Kat’s 2025 Booklist

Fiction

1. The Note, by Alafair Burke: An inauspicious beginning to my 2025 reading, The Note took me longer than I would have liked it consume it, and was just OK. The author excels at character development, but I had a very hard time getting into this book. I liked it better toward the end, but it just didn’t engage me earlier. The note referred to in the title doesn’t seem especially pivotal to the story to me, but I’ve noticed all the author’s books are titled in this format: “The [Noun].” There’s a good possibility my ambivalence about this book stems from the annoying, sing-song delivery by the audio narrator. (To anyone new to my reading list, I consume virtually 100 percent of my reading in audio form).
2. Brave Girl, Quiet Girl, by Catherine Ryan Hyde. I went all of 2024 without reading a Catherine Ryan Hyde book, which I think is part of the reason I considered it a sub-par reading year. She’s a reliable author I turn to feel grounded, and while I’ve liked some of her books more than others, I always know I will enjoy the read. And I did. In this one, a young mom is carjacked with her toddler in the car. A runaway teen finds the child, and the rest of the story is how the lives of these two women intersect. While somewhat predictable, the story was engaging as Hyde’s stories always are.
3. We All Live Here, by JoJo Moyes. This is my 10th Moyes novel and a well-told and witty tale of family and intergenerational conflict, though not especially memorable.
4. Her Prodigal Husband, by Becky Masterman. I’ve read all of Masterman’s books. This one marks a return to her character Brigid Quinn, a flinty ex-FBI agent and current senior-citizen detective. Masterman seems to want to branch out from writing about Quinn, the protagonist in 4 of 6 of her books. Her last attempt, Maternal Instinct, was entirely Quinn-less and one of my least favorite books of last year. Her Prodigal Husband is not a full-fledged return to Quinn because another character is the protagonist and narrator, and Quinn does not play a significant role until more than halfway through the book. The novel reminded me a bit of the literary gimmicks Anthony Horowitz often uses in his books. Her Prodigal Husband is also the name of the book that protagonist Alice Einstein comes up with as she fantasizes about her brother-in-law being murdered, and Masterman includes passages from the fictional book. On audio, it’s a little tricky to discern which is the book I’m reading and which is the one Alice is writing – except Masterman switches from first-person to third-person for Alice’s Her Prodigal Husband. Masterman chose the perfect narrator for the audiobook because Alice is just about as flinty as Quinn, and the narrator’s voice fits both. Alice’s Her Prodigal Husband has a more interesting storyline than Masterman’s does, and unfortunately, not much of Alice’s is revealed. It’s interesting to speculate how autobiographical the novel may be, given that Alice is a writer like Masterman. While I wasn’t in love with the plot, I still enjoyed Masterman’s witty writing and the return of Brigid Quinn.
5. Conclave, by Robert Harris. I chose this one because I enjoyed the film made from the novel and my close cousin Liz loves and recommended Robert Harris. Watching the film was an homage to my mom, who never missed a book, film, or TV show about priests, nuns, cardinals, bishops, popes – well, any clergy. The film was mostly true to the movie; the name and nationality of the protagonist – the dean of the College of Cardinals – were changed, among a few other minor tweaks. I enjoyed the book as much as I did the film, and the book added fascinating tidbits about papal history. I can see myself reading more Robert Harris. I could not have imagined a new conclave would assemble just a month or so after I read the book.
6. The Talent, by Daniel D’Addario. This novel tells the tale (though “tale” is a stretch) of five actresses during awards season vying for Best Actress honors. The names of the major awards – Golden Globes and Academy Awards/Oscars – are never stated, perhaps for the same trademark reason as the NFL’s prohibition on anyone using “Super Bowl.” We’re supposed to refer to it as the Big Game. Anyway, the book cycles through each of the actresses in about six sets of chapters. Each actress is narrated by a different audio narrator, even though the chapters aren’t written in first-person. The author excels at character development, and the Hollywood-insider feel is interesting, but I found the book narratively deficient. I also felt it should have been written in a way that would make the reader root for one of the actresses to win, and perhaps hate one or more of the actresses and want them to lose. The book goes from the red carpet of what is obviously the Oscars to the after-parties, with nothing from the actual ceremony included. The winner is at last revealed in the final moments of the book and feels anticlimactic. Readable, but meh.
7. Nobody’s Fool, by Harlan Coben. Coben has become a staple in my annual reading, and I was eager to read his newest. I was disappointed that the audio version is not narrated by Steven Weber, who does a great job with Coben’s books. I speculate that a reason may have been that the protagonist has Pakistani roots. The narrator’s name, Vikas Adam, seems like it could be Pakistani, but nothing in his voice suggests any lineage other than American. He does a nice job, though, with female voices and accents. The book is a rather convoluted tale of a young man whose life is derailed when he believes he may have killed a woman he was dating. Twenty years later, he thinks he sees her – alive and well. I found the story absorbing, but it was not one of my favorite Cobens.
