Just yesterday I was commenting to a friend that my reading of late has felt rather disheartening. Some beautiful writing, and vitally important stories, but it was taking a toll. It reminded me that there’s been other reading in my stacks in recent weeks that could serve to balance.

Uzma Jalaluddin and Marissa Stapley’s Three Holidays and a Wedding (2023) is exactly what you’re thinking based on the cover. It begins with a snowstorm and disrupted travel plans, during the holidays in a year when Christmas, Ramadan, and Hanukkah collide. Missed connections in the context of transit highlight the capacity for people’s worst traits to overwhelm, as well as the opportunity for people to connect in unexpected ways. And, as with any joint writing venture, it’s also fun to see how the two narrative styles align and diverge: a fun book for an occasional evening chapter or two.

Somewhere I saw the word ‘indulgent’ used to describe Kevin Kwan’s Lies and Weddings (2024) and its escapades of earls and heiresses, but that overlooks everything one can learn from this Hong Kong family’s story. That UAE Airline supplies first-class passengers with PJs that release seaweed to hydrate wearers. The proper name of the theme song for “The Crown”. Specifics about designers’ clothing and accessories, from beachwear to purses. Cantonese curses in footnotes. Legit grievances of Indigenous Hawaiians’ over incursions by the moneyed and entitled. But the draw is Kwan’s ability to sketch a scene in the Gresham family’s lives. It’s as light as you want it to be.

Rebecca Roanhorse’s Black Sun (2020) is neither light nor easy; at times the story is rather dark, but it’s still a lot of fun because she doesn’t cut corners with characterisation though the emphasis remains on plot. A tough balancing act, but Roanhorse makes it seem effortless. It recalls childhood reading memories, when I could disappear into books. And the world-building (pre-Columbus American civilisation) is seamlessly integrated with the story, so you are gradually immersed, which makes it even more propulsive. Having said all that, one mythic element of the story described swiftly in the opening pages really lodged in my mind and that “betrayal” (not every character would view it that way) haunted me, so it was never an evening read (but it’s also what raised the stakes and made the story so engrossing).

R. F. Kuang’s Yellowface (2023) was entertaining, but I didn’t love Babel as much as I’d hoped, so I’d had time to adjust my expectations. The premise was intriguing—an author steals her more-successful-writer-friend’s finished draft after she chokes on a pancake (note to self: chew pancakes thoroughly)—and it was half the length of Babel too. I bet it will make a great TV series (and I think it’s funny that the showrunner also worked on Yellowjackets, so I guess she’s committed to Yellow shows now).

Gabrielle Zevin’s Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow (2022) held me captive because I grew up playing the games that her characters loved too. I stole from my grocery budget and survived off toast so I could buy Kings Quest, and I still love solving puzzles where a magic fish needs to be returned to the water where it transforms into something amazing or opening chests with coloured-coded patterns. The detail about game design especially appealed because I also love workplace stories. How Zevin paces and executes endings hasn’t worked well for me in the past, and that’s true here too, but I didn’t mind because so much of the rest of the book was exactly to my taste.

Richard Kelly Kemick’s Hello, Horse (2024) is a fantastic collection. Every story is polished and accomplished and, in many instances, I found myself slightly open-mouthed and near-smiling as I made my way. This makes no sense, because some really ugly things happen, and some of the stories’ premises and the characters’ scenarios are downright nasty, but there is something joyous about the use of language and the sense of play, and this buoys the stories from beneath the surface. Readers of Rawi Hage, Brett Josef Grubisic, and Mark Anthony Jarman will want to seek out this debut. (Biblioasis)

Mimi Grace’s Make a Scene (2020) is a recommendation from Rachel, who always has great romance suggestions. This one has a satisfying sassy tone, and I loved the way it opened with the narrator listing her common annoyances, including people who can’t stop themselves from reminding others that Frankenstein is the name of the scientist not the monster (I didn’t realise how annoying that was, but yes!). Plus it’s set in a bakery, and romances that include baking and food are extra fun (her scenes are also a little spicy, so it’s not all sweet and light)! I haven’t read on with the series yet, but Rachel promises they are all good, including the most recent autumn-themed love story.

The jacket copy of Jessica George’s Maame (2023) is giving Queenie and Such a Fun Age vibes, and that’s not far off, although maybe things are a little heavier in the first part of Maddie’s story here. In all three, however, the narrator is the key to the novel’s success: readers are engaged not by what happens in these young women’s lives, but by how each of them copes and responds to stresses. Queenie and Emira and Maddie have their own unique perspectives, so by all means, get to know them all—but the variety of formats in Maame makes it extra fun (lists, emails, messages, and so many online search results that made me laugh).

Has reading offered you respite recently?