative material and make it read like a page-turning thriller. The book may not live up to the larger significance Keefe tries to attach to it, but as an easy, engrossing and well-written read, it is hard to fault.

Pros: extensive research, page-turning narrative, human interest story

Cons: Unconvincing larger thesis

Table for Two, Amor Towles, 2024

Rating: 5/5

A TABLE FULL OF DELIGHTS

Amor Towles has produced another wonderfully entertaining book with Table for Two, a collection of six short stories followed by the novella Eve in Hollywood, a sequel of sorts to his earlier novel, Rules of Civility. The six stories are set mostly in New York, while the novella takes us to 1930s Hollywood. It brings back Eve Ross and follows the new life she creates after leaving New York. Apparently, Towles originally wrote six linked stories about Eve before expanding them into this novella.

The breadth of these stories is remarkable and good evidence of Towles' imagination. “The Line” takes us to communist Moscow in the 1920s in a feel-good story about simplicity, patience and a good nature. “The Ballad of Timothy Touchett” is an amusing tale of a lazy writer whose lack of experience becomes an increasingly untenable excuse. “Hasta Luego” turns a cancelled flight into an unlikely human connection, while “I Will Survive” explores the complications of a second marriage. “The Bootlegger” begins with an annoyance at a Carnegie Hall concert and becomes something much more poignant. “The DiDomenico Fragment” turns an absurd inheritance into a meditation on art, money and family. Finally, Eve in Hollywood is a noirish tale of Hollywood, blackmail and reinvention. I’m sure every reader will have a favourite. While I find it difficult to choose one, I found “Hasta Luego” pointless and didn’t agree with the conclusion of “I Will Survive”.

Towles can make each story a page-turning drama, with twists and turns that keep you wanting to know what happens next. At the same time, every word, phrase and sentence seems to have been polished until it becomes a treat in itself. His descriptions, observations, humour and choice of words make even the smallest details worth lingering over. You want to race ahead to discover how the story ends, but also slow down and savour the writing. Consequently, each story deserves to be read twice – once for the story and once for the writing.

In “Table for Two”, whether writing about Moscow, New York or Hollywood, about books, art, marriage, music or chance encounters, Towles retains the wit, elegance and humanity that make his novels so enjoyable. This is a book to savour rather than simply finish, and easily one of my favourite  recent reads.

Pros: Wonderful writing, incredible variety, page-turning stories, memorable characters

Cons: None really

Marble Hall Murders, Anthony Horowitz, 2025

Rating: 4/5

STILL CLEVER, JUST A LITTLE WEARYING

Anthony Horowitz returns with Marble Hall Murders, the third novel in the Susan Ryeland series and another outing for the fictional detective Atticus Pund. By now, the novel-within-a-novel format has become the defining feature of the series, and Horowitz continues to find different ways of playing with it. Magpie Murders embedded almost the entire Atticus Pund manuscript after only a few pages of the main story. Moonflower Murders placed the contemporary mystery around the Pund novel, effectively bookending it. Here, the two narratives are interspersed, with Susan Ryeland's investigation and the Atticus Pund mystery unfolding side by side. Remarkably, the structure remains easy to follow despite the constant shifts between the two worlds and the plethora of characters.

The main story finds Susan Ryeland reluctantly drawn into yet another literary mystery when events surrounding a new Atticus Pund manuscript begin to have real-world consequences. As always, clues hidden within Atticus Pund’s investigation may hold the key to solving a real crime. Meanwhile, in the embedded novel, Atticus Pund investigates a murder connected to Marble Hall, a grand country house with more than its fair share of secrets and resentments. The two mysteries mirror and complement one another, yet each is satisfying enough to stand on its own.

Despite weighing in at nearly six hundred pages, Marble Hall Murders is a genuine page-turner. The Atticus Pund story is unmistakably inspired by the classic Agatha Christie tradition, with its quintessential English country house, while both narratives feature large casts of characters, each with plausible motives and carefully concealed secrets. Red herrings abound, yet Horowitz also plays fair, scattering enough clues for the attentive reader to feel the solution was always there to be found. As with the earlier books, half the pleasure lies in separating the genuinely significant details from the deliberate distractions.

But the series begins to show signs of fatigue. Ingenious though the concept remains, it is becoming increasingly difficult to accept the central premise when essentially the same extraordinary circumstances have now drawn Susan Ryeland into three separate investigations. The freshness that made Magpie Murders such a delight is inevitably diminished. Both mysteries also reach their denouements more quickly than expected, almost as though Horowitz, after patiently laying out hundreds of pages of clues, was eager to bring everything to a close. Even so, this is a satisfying mystery, cleverly plotted and entertaining. Susan Ryeland's closing words, "Never. Never again.", feel particularly apt. I sincerely hope Horowitz lets them stand, because this would be a fitting place to conclude a fine series.

