2026/025: The Dispossessed — Ursula Le Guin

... all the operations of capitalism were as meaningless to him as the rites of a primitive religion, as barbaric, as elaborate, and as unnecessary. In a human sacrifice to deity there might be at least a mistaken and terrible beauty; in the rites of the moneychangers, where greed, laziness, and envy were assumed to move all men’s acts, even the terrible became banal. [p. 130]

Technically a reread, but when I read this at the age of 14 or 15,  I didn't really understand it: I recalled very little of characters, themes or incidents.

The brilliant physicist Shevek comes to realise that the collectivist society of Annares, a moon colonised by an anarchist movement, is not conducive to his work. He travels to the 'home world', Urras, which is ebulliently capitalist. Eventually he realises that Urras, too, stifles his scientific creativity.

That's a brief and reductive summary of a complex novel, in which two separate timelines -- the years before Shevek's departure for Urras, and his time on Urras itself -- are twisted together, in alternating chapters, to show how neither cold, bleak Annares or lush, corrupt Urras nurture those who dwell there.

To me, the setting had a Cold War flavour: there's even a Wall between Annares and (access to) Urras. It borders the spaceport: does it keep the Annaresti in, or the Urrasti out? Annares' collectivism, and the relative lack of sexism, reminded me of Soviet Russia, as seen through the lens of Spufford's Red Plenty and Pulley's The Half Life of Valery K. Anarchists and revolutionaries on Urras dream of being reincarnated on Annares: 'a society without government, without police, without economic exploitation': there's little sense of the reverse being true, despite the kinder physical environment of Urras. And Annares society doesn't always adhere to its lofty ideals: academic infighting is part of the reason why Shevek has to leave.

This was written in 1974, and in some ways shows its age. The term 'Terran' feels dated, a golden-age word for Earthlings. And there's one scene, in which Shevek sexually assaults a manipulative socialite, that really jars my modern sensibilities. Nothing happens as a consequence: we never see the woman again: Shevek apparently forgets the incident. I wonder if Le Guin would have written that scene differently now?

Still not sure I fully appreciate the political elements, but I'm fascinated by the ways in which Odo's Revolution colours Annaresti life: in language, in custom, in the ways it's acceptable to speak. (No 'egoising', even for children. No private ownership: 'the handkerchief that I use' rather than 'my handkerchief'.) And how it has shaped Shevek, a man who will not compete for dominance and is thus indomitable [p. 116].

On Anarres he had chosen, in defiance of the expectations of his society, to do the work he was individually called to do. To do it was to rebel: to risk the self for the sake of society. Here on Urras, that act of rebellion was a luxury, a self-indulgence. [p. 271]

2026/024: Wolf Worm — T Kingfisher

Some thoughts burrow into your mind as thoroughly as a wasp larva burrows into an unsuspecting caterpillar. [loc. 3387]

Set in North Carolina in 1899, this novel taught me more than I ever wanted to know about various parasitic insects. The narrator, Sonia Wilson, is a scientific illustrator who's accepted a position with the reclusive Dr Halder, who lives in an isolated, decaying house in the woods. En route, Sonia's local guide warns darkly that he's seen the Devil in these woods, but Sonia has been raised by a scientist and discounts this as mere superstition. 

She's not wholly charmed by her new employer, who won't tell her about the artist who painted half of his collection but wants her to finish the job. Sally, the maid, has a nice line in lurid tales of blood thieves, and local Native midwife Hezekiah Kersey says darkly that the land is 'alive and all of a piece'. But despite the Gothic ambience and Dr Halder's paranoia ('Are you spying on me, girl?') Sonia is determined to work hard, painting botfly larvae and certainly not following her employer as he sneaks out to the woods at night.

Sonia is an excellent protagonist. The author's afterword mentions that she was formerly a scientific illustrator, and that depth of knowledge shows in the descriptions of Sonia's work: how to blend watercolours, depict an insect's eye, and use a patented caterpillar inflator. I won't go into the specifics of the creeping horror pervading this novel, because I don't want to think too closely about that. But I will say that it's extremely effective, refreshingly unusual and thoroughly revolting. Ah, nature in her manifold glories!

Kingfisher's prose is smooth and readable, and often very funny: her imagination is ... unsettling, and her characters odd and interesting. I really enjoyed Wolf Worm, while simultaneously wanting to stop reading because ewww. Happy endings for many, though!

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for the advance review copy, in exchange for this full honest review. UK Publication Date is 26th March 2026.

