This year’s reading journey turned out to be a surprising and deeply satisfying adventure for me, though it didn’t start that way. When 2024 began, I had a lingering sense of dread that this might be the year I’d read the least books in my life. Life was hectic, unpredictable, and honestly, I just didn’t feel like I’d have the time or energy to dive into as many stories as I’d like. But isn’t that the beauty of life? Sometimes it has other plans for you. What I thought would be a sparse year for reading turned into one of my most memorable yet.
Here’s the thing: I know it’s not about the number of books you read. It never really is. It’s about the stories that stay with you, the lessons you learn, and the ways those words on the page expand your mind. You could read the same book a dozen times and learn more from it than someone who’s flipped through a hundred. But if I’m being honest with myself, I do take a little pride in seeing my “books read” list grow. It’s like a visual record of all the worlds I’ve visited and the characters I’ve befriended. (Yes, I keep a list. And yes, it’s in an Excel file—meticulously updated, color-coded, and sorted by author, genre, and date read. Don’t judge.)
If I had to choose a single word to sum up my reading journey in 2024, it would be Higashino. Keigo Higashino absolutely dominated my bookshelf this year. I devoured almost every one of his novels that’s been translated into English, and each one left me more in awe of his storytelling than the last. As 2024 draws to a close, I find myself eagerly counting down to his next book, which is set to release in December. (Invisible Helix by Keigo Higashino) There’s something uniquely thrilling about detective fiction—the way it pulls you into a web of intrigue, keeps you guessing, and challenges you to think like the brilliant minds unraveling the mystery.
Higashino’s detectives, like the enigmatic Detective Galileo and the sharp yet compassionate Detective Kiyochiro Kaga, now hold a permanent place in my heart, right alongside the greats—Sherlock Holmes, with his razor-sharp wit, and Hercule Poirot, with his flair for the dramatic and unerring precision. Through their cases, I felt the pulse of Japan—the quiet streets, the unspoken emotions, and the cultural layers that make his stories so much more than just mysteries. They’re puzzles, yes, but they’re also deeply human.
(Read: Book Review: The Devotion of Suspect X by Keigo Higashino)
But 2024 wasn’t just about Higashino or mysteries. My reading journey wandered into other territories too. I finally picked up Pachinko by Min Jin Lee, and wow—what a masterpiece. Spanning generations, it’s a story about identity, resilience, and the invisible threads of history that tie us to our ancestors. It made me think deeply about how struggles can be passed down, but so can strength. Kristin Hannah’s The Women swept me into the untold stories of women in wartime—a perspective that felt long overdue and incredibly powerful. Then there was Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan, a short but profoundly moving tale about how even the smallest acts of courage can ripple outward and change lives. It was a quiet book, but its message was loud and clear: doing the right thing isn’t always easy, but it’s always worth it.
In between the mysteries and dramas of 2024, I found myself exploring different literary landscapes, starting with Haruki Murakami’s Norwegian Wood. It’s a novel that doesn’t just tell a story—it feels like a memory, a melancholic dance between love and loss, set against the backdrop of a changing Japan. Its quiet introspection was a stark contrast to the cold, gripping world of Ragnar Jónasson’s Icelandic Detective series. Following Detective Ari Thór through the snow-cloaked villages of Iceland in Snowblind, Nightblind, and Blackout gave me a distinct sense of chill—not just from the icy setting but from the dark, psychological twists Jónasson weaves so masterfully. Much like Stieg Larsson’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Jónasson’s trilogy reminded me of how mysteries can reflect the deeper, haunting truths of human nature.
A special standout for me this year was R.F. Kuang’s Yellowface. This unexpected thriller took me by surprise—not just for its compelling storyline but for how boldly it pulled back the curtain on the publishing industry. Through the story of two authors, Kuang explores themes of ambition, cultural appropriation, and the moral compromises people make in pursuit of success. It’s as much a critique of the literary world as it is a captivating narrative about rivalry, identity, and the price of fame. Kuang’s sharp wit and incisive observations made Yellowface a book I couldn’t put down, and it lingered with me long after I turned the final page. It’s rare to find a book that thrills you while also opening your eyes to the struggles and complexities of an industry often shrouded in mystique.
On the nonfiction side, I stumbled onto Brianna Wiest, and her work was a revelation. 101 Essays That Will Change the Way You Think genuinely lived up to its title. It made me pause, reflect, and rethink so many aspects of how I approach life, growth, and challenges. Her other book, The Mountain Is You, didn’t resonate with me as strongly, but it still had its moments of clarity. Both books reminded me that personal growth is messy and uncomfortable, but it’s also necessary and deeply rewarding.
For a lighter, heartwarming read, I turned to The Wild Robot by Peter Brown—and yes, I couldn’t resist watching the movie adaptation too. It was such a delightful surprise. This story about a robot finding her place in the natural world taught me so much about kindness, adaptability, and the surprising ways we can connect with those who seem completely different from us. It left me smiling, and sometimes, that’s exactly what you need from a book.
What I’ve realized this year is that every story leaves something behind. Higashino taught me the beauty of balancing logic with emotion—how the sharpness of the mind and the softness of the heart can coexist. Pachinko reminded me of the quiet resilience that runs through generations. Kristin Hannah’s work inspired me to honor the voices that history so often forgets. Claire Keegan nudged me to find courage in the small moments. Brianna Wiest pushed me to embrace growth, even when it’s uncomfortable. And The Wild Robot? It taught me that love and kindness can bloom in even the most unexpected places.
As I look ahead to 2025, I feel excited, curious, and maybe just a little bit ambitious. There are so many books still waiting to be discovered, stories I haven’t even dreamed of yet, and lessons I’ll only learn when I let myself get lost in the pages. I hope 2025 brings more variety to my bookshelf, introduces me to new authors and genres, and maybe even inspires me to revisit a few old favorites. Most of all, I hope it reminds me why I fell in love with reading in the first place: for the joy of discovery, the thrill of connection, and the magic of seeing the world through someone else’s eyes. Here’s to the next chapter.