Pros: Clever structure, two engaging mysteries, classic Christie atmosphere, page-turner

Cons: Formula beginning to feel repetitive, premise increasingly implausible, slightly hurried ending

Important: Please don't read this novel first if you intend to work your way through the Susan Ryeland series – Marble Hall Murders contains the major spoiler for Magpie Murders.

Apple in China, Patrick McGee, 2025

Rating: 5/5

CORPORATE HISTORY MEETS GEOPOLITICAL WARNING

Most books about Apple celebrate its products, its design philosophy or the genius of Steve Jobs. Patrick McGee takes a different approach. He argues that Apple's greatest achievement was actually building the most sophisticated manufacturing ecosystem the world has ever seen, and that this very success may have fundamentally altered the balance of technological power between the United States and China. Apple did not just move production to China – it helped build the industrial system that made China a manufacturing superpower. Apple in China is a meticulously reported account that combines corporate history, supply-chain strategy and international politics into a narrative that is both gripping and, for the most part, a page-turner.

The book begins with Apple in the late 1990s, on the verge of bankruptcy and desperately searching for manufacturers capable of producing increasingly ambitious products. What follows is the gradual migration of Apple's manufacturing expertise, from Japan and Taiwan to mainland China, driven initially by lower labour costs but eventually by China's unmatched ability to scale production at breathtaking speed. McGee demonstrates that Apple did not merely outsource assembly – it trained suppliers, transferred manufacturing know-how and financed advanced production processes. While Apple believed it was simply creating an efficient supply chain, it was also helping build the capabilities that would eventually underpin China's modern electronics industry. By the end, China had become indispensable to Apple.

McGee also reveals a wealth of surprising details that rarely feature in Apple's carefully cultivated story. For example, Apple reportedly pledged to invest $275 billion in China over a five-year period to appease the Chinese authorities – not in factories it owned, but through supplier investments, training and manufacturing support. McGee argues that this commitment dwarfed even the Marshall Plan (the US programme to rebuild 16 European countries after World War II) in inflation-adjusted terms.

Ultimately, Apple in China is all about unintended consequences. While McGee is extremely critical of Apple throughout the book and even questions Tim Cook's legacy, he never suggests that Apple consciously set out to strengthen China or weaken America's industrial position. Instead, he argues that countless rational business decisions accumulated into an extraordinary strategic vulnerability. Whether one fully accepts that thesis or not (and some of the arguments do feel like a stretch), the evidence he assembles is difficult to ignore. This is an exceptionally well-researched and thought-provoking book that changes the way one thinks about globalisation, manufacturing and the hidden machinery behind every iPhone.

Pros: Exceptionally researched, packed with fascinating insights into Apple's supply chain, an insider’s look at key policy decisions made by Apple

Cons: McGee is occasionally too critical of Apple, some geopolitical conclusions feel extreme

The Ministry of Time, Kaliane Bradley, 2024

Rating: 3/5

WHEN A GOOD IDEA ISN’T ENOUGH!

This book has been widely positioned as a clever blend of science fiction, humour and romance. In practice, I found that it delivers none of these in sufficient measure, and each element feels only partially realised. The science fiction is more conceptual than detailed, the humour is sparse and understated rather than genuinely funny, and the romance, while central, never quite achieves the emotional depth it seems to aim for. The result is a book that feels like it is constantly hinting at something richer and more engaging, but rarely getting there.

At its core, the story follows an unnamed narrator who is recruited into a mysterious government programme and assigned to act as a “bridge” for a historical figure transported into the present day. She is the daughter of a British man and a Cambodian immigrant — this is supposed to be significant, as the historical figures are immigrants in a way, but the comparison does not really land. Much of the narrative unfolds through her perspective as she navigates this unusual role, balancing bureaucratic expectations with the practical and emotional realities of integrating someone from the past into modern life. Without getting into specifics, the setup is intriguing and offers ample room for tension. However, the storytelling makes it difficult to stay fully invested in the characters or their arcs.

There are some enjoyable aspects of the book, such as its attention to everyday detail, particularly around food and domestic routines. These, along with differing gender and moral lenses, are used as markers of adjustment and connection. These moments hint at warmth and intimacy but rarely build into something more memorable.

