Posted by Dan Hartland
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Here is the third part of our reviewers’ trawl through 2025. The first part was here, and the second here.
Eric Primm
In 2025, my day job took up significantly more time than expected, and between it and the craziness of the world right now, I retreated into reading. It was a year of comfort reads. I made it through all seven books in the Dungeon Crawler Carl series. It’s raucous, raunchy, and just fun. It was a good distraction at a very needed time. Sign Here by Claudia Lux was a wonderful workplace novel set in Hell that was unlike anything else I read all year.
I also caught up on some older books on my shelf. Gareth Hanrahan’s The Gutter Prayer was surprising, creative, and beautifully written. I returned to the Edinburgh Nights series with The Mystery at Dunvegan Castle by T. L. Huchu. This Scottish series deserves more people talking about how lovely it is. In a setting a little farther north than Scotland, John Gwynne’s The Shadow of the Gods opened a new series with brutality and heart. It’s a difficult combination, but Gwynne pulled it off. But the book of the year for me was Robert Jackson Bennett’s A Drop of Corruption. This second book in the Shadow of the Leviathan series builds on and surpasses the first novel in every way. This is a can’t-miss series for me, and I’m looking forward to the next. Finally, heading into the Christmas holiday, I’m listening to the audiobook of King Sorrow by Joe Hill. This story is Hill at his finest; it’s the best of his books so far. The audio production is great and elevates an already spooky story. 2025 was another great year for readers; here’s wishing you all the best with your TBR pile.
Electra Pritchett
This year I tried to really catch up on my physical TBR shelves, so I’m behind on recent books. Kate Elliott’s The Witch Roads and The Nameless Land duology gets my top vote for 2025; Elliott is going from strength to strength, and this duology set in a new world is a perfect introduction to her writing. I adored Margaret Owen’s triumphant Holy Terrors, which ran all the way through the tape with an indelible protagonist and heart-wrenching character development over the course of the trilogy. Emily Tesh’s The Incandescent is another shoo-in for my Hugo ballot.
I read a lot of manga. Fantasy fans will enjoy Shirahama Kamome’s ongoing Witch Hat Atelier series, about an unpedigreed student learning magic in a world where learning magic is heavily restricted. Urasawa Naoki’s Billy Bat is coming out in English in 2026, for fans of centuries-spanning global conspiracies and mythical entities that are up to no good. Hagio Moto’s They Were Eleven! has finally been translated into English, and it’s a classic, even if its views of gender have aged oddly. Ichikawa Haruko’s Land of the Lustrous, about gemstone people on a far future Earth, finished up in English this year and is another gender-exploring sci-fi classic in the making. For comics fans, Linnea Sterte’s A Garden of Spheres is dazzling, and a good excuse to read her back catalog (all excellent). Kelly Thompson’s Absolute Wonder Woman is a bold, fascinating chthonian take on the character.
Between Andor, Murderbot, and Severance, sci-fi fans ate well on TV this year. Sinners, Superman, and Wicked: For Good held up the genre banner at the movies, as did KPop Demon Hunters and Frankenstein, which I loved.
As for the TBR, I DNF’d quite a few by the big genre names of yesteryear, but Suzette Haden Elgin’s Native Tongue still holds up a glass that reflects our current quagmire darkly. I’ve also been rereading Michelle West’s epic Essalieyan fantasy series. Her depth of character and worldbuilding remain amazing, and these books should be much better known.
Daniel Rabuzzi
Rather than talk about the books I enjoyed this year—including Paz Pardo’s The Shamshine Blind, Jared Pechaček’s The West Passage, and Better Dreams, Fallen Seeds and Other Handfuls of Hope by Ken Scholes—I will focus on the infrastructure of speculative literature. For instance, for the first time ever the Hugos included a category for poetry, won by Marie Brennan at Worldcon in Seattle for “A War of Words.” Similarly, The Translated Hugo Initiative aims to introduce a Hugo Award for Best Translated Work. In the face of daunting economic and social headwinds, small and independent presses and mags specializing in speculative literature continue to exhibit remarkable tenacity, vision, and innovation. Collective applause to the indie publishing ecosystem, with special shout-outs to Small Beer, Aqueduct, Fairwood, Carmina, Tachyon, PS, Kaleidotrope, Red Ogre, Black Shuck, Sunday Morning Transport, Uncanny, Psychopomp, and—if I may—Strange Horizons.
