Reading Wrap-Up

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April 09, 2026

My aim at the start of this year was to read more novels and short fiction, rather than watch the disgusting amount of films I did last year. Three months in, I’ve been somewhat successful.

Table of Contents

Novels

In January, February, and March, I read 10 novels out of the 12 that I’d hoped for.

The Shining, by Stephen King

I’m a big fan of The Shining film by Stanley Kubrick, but I’d always heard that it is very different from the original book. Most of the other media I’ve seen that is based on King’s stories has disappointed me, so I went into The Shining novel with some trepidation.

I needn’t have feared: the book is great. It is quite verbose—the majority of situations are shown separately from the three main characters’ perspectives—but never felt repetitive. The prose is simple, yet still interesting: a breeze to read; I flew through the 600+ pages of my mass market paperback in under six days.

In the novel, Jack’s point of view provides a warped and repressed picture of his past actions and his present motivations. He comes off as a much more sympathetic character than Jack does in the film—until he doesn’t.

Interestingly, while both are scary, the things I found most frightening in book are explicitly supernatural, and left out of the film. Even so, I personally think that Kubrick crafted a great adaptation: it takes liberties, but gave me a similar feeling of dread and decline. I’ll definitely check out more Stephen King, probably starting with the source material for my other favorite movie adaptations: Carrie (1976) and Christine (1983).

— 4/5 —

The next thing I read was These Demented Lands, a sequel to the novel Morvern Callar, which I read last year.

Morvern Callar, by Alan Warner (Read in 2025)

Morvern Callar, directed by Lynne Ramsay, is my unequivocal favorite film of all time. The movie released in 2002, while the novel on which it’s based was written by Alan Warner, and published in 1995. Online you’ll find numerous posts that dismiss the novel as inferior to its adaptation—so it was to my great surprise that I fell in love with the book as well! I’ve re-read large sections of it, many multiple times, and the paperback stands alongside the blu ray among my most prized possessions. Regardless of the medium, Morvern Callar is a story about grief and anxiety, loneliness and alienation, survival and independence; Morvern is the most that I’ve ever related to a fictional character.

— 5/5 —

These Demented Lands, by Alan Warner

‘Man, you are zilch, you are zilch in weirdyness to things I did and saw way Down There,’ I shouted to him as he approached, the stag’s horns on his motorcycle helmet (that he was later arrested for as an accident hazard) moving slow from side to side as he braked to a stop; the old motorbike phuttering away.

— These Demented Lands, pp. 44

These Demented Lands is a bizarre creation. It’s a sequel that—beyond the narrative voice—never lets on that it is a sequel until the final line; it never even lets on if what’s written is meant to be taken literally. After only one read, I’m not capable of deciphering what it’s all exactly about, but I know that I had a blast. It is a sort of surrealist mix of Morvern Callar and Mad Max; more funny and more disturbing than Morvern’s first adventure, but never quite as profound.

— 4/5 —

The Sopranos, by Alan Warner

I went into The Sopranos not knowing what to expect. Why was Alan Warner writing about “the sexual adventures of Catholic girls,” as the quote from E. Anne Proulx on the back of my copy states? What could possibly have influenced such an about face from his first two works?

The first chapter had me chuckling, though, and I immediately realized my mistake: of course he should write a comedy, These Demented Lands was hilarious! When I reached the chapter titled Hymn to Orla Johnstone, I found he had not deviated at all—I was reading a continuation of the ideas in Morvern, just tackled from new perspectives.

But what Fionnula felt was anger, not anger at Iain or Catriona, not anger at Kay’s folk, not even anger at their absurd religion, but anger at the sky and the roundabout and the whole charade that puts a young, lovely girl, lost in a city; unknown as to what she really wants an too lonely to imagine.

— The Sopranos, pp. 236

The Sopranos is the incredibly written, hilarious, crushingly sad, and wonderfully hopeful story of a life-changing 24 hour period in the lives of six young women. The review I quoted above is unforgivably misleading: there is little on page sexual activity, and what there is, is not lurid. It’s not sexualizing Catholic schoolgirls, the characters are just 17 year olds; their conversations will, of course, veer into risqué territory.

