Matt's Books and Music

Between some unexpected duds and a vacation on which I didn’t get a lot of reading done, May was probably my weakest reading month in the past few years. But there were still some notable reads along the way. Here are some of the highlights, and one notable low-light.

Nine Eight Raves

Son of Nobody, by Yann Martel (2026 🇨🇦)

Premise: A Canadian scholar leaves behind his estranged wife and beloved daughter to pursue an opportunity at Oxford and discovers what he believes to be a lost telling of the Trojan War cycle.

Review: This is an utterly fascinating novel, that weaves together two tired tropes (the end of a once loving marriage and myth retelling) to create something that felt fresh and surprising, to say nothing of heart-wrenching and beautiful. Like the best myth retellings, it exploits the gaps in our extant texts to great effect. In all it asks who gets to tell our stories, whether mythical, historical, professional, or personal, And it’s a novel I won’t soon forget.

Bookish Pair: For the shared intersection of personal and civilization-defining stories, Saleem Haddad’s Floodlines (2026)

The Sweet Girl (The Golden Mean 2), by Annabel Lyon (2012 🇨🇦)

Premise: Aristotle’s daughter delights in learning at her father’s side, but chaffs at the limited options available to unprotected women when he dies and her betrothed has yet to return from Alexander’s Eastern wars.

Review: This is really a tale of two halves. The first half is a stunning piece of historical fiction that vividly brings Aristotle’s household, and his precocious daughter, to life. The second half is more of a slog, as calamity after calamity befalls the main character, before an ending filled with not so much happiness as a realistic acceptance of compromise. This is, of course, the point; and I think some of the aspects that didn’t go down well with many readers, such as the turn towards divine intervention in the second half, were intentional and worked well in the context of the character’s journey. Overall, this was uneven but I think it worked.

Bookish Pair: Circe, by Madeline Miller (2018)

Platform Decay (Murderbot 8), by Martha Wells (2026)

Premise: Everybody’s favourite rogue Security Unit undertakes a dangerous mission involving their greatest challenge yet: children.

Review: After a couple outings that didn’t work as well for me, this represented a great return to form for me for this beloved series. I ❤️ Murderbot!

Bookish Pair: n/a There’s nothing like Murderbot.

The Persian Boy (Alexander 2), by Mary Renault (1972)

Premise: A young Persian eunuch comes becomes the lover and loyal confidante of Alexander the Great.

Review: This is a brilliant book that was spoiled for me by its length. The first half sparkles with Renault’s wit, intelligence and keen insight. Flipping Western ideas of civilization on their head by looking at ‘barbarian’ Greek culture through Persian eyes was wonderfully done, and her portrayal of the main character’s arc was moving. But the second half was a real slog and for all its court intrigue, really just seemed to be counting down to Alexander’s death. This went from being a real favourite to something I couldn’t wait to end. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still appreciate all that it does well.

Bookish Pair: While not critical to read before this, the first book in Renault’s Alexander trilogy, Fire from Heaven (1969) is absolutely gorgeous.

Oye, by Melissa Mogollon (2024)

Premise: A feisty and increasingly desperate Colombian-American teenager tells her older and increasingly distant sister of all the family drama involving their self-centred mother and stubborn abuela, whose deteriorating health brings up old traumas.

Review: This is a very voicy book, and that voice will not work for some readers, often coming across as bratty and rude, especially on audio. But the unique conceit of the story, being told in one-sided teenage phone conversations, was fascinating. The character dynamics and the different ways of dealing (or not) with the abuela’s illness felt very real. If you aren’t put off by the protagonist’s attitude, there’s a lot here to appreciate, enjoy, and contemplate.

In the Skin of a Lion, by Michael Ondaatje (1987 🇨🇦)

Premise: in the 1930s, a young man from rural Ontario falls in with Toronto’s rough-and-tumble immigrant communities who bear the brunt of the city’s public works projects.

Review: This is an interesting book. Told in connected short stories centered on a few vivid characters, it weaves a vivid picture of the dark side of the city’s youthful ambition. While it’s very good, I found it a bit uneven, and I definitely understood why the Caravaggio character was the one Ondaatje brought back in The English Patient.

Babycakes (Tales of the City 4), by Armistead Maupin (1984)

Premise: As Reaganomics and the AIDS crisis make the free-wheeling ‘70s feel like a distant memory, the denizens of Barbary Lane ponder babies, new beginnings, and a handsome seaman.

Review: This volume in the series is best known for being among the first novels to include a prominent AIDS storyline. Perhaps because of this, it’s more clever than funny. And while I definitely missed the humour, I loved the ways it built out the world of the books into Seattle and London, and showed maturing characters facing their next steps. It also gets bonus points for winkingly taking its narrative cues from “Billy Jean.”

Interview with the Vampire (The Vampire Chronicles 1), by Anne Rice (1976)

Premise: A centuries-old vampire tells the story of his life and death to a young journalist.

Review: I know by now that vampire lore just isn’t for me, but once a year I convince myself to give it a try. Objectively, this does a lot well. It is beautifully atmospheric, and creates a big world (that indeed Rice has filled out in future books). It’s also very romantic, not in the sense of ‘romance’ but in terms of the big bold emotions and passions that inspired romanticism. But rather than feeling inspiring, I found this suffocating; the passion, jealousy, and longing sucked the air out of the room for me. I did love the ending, which almost made up for the rough journey to get there. In all, this is well done but not for me.

Bookish Pair: For a rather different take on romanticism, Penelope Fitzgerald’s The Blue Flower (1995)

 

And One Pan

Yoga, by Emmanuel Carrère

Premise: A French writer’s belief in the power of sacred practices to ground his life is undermined in the aftermath of the 2015 Charlie Hebdo attack.

Review: This is French literary autofiction at its Frenchest literariest autofictionest. I was intrigued by the premise but it didn’t really hold my interest as much as I’d have liked.

 

Notable Non-Fiction (x2!)

The Story of Birds, by Steve Brusatte (2026)

Premise: A noted palaeontologist tells the story of the evolution and triumph of birds.

Review: I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Steve Brusatte is THE best science communicator out there. Not only does he tell the story of birds — their origins and evolution within the dinosaurs and rapid dispersal following the end-Cretaceous mass extinction, and continuing domination — in an informed, accessible, and entertaining way, but he does it with a lot of graciousness and joy. He’s simply the best. Reading this makes me want to reread the rest of his work.

Bookish Pair: Brusatte’s The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs (2018) and The Rise and Reign of the Mammals (2022).

Hearts on Fire, by Michael Barclay (2022 🇨🇦)

Premise: A comprehensive exploration of six years at the turn of the century when Canadian indie music became the coolest scene(s) in the world.

Review: As someone who was listening to other things in the years in question and so was only tangentially aware of most of this music, this was a really helpful book, since it draws the through lines among the many interconnected artists and scenes. It also does a great job of explaining both the factors that enabled Canadian music to shine and the reasons why most of the artists had to go to Europe to be discovered. There’s no question this is way too detailed and probably a hundred pages too long, but it’s fantastic.

Bookish Pair: Nora Principtti’s Hit Girls (2025) is a great book about what was happening in more mainstream pop in the years in question.