A compilation of the books, films and more that I’ve loved in the past year…

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Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver was my first read of the year, and an absolute cracker. Such a dynamic, distinctive voice, and somehow managing to stay hopeful, defiant and energetic while grappling with topics like loss, grief, intergenerational trauma and poverty, chronic pain and opioid addiction. Incredible.

Although I read it in 2023, it didn’t come out ’til early 2024, so: BEAR SEASON is the innovative, atmospheric and unsettling debut novella from my mate Gemma Fairclough. Telling the story of a missing British PhD student in the Alaskan wilderness, it weaves together mystery, ambiguity, found footage and obsession into a totally unique book that I deffo recommend.

“The music is pumping through my whole body… the nutmeg smell of men, the cinnamon smell of women. Sweat in my eyes and I’m still dancing. Dancing for the feel of it in my arms, my legs, my belly, my swirling brain… I dance up close with a thin boy wearing blue eyeliner and then even closer to a curvy girl in a spangled dress. I don’t care who’s looking at me, or how they’re looking at me. All I care about is what I feel right now. The intensity of being alive stuns me. It’s so incomprehensible. So unbelievably beautiful. And that edge. That drop off into death and oblivion is what makes those colours so visceral and these sounds so overwhelming. That edge between Life and Death, the one that glitters and pulses with pure adrenaline. The edge that keeps me dancing.”

Toto Among the Murderers by Sally J. Morgan was an atmospheric rendition of time, place and danger, beautifully written and kept me hooked right to the end.

Silk is the first I’ve read of Caitlin R. Kiernan’s novels, despite it coming out in 1998 and the author’s rightful international renown. Set in a world of punk-rock baristas, troubled teens, drugged-up musicians and grieving runaways, Silk is an skilfully suspenseful thriller and a satisfyingly nostalgic time capsule of a novel. With spiders. Lots of spiders: real, hallucinated, innocent and deadly. As with so much horror, there’s some deft exploration of loss and trauma in this, and although some of the descriptions of Spyder’s childhood experiences were too brutal for my personal palate, there was a lot to love in the fragmented, lyrical writing style and overall atmosphere.

Confessions of the Fox by Jordy Rosenberg is a sexy, smart and inventive faux-memoir, reimagining the story of much-mythologised folk hero, thief and jailbreaker Jack Sheppard. It makes playful, inventive use of footnotes, research and language while recounting Jack and his lover Bess’ escapades, asking some important questions about who gets to tell queer and trans stories, and how. This write-up from The White Review captures a lot of what I loved about it.

This summer, I read Starhawk’s 1993 novel The Fifth Sacred Thing, still can’t believe how relevant it feels. Set in a post-apocalyptic but not-so-distant future (the year 2048), it describes witches, activists and a 98-year-old author battling to protect their San Francisco permaculture ecotopia from encroaching evil outside forces. Frighteningly prescient, imaginative and immersive while still being grounded in pagan and ecofeminist visions for the future, it kept me up late to get to the end and I’m excited about getting round to its prequel and sequel when I can.

As the nights drew in, I wanted more unsettling fiction, so I turned to iconic Stephen King’s debut novel, Carrie, which I’d somehow never read despite it coming out in 1974. Telling the now-classic story of a telekinetic teen growing up in an abusive religious household who takes her revenge on her classmates and town after a humiliating prom night prank, it was satisfyingly gruesome and tense to read, and I loved the way it incorporated found-footage texts like news stories, textbooks and court transcripts.

The Honeys by Ryan La Sala was another horror novel I couldn’t put down. Narrated by Mars, a queer non-binary teen grieving the horrific recent loss of their twin sister, the novel follows Mars on a mission to a sinister rich-kid summer camp in the hopes of learning more about Caroline’s final days and death. From there, things get fucked-up, strange and unreliable, the lyrical, experimental writing style bringing beauty to the descriptions of the camp’s bright surface and dark underbelly. I questioned the pacing and characterisation in places, but the voice and mysterious camp shenanigans were more than enough to keep me reading.

I’m glossing over the books I read for research or for work, but honourable non-fiction mentions have to go to: Strong Female Character, Fern Brady’s brilliant, brutal, bold autobiography about her journey to understanding her autism; What We Owe to Ourselves by Nic Antoinette, a funny, frank and loving account of a 500-mile hike on the Colorado Trail; and The Care We Dream Of, an incredible anthology of essays and interviews about re-envisioning LGBTQ+ health and healing edited by Zena Sharman (I shared some initial reading notes here).

As ever, fanfic remained a massive part of my reading habits, with highlights from this year including: Succession standouts The Kids, mirror traps and Anointed with a Coke; some quality Buffy/Spike action in Don’t Look Much Like a Lover; and a weirdly gripping novel-length alien-themed Veep AU, Disclosure.

ESSAYS

‘It’s Not What the World Needs Right Now’: a frenetic, dark, desperate and unhinged piece of writing about attempting to make art in our surreal dystopian reality and the house-of-mirrors/house-of-cards of the professional ‘art world’

“Art is alchemy. It takes our rawest emotions and senseless experiences and transmutes them into beauty and meaning. Creativity can be a space for processing all those difficult emotions, and creativity is also a life-giving act. When you create something, you make something that didn’t previously exist in the world. You give something life. Maybe artists are all necromancers, raising life from all that death. But that’s how nature works too, remember: death always feeds life.”
I bloody love The Rebis, and especially this piece on hope as an action of love.

“On an atomic level, my physicality is being changed by the pressure waves coming from the speakers, from the movement of all the other humans around me. I am on the dance floor and above it at the same time. Even though I am surrounded by people I am solitary. I’m not even in a club, on a dance floor, but in some other space and time entirely. I am entering the trance.”
Haven’t been to Berlin since 2016, but I do have fond memories of raving in and around the city in the decade preceding that last visit, so I enjoyed this loving tribute to queer clubbing, techno and the internationally-infamous Berghain.

WATCHED

This year I gave myself the mission of watching more films: I love longform visual storytelling, but I’m crap at making time for it. Here’s the list of how I got on with that challenge. Aside from that, TV highlights of the year were watching the entirety of Julio Torres’ series Fantasmas, becoming low-key obsessed with Julio Torres, then belatedly devouring both seasons of Los Espookys, a (mostly) Spanish-language series featuring Torres and pals as a group of horror and gore enthusiasts who set up a special group dedicated to bringing thrills and chills to a bizarre series of clients. Absolutely batshit (complimentary), deliciously queer, original and fun.

This list compiled from editions of my newsletter throughout 2024 along with my own journal scribbles about what I read, watched and loved during the year. You can find even more recommendations in the loved lists from 2020 / 2021 / 2022 / 2023