8. The Night We Lost Him, by Laura Dave. While this book was on my Audible wish list, my purchase and consumption of it at this particular time was accidental; I mistakenly clicked on this title. I’m guessing one of the reasons it was on my wish list was that it’s narrated by my favorite audiobook narrator, Julia Whelan (who excels, as always). I use the descriptor “serviceable whodunnit” fairly liberally in these reviews, and this tome falls into that category. A woman’s quest to navigate her complex and difficult family to determine whether her father’s death was accidental or murder was perfectly OK, but not a standout.
9. Past Perfect, by Susan Isaacs. My affection for Isaacs’ work dates back to the 80s. I still consider her a favorite author, although other authors have probably supplanted her as a top favorite. She is is only author I can think of who can cause me to break my self-imposed ban on reading any subject matter about spies, a genre I just don’t care for. However, I would call Isaacs’ work “spy-lite,” and only a few of her books have spy subject matter. In fact, the first book I read of hers (and still my favorite), Almost Paradise, is a spy story. Past Perfect is about a former FBI agent (not a spy) whose obsession about why she was fired some 15 years ago is awakened when she gets a call from a former co-worker who subsequently disappears. My brain glossed over the more intensive and detailed spy stuff and enjoyed the overall story. Tons of humor peppers the author’s work, from amusing similes to entertaining pop-culture references. The novel was well served by Randye Kaye’s snappy, fast-talking narration (and because I listen to audiobooks at 1.2X speed, the talking was really fast).
10. Northanger Abbey, by Jane Austen. I didn’t want this year to be like last year, in which I skipped my annual tradition of reading a literary classic, usually from the 19th century. I’ve seen film versions of all Austen’s novels, but had read only Pride and Prejudice before now. Northanger Abbey was just the right length (8 hours) to squeeze in before Stephen King’s latest Holly Gibney book comes out. I always enjoy Austen’s writing and the early-19th-century customs that seem so quaint today. But Catherine Moreland was not a terribly compelling protagonist. In other words, she’s no Lizzie Bennett.
11. Never Flinch, by Stephen King. As I’ve stated before in my annual book lists, I’m not a horror fan by any means, but I like King’s books that I consider “horror lite,” such as the Mr. Mercedes series and its spinoff series featuring Holly Gibney, a character from that series. The last Holly Gibney book I read, with its cannibalism theme, tested my tolerance for even horror lite, but I do really like the character and King’s writing. One thing that struck me about Never Flinch was the multiple storylines – probably no different from any other King book I’ve read, but I felt more challenged than usual to keep everything straight in my mind. Courtesy of King’s well-known propensity toward pop-culture references, we learn a bit about what Holly looks like; she apparently resembles Flo, of Progressive Insurance fame. Early-ish in the novel, Holly is hired as a bodyguard by a touring feminist celebrity who is being terrorized by a gender-fluid anti-abortionist stalker. The reader (or this one anyway) suspects Holly will end up involved in the main storyline – a serial killer with connections to Alcoholics Anonymous. An upcoming softball game between firefighters and cops (Guns vs. Hoses), the National Anthem for which is to be sung by a singer called Sistah Bessie, appears to be slated as the location of the book’s climax, not the first time King has used a large, heavily attended event in this manner. As I glanced at a few reviews of Never Flinch while attempting to check facts about a character, I noticed that the consensus is that it’s not King’s best, but it’s good because King is always good. I would agree. The celebrity feminist storyline in particular felt dated and unrealistic. As a small aside, the last Holly Gibney novel I read was very much a product of COVID, and King is still lingering a bit over the pandemic with Never Flinch. And another: It is perhaps a testament to King’s writing that, even though I hate when novels are written in present tense, I don’t even notice it in King’s books).
12. Death Takes a Vacation, by Laura Lippman. Lippman has been a favorite since the early 20-teens, when I hungrily consumed her Baltimore-set tales of detective Tess Monaghan. Just about the time I started reading her stuff, Lippman was beginning to move on from Monaghan, though the detective still appears in small ways in her subsequent books. Even without Monaghan, subsequent books have been set in Baltimore, which essentially serves as a character. Death Takes a Vacation starts briefly from the Baltimore airport, but moves to Europe for the titular vacation. The protagonist, Mrs. Muriel Blossom, feels like a departure for Lippman – the character is fat, middle-aged, and naive – and she once worked for Monaghan. I enjoyed the story, which felt a bit like a celebration of Baby Boomers (Lippman herself was born in 1959, five years after I was). The very few Lippman books in which Baltimore is back-burnered always feel a little odd, but Charm City gets enough mentions here to make it OK.
