Friends donât let friends enter cozy season without our limited-edition Book Riot hoodie. Just one week left to preorder yours and receive it in time to celebrate our 15th anniversary in October.
Despite all the scandals of recent years, the Hugo Awards are one of the longest-running SF/F literary awards, and they continue to work to try to prevent bad actors from taking overâwhich seems to be a never-ending game of whack-a-mole.
This year seems to have been smooth sailing, though, and theyâve just announced the winners of the 2026 Hugo Awards, Lodestar Award for Best Young Adult Book, and Astounding Award for Best New Writer.
Hold onto your butts, friends. Big Book Season is here.
Starting the season with a bang is Marlon Jamesâs latest novel, which is big in every sense. Weighing in at 640 pages, the doorstopper follows a group of gay men in the aftermath of a violent attack in 1980s Kingston, Jamaica.
Hailed as a masterpiece that puts James in line for the Nobel someday, itâs on the longlist for this yearâs Booker Prize and will likely be high atop many best-of-2026 lists.
R. F. Kuang is the bestselling author of Yellowface, The Poppy War, and Babel, to name a few, and today is the publication day for her newest novel: Taipei Story, out from William Morrow. Check out an excerpt below.
Was I an Ugly Human Being?
I had just read Jamaica Kincaidâs A Small Place in a writing seminar that spring. It had made a great impression on me then, and I couldnât stop thinking about it now. A tourist is an ugly human being, wrote Kincaid. An ugly thing, that is what you are when you become a tourist, an ugly, empty thing, a stupid thing, a piece of rubbish pausing here and there to gaze at this and taste that, and it will never occur to you that the people who inhabit the place in which you have just paused cannot stand you.
But Kincaid was writing about British visitors to Antigua. By you, she meant the white European tourist descended from the enslaver. Our situation was different, surely. We did not have a colonial relationship with this place, did we? We had not come to gawk at natives, or dine at country clubs, or solicit the island girls, or enjoy private beaches inaccessible to the locals. We had come here to learnâto form a deeper relationship with this place. Surely Kincaid did not mean us.
But none of us were Taiwanese. None of us had family here. Most of us were here only because Taiwan right then was friendlier to American travelers than mainland China was, or we would have gone to Beijing, and in fact this was a source of great contention with my parentsâthat I had chosen the program farther from my extended family because I wanted to go where all my friends were going and I didnât want to bother with downloading a VPN. I could go see my grandparents any other summer. I wanted to become Chinese here, on my own terms. The anonymity was the pointâbut that meant this place had nothing to do with me, that no cradle of belonging justified my missteps.
Jonathan Franzen wasnât right about everything, but he was right about enough things that the âFranzenfreudeâ era of the early aughts now looks more than a little overblown.
The first literary sensation of the 21st century, The Corrections was Franzenâs third novel and his first introduction to fame.
Focused on the disastrous months that precede a painful and painfully hilarious family holiday, The Corrections is about the modern anxieties of plugging in, selling out, and turning into your parents.
Now underrated, it still hits, and on revisiting it, I realized this is the high Iâve been chasing in most of the lit fic reading of my adult life.
Join us and special guest Rob Harvilla, host of 60 Songs That Explain the â90s, for a wild conversation about this modern classic. â RJS
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THE READING LIFE
A brief guide to talking to people in bookstores
On a recent episode of The Book Riot Podcast, I expressed both interest in and apprehension about talking to people in bookstores. Specifically, saying something to someone like âOh, I really like that oneâ when I see someone clearly considering something that I did, in fact, like.
Do people like this sort of interaction? Why exactly do I feel compelled to chime in on a strangerâs book consideration? I asked listeners for their feedback and got more than I was expecting.
Here are three bits of advice for me (and others) distilled from the emails we got.Â
People in bookstores generally enjoy having someone else say if they liked a book. Social proof is real and there are so many books. It was less clear that negative input (âI didnât like that/that didnât work for meâ) was welcome. So I will sticking to yums and avoiding yucks.Â
Keep it brief. A sentence or two is enough. If they donât ask questions or otherwise indicate they are interested in further discussion, just smile and browse on.Â
Be aware of gender dynamics. Most people digitally nodded their head to my sense that âdonât be creepyâ is the higher-order requirement here. One bookseller said that they have their radar up for unwelcome attention by older men to younger women, but also said if you keep it brief and stick to books, it generally is a positive experience for everyone. â JO
I often find writing about the significance of dogs in literature to be difficult, because animals in literature are almost always used as a way of talking about the human beings around them.
I get it. Animals are lively and interesting, and, helpfully, they donât speak for themselves, at least not in ways we tend to understand, so theyâre great for providing useful metaphors or embodiments for ideas we want them to carry.
Most writing about animals is actually about how we experience our own observations of animals; what we think their behavior means, or how we might feel if similar things happened to us. Itâs really hard to avoid, but itâs also deeply understandable. Our own experience is what we have to try to understand things.
To see animals discussed for the sake of themselves, we usually have to turn to the science books, and if you want to look at the other side of it completely, and think about how animals live their lives and what being alive is like for them, I recommend An Immense Worldby Ed Yong, in which the author encourages us to think about what happens outside of the narrow range of sensory perception that we possessâŠ