2026/023: Universality — Natasha Brown

What allowed some people to ‘make it’ while others faded away, as Hannah herself almost had? She knew it wasn’t a matter of hard work; she couldn’t have tried any harder than she did those last few years. Luck was a possible answer, but it seemed too callously random. Increasingly, Hannah felt another, truer word burning in her throat: class. The invisible privilege that everyone tried to pretend didn’t exist, but – it did. Hannah knew it did. She recognised it, and saw its grubby stains all over her own life. [p. 63]

A short novel about class, truth and culture wars. It begins with a 'long read', journalist Hannah's account of a lockdown-busting rave on a farm at the height of the Covid pandemic, and the drug-fuelled attack in which a radical anarchist is bludgeoned by a young man named Jake, wielding a gold bar. Except, of course, it's not quite as simple as that. Hannah's article takes considerable liberties with the truth, ruins the reputation of the farm's owner -- wealthy banker Richard Spencer -- and attracts the attention of anti-woke columnist Lenny, who is Jake's mother.

This short novel unravels and recolours the events described in Hannah's article, and shows us Hannah, Richard, Lenny and Jake in their natural habitats. (Also Pegasus, the victim of the attack.) Unfortunately, I didn't find any of them likeable, and though I appreciated Brown's satirical take on late-stage capitalism and cancel culture, I didn't find this an enjoyable read. Structurally interesting: mercifully short.

2026/022: Boy, With Accidental Dinosaur — Ian McDonald

Under a high blue heaven, under the zealous sun, the kid and his dinosaur travel a hot, empty highway. [first line]

Tif (short for Latif) is an orphan of Arab descent, whose ambition is to become a buckaroo at one of the dino rodeos. The novella's opening presents him, with his dinosaur, on a journey: only gradually are we shown where he's going, and why -- and where he's come from.

This is the post-apocalyptic future of the country formerly known as the United States of America, now a dangerous wilderness of miliciano gangs, religious states, and aggressive Dominion raiders. Tif's parents were killed in the South Dakota purification. He's recently been sacked from Dino! Dino! after a Timursaur escaped and wreaked havoc. Subsequently he's undertaken to return an old, maimed Carnosaur to the B2T2 time portal in the mountains of Colorado, and let it live out its remaining years 'under its own sun'. En route, he joins Memphis Red’s Tatterdemalion Circus; falls in love (or lust) with its star, the enigmatic Prince; and, perhaps, finds family.

That's the novella in a nutshell, but there's a novel's-worth of worldbuilding and characterisation here. McDonald doesn't waste time explaining the post-Chaos future, or the cyberpunk-flavoured Silver Clowns, or the Dust Tarot with which a Clown reads Tif's future. The B2T2 portal is a natural phenomenon, 'a place where two times lay up against each other, close as kittens, separated only by the finest layer of space-time fur, that could be stroked, and parted' [loc. 515]. That's where the dinosaurs are captured, and where they must be returned: 'leave no dangling timelines'. Naturally, the approach to the B2T2 is festooned with various flavours of protest camp.

There is danger, chaos and glamour; there is a strong sense of the cruelty involved in parading living creatures for entertainment. And there is so much emotional honesty and truth, in the backstories of the characters Tif encounters as well as his own journey. I would have loved this even more at novel length: but kudos to the author for keeping it tightly focussed and leaving the reader wondering about the wider world, the stories that happen outside the scope of Boy, with Accidental Dinosaur.

Something wild and magnificent and innocent is trapped and caged. Betrayed. For stardust, for floodlights, for the ronda and the roar of the crowd. For beer and nuts and nachos. [loc. 958]

2026/021: The Earl Meets His Match — T J Alexander

“The fact of your existence is a miracle,” Harding said in a tone that brooked no argument. “... the scrutiny that you must have lived under...”
“Well, I also have pots of money,” Christopher pointed out, “so let’s not pretend it’s all been a chore.” [loc. 3139]

Delightful and cheering Regency romance. Lord Christopher Eden must, according to the terms of his inheritance, marry before his twenty-fifth birthday. That gives him four months to find a bride -- which is the last thing he wants. For Christopher is no ordinary man: he has a singular secret, which only his tailor is privy to.

In order to present the proper appearance to the Ton, Christopher must engage a valet, even though he's never allowed another man to dress him. Enter James Harding, handsome and stoic and surprisingly understanding. Harding has secrets of his own, though, and their mutual attraction can never come to anything.

Or can it? ☺

Apart from a third-act crisis which gets the prize for 'most ridiculous miscommunication of the year' (yes, I know it's only February), this rolled along merrily, with some interesting insights into gender roles and practicalities in 19th-century England. Excellent female characters, too. I particularly liked the twist at the end, which was perfect for both Christopher and Harding.

Recommended to me by a friend: thank you, Nina! I shall look out for more by this author.

