Books: Weekly Summary (December 22-28, 2025)

Key trends, opinions and insights from personal blogs

I would describe this week in bookish blogging as a kind of cosy jumble of year-end weight and bookish bright spots. There are threads of grief, lists of wants and reads, plans for next year, and small rituals — like a scent called Lemon Puff tucked into a nonfiction reading plan. To me, it feels like people clearing the bookshelves in their heads before the new year. Some posts are quiet and heavy. Others are cheerful and practical. They all sit together like cups on a kitchen counter after dinner.

Small rituals, big reckonings

Misha Saul opens a corner of the week with a mix of kvetching and real sorrow. The entry isn’t just a list of favourite sentences. It carries the weight of a lost friend and the strange echo that writing leaves on public conversation. I’d say his piece reads like someone folding a letter you can’t send. He talks about what his writing has done in Australian discourse and what he hopes to write next. There’s introspection about books he’s read and how writing itself has changed. It’s the kind of piece that slows you down and makes you look at the books you keep because of memory, not just content.

Rukshan has a different tilt. The 2025 wrap-up is a list of things checked off and things that caused anxiety. It’s proper year-in-review territory: projects launched, consulting contracts won, and a stack of books that were part of learning curves. He frames books as tools and as comfort. I’d say it reads like someone balancing a work diary and a bedside table. There is a tension there, like the kettle about to boil — all productive, but with a nervous edge.

Craig Mod sits somewhere between a success note and a weary travelogue. He talks about selling a house, importing books for events in Tokyo, and the tiny logistics that suddenly become enormous when books are involved. The post has gratitude threaded through it. But it also has a practical, slightly frazzled tone about carrying physical books across borders. To me, it feels like watching someone wrestle a stack of paper through airport security while trying to enjoy the view.

Those three pieces make the week feel like the end of a family gathering. People are packing, but some are still standing near the sink talking about the old times. Books here are more than entertainment; they’re memory anchors and work tools.

Lists and wish-lists — appetite and shape

Want lists and recommendations show up everywhere. There’s a hunger to plan what to read next, but also to curate. The Wallflower Digest brings a Christmas wish list of ten books. Each entry has a short take and a personal spin. I would describe this list as a stack of well-selected appetisers. The tone is modest and specific. You get why each title matters to that reader.

Zak Slayback goes full sci‑fi holiday cheer. His list is split between family-friendly films (think Back to the Future, because who doesn’t) and books that kick ambition into another gear. He’s pitching sci‑fi not just as escapism but as a tool for founders and dreamers. It’s the kind of list that nudges you to imagine future gadgets the way you imagine a new phone over coffee. If you’re making plans for the next startup or just want the brain to stretch, Zak’s picks are the kind that elbow you awake.

John Scalzi posts about new books and ARCs. His notes are the kind of thing you skim when you want to know what the industry is buzzing about at year’s end. Titles from Jenny Lawson, Meg Elison, Ada Hoffmann — all names that feel like bookmarks for future conversations. This one reads like being behind the counter of a bookstore the week before a big release.

Maia Mindel offers recommendations for 2026 across media: movies, albums, books, and podcasts. It’s neat to see books placed next to films and music. The effect is like looking at someone’s living room and seeing a stack of vinyl near a stack of novels. It pulls you into a media ecosystem rather than a single shelf.

These recommendation pieces aren’t just lists. They shape an appetite. They say: read this to feel like this, or read it when you need that kind of nudge. They’re small maps to future moods.

Reading habits: formats, failures, and little victories

Format and habit cropped up again and again. Caitlyn writes twice this week — once about nonfiction goals and again with a small Christmas treat announcing a book club. In the recommendations post, she’s candid about preferring audiobooks for nonfiction. She says she stacks listening into daily life. It’s all very practical. There’s even a scent mention — Lemon Puff — which she ties to relaxation and reading. That little detail feels human. I’d say it’s the sort of aside that makes the reading plan less like a rigid program and more like a ritual: a comfy chair, a scent, a long walk with an audiobook in your ear.

Fatih Arslan and Notes by JCProbably both tallied their years in books. Fatih gives a book-by-book account and reflects on reading habits, focus, and the influence of his kids on what he reads. He’s the sort of reader who journals his reading. That’s a detail you notice and think, “maybe I should try that.”

