Autumn Reading List - 2025

Come, and take choice of all my library, 

And so beguile thy sorrow.

- Titus Andronicus, Shakespeare

Welcome, dear readers to the 6th Annual* Autumn Reading List on The Art of Caesura!

I'm sending loads of positivity your way, especially if you need it today!

The "Annual" above has a little asterisk beside it because I actually missed the Autumn Reading List last year and by the time I remembered it, autumn had come and gone! So there was no way I was missing it again this year! And, before you say autumn has already past again, according to the Astronomical Calendar, it runs until Dec 21st. So there! I made it with a few days to spare!

I'm always reading! I studied literature for my undergrad and now I do a lot of academic reading for my work. But in addition to this "baked in" reading, I'm also in a long-distance book club with my best friends from high- school (which we've kept going for over 8 years now!) and, through them, I'm forever getting introduced to new and interesting books that I otherwise might have missed out on. It will not surprise anyone familiar with this blog that I also read a lot of Warhammer stuff as well as rule books for other games. 

Fiction:

Soldier Sailor (2023) – Claire Kilroy

This was one of those books that’s hard to talk about casually and it is not one that I would recommend to everyone, not because it’s obscure or difficult, but because it gets so insistently under your skin. Soldier Sailor isn’t a novel you race through in the conventional sense; instead, it pins you in place and makes you sit with it. I found myself reading in short, intense bursts, not out of boredom, but because the voice is so relentless, so intimate, that it demands a certain emotional stamina.

Soldier Sailor is about a woman struggling with early motherhood. Kilroy frames the novel as a direct address from a mother to her infant son, Sailor, and this choice immediately collapses any comfortable narrative distance. You’re dropped straight into the mother’s consciousness - sleep-deprived, hyper-alert, resentful, loving, terrified - and you stay there. The effect is claustrophobic in a way that feels very deliberate. This isn’t motherhood rendered as glow or fulfilment; it’s motherhood as a full-body, full-mind occupation that threatens to erase the self even as it redefines it.

The form of the book, with no chapters, and few characters aside from Soldier and Sailor, causes time to stretch and contract. Days blur, repetition becomes a structural principle rather than a flaw. Kilroy clearly understands that to represent maternal experience honestly, you can’t rely on neat plot progression. Instead, meaning accrues through accumulation - through small observations, intrusive thoughts, flashes of dark humour, and moments of startling tenderness. It’s exhausting to read at times, but that exhaustion feels earned, even necessary.

The novel is also sharply attuned to questions of gender and labour. The narrator’s relationship with her husband is deeply imbalanced, and Kilroy is unsparing in showing how “equal partnership” rhetoric collapses under the reality of caregiving. These sections don't usually tip into polemic; they’re most effective precisely because they emerge from lived frustration rather than abstract argument. 

That said, this intensity won’t work for everyone. The voice is so dominant, the perspective so tightly held, that readers looking for a broader social canvas or conventional character development may find it narrow or even oppressive. There were moments where I felt the novel flirting with monotony - but, frustratingly (and impressively), that monotony is part of the point.

Ultimately, Soldier Sailor feels less like a novel you finish and more like snapshot into the lived experience of parents with young kids and little support. It’s bracing, uncomfortable, sometimes funny, and quietly devastating. I wouldn’t press it into everyone’s hands - but for the right reader, it’s unforgettable.

Non-Fiction:

Ultra-Processed People (2023) – Chris van Tulleken

This is one of those books that changes how you walk around a supermarket. I don’t mean in a vague, “hmm, that’s interesting” sort of way, I mean you start picking things up, turning packets over, and feeling faintly suspicious of almost everything. Ultra-Processed People is a deeply readable, often alarming, and surprisingly personal exploration of how modern food systems shape what we eat, how we feel, and how little agency we may actually have in the process.

This book is about ultra-processed food (UPF): what it is, how it’s made, and why it now dominates Western diets. I was interested in reading this book because, wanting to ditch sandwiches due to the high carbs of bread, I changed over to daily wraps for lunch, that is until I realized they were ultra-processed food. 

