Highlights of Literature in 2025

This year, my reading traced a wide arc. Across 34 books, I moved from political theology to epic fantasy, from children’s literature to the exposition of historic documents, from memoir to detective fiction. But this was not variety for its own sake. Again and again, these books returned to a shared set of concerns: authority, identity, formation, inheritance, and belonging.

In addition to reading, 2025 also included the drafting of two novels—one epic low fantasy, the other a historical literary novel set in 1885 Cochinchina (French colonial Saigon, Vietnam)—as well as approximately half of a memoir. This writing ran parallel to the year’s reading and meaningfully shaped how these works were engaged, sharpening my attentiveness to structure, voice, and moral weight.

Political Theology and the Question of Authority

The most intellectually consequential book of the year was King of Kings. What distinguished it was not novelty, but clarity. In a space often dominated by caricatures—either of theonomy or of liberal secularism—Baird offers a concise, steel-man articulation of a Reformed, magisterial account of civil government. The argument is careful, historically grounded, and refreshingly disciplined: Scripture governs the moral ends of political authority without collapsing church and state into a single institution.

What made this book stand out was not that I agreed with everything, though there is much to commend. Rather, it took opposing views seriously enough to answer them precisely, modeling what political theology ought to be: neither reactionary nor evasive, but principled, restrained, and accountable to the whole counsel of God.

This is a book to be read and reread—thought about seriously, debated carefully, and engaged by proponents and detractors alike.

The Joy of Plot: Mystery, Humor, and Intelligence

If King of Kings was the most bracing, the most fun book of the year was The Appeal. Rarely does a novel so deftly combine the pleasures of a whodunnit with genuine wit and narrative intelligence. Told through emails, messages, and documents, the novel trusts the reader to do the work: to notice tone, omission, and subtext.

There were moments I laughed out loud, moments of genuine suspense and surprise, and moments that reminded me of the sheer joy of reading. In a year filled with weighty themes, The Appeal was a reminder that delight itself is a literary virtue—and that words on a page, skillfully arranged, can be deeply satisfying.

Literary Depth Beyond a Christian Worldview

One of the most artistically accomplished reads of the year was She Who Became the Sun. Its worldview is not merely non-Christian but, at points, actively resistant to Christian moral categories. And yet, its literary merit is undeniable.

Parker-Chan’s prose is controlled and evocative; her characters are morally complex without being unnecessarily opaque. The novel wrestles seriously with fate, ambition, identity, and power, refusing easy resolutions. Reading it required discernment, yes—but it was also rewarding. Never before had I found myself rooting for a relationship I actively disagreed with. That tension, intermingling moral clarity with emotional investment, made for an unsettling and thought-provoking experience.

In a cultural moment steeped in appeals to “empathy,” this book stands out for its ability to make the reader feel deeply despite fundamental disagreements. It exemplifies an important truth: engaging seriously with literature outside a Christian framework can sharpen moral perception and deepen contemplation rather than dilute conviction.

Epic Storytelling and Cultural Inheritance

The most expansive narrative experience of the year came through Legend of the Condor Heroes. Jin Yong’s wuxia epic is classic storytelling in the fullest sense: sprawling, patient, morally earnest, and deeply rooted in Chinese cultural imagination.

I grew up watching the television adaptations—multiple versions, at that—so the story was both familiar and deeply nostalgic. What struck me most on returning to it in print was how deeply Yong’s themes were embedded not only in the narrative, but in my own formation. Loyalty, honor, and the slow shaping of virtue unfold over thousands of pages and registered with me at an almost instinctive level.

This is not minimalist fiction. It is civilizational storytelling, reminding the reader that epics form people precisely because they take their time—and because they take root.

Memory, Identity, and the Ache of Belonging

The most personally resonant book of the year was Sigh, Gone. It connected directly to my experience growing up Vietnamese American, navigating displacement, assimilation, and the quiet ache of unbelonging. Tran’s memoir balances humor with real trauma, never sentimentalizing pain while refusing to let it have the final word.

Books, punk music, and language become lifelines—means of survival and self-articulation. More than any other book this year, Sigh, Gone compelled me to inhabit the memoirist’s life and, through it, to reengage my own childhood. It inspired me to begin writing my own memoir, recounting the ways my family, cultural inheritance, and God have shaped and molded me.

Conclusion

Interwoven throughout the year was a steady stream of children’s literature: Little House books, E.B. White, and other read-aloud classics. These were not filler. Reading them alongside epic fantasy and political theology underscored a truth often forgotten by adults—that the deepest shaping often occurs long before argument begins.

Taken together, the literature of 2025 was not unified by genre but by seriousness of intent. Even the lightest books were intelligently constructed; even the most challenging were worth wrestling with. Authority, identity, inheritance, and formation emerged as the year’s dominant motifs—explored across cultures, centuries, and worldviews.

It was a year that reminded me why reading still matters: not as consumption, but as cultivation.