The critical apparatus for speculative literature is flourishing. Critical sites I find most stimulating (even, perhaps especially, when I disagree!) include SH's columns and its Critical Friends podcast, Ancillary Review of Books, Fantasy Cafe, Locus of course (highlighting Charles Payseur's review of short stories); Ruthanna Emrys’s and Anne M. Pillsworth’s “reading the weird” at Reactor, Fantasy Book Reviews, Cora Buhlert's reportage; Natalie Zutter at Literary Hub, and The Lillian Review of Books. I especially value the insights authors offer, for example Yume Kitasei's newsletter Matcha Talk and Lincoln Michel's Counter Craft. I am most impressed with the introspection and historical analysis that many speculative literature critics engage in, whether it is the Brighton World Fantasy Convention’s “fantasy timeline” (and the “Epic Pooh and The Style of Fantasy Prose” panel there with Lisa Tuttle, Lee Murray, John Clute, and Farah Mendlesohn), Sean Guynes with his thoughtful review of the Ballantine Adult Fantasy Series, Dr. Sara Cleto and Dr. Brittany Warman at The Carterhaugh School of Folklore and the Fantastic, or Young People Read Old SFF. We can't “make it new” if we don't know what the old looks like.
Subham Rai
This year felt like a nonstop swirl of uncertainty and change, but these stories gave me the sharpest ways to unpack it all.
Severance came back with brutal insight into fractured identities and corporate control, hitting way too close to real life. Andor wrapped its rebellion story with quiet power and real stakes. Foundation handled huge cosmic ideas without dropping the human side. Vince Gilligan’s Pluribus caught me off guard with its biting take on forced happiness, mixing dark laughs and quiet warmth. Alien: Earth brought back pure, gut-level horror.
Claire North’s Slow Gods stood out most among new releases, refreshing timely questions with urgent bite. Robert Jackson Bennett’s A Drop of Corruption layered kaiju threats over smart detective work in a fragile empire. Mark Lawrence’s The Book That Held Her Heart closed his Library trilogy on a deeply moving note. Brief mentions go to E. J. Swift’s climate-focused When There Are Wolves Again and the protest anthology We Will Rise Again, edited by Annalee Newitz and others.
Rereading Butler’s Parable series amid everything going on felt necessary, reminding me how communities hold together through collapse after current events have echoed its warnings too closely. A few big sequels chased flash and disappointment, but the strong work carried everything. Short pieces in Clarkesworld and Asimov’s tackled AI dilemmas and climate fallout with no wasted words. Themes of systemic cracks, tech ethics, and stubborn rebuilding kept coming up strongly. I was a little confused this time. The best stuff clarified tough realities more than it muddied them. These stories did more than distract. They helped make sense of the mess and point toward something worth holding on to.
Roy Salzman-Cohen
My favorite new SFF book of the year is Notes from a Regicide by Isaac Fellman. I’ve been a fan of Fellman’s since The Breath of the Sun, and this book feels to me like the culmination of some of his work--as in, it’s fully doing things he’s been trying to do for a while in his other writing. It’s brilliant and insightful and seethingly painful in places. It’s science fiction in a quiet way but also a necessary way, not tacked-on or half-hearted. It’s also a story about trans people that feels honest and correct to me—it’s a big deal to see it written so well by another trans person.
Stuff that wasn’t published this year: I caught up on a few things from recent years—of these, The Bright Sword by Lev Grossman is a major highlight. Just such a well-done quest fantasy that manages to be fun and deep and suspenseful and character-rich and truly magical. I also read some stuff that’s a little bit older.
I finally finished Gormenghast this year, and even though it’s taken me maybe eighteen months or more to read both that and Titus Groan, it was so completely worth it. The whole thing is made of magic even though there’s no actual magic in it at all.
Books that aren’t quite SFF: I started digging into Clarice Lispector, and finally started reading more poetry again. (Particularly Lynda Hull, Brigit Pegeen Kelly, Larry Levis.) While not SFF per se, I think all of these writers use language in a way that would be appealing to many SFF readers, particularly Strange Horizons readers. How many different things can an idea mean, and what can it connect to, and what do those connections open up? What impossible things can you discover?
Comics-wise, Drome by Jesse Lonergan is beautiful and strange and moving. My beloved Elfquest (Wendy and Richard Pini) re-released its first four books in lovely color editions, so I’ll throw that in here too. And old comics-wise, I finally read a bunch of Usagi Yojimbo (Stan Sakai) this year, which I heartily recommend to everybody.
Finally, in games—this was the year of Silksong. It was so, so, so cool to open that game at the same time as everybody else, knowing absolutely nothing. And it’s an incredible game. Just as good as the original Hollow Knight, in its own way. I love them both. I do wish there was an easy mode so that both games were more accessible, but that aside, incredible works of SFF immersion.