2026/020: Once Upon a Time I Lived on Mars — Kate Greene

What if a mission to Mars didn’t have as its main goal a barrage of scientific studies, or the demonstration that humans can build ships to send us to faraway lands and keep us alive in the harshest environments? What if it’s not driven by the fear of our eventual extinction or by opportunities afforded it by current economic systems—mining for resources, etc. Or what if it is those things, but also, in its design, it contains questions about what it means to be a human being alive and alone and unable to achieve contact with others in this universe? [p. 131]

In 2013, Kate Greene spent four months as second-in-command of the Hawai’i Space Exploration Analog and Simulation (HI-SEAS) mission, which was designed to simulate life on Mars. The six crew members lived in cramped quarters, with artificial communication delays, pre-packaged food, constant surveys for one another's experiments, and compulsory spacesuits for excursions beyond the habitat. The essays that comprise Once Upon a Time I Lived On Mars -- subtitled 'Space, Exploration and Life on Earth' -- are all rooted in Greene's HI-SEAS experience: but that's a launchpad to discuss climate change, the breakup of her marriage, the history of space flight, and the thorny questions of whether humans should go to Mars, and who gets to decide.

In some ways this book, published in 2020, feels very dated. There's such a sense of hope for the various planned Mars missions (some of which were cancelled or postponed due to Covid) and for the possibilities offered by spaceflight. Reading in 2026, after Trump's cuts to the NASA budget and the damage to Russia's only launch facility at Baikonur, it feels like a lost future. And though Greene has major reservations about Elon Musk's role as cheerleader for the space programme, the book was clearly written before his more egregious exploits.

Yet there is a great deal of interest here. Greene is a science journalist, and her background shows in areas such as the assessment of whether all-male crews are the best option. (They're not: small women use half as many resources as large men, according to former NASA researcher Alan Drysdale.) I also learnt that Neil Armstrong's spacesuit was designed by Playtex, that Jeff Bezos 'dumps roughly $1 billion of his Amazon stocks into Blue Origin to keep the company in cash' [p. 175] and that, four billion years ago, the Moon was only 20,000 miles from Earth.

Often lyrical, often hopeful, but more about life on Earth than life on Mars.

I wonder about the arguments against going to Mars that claim we need to first focus on fixing problems here at home. Might going to Mars be a way to help us see our planet and ourselves anew? Couldn’t a human expedition to Mars be good for those on Earth too? Though, as with many things, it could very well depend on who does the going. [p. 162]

2026/019: Helm — Sarah Hall

There they are, the exuberant, flamboyantly dressed couple, petting beneath a gargantuan inflammable. Helm is buoyed by the aerial company, and oddly nauseated. Something about the creepy, crêpey surface of the inflatable, and the oo of the balloon, and the balloon itself, its potential to burst and issue forth a loud, deflationary, unfunny raspberry. Cue, globophobia. [loc. 1090

A luminous wild tale whose protagonist is Helm, Britain's only named wind, an accident of geology and meteorology who's as vivid a character as the humans with which Helm interacts. (Helm's pronouns are Helm/Helm's.) After an intensely lyrical opening that depicts Helm's existence before the coming of humans, the novel skitters backwards and forwards in time ('Time happens all at once for Helm, more or less') focusing on a handful of individuals. These include a Neolithic seer, a medieval warrior-priest, a nineteenth-century meteorologist and his wife, a neurodiverse child growing up in the 1960s, a glider pilot, and a researcher studying microplastics in the environment. Helm likes to collect what Helm calls 'trinkets', souvenirs of encounters with humans -- 'so fun and terribly worrying'. These include an ejector seat from a Tornado jet, an iron skullcap, a tobacco pipe, an iPhone... And Helm is not always invisible to humans: some think of Helm as a demon, others as a friend, or a deity, or a fragile natural phenomenon, or a wild destroyer.

All of these are valid.

Hall's prose is marvellous, literally and metaphorically. Each of her characters has a unique voice (I liked Helm best) and each character's arc -- not always told sequentially -- could have been a novel in itself. I loved the Cumbrian dialect (cowp, spelks, glisky) and the sense of place. The chapter from the perspective of glider pilot Jude is an excellent evocation of the joy and terror of unpowered flight, too. And Janice, who draws Helm for the doctors at the asylum, has a unique and profound connection with Helm, which Helm clearly reciprocates.

Perhaps the division of narrative was slightly uneven, but researcher Selima Sutar, whose narrative is most detailed and subjective, serves as our modern viewpoint, coming to understand that Helm is under threat by humans. Helm, I think, knows that: when Michael, a priest sent to exorcise the fiend of the fell, asks in a dream how long Helm will live, the answer is 'Eight more centuries. Until you kill me.' [loc. 2319]

I was delighted to see this novel on the British Science Fiction Association Awards Longlist: it is about climate, and arguably about non-human intelligence and making contact.