Author: Andres Kabel

As an early devotee of Mick Herron (of Slow Horses fame), I took note when he praised an earlier instalment in British crime author Simon Mason’s now-four-book-strong DI Wilkins series. This “clashing duo” police procedural series features Detective Inspector Ray Wilkins, a handsome, posh-educated black investigative star, in tandem with and grinding against DI Ryan Wilkins, a trailer-trash opposite with instinctive investigative skills. Ray is smooth and cautious, Ryan brash and crass. Throughout the series, the author makes marvelous hay with the possibilities of this duality, bringing the reader to love both of them, even in opposition, as they often seem to be. The fourth book, A Voice in the Night, sees the Oxford-based pair tackling the baffling murder of an elderly professor in pyjamas, far from home. Unlike many crime writers assembling ongoing series, Simon Mason is utterly unafraid of upending the lives of his heroes, again and again, and in A Voice in the Night, Ryan in particular faces challenges that echo with classical tragedy. The author is an impeccable plotter and the writing, ebbing and flowing between lyrical place digressions, dramatic action scenes, and efficient procedural matter, is wonderful. As a prolific mystery reader, I cannot recall being taken with a book as I was with A Voice in the Night. Get it before Mason achieves fame.

How many books on longevity/healthfulness have I read over the past three years, since a health scare prompted selfish interest? I have lost count. Mostly they end up being well-meant exaggerations by doctors or researchers bursting to tell the world the new good news. The Ageless Brain: How to Sharpen and Protect Your Mind for a Lifetime by physician Dale Bredesen can spiral into overkill but it stands above the pack by enunciating clearly the advances in cognitive science over the recent and earlier decades. And the good doctor runs a clinic devoted, apparently successfully, to a protocol that does exactly what the book’s sub-title says. The chapter detailing his protocol (which includes three biomarkers for early identification of cognitive downturn, something I’d never seen before and now intend to pursue) is worth the price of the book alone. But the entire book, expressed clearly (if sometimes breathlessly), is a master class in scientific communication. The Ageless Brain is just the book for you if you have interest (theoretical or self-centered) in how to stave of the cliche of the aging brain.

In order to reach this stellar novel, I poured through one prior novel and five prior novellas, basking in what is surely one of the most lovely, profound examinations of non-human life in the science fiction canon. System Collapse Is a meaty addition to the ongoing saga of Murderbot, a Secbot (a cyborg adept at killing to protect humans) who (should I say “what”? Ah, that’s one deep theme throughout) has “hacked its governor module” to attain free will. The Murderbot Diaries, as Martha Wells’s acclaimed collection is called, is told in a close-up first-person style that demands readerly work, for Murderbot thinks in a programmatic way that resembles both our classic impression of robots and the brain of a possibly neurodivergent human. Free will, emotions, loyalties, relationships with humans … all these are explored with subtlety amid action. The storyline of System Collapse is typical of this series, a complex politically-infused drama pitting Murderbot, a semi-sentient spaceship, and human allies (masters?) against an evil corporation on a distant planet. Much of the “action” is not violence but exploration and diplomacy, and when real action occurs, Martha Wells is typically masterful in building and releasing tension. Oh, and did I say that the Murderbot Diaries is hilarious at the same time as thrilling and emotionally rich; the droll voice of Murderbot has to be read to be credited. I cannot believe I ignored this series for eight years! Is System Collapse the highlight? No, all seven instalments, novel or novella, are equally compelling, but System Collapse is nonetheless a 2025 must-read.

As my first sampling of Percival Everett’s eclectic, adventurous output, his 2024 novel James is a scintillating introduction. Daringly retelling some of the exploits of Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn from the point of view of the slave Jim, the book is immediately memorable as you realize that James/Jim is a literate intellectual who hides, along with his relatives, behind the slave lingo. This conceit is executed brilliantly, often with humor. But all the humor nestles behind the raw horror of the vicious, murderous treatment of the black slaves. Everett’s storyline tracks Twain’s, involving a part adventure, part desperate flight up the Mississippi River of the 1860s civil war time. As Huck and James roam, often hungry, often tossed into the hands of capricious white men, the author provides an unblinking view of a world in flux, a world of inhumanity, a world of hope. Comedy mixes with philosophical musings. The author’s style is cool and light and learned, a pleasure to read on the page. For a non-American, the tale can start to feel a little baroque and random, but Everett brings the book to a cathartic, emotional climax. James is brilliant and a pleasure to read.

Beloved novelist of quotidian days in Baltimore, Anne Tyler cannot be resisted, always parses smoothly, but increasingly has become insubstantial. In Three Days in June, deputy principal Gail, a fastidious, locked-up personality with a heart of gold well hidden, wrangles the world on the day before her sole daughter’s wedding (assailed by the arrival of her messy, friendly ex-husband Max), during the wedding, and on the day after. The novel starts encouragingly and inserts shocks as we realize the underlying theme is marital infidelity, but then the author seems to run out of puff. The chaotic wedding, viewed satirically, becomes tedious and just when the aftermath day picks up speed, Three Days in June climaxes with a genteel twist that might not ring true (at least it didn’t to this reader). Tyler’s twenty-fifth novel is, at 176 pages, short and slight.

There are legions of Helen Garner fans. We hang out for her muscular, part lyrical, part blunt, prose and for her unsparing look at the world behind its appearances. The Season is her gentlest outing yet, as well it should be in her eighties: she sets out to follow her teenage grandson’s year playing in the local Under 16 football (Australian rules football, not soccer) team. She hangs out during training, completely invisible with her notebook. She watches her favorite professional team. She travels to matches and, in one memorable scene, issues oranges to the players during their breaks. She writes of the exquisite joy and terror of being a grandmother able to witness this coming of age, knowing there might be few witnessings ahead. The Season is at once a paean to suburban ordinariness; a celebration of Homeric sport; the chronicles of an old woman; and an intimate journal of love. It is a book to be read for insights and experiences, but also a book in which each sentence and paragraph is enjoyed for its craft. It is, in short, a triumph.