Ultimately, the novel seems less interested in its premise and more focused on themes of institutional control, moral compromise and the gradual awakening of individual conscience. These are worthwhile ideas, but the execution does not make them compelling. The science fiction framework, in particular, feels both thin and oddly opaque — insufficiently detailed to be convincing, yet convoluted enough to be confusing. By the time the narrative reaches its conclusion, I found myself unclear on the mechanics of the plot, but given that I had become somewhat disengaged from its outcome, I didn’t really care.

Pros: Interesting central premise, thoughtful themes around institutions and control

Cons: Underdeveloped science fiction elements, uneven blend of genres, difficult to stay fully engaged

 

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.

Playground, Richard Powers, 2024

Rating: 4/5

The premise of Playground sounded like an eclectic mix: AI, memory, environmental ethics, and a remote island caught between progress and preservation. It felt like the kind of book that wouldn’t just tell a story but ask a few big, lingering questions along the way — and that’s exactly what it does for a large part. 

The novel brings together four very different characters: Evelyne Beaulieu, a young oceanographer haunted by a childhood brush with death; Ina Aroita, a Polynesian artist deeply connected to her island roots; Rafi Young, a literature-loving dropout seeking a quieter life; and Todd Keane, a tech mogul facing the slow onset of dementia. Their paths converge on Makatea, a once-exploited phosphate island now pitched as the site for a slick new AI-run seasteading project. The book alternates between a first-person narrative by Todd and a third-person one. It’s a lot to juggle, but Powers handles the shifting perspectives and timelines with care. The writing is beautiful and the sections on the ocean alone are worth the read.

I was aware of a twist at the end even before beginning the book although I didn’t know the details and eventually couldn’t guess most of it (there is some hint in the middle of the book though). Without spoiling it for readers, I found myself feeling ambivalent about the ending. On one hand, the twist genuinely took me by surprise. But on the other hand, it also felt almost too neat, too orchestrated and had a slightly gimmicky quality.

In the end, Playground is not flawless, but it's rich and original, and  I’m glad I read it. A solid 4/5 for a book that dares to do something different.

Pros: Relevant themes, gorgeous writing, layered characters with a unique structure

Cons: Somewhat gimmicky

Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers, Jesse Sutanto, 2023

Rating: 3/5

I picked up Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers as a palate cleanser after some heavier, more intense reads. The quirky title and promise of a cozy mystery with a dash of humour caught my attention. I was intrigued by the premise: an elderly Chinese tea shop owner stumbling upon a dead body and taking it upon herself to solve the crime. It seemed refreshingly different from the books I’d recently read — a lighter, more playful take on the murder mystery genre. Plus, the idea of a sassy, meddling senior citizen acting as an amateur sleuth sounded like a fun twist.

One of the book’s biggest strengths is its charming protagonist. Vera Wong is a delightful character—nosy, opinionated, and utterly endearing. Her habit of dispensing unfiltered, maternal advice (and food and tea) to everyone she meets is both amusing and oddly heartwarming. The novel also shines in its depiction of found family. As Vera cozies up to the suspects — Riki, Oliver, Julia, and Sana — what begins as suspicion gradually transforms into friendship. The group’s growing bond adds warmth , making the story feel more like a character-driven drama than a whodunit. The book also offers gentle but thoughtful commentary on loneliness, immigrant experiences, and generational disconnect.

However, despite these positives, the book ultimately fell a bit flat for me, warranting a 3/5 rating. While the mystery element is what drew me in, it ended up feeling secondary to the relationships and tea-time bonding. The investigation itself is simplistic and lacks the tension or twists that make a mystery gripping. Vera’s sleuthing relies more on charm and intuition than genuine detective work, making the “solving” of the crime feel almost incidental. Additionally, the writing style, while breezy and accessible, often veers into being overly sweet and sentimental. The characters’ emotional arcs, though touching, felt predictable and saccharine, with conflicts tied up too neatly.

That said, Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers will likely appeal to many readers, especially those looking for a cozy, heartwarming read with a sprinkle of mystery. Fans of character-driven stories, particularly ones featuring quirky older protagonists, will enjoy Vera’s antics and her lovable meddling. The book’s themes of loneliness, redemption, and human connection give it a relatable emotional core. While I found the book a bit too sugary and simplistic for my taste, still, it offers a pleasant escape — like a cup of sweet, milky tea on a rainy afternoon: comforting, but not particularly memorable.

Pros: Charming protagonist, heartwarming, and gentle commentary on loneliness and connection

Cons: Simplistic mystery, predictable emotional arcs, and overly saccharine tone

Revenge of the Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell, 2024

Rating: 4/5

In “Revenge of the Tipping Point”, Malcolm Gladwell revisits the concept of social contagion he first explored in The Tipping Point (2000), but this time he does a “forensic investigation” of social epidemics, in his own words. He expands his framework from the first book by introducing concepts such as overstories — dominant cultural narratives that subtly shape public perception, super-spreaders — influential individuals or platforms that amplify ideas far beyond their natural reach, group proportions — the delicate balance of minority and majority groups that can tip social norms, and small area variations — where subtle geographical or demographic differences create unexpected behavioural shifts. 

