Wilkerson’s Caste doesn’t just talk about racism; it redraws the map of power itself—and once you see it, you can’t politely unsee it.

A candid, multi-faceted study of how overbreathing can fuel anxiety, why carbon dioxide matters, and simple breathing habits to calm your nervous system.

A soulful self‑help book that swaps toxic positivity for radical emotional honesty and offers a surprisingly practical path to inner calm.

Colours have always felt oddly personal to me. In a world that feels grey and hurried, take a deep dive into the history, culture, and emotion behind the vibrant stories of each shade.

Hawking’s final book turns late‑night existential dread into sharp, witty cosmology, proving the universe is confusing—but never boring.

A hilarious, hungover love letter to friendship, heartbreak and growing up messy. Dolly Alderton makes millennial chaos feel strangely comforting.

A candid recollection of the legendary actress's remarkable life, a powerful, witty, and deeply human story of Black womanhood, fame, faith, and resilience.

Part scientific biography, part existential detective story, Why Fish Don’t Exist traces David Starr Jordan’s rise from star ichthyologist to chilling eugenicist.

A psychiatrist, a patient and a few alleged past lives walk into a therapy room. Many Lives, Many Masters is bizarre, comforting and oddly convincing.

A brutally gentle guide to trauma, patterns, and why “that’s just how I am” might be a lie you’ve lovingly told yourself for years.

Covey’s classic isn’t just productivity porn; it’s a grown-up guide to values, habits and leadership that still hits uncomfortably close to home.

A buzzy business book on Bezos that feels more like a well-annotated textbook than a backstage pass. Insightful, but I’ll stick to the original letters.

Flow by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi asks a bold question: Are you truly enjoying your life, or just scrolling through it on autopilot?

The Four Agreements is a spiritual cult favourite, but did it change my life? I closed the book feeling unconvinced, a bit bemused, and oddly underwhelmed.

The sequel to The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck crashes in like a neon‑lit therapy session: part pop philosophy, part existential crisis, all very sweary.

Dale Carnegie’s classic shouldn’t work in 2026—and yet it does. A surprisingly warm, savvy guide to social skills, influence, and not being accidentally rude.