Notes by JCProbably is frank about missing a 40-book goal and ending with 26. There’s no shame. Instead, there’s a shift in taste noted: more Romantasy and Historical Fiction. That change seems normal and specific. I’d say it reads like someone who discovered a new neighbourhood of the bookshop and keeps returning.

This week’s posts show two linked trends: people are intentional about formats (audiobook vs print), and they accept that plans slip. There’s an honesty about goals not met. That matters. It makes the conversation less aspirational-postcard and more neighbours-chat.

Books as art object and waste problem

Christopher Jobson brings a different lens. He writes about Brian Dettmer’s sculptures made from books. Dettmer carves and reworks discarded books into intricate pieces. Jobson uses the sculptures to think about knowledge and sustainability. He asks, in gentle, visual terms: what do we do with printed matter when it’s obsolete? His essay made me picture books as both treasure and fuel. That’s a strange duality. It’s like keeping old clothes for nostalgia but knowing they might never be worn again.

There’s a small argument inside that post about publishing’s sustainability. It’s not loud. It’s more like a neighbour at a barbecue saying, “We should probably sort the recycling.” Dettmer’s art presses the question. Do we revere every book physically, or do we let some go? The images do a lot of the talking. Books carved into micro-architectures look like little towns. It’s beautiful and a little uncomfortable.

Loneliness, belonging, and late discovery

Andrea Badgley writes about Annie Proulx’s The Shipping News and about loneliness. The line “For Quoyle was a failure at loneliness” anchors the piece. Andrea revisits the novel and discovers new layers across different readings. She links Quoyle’s transformation to her own life as children grow up. This one landed quietly. It’s reflective rather than declarative. I’d say it reads like someone re-reading an old letter and finding new sentences that weren’t there before.

That idea — books showing up at the right time in life — recurs elsewhere. People say the same thing in different words across the week: a book that once missed you might find you later. It’s like bumping into an old friend in a new neighbourhood. The timing changes everything.

Reading as community: clubs, newsletters, giveaways

Caitlyn launching a book club is one of those small-but-not-small moves. A giveaway for paid subscribers and the promise of a January book club. This is the kind of community nudge that helps a reading habit stick. It’s the difference between saying “I’ll read this alone” and “We’ll read this together on Wednesday nights.”

There’s also the sense of newsletters supporting long-form work. People are asking for reader support in small ways. It’s like chipping in for a pizza at a study group — not dramatic, but meaningful. These posts make the point that reading doesn’t have to be solitary. It can be shared, argued, laughed over.

The year’s heartbreaks and small celebrations

Several posts mix serious personal news with book talk. Misha Saul and Craig Mod both carry quiet grief or strain. Misha is open about a friend’s death. Craig folds thankfulness for a good year into notes about exhaustion and travel. These posts remind you that books sit beside life’s big stuff. They aren’t separate.

There are also small celebrations. Rukshan launches projects. Craig Mod talks about a successful book and events in Tokyo. Those wins are practical — a sold book, an event booked — but they feel warm. They are like the first warm day in spring after a long winter. You notice them and breathe a little easier.

The sci‑fi thread: ambition, futures, and comfort

Zak’s list is worth coming back to. Sci‑fi shows up both as family entertainment and as a prompt for ambition. The list includes not only classic films but also books that nudge founders to think bigger. Those picks aren’t about speculating future tech as much as trying to calibrate how you want to lean into the future. It’s both nostalgia and provocation. To me, it feels like standing in front of a model rocket and deciding whether you’ll watch it launch or build one yourself.

There’s a lot of comfort reading alongside high-minded reading. People want both. It’s like eating cake and also a salad. Both serve a purpose.

Practical things: selling houses, importing books, last-minute travel chaos

Some posts get mundane in a satisfying way. Craig’s note about importing books for a Tokyo event reads like a logistics rant that you nod at if you’ve ever shipped something overseas. Tom Stuart tells a small story about rental car pickup chaos on Christmas that ends peaceful. That weeknote feels domestic and real. It’s the small friction of the season: last-minute changes, small anxieties, settled family time. Books are present in the background of those stories, like good music on a kitchen radio.