Andy Sawyer
2025 was largely taken up with writing and submitting a book, so any reading was either done with a view to the subject of the book (Terry Pratchett, which made the reading pleasurable, just mostly re-reading), or as far as possible as I could get from it by catching up with some of the “I’ve always wanted to read these” pile.
So Mary Elizabeth Braddon’s Lady Audley’s Secret (1862) may be an odd choice for this piece, particularly as it isn’t even a supernatural story—although towards the end there’s a chapter called “Ghost-haunted” in which one of the characters is in a Hansom cab, thinking about his dead friend, and begins to fantasize about ghost stories in a modern setting: “Nobody ever saw a ghost in a Hansom cab … The story would be something about a dismal gentleman, in black, who took the vehicle by the hour, and was contumacious upon the subject of fares, and beguiled the driver into lonely neighbourhoods, beyond the barriers, and made himself otherwise unpleasant.”
Lady Audley’s Secret is a classic Victorian “sensation novel” with echoes of Wilkie Collins’s The Woman in White. It’s an absolute page-turner—a melodrama, perhaps—but a very good one. The beautiful Lady Audley is her husband’s second wife. There is something mysterious about her past—as Lord Audley’s nephew, a somewhat idle barrister with a penchant for French novels, discovers when his friend George, back in England from Australia to reclaim the wife he abandoned, disappears. Both Lady Audley and Robert are wonderful characters. One is the villain in a complicated plot but comes across as surprisingly sympathetic, especially to the modern reader; the other is something of a drip but redeemed by his concern for his friend and by finding a role in playing detective. The blurb for my edition (Oxford World’s Classics) says that “sensational twists turn the conventional picture of Victorian womanhood on its head.” This is partly because it seems to be very much about a woman trying to make her own life in the world, and while Braddon doesn’t seem to be writing a “protest” novel about the state of women in Victorian society, she knows very well what the state of women is, and she is having great fun showing up the men in her novel.
Next was Andrew Michael Hurley’s Barrowbeck, published late 2024, a collection of short stories (originally radio plays) set on the borders of Yorkshire and Lancashire. The first story, which shows us the arrival into the valley of people fleeing an attack by a rival tribe, is set in prehistoric times. There is a huge leap of time until the next stories, set 1445 AD and 1792 AD. It takes some careful reading to establish the “folk horror” motif of the effects of landscape, and the future-setting of the final two tales turns them into science fiction. “A Valediction,” in which we are shown a final snapshot of Barrowbeck in 2041, is the most thoughtful story in the collection, and the most interesting science fiction story I have read in a long while.
Safia H. Senhaji
2025 was the year I got fully back into my danmei era. I finished Guardian by priest, and I’m currently in the middle of several amazing series: Stars of Chaos (also by priest), Ballad of Sword and Wine by Tang Jiu Qing, To Rule in a Turbulent World by Gu Xue Rou, and of course I’m still savouring all of Mo Xiang Tong Xiu’s books, as well as the excellent manhua adaptation of Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation. While I find the overarching plot aesthetics that seem to keep repeating themselves slightly frustrating at times, I am absolutely enjoying the distinct themes, characters, worldbuilding, and main relationships of each of those series, as well as the style of prose and pacing.
2025 was also a good nonfiction year—I finished Burn It Down by Maureen Ryan, No Beast So Fierce by Dane Huckelbridge, SPQR by Mary Beard, and I’m currently having a blast with Inventing the Renaissance by Ada Palmer. All were informative, with masterfully performed audiobooks.
Other standouts include Epic: The Musical, which I finished listening to in January 2025 and have kept listening to throughout the year, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V. E. Schwab, the excellent graphic novel adaptation of the first book in Tamora Pierce’s The Song of the Lioness Quartet (seriously cannot wait for the other three adaptations to come out!), The Incandescent by Emily Tesh, and The Will of the Many by James Islington. I also still can’t help thinking of January Fifteenth by Rachel Swirsky—a novella that packs a lot of punches—and I absolutely loved The Potency of Ungovernable Impulses by Malka Older.
I also finally got around to reading Amongst Our Weapons by Ben Aaronovitch (full of heart, amazing continued character growth, and gratifyingly inclusive), and dove into the Thursday Murder Club series by Richard Osman, which seems to get better with every instalment.
With more time to watch media, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed Apothecary Diaries season 1, Murderbot, The Residence, and I’ll definitely have to read Rachel Reid’s book series after I finish watching Heated Rivalry.
Last, but not least, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Suzanne Collins: While it never says good things about our current times to have a new Hunger Games book that provides much-needed commentary and insights, I’m nonetheless grateful that we have it. I finished reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes the day before the new book came out, and while I’m still not finished reading Sunrise on the Reaping, it is excellent—heart-wrenching, bittersweet, and masterful.