Van Tulleken blends epidemiology, food science, corporate history, and memoir, including a self-experiment where he eats an 80% UPF diet for a month. That experiment gives the book much of its narrative momentum and keeps the science grounded in lived experience - weight gain, mood changes, hunger cues going haywire - without tipping into gimmickry.

What really elevates the book is its insistence that this is not about individual weakness or “bad choices.” Van Tulleken is at his most persuasive when dismantling the idea that personal responsibility can meaningfully compete with food engineered for hyper-palatability, convenience, and profit. He shows how UPFs are designed to bypass satiety, encourage overconsumption, and fit seamlessly into time-poor, stress-heavy lives. The result is a reframing of diet as a public health and political issue rather than a moral one, which feels refreshing.

That said, the book does have its moments of repetition. Certain arguments - particularly around corporate influence and regulatory capture - are revisited frequently, sometimes with diminishing returns. There’s also a slight tension between the author’s measured scientific tone and the urgency of his conclusions, which can make the final calls to action feel somewhat understated given the scale of the problem he’s just outlined.

Despite this, Ultra-Processed People is an enormously effective piece of science communication. Van Tulleken writes with clarity, humility, and just enough anger to keep things sharp. He resists easy solutions and miracle diets, instead advocating for structural change while offering pragmatic, non-judgemental advice to readers navigating an inhospitable food environment.

I finished the book feeling unsettled but better informed. It’s a book I’ve already found myself recommending, with the caveat that you may never look at a “healthy” snack bar in quite the same way again.

Graphic Novel:

Batman: Hush (2002–2003) – Jeph Loeb & Jim Lee

This book is very different from the other two on this list, this is Batman as blockbuster. Hush is glossy, propulsive, and designed to be devoured, not pondered. As I read it, I marvelled at how effortlessly it pulls you from set-piece to set-piece. It’s one of those stories that reminds you just how deep and strange Gotham’s bench of villains really is.

On the surface, the plot is a classic mystery: Batman is being systematically targeted by a new adversary, Hush, who seems to know Bruce Wayne intimately and who manipulates a rotating cast of rotating enemies - Joker, Poison Ivy, Riddler, Killer Croc, Scarecrow, Superman - into doing his work. Loeb structures the story like a greatest-hits tour of the Batman mythos, and while that could feel contrived, it mostly works because the pacing is so tight and the stakes are so consistently personal.

A lot of the book’s enduring attraction comes down to Jim Lee’s art, and rightly so. This is peak Jim Lee: muscular, hyper-detailed, cinematic panels that make even transitional moments feel iconic. Gotham is all shadows and hard angles; Batman is impossibly physical; every splash page feels designed to linger on your retina. If, like me, you were a pre-teen in the late 90s this is your mental image of what Batman looks like.

Where Hush gets more interesting - and more uneven - is in its treatment of Bruce Wayne himself. Loeb leans heavily into Batman’s paranoia and emotional isolation, particularly in his relationship with Catwoman. Their romance is given more space and sincerity than usual, and it’s one of the book’s genuine strengths. These quieter moments ground the spectacle and give the mystery some emotional weight, even if the psychology never gets especially deep.

The central mystery, though, is where things start to wobble. Without spoiling anything, the eventual reveal of Hush is serviceable but slightly underwhelming, especially given how much narrative energy is invested in the buildup. There’s a sense that the journey - the fights, the alliances, the betrayals - is more compelling than the answer itself. In that respect, Hush feels less like a tightly plotted whodunnit and more like a stylish tour through Batman’s world with a mystery loosely holding it together.

Still, it’s hard not to enjoy this book. Batman: Hush understands exactly what it is: a slick, accessible, high-production Batman story that rewards long-time fans while remaining welcoming to newcomers. It may not radically reinterpret the character or push the medium in daring new directions, but it executes its ambitions with confidence and flair. If you want Batman at his most iconic - brooding, battered, and surrounded by the full operatic madness of Gotham - this is an easy recommendation!

***

Thank you for joining me, dear readers, for another Autumn Reading list. Have you read anything great or memorable recently? Let us all know in the comments below. 

Reading: Homegoing - Yaa Gyasi

Watching: Pluribus (2025)

Next Week:

Merry Christmas!