Like many books in this genre, “Revenge of the Tipping Point” occasionally falls into the trap of stretching its premise to fill pages. Authors tackling broad sociological concepts often force-fit disparate anecdotes into a central unifying theme, and Gladwell is no exception. He frames the book around the political hearing of Purdue Pharma officials over their role in the opioid crisis, using it as a narrative anchor. Yet, his attempts to map this complex, large-scale tragedy onto his concepts of small area variation, overstories, and super-spreaders sometimes feel tenuous. While the connections are thought-provoking, they occasionally appear more speculative than substantive, as if the framework is being retrofitted to the story rather than naturally emerging from it.

Nevertheless, Revenge of the Tipping Point remains an interesting and engaging read, largely due to Gladwell’s knack for storytelling. The book is peppered with fascinating anecdotes, such as the revelation that US Ivy League colleges deliberately made their admissions process more subjective in the early 20th century to curb the disproportionate success of Jewish applicants, who were excelling in the earlier, more quantifiable system. At just around 250 pages, the book is a relatively brisk read, making it easy to breeze through despite its occasionally stretched arguments. While Gladwell’s conceptual framework may feel loosely applied at times, his ability to unearth compelling stories ensures that the book still delivers what readers expect from him: a collection of memorable vignettes wrapped in big, if sometimes wobbly, ideas.

Pros: Engaging anecdotes, short and accessible

Cons: Forced analogies

Sea of Tranquility, Emily St. John Mandel, 2022

Rating: 5/5

What struck me the most after finishing Sea of Tranquility was how much it covered in just 200 pages — spanning centuries, multiple storylines, and several themes — without ever feeling rushed or overly complex. Despite its brevity, the novel takes its time with each of its main characters, immersing the reader in their lives making their journeys feel intimate.

It is difficult to write about the book’s premise without spoiling it for readers. Suffice to say, Sea of Tranquility is a beautifully written novel that blends science fiction with human themes. The book follows multiple characters across different timelines. In 1912, Edwin St. Andrew, a young English aristocrat, is banished to Canada and stumbles upon a mysterious anomaly in the forest. In the 2200s, Olive Llewellyn, a bestselling author from a lunar colony, embarks on an Earth book tour, unaware of the eerie parallels between her novel and reality. In 2401, Gaspery-Jacques Roberts, a detective from the Night City on the Moon, is assigned to investigate a strange pattern in time that links these characters. Mandel moves fluidly between the various narratives, keeping the story brisk yet immersive, allowing readers to absorb its multiple layers without feeling overwhelmed. The novel ends satisfyingly, tying the threads of its intricate plot together — a feat that is often difficult in stories of this genre.

The book’s structure reminded me somewhat of Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, another book that I love. Like that book, Sea of Tranquility weaves together multiple timelines and perspectives, exploring the interconnectedness of human lives across centuries. However, Cloud Atlas leans more heavily on stylistic shifts between its narratives, whereas Sea of Tranquility maintains a more uniform tone. Readers who appreciate the philosophical underpinnings of Cloud Atlas but prefer a more straightforward, emotionally resonant narrative with a dash of science fiction will likely find Sea of Tranquility particularly compelling.

Pros: Elegant writing, interesting themes, easily devoured in one sitting

Cons: Light on the sci-fi mechanics

Chinaman: The Legend of Pradeep Mathew, Shehan Karunatilaka, 2010

Rating: 4/5

I thoroughly enjoyed Karunatilaka's latest novel, The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida, for its zaniness and its sharp, humorous critique of Sri Lanka's political landscape in the 1980s. Given my enjoyment of his more recent work, my expectations for Chinaman, Karunatilaka's debut, were naturally high — a mix of mystery, humour, and cricket (which I follow avidly) promised a compelling read. And for the most part, the book delivers.

Chinaman: The Legend of Pradeep Mathew is narrated by W.G. Karunasena, a washed-up journalist, as he embarks on a quest to uncover the truth behind the disappearance of Pradeep Mathew, an enigmatic Sri Lankan cricketer with unmatched talent. The novel weaves together cricket, mystery, and social critique, as Karunasena explores the underbelly of match-fixing and political corruption within Sri Lankan cricket. Incidentally, a chinaman is a slower delivery bowled by a left-handed bowler to deceive the batter. 