Reading lists that reveal tastes and shifts

A few posts act as careful inventories of the year. Fatih’s list is methodical: what he read, how he read it, and the takeaways. Notes by JCProbably’s shift to Romantasy and Historical Fiction is a clear taste change. That feels meaningful, not just faddy. It’s like someone who has preferred coffee for years discovering they like tea. The discovery can reorder your mornings.

John Scalzi and the “New Books and ARCs” post are reminders that the publishing calendar keeps turning. There are always new titles. There are always people making ARCs and sending notes. That steady churn of new work is both comforting and dizzying.

Small, specific delights and oddities

There are bits that stick because they’re small and specific. Caitlyn’s Lemon Puff is one. A scent linked to reading — odd at first, then completely sensible. It makes the reading habit sensory. Dettmer’s carved books are another small spectacle. They’re exactly the kind of thing you want to click through and stare at for a while.

The posts also have small redundancies and repeated ideas. Multiple writers return to the year-in-review idea, to missed goals, to lists of books. That repetition itself feels honest. People repeat because these topics are important and familiar. It’s like hearing the chorus of a song again — you don’t mind, and sometimes it’s what you needed.

What felt new this week

  • A stronger emphasis on nonfiction by some writers. Caitlyn’s plan to lean into nonfiction for 2026 stands out. She frames nonfiction as something that can be slotted into daily life through audiobooks. That practical approach to nonfiction feels new and manageable. You don’t have to sit with a dense book. You can listen while you hang the washing. That’s ordinary and useful.

  • Sculptural book art raising sustainability questions. Dettmer’s sculptures aren’t new, but using them as a prompt to talk publishing waste felt timely. The ecological angle is quiet in these posts, but present. It’s like a background hum you start to notice.

  • Book clubs as community infrastructure. Caitlyn’s book club pledge and other notes about shared reading show that newsletters are turning into mini reading communities. People want to read together. They want accountability and conversation. It’s practical and social in one move.

  • Genre pivoting. Several people admitted to shifting genres — Romantasy and Historical Fiction getting more love. That kind of taste migration is interesting because it shows reading is not static. It moves with life stages.

Recurring agreements and small points of friction

Most writers agree on a few things. Books matter. Reading is a habit worth cultivating. Audiobooks have a place. Communities help. People also agree that year-end is a time to take stock.

The small frictions are practical: shipping books to events is annoying; hitting a reading goal isn’t guaranteed; the publishing industry has sustainability problems. These aren’t debates so much as shared complaints. They sit like leaves on a path.

Little tangents that loop back

I kept noticing tiny digressions in the posts. A mention of a fragrance. A logistics gripe about customs. A family anecdote during Christmas chaos. These moments feel like the sort of thing you’d tell a friend over tea and then return to the main topic. They make the posts human. They pull you in.

For example: the Lemon Puff scent made me think of bookstores that carry candles. The Dettmer sculptures made me think of old books in the attic. These are small leaps. They are not unrelated. They’re all about how physical things keep a hold on us.

Who might like which posts

This is a gentle reading map. You can hop from one post to another like joining different conversations at the same party.

Threads worth following into the new year

  • Will more people swap to audiobooks for nonfiction? A few writers hinted at this. It seems plausible. Audiobooks let you fold reading into chores and walks. That could change what counts as “time to read.”

  • How will book clubs seeded from newsletters evolve? A few writers are testing this. If they scale, they could remake small communities into reading groups that meet online and sometimes in person.

  • The sustainability question. The Dettmer post nudged a conversation that is quiet but can get louder. Will publishers and readers make different choices about print runs, remainders, and discards?

  • Personal taste migration. People are changing what they read. That will ripple through recommendations and what friends gift each other. It’s like suddenly half your mates prefer tea instead of coffee. You notice.

If you want the full texture, it’s worth clicking the links and reading each post. Each one hides small, specific details that don’t survive the roundup: a sentence from a book that hit hard, a travel tangle about a plane’s cargo hold, a note about a scent that makes reading feel like a ritual. Those are the things that make a reading life noisy and rich.

The week felt like a library closing for the evening. People were taking their coats and stacking their books. Some had heavy coats. Some had shopping bags with new titles. Some were checking their pockets for keys. The rooms quiet down, but you can tell they’ll reopen in January. There are plans on the table and lists already folded into pockets. Read one of the posts and you’ll find a particular sentence that sticks. Follow that sentence, and it will lead you into someone else’s year.

Next
Previous