Q1 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 fan of The Shining film by Stanley Kubrick, but I’d always heard that the film is very different from the book. Most other media based on Stephen King has disappointed me, so I went into The Shining novel with some trepidation.

Well, I loved this book. It is quite verbose, showing the majority of situations separately from the perspective of each main character, but this never feels repetitive to read. The prose is simple, while still being interesting and enjoyable to read; I flew through the 600+ pages of my mass market paper back in under six days.

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

Interestingly, while both the film and novel are scary, the things I found most frightening in book are explicitly supernatural, and are left out of the film. Even so, I personally think that the film is a great adaptation: it takes liberties, but it 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 movies: Carrie (1976) and Christine (1983).

— 4/5 —

(Read 2025) Morvern Callar, by Alan Warner

These Demented Lands is a sequel to Morvern Callar, which I read last year, so I will provide a review for that first.

Morvern Callar is my unequivocal favorite film of all time. The movie was directed by Lynne Ramsay and released in 2002, while the novel by Alan Warner was published 1995. I made an earlier attempt at the novel two years ago, but the Scots dialect and lack of names had put me off.

To my great surprise—online I’d seen many posts that dismissed the novel as inferior to the film—I absolutely loved this book! I’ve since re-read large sections of it, and it has quickly grown into one of my favorites. It’s a book about anxiety, grief, survival, loneliness, and independence. Morvern is the most I’ve ever related to a fictional character.

— 5/5 —

These Demented Lands, by Alan Warner

‘Man, you are zilch, you are zilch in werdyness 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, or even whether it is meant to be taken literally. After only one read, I’m not sure I’m capable of deciphering exactly what it’s about, but I do know that I had a blast. It is sort of a surrealist mix of Morvern Callar with Mad Max; even 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 the surreal and philosophical nature of his first two works?

The first chapter immediately had me chuckling, though, and I realized my mistake: of course he should write a comedy, These Demented Lands was hilarious! Then I reached the chapter titled Hymn to Orla Johnstone and found he had not, in fact, deviated at all—The Sopranos is a direct continuation of the ideas in Morvern, just tackled through 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 an incredibly written, funny, sad, and hopeful story about a life-changing 24 hour period in the lives of its six young characters. In my opinion, the review quote above is incredibly misleading: there is little on page sexual activity, and what is there is not particularly lurid. The characters are just 17 years old, and thus their conversations often veer into raunchy 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 are fairly plain, the ideas surface level, and the world building makes 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 mystery, a tragedy, a romance, and a piece of feminist historical fiction, all woven together masterfully. Alias Grace was previously my go to answer for my favorite book, and The Blind Assassin is somehow even better—Margaret Atwood is my favorite author of all time.

— 5/5 —

In Bloom, by C. J. Skuse

The Sweetpea series is a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine. At its best, the writing is incredibly clever and funny. At its worst, the story devolves into trashy romance and repetitive, self-insert, wish-fulfillment torture-murders of annoying, bad people.

I read the first book last year, but I don’t have much to say so I won’t give a full review like I did for Morvern Callar. The Starz show is better than the novels in many ways—it mostly avoids self indulgence and does a fantastic job of showing how awkward and disturbing Rhiannon appears when we observe her from an outside perspective—and worse in others—it chickens out of a certain plot line in a way the strains believability.

In Bloom is the second book of the series and it is probably the weakest in terms of balancing the good with the bad (as defined above). Still, it is pretty darn entertaining and the ending was so great that it bumped my opinion into the positive.

— 3/5 —

The Stars in the Bright Sky, by Alan Warner

An excellent sequel to The Sopranos, though not as experimental or emotional. Wonderful character work and the funniest Warner book I’ve read. I highly recommended this if you enjoyed the first novel. The ending is absolutely ridiculous, I couldn’t have worked it out even if I was given 100 guesses.

— 4/5 —

Trainspotting, by Irvine Welsh

After devouring four Alan Warner novels, I decided to check out other Scottish writing, and what could be better 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 writing that I’ve ever read, and I say that (mostly) to be complimentary. Individual chapters blew me away, but it didn’t weave together in a particularly moving way in the same way that The Sopranos did. It had excellent prose and complex, entertaining characters, so I will definitely read more Irvine Welsh books in the future.

— 4/5 —

The Panopticon, by Jenni Fagan

The Panopticon came off as a YA version of Trainspotting, both for better and for worse. The younger characters and the more simple narrative structure quickly had me emotionally invested. However, it often came off that the author cared for her characters too much. I was fully on their side, and would have loved for them to behave in a more rough and believable way—their goodness was spelled out to the point that it bordered on emotional manipulation. The writing felt very inspired by Warner and Welsh, but lacked their experimental brilliance.

— 3/5 —

Dead Head, by C. J. Skuse

The change of setting was welcome and the new characters were mostly excellent. However, it periodically felt the need to insert some new sexual predator or child abuser for Rhi to murder, and the author is clearly no longer interested in writing these scenes—and I’m no longer interested in reading them. Just like the first two in the series, there is a fantastic dark comedy in there somewhere, held back by bland 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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