Fionnula accepted what Orla had told her by reaching out, taking the fiver in her hand and gripping it tight, she accepted everything that was going to happen until the end.

— The Sopranos, pp. 323

The final chapter is one of the most emotional endings that I have ever read. Never have I laughed and cried so much while reading one book.

— 5/5 —

Under the Skin, by Michel Faber

Another week and another Scottish novel that served as source material for a film that I love. I won’t rag on this too much, but suffice it to say that the film is almost entirely different—and is much better for it. The characters were plain, the ideas surface level, and the world building made little sense beyond providing a contrived premise for the specific moral quandaries the author had in mind.

— 2/5 —

The Blind Assassin, by Margaret Atwood

But in life, a tragedy is not one long scream. It includes everything that led up to it. Hour after trivial hour, day after day, year after year, and then the sudden moment: the knife stab, the shell burst, the plummet of the car from the bridge.

— The Blind Assassin, pp. 417-418

One of the most impressive novels that I have ever read. It’s a page-turning mystery, a devastating tragedy, a complex romance, and a meticulous piece of feminist historical fiction, all woven into a whole that is even greater. Alias Grace has long been my go to answer for, “what is my favorite book?” And The Blind Assassin is its equal.

— 5/5 —

In Bloom, by C. J. Skuse

The Sweetpea series is a guilty pleasure of mine. At its best, the writing is incredibly clever and funny. At its worst, the story devolves into trashy smut and the author’s repetitive musings on things that she finds annoying.

Previous to this year, I’d already seen the show and read the first book, but I won’t dedicate a full review to those. The Starz show is better than the novels in many ways—it mostly avoids self indulgence and shows how awkward and disturbing Rhiannon is when observed from outside her perspective—and worse in others—it chickens out of a certain plot line in a way that strains believability.

In Bloom is the second book of the series and it is probably the weakest of the three that I’ve read. Still, it was pretty darn entertaining and the ending was so great that I bumped my opinion into the positive.

— 3/5 —

The Stars in the Bright Sky, by Alan Warner

TSitBS is an excellent sequel to The Sopranos, though I did not find it nearly as experimental or emotional. The dialogue and character work is amazing, as expected, and it’s the funniest Warner book I’ve read so far. The ending is absolutely ridiculous—I couldn’t have worked it out even if I had 100 guesses.

— 4/5 —

Trainspotting, by Irvine Welsh

After devouring four Alan Warner novels, I decided to check out other Scots writing. What could be a better choice to start with than Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting? It’s one of the most popular Scottish books of all time, and Welsh and Warner seem to be good friends.

Trainspotting is one of the most disgusting pieces of fiction that I’ve ever read, and I say that (mostly) as a compliment. Individual chapters would frequently blow me away, but they never wove together in a particularly moving manner—unlike the set pieces in The Sopranos, which crescendo-ed to have me rolling with laughter or bawling my eyes out. Nevertheless, it features excellent prose and complex, entertaining characters, so I will definitely read more from Welsh in the future.

— 4/5 —

The Panopticon, by Jenni Fagan

The Panopticon is YA Trainspotting, for better and for worse. I loved each of the residents, and I was invested in their plights—I was on their side right from the jump, and I loved them—flaws and all. But the author cared far too much that us readers MUST love her characters, and eventually their goodness was spelled out to the point of emotional manipulation. As Scots writing, it felt inspired by Warner and Welsh, but it lacked their harsh, experimental brilliance.

— 3/5 —

Dead Head, by C. J. Skuse

The change of setting was welcome in Sweetpea book three, and the new characters were mostly excellent. However, it would periodically insert some bland new sexual predator or child abuser for Rhi to murder, and the author is clearly not interested in writing these scenarios anymore—and I’m certainly no longer interested in reading them. Like the first two in the series, there is a fantastic dark comedy in this novel somewhere, but it’s cluttered by commercial trappings.

— 3/5 —

Poems and Short Stories

As I’ve been attempting to write my own short fiction, I decided to read some literary journals. Below are all the short fiction and nonfiction pieces that I’ve read this year. I don’t really know how to rate these, so I’ll just put # after any that I particularly enjoyed.

HAD

Permafrost

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