Books read in 2025

None of the books I picked up this year are labeled "classics"—that is, books that are taught in the classroom, or selected as must-reads of the century. Time has not elapsed sufficiently for any of these titles to be properly appreciated or studied.

Except this one—surely 30 years is enough for Harpman's novel, but I was surprised to learn that only two of her books have been translated into English. I was a little less surprised when I found out that the author worked as a psychoanalyst and had narrowly escaped the Holocaust.

I was initially drawn to the premise of the novel thinking that it would be a retelling of Plato's Allegory of the Cave, and it's not completely dissimilar—both stories revolve around prisoners held underground without knowledge of why or how they got there, and an individual who doesn't quite fit the mold. In Harpman's novel, this individual is both our protagonist and narrator; the book is the sole evidence of her existence.

Perhaps I have tried to create time through writing these pages. I begin, I fill them with words, I pile them up, and I still don’t exist because nobody is reading them.

I have so many scattered thoughts and such fondness for this book that I can really only organize them in a list. Here are a few:

1. The passage of time is depicted wonderfully, and so beautifully. I don't remember the last time I admired a writer's portrayal of the seasons—perhaps when I last read Italo Calvino's Marcovaldo (1963)?

2. The prose is exquisite, but also funny, and also devastating.

3. I rarely buy physical books anymore if I am able to acquire it electronically, but I may have to purchase a hardback copy of this one.

4. The concept of taking a historical footnote and forming it into a fictional account with such painstaking, realistic detail will never cease to astound me. Allegra Goodman also did this with Isola (2025).

5. There are so many books in the world to enjoy, but I look forward to the day I can re-read this novel—maybe in ten or so years, when I feel like I can feel like I'm reading it for the first time again.

I enjoy reading the reviews of Kuang's works as much as I like reading the actual books. So many of the reviews on Goodreads weighed her latest novel against Babel (2022), and after picking up the two books, the comparison is understandable—both belong to the dark academia subgenre, and the magic in both alternate universes are grounded in the mastery of languages.

I made the mistake of reading Katabasis first—the premise of graduate students rescuing their academic advisor from Hell is an irresistible one. The relaxed prose drew me in immediately, and though I didn't understand all the references peppered throughout the chapters, the book didn't strike me as patronizing. I didn't care whether I liked Alice or not; I didn't care to poke holes in Kuang's world-building; I didn't care about a lot of things that, in a different book, would have prevented me from suspending my disbelief.

The book, too, also didn't seem to care what readers would think. Babel was objectively well-written and well-researched but somehow ill-fitting, like someone trying to jam their toes into a pair of beautiful shoes. Katabasis felt like someone forewent footwear altogether, lounging about with blackened soles and a drink in one hand.