Karunatilaka’s signature humor is on full display in Chinaman, offering a sharp and farcical commentary on Sri Lankan society and the political forces shaping its cricketing world. Through Karunasena's sarcastic observations, the novel skewers the absurdities of fame, the game's politics, and widespread corruption. While the humour is biting, the book does occasionally overstay its welcome. Some sections feel repetitive, and the plot's momentum falters at times, slowing down the story's overall pace.

The novel is laden with cricket references, which may overwhelm readers unfamiliar with the sport. Although cricket plays a central role in the narrative, those with little interest or knowledge of the game may find the terminology and depth of detail challenging. However, for cricket fans or those willing to immerse themselves in the lingo, Chinaman is an engaging and witty read, well worth the effort.

Pros: Witty, novel story

Cons: Drags occasionally, requires knowledge of cricket

What I Learned about Investing from Darwin, Pulak Prasad, 2023

Rating: 3/5

As the title suggests, this books has two themes. One, a discussion of Charles Darwin’s evolutionary theories and two, the translation of those theories to good investment tips. These are two areas that Prasad has expertise in. Accordingly, he prefaces each chapter with a quote from Darwins’s Origin of Species and and one from Warren Buffett’s many letters to his shareholders.

Let’s start with the first theme. Prasad is a seasoned investor in Indian equities with an impressive track record. His firm, Nalanda, achieved a 20% annualized return on its first fund over 15 years, compared to 11% for the benchmark index. This means $1 invested in the fund grew to $14, versus just $4 in the index—a remarkable feat. However, I found some of his views debatable. For instance, Prasad argues that businesses in conglomerates don’t make good investments, yet examples like TCS and Trent from the Tata group tell a different story — they are up 10 times and 21 times in the same period and Trent is up a further 5 times since then. There is also some inconsistency in his approach; while he avoids buying stocks at high valuations based solely on future prospects, he justifies holding existing ones with the same rationale. His strategy is also largely Buffett-inspired so there may be nothing new for readers familiar with Buffett’s style. Despite these critiques, his proven success make his insights worth exploring.

The book’s second theme, evolutionary theory, is less compelling. Although the blurb claims it influenced Prasad’s investment style, the connections often feel forced—such as the stretched analogy between sea urchins, McKinsey, and robust businesses. Prasad is clearly well-versed on the subject and it almost feels that he has simply used it as a “hook” to distinguish this book from many other similar books on investing. That said, some examples, like honeybees’ nesting sites in the final chapter, are intriguing.

At 275 pages, the book is concise, and Prasad’s writing is accessible. However, his frequent repetition of favoorite themes — such as buying great businesses, never selling them, and focusing on Return on Capital Employed — can feel redundant. Despite these flaws, the book offers valuable insights for young investors. Learning from a successful investor like Prasad is always a worthwhile experience.

Pros: An insight into Prasad’s excellent investment record

Cons: Largely “Buffett-isms”, stretched comparisons between evolution and investing

James, Percival Everett, 2024

Rating: 5/5

Percival Everett's *James* initially gave me pause. Could an adaptation of Mark Twain's "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" offer anything significantly different? I approached it with skepticism. To my surprise, Everett delivers something extraordinary—a thought-provoking exploration that retains Twain's spirit while carving out its own unique identity.

James unfolds through the perspective of Jim, and by shifting the narrative to Jim's perspective, Everett deepens our understanding of his inner world, offering a more intimate and complex portrayal than Twain's original. The story introduces compelling new characters, including Daniel Emmett and Norman, whose roles enrich the drama. Emmett, a historical 19th-century minstrel and composer with a complex relationship to slavery, appears early through his songbook—a choice whose significance becomes clear midway through the novel.

Everett masterfully employs two distinct linguistic styles to reflect the complexities of enslaved people's lives. One mimics the way racist white society expected them to speak—a simplified, subservient tone used as a survival shield. As Jim reflects: "The remarkable truth, however, was that it was not the pistol, but my language, the fact that I didn't conform to his expectations, that I could read, that had so disturbed and frightened him." The prose then shifts to a more reflective and nuanced style, highlighting the book's duality: a carefully controlled exterior masking profound truths beneath.

The only notable issue for me lies in the final third's series of convenient coincidences. These unlikely events feel forced and somewhat diminish the emotional impact. Nevertheless, *James* remains a truly lovely read. The depth of its characters, the emotional weight of its themes, and the beauty of its prose outweigh any minor flaws.

Pros: Inventive reimagining of a classic story, rich character development, emotionally resonant themes of survival and identity, and thought-provoking prose

Cons: A series of convenient coincidences in the latter third that occasionally stretch believability