13. Falling Wisteria, by Laila Ibrahim. Ibrahim writes historical novels about women in situations of discrimination, racism, enslavement, misogyny, and other challenges. My first and best exposure to her work comprised the first three of five books in the Yellow Crocus series about an enslaved woman’s friendship with the slaveholder’s daughter. The later books in the series (including Falling Wisteria) tell of descendants of the original characters. Outside of those first three books, Ibrahim’s stories have been uneven; for example, lacking in sufficient conflict to make the tales interesting. Falling Wisteria opens on Dec. 7, 1941, and the crux of the story is around the WWII Japanese internment camp one of the main characters is sent to. Alas, this novel, like some of Ibrahim’s others, reads more like a slice of life in a historical setting than a compelling story. I feel like her books would make great YA or teen selections to teach about history. Interestingly, I saw a short video in which Ibrahim revealed that she was a completely inexperienced writer when she wrote Yellow Crocus, which could explain why not all her books are narratively successful. The story did improve a bit as it progressed. I learned that I have missed Ibrahim’s 2018 entry so will have to read it.
14. The View from Lake Como, by Adriana Trigiani, another favorite author whose oeuvre I have thoroughly consumed. The choice of narrator – Mira Sorvino – was brilliant. I didn’t think I’d heard her narrate before, but apparently I did as she narrated one of Trigiani’s earlier books. Trigiani often writes about young career women and their ambitions, the romance opportunities they encounter along the way, and all things Italian. All those plot points feature in this novel, along with a huge dose of family drama. I must’ve liked the book because it breezed by so quickly that I was startled when it ended. However, my surprise at the abrupt ending may relate a bit to the fact that the protagonist didn’t face quite as many obstacles and challenges as I might have expected.
15. Atmosphere, by Taylor Jenkins Reid. My experience with Reid’s work is mixed, with none of her books equaling what was not only my favorite book of hers but also my favorite overall book of the year I read it – The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. With the knowledge that I could always change my mind if something even better comes along, I can state at the end of July that Atmosphere is my favorite novel of 2025. Genuine suspense surrounds a space-program calamity (our protagonist, Joan, is an astronaut) as flashbacks of Joan’s journey to become an astronaut play out between calamity updates. Reid offers 4 solid, engaging storylines, all quite satisfying. The cherry on top is exquisite narration by my favorite narrator, Julia Whelan (another narrator does fine with a smaller role). I do wish the calamity had a little more time dedicated to it.
16. Marble Hall Murders, by Anthony Horowitz. Horowitz is one author whose full oeuvre I will likely never read because it comprises more than 80 books, but I’ve enjoyed the Atticus Pund/Susan Ryeland series that has been turned into a PBS series. Let it be known that I read the first two, Magpie Murders and Moonflower Murders, before they ever aired on TV. The publishers made a brilliant move by hiring as this third book’s narrator Brit actress Lesley Manville, who also plays Susan Ryeland on the TV series. I just noticed that Manville also narrated Moonflower Murders, but at that time I didn’t know the TV series was forthcoming. Atticus Pund is character in a series of mystery novels that Ryeland has edited, and each book in the series also provides a book-with-in-a-book from books featuring Pund. Marble Hall Murders turns out to be my favorite of this trilogy. As much as I like Horowitz’s writing, the intricate plots can be hard to follow; Marble Hall Murders was a little easier than the other two. It’s interesting to consider whether this series will continue. On one hand, Horowitz said in an endnote to Marble Hall Murders that after the Moonflower Murders edition of the PBS series, Manville had agreed to return for just ONE more book and TV series, that being Marble Hall Murders. On the other hand, the Ryeland character’s new romantic relationship with a police detective sets up all kinds of delicious plot possibilities. The Atticus Pund character’s story appears to be finished, but maybe the Susan Ryeland character’s isn’t.
17. Dear Miss Lake, by AJ Pierce. I speculated after consuming the previous books in this series about whether it would continue. It’s set in WWII, and the war was not over at the end of Mrs. Porter Calling, so I was not a bit surprised to see another entry in the series. The war ends at the end of Dear Miss Lake, and the author states in an author’s note that this is the final book in the series; yet, she says it in a way in which I perceived that the door could still be open a crack for revisiting characters who’ve grown familiar. I’ve enjoyed all four books in the series, although one lacked conflict and was too much like a history lesson. I don’t regret the history I learned from the series about British women in wartime, but a novel needs a bit more, and three out of the four in this series – including Dear Miss Lake – delivered.
