A dark, feminist crime thriller set in the 1970s Midwest, The Quarry Girls turns small-town nostalgia into something sharp, unsettling, and painfully familiar.

Chilling, romantic and a bit unhinged, The Other Emily hooked me late at night—then rushed its own ending like it had somewhere better to be.

Perhaps my favourite historical fiction yet, Beneath a Scarlet Sky is a gripping, quietly devastating WWII story set in occupied Italy that really lingers.

A brutal war, a family on the run, and one fragile sliver of hope: The Last Green Valley turns history into a gut-punching, strangely uplifting odyssey.

A dark, twisty thriller where wellness culture turns venomous, and sisterhood gets culty. The Hive will make you side‑eye every glossy empowerment brand.

Ariel Lawhon’s I Was Anastasia takes my lifelong Romanov obsession and toys with it, twisting memory, identity and truth into one elegant gut punch.

Dark, twisty, and just a bit unhinged, The Housemaid series hooked me fast—even if Freida McFadden’s signature formula is starting to feel familiar.

A yacht sinks, God shows up in a lifeboat, and everyone has baggage. A short, spiritual survival tale that’s moving, flawed, and oddly timely.

Espionage meets art forgery and high finance in the 22nd installment of the Gabriel Allon series.

Shipwrecks, tigers and theology on a lifeboat: rereading Life of Pi two decades on, I found a stranger, sharper and more unsettling novel than I remembered.

As the year draws to an end and winter closes in, curling up with a good book under a plaid throw is a beautiful way to soak up the comfort and magic of December.

A moody Cambridge campus, a secret society, and therapy gone feral: The Maidens is dark academia with bite, even if its final twist wobbles.

A famous painter kills her husband, then never speaks again. The Silent Patient turns that eerie silence into a dark, twisty psychological obsession.

Steamy swamps, buried secrets and two girls clinging to each other in a hostile world—this haunting Southern tale left me beautifully uneasy.

What better way to get into the chilling spirit than delving into a scary story?

Madeline Miller’s Circe gives a sidelined witch the spotlight, turning Greek myth into a slow-burning, feminist gut punch wrapped in lush, lyrical prose.

A tender, tragic queer retelling of Achilles and Patroclus that trades dusty heroics for intimacy, heartbreak and a quietly devastating kind of glory.

A wandering newsreader, a furious Kiowa-raised girl, and a dusty Texas road trip that broke my heart in the quietest possible way.

A glossy fable of 5 am miracles, mansplaining and morning routines. I cherry-pick the gold, roll my eyes at the fluff, and decide if it’s worth your dawn.

A brutally honest, quietly tender look at what happens when the butterflies leave, the bills arrive, and love has to grow up or give up.