2025 reading wrapped

So, um, I read 165 books in 2025. (and I am still drawing every cover, because apparently I don't have a life outside of literature.)

You might think this is a lot — which it is — but this gets even more batshit when you realise that I read 94% of those between January and September. Insanity, yes? A cry for help, probably.

At this point you might be thinking: but how? and, more importantly, why? Excellent questions. I have some theories.

I aggressively replaced screen time with reading time. Instead of scrolling on my phone in the morning, I read for about 45 minutes. Same at lunch. Same while waiting for the subway. Same while waiting for a friend who is, as always, “just five minutes late.” In the evenings, I read on the couch instead of watching TV, and then I read in bed for another hour or two because apparently rest was optional. And I read a lot on the weekends. Sometimes up to 4 books.

I also switched between ebooks and audiobooks a lot. I’d read a hundred pages in the morning, then get a solid hour of audiobook time while walking Rufus, who absolutely did not ask to be part of this but was perfectly happy about the extended walk time.

So. That’s the how.

The why is… well. Gestures wildly around. I hated the world and hid from it. Books don’t have real-life consequences. No actual pain, no real danger, no news alerts. Fiction is safely contained. The catastrophes stay on the page. And the odds of a happy ending — or at least something vaguely hopeful — are much higher than in reality. The good guys win. The guy isn’t an abusive fucknugget. Growth happens. Justice occasionally exists.

Given… everything — gestures again — it felt like a very reasonable coping mechanism.

So, let’s talk stats.

165 books, with an average length of 347 pages, which brings us to a whooping total of 57,251 pages. The average rating landed at 3.95 stars, with 26 five-star reads.

I also DNFed quite a few. I didn’t track them properly, but I’m guessing around 45-ish? Maybe less. Maybe more. I usually give a book about 50 pages before I call it quits.

I read books by a total of 73 authors — 69 women and 4 men. My most-read authors were Karin Slaughter, Ali Hazelwood, and Abby Jimenez. Format-wise: 148 ebooks (because I finally got a Kobo and fell in love with it), 8 audiobooks, and 9 physical books. Top genres? Mystery & thriller, romance, and horror — to make sure I am emotionally well-rounded.

favourites

On to my favourite reads of the year! Not all of them were five-star books, but all of them have lingered in my thoughts in one way or another.

• the midnight project — imagine the world teetering on the brink of collapse and, instead of, you know, trying to prevent that, a billionaire funnels his money into scientists to engineer a brand-new species capable of surviving in the depths of the ocean. it raises the question: when does created life stop being property? And if it has agency, when do its creators stop being responsible for it?
• so thirsty — my first rachel harrison, and I immediately devoured all her other work afterwards. Listen, I am a sucker for vampire novels (haha, yeah, what a groundbreaking pun), and I will always love a book about the tug-of-war between expectations and desire, about how women are so often taught to feel guilty for going after what they want.
• Made For You — our narrator is a female synth, engineered to love one specific man. And yes, it goes exactly where you think it will. It digs into men’s control over women, into the terrifying ease with which AI and tech can be used to quite literally build a love slave, and the persistent reality of male violence, no matter if you have a heartbeat or not.
• Sunrise on the Reaping — Haymitch, my heart.
• I Who Have Never Known Men — I must have been the last person on earth to read this one. Finished it one sitting. A book that leaves you staring at a wall once finished, mildly unwell, thinking about loneliness and survival and what’s actually left of us when everything else is gone.
• First-Time Caller — I never really allowed myself to read romance novels. And when I did, I did it quietly. Secretly. Like I was committing a literary crime. That changed about two years ago. This one had me kicking my feet under the blanket the entire time and smiling like an absolute fool.