18. The Wedding People, by Alison Espach, was recommended to me my two dear, same-age cousins, Vicki and Liz, and I’d heard other kudos about it. I enjoyed this story and particularly admired the author’s ability to craft dialog. She had an appealing technique of summarizing parts of conversations instead of direct quotes.

Nonfiction

1. The Book of Murder, by Matt Murphy. I’ve seen Matt Murphy in his role as legal analyst on the 20/20 TV program. This murder memoir of his 17 years as a prosecutor in the homicide division of the District Attorney’s office in Orange County, CA, affirms my impression that he’s a smart, knowledgeable, and engaging guy. Not surprisingly, Murphy, who also narrates the book on audio, is very well-spoken and sprinkles in humor despite this serious subject. His chapter on how dumb gangsters are is quite funny. Each chapter illustrates a different aspect of homicide prosecution. I learned a lot, including the fact that diligent prosecutors have virtually no personal lives. I liked the book enough to send a copy to a friend.
2. Written in the Waters, by Tara Roberts. Roberts’s tome is a quirky memoir that combines part of her personal story with scuba diving, history of the trans-Atlantic slave trade, and the author’s quest to understand her African roots and the meaning/extent of the connection between black Americans and Africans. Scuba diving and African slave ships converge in that Roberts underwent several diving expeditions to recover sunken slave ships. The author enthusiastically narrates her own story on audio (notwithstanding her persistent pronunciation of “especially” as “ek-specially.”) It’s a well-written book with many fascinating and disturbing tidbits about the slave trade. A bit over-long, in my opinion. Much of the book is in present tense, which I especially dislike in memoirs.
3. The Speechwriter, by Bartram Swaim. I’ve had this short book on my TBR list for a while but have always been reluctant to read it because I feel longer books are a better value. However, this was the perfect length to consume while waiting for the month’s Audible credits so I could obtain a new-release book I was looking forward to. Swaim makes a big deal about how thickly veiled the true facts are in his tale of serving as a speechwriter to a governor in the late 20-aughts. But with the governor confessing his infidelity to his wife in practically the opening scene, it becomes obvious the governor was former South Carolina governor Mark Sanford. I was interested in the book because I once was a speechwriter for an elected official. Alas, Swaim’s book isn’t much about the art and process of speechwriting; instead, it’s mostly about what an idiot his boss was.
4. Careless People, by Sarah Wynn-Williams. Like many, I flocked to this book because Meta/Facebook/Zuckerberg wanted to suppress it. I was shocked/not shocked to read of Facebook’s/Meta’s ethical decline and atrocious treatment of employees. Wynn-Williams made it a good read, although much of had to do with foreign affairs, which I’m not especially into.
5. The Tell, by Amy Griffin. This memoir feels like a continuation of a seemingly new genre for me – memoirs of women who are not famous but who powerfully tell of their trauma or pathology. The two books that started this trend for me last year, Sociopath, by Patric Gagne, and The Many Lives of Mama Love, by Lara Love Hardin, were at the top of my favorites last year, and at almost mid-year, I predict I will consider The Tell will be one of my 2025 favorites. Two of the three books were recommended by Oprah. Griffin, suppressed her memory of sexual abuse at the hands of a teacher when she was 12 and, through psychedelics, uncovers the memory and begins to heal from the trauma. Prosecuting the rapist teacher, Griffin feels, is the only way for her to truly heal, and a sizeable chunk of the book deals with her pursuit of such prosecution. Like the other two books, The Tell is skillfully narrated on audio by the author.
6. A Unfinished Love Story, by Doris Kearns Goodwin. I’ve read several of historian Goodwin’s books so was eager to read this one about her husband Dick Goodwin, her relationship with him, and their mutual involvement in 1960s politics. Dick worked for both JFK and LBJ, and later on the campaigns of Gene McCarthy and Bobby Kennedy. Doris worked for LBJ, and later helped research and write his memoir. The two Goodwins often argued about the relative merits of JFK vs. LBJ. Despite many dips into 1960s history, I honestly didn’t know very much about Dick and have probably given too much credit to my hero Ted Sorensen as JFK’s speechwriter; Dick wrote a number of JFK’s speeches. Doris’s book centers around the unpacking of dozens of boxes of Dick’s artifacts before his 2018 death and discussions between him and Doris about memories embedded in those artifacts. It is more Dick’s story than Doris’s, and the one flaw in the book on audio is that when Doris is saying “I did such and such…,” it’s difficult to discern on audio whether “I” refers to Dick or Doris. I’m wondering if the print books helps the reader with, perhaps, a typographic distinction between the two. In any case, the tome enhanced my knowledge of the 1960s political scene and certainly helped me appreciate the contributions of Dick Goodwin. I always enjoy Doris’s writing.