William Shaw
It was an exhausting year. But aren’t they all, these days? I count myself lucky that I at least had a good public library system and publishers willing to send me review copies amidst all the madness.
2025 saw Ali Smith’s Gliff make its US debut. An engaging combination of political satire, Kafkaesque nightmare, and horse novel, the book has the sensitive characterisation and witty, inventive prose that typify Smith’s output. I look forward to having my understanding of it completely upended by Glyph in 2026. Speaking of novels, Maggie Su’s Blob: A Love Story was a propulsive and bittersweet exploration of a pervasive fantasy: the romantic partner with no needs of their own. It all comes crashing down (of course), but oh, how delicious it is in getting there!
2025 also saw the publication of Amal El-Mohtar’s The River Has Roots. A melodic fairy tale with a sense of the numinous rarely found in contemporary fantasy, every sentence of this book feels like a dream. Speaking of dreams, Torrey Peters’s collection Stag Dance covers a wide range of fantasies, from the cross-dressing cryptidity of its title story to the secret desires of boarding school pupils. I also enjoyed the clashing designs of “The Masker” and the neo-Wellsian science fiction of “Infect Your Friends and Loved Ones.”
The 2025 book I find myself returning to most often, however, is Uncertain Sons and Other Stories by Thomas Ha. I raved about this book in my review for Strange Horizons—its meditations on fatherhood, lost media, and the cannibalisation of culture felt sadly applicable all through 2025. A rare pleasure, this: the work of fiction that not only entertains, but becomes a tool for thinking with. If 2026 can manage another one or two of those, I’ll be a very happy man.
Nataliia Sova
For me, 2025 was the year of Stephen King. I read quite a number of his newer and older works and watched two film adaptations, The Long Walk and The Running Man.
I loved The Long Walk as a book. It has a great premise: In a dystopian world, a number of young men participate in an annual contest which requires them to walk, nonstop, across the state of Maine. There is only one winner, and everyone else—the ones who get exhausted, injured, fight back, or simply stop walking—are shot. The novel is more psychological than plot-driven. It’s definitely not for everyone, but it became one of my favorite works by Stephen King.
In the movie version, characters and names are mixed and matched, probably to make it easier to follow a small group of people rather than the sprawling cast of the novel. Other than that, the film is pretty close to the book, except for the final act. The novel offers an open (and pretty depressing) ending, which I personally like. I read The Long Walk as a metaphor of life, but saw no such thing in the movie.
The Running Man as a book was a bit underwhelming to me. The premise is interesting: A man participates in a TV game in which he’s hunted by a group of professional hitmen. The worldbuilding was somewhat insufficient, and I was hungry for more interiority from the main character. The movie, however, developed the setting, added more stakes, and continued the main character’s arc while preserving the core of the story.
I look forward to 2026 and all the book adaptations it will bring!
Nileena Sunil
2025 was a fantastic year for me in terms of SFF. I wrote more book reviews than I ever had before, got the opportunity to interview writers at a literary festival, and overall had an amazing time reading and writing. Most of the books I read were older works, but I went through some enjoyable recent releases, including Brighter Than Scale, Swifter Than Flame by Neon Yang, a fun novella about dragon hunters and dragons, Death of the Author by Nnedi Okorafor, which weaves a sci-fi narrative around a tale about culture, identity, and disability, and Between Worlds, an exciting anthology of Indian SFF.
Other books I read and loved include The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty, the swashbuckling historical fantasy following an experienced female pirate in the Indian Ocean, Blood Over Bright Haven by M. L Wang, a rather dark take on academia, imperialism, and magic, and Yudhanjaya Wijeratne’s The Slow Sad Suicide of Rohan Wijeratne, a melancholic spacefaring story. I also had a lot of fun going through the first few books of The Vorkosigan Saga, Lois McMaster Bujold’s expansive space opera. Among non-SFF reads, a standout was The Fairy Tellers by Nicholas Jubber, which went into the history of popular fairy tales, and the people who wrote them.
On the movie and TV front, like many others this year, I enjoyed catching up with the latest seasons of Severance and Andor. KPop Demon Hunters was another highlight, as was Lost in Starlight, a heartfelt animated spacefaring romance movie. I was also captivated by The Summer Hikaru Died, a horror anime revolving around folklore, small town vibes, relationships and queerness. I had a lot of fun catching up with What We Do in the Shadows, and also enjoyed Lokah, a Malayalam movie that brings folkloric beings into a modern setting.
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