Recommendations: The Best of 2024

My annual list of recommendations! These are the films, shows and books I most enjoyed reading or watching across the course of the last twelve months, though I have to admit this was something of a fallow year for me. Nothing truly grabbed me by the throat, and a lot of what I ended up liking was material that I was revisiting after a long hiatus.

A lot of that had to do with the fact I deliberately avoided new releases and big franchise stuff in 2024, partly out of a lack of interest and partly because I’m just fed up of getting invested in stories only for them to be prematurely cancelled. Fool me twice, and all that.

In any case, here are my personal picks of 2024...

Through the Woods by Emily Carroll

I love me some folk horror, and this graphic novel captures the ambiance of that very specific genre (with a dash of old-fashioned fairy tales) better than anything else I know. Featuring five stories of varying length, this delves into subconscious anxieties and insecurities like nobody’s business: a man who thinks he’s killed his brother, a young bride suspicious of her husband, a girl whose sisters disappear from the house...

Carroll’s gift as an artist is holding back just a little on what’s really going on. In reading this, you’ll be straining your eyes at each panel, searching for clues that feel like they’re there, but cannot quite be glimpsed. If nothing else, please watch “His Face All Red” on YouTube, it’s unforgettable.

Aveline Jones trilogy by Phil Hickes

As someone who greatly enjoyed Katherine Arden’s Small Spaces quartet and Catherine Fisher’s Clockwork Crow trilogy, these books are very much akin regarding their content and ambiance. A young girl gets embroiled in spooky mysteries of a ghostly, witchy and then fey-folky nature, in which her wits and fortitude are all that can save her from surprisingly scary outcomes. Are there any stories on earth more satisfying than children pitting themselves against terrifying supernatural odds?

Like those previously mentioned authors, Hickes is superb at building an atmosphere, whether it’s winter in a desolate seaside village, summer amidst fields of standing stones, or the autumnal starkness of moorlands covered in ancient barrows.

Hedgewitch by Skye McKenna

I may be jumping the gun a little with this recommendation, as the Hedgewitch stories (a planned five-book series) are not yet finished. What if it doesn’t stick the landing? Well, that’s a risk we’ll have to take, because these books are all about the aesthetic: the warmth and coziness of an English village situated alongside the eerie beauty and danger of Faerie.

Basically, if you want the comfort of Hogwarts without the deranged transphobia, and the crisp, clear mystery of Stardust’s Wall without the horrific sexual assault charges, then Hedgewitch and its sequels (Woodwitch and Seawitch) will scratch that very specific itch.

Little Thieves and Painted Devils by Margaret Owen

Again, I may be jumping the gun here, as Margaret Owen has yet to bring this story to a close in her not-yet-published third and final book. Furthermore, I am increasingly weary of the usual YA prerequisites getting in the way of just telling a damn story. (Dear would-be writers, I am begging you to stop filling your timeless fantasy story with allusions to modern-day memes).

But I respect any author who excels at the puzzle-box plot, in which a mystery is woven throughout the story so subtly that you’re not initially even aware that it is a mystery, with clues seeded so carefully that realizing their true meaning is like feeling the cartoon lightbulb burst into light over your head. That analogy is especially apt in this case, as a lantern is one of the hidden-in-plain sight clues that leads to the resolution of the plot. Well played, Owen. Well played.

The Bear and the Nightingale trilogy by Katherine Arden

This year I finally finished my giant stack of Slavic fantasy reads, and this was one of the standouts, a trilogy comprised of The Bear and the Nightingale, The Girl in the Tower, and The Winter of the Witch. It’s a generational saga centred mostly on young Vasya, a girl whose story begins long before she’s born, though it takes her a while to get the full picture of her life, its meaning, and its purpose.

Drawing on the folklore and early Christian orthodoxy of Russia, it’s a tale of old gods, fanatical priests, magical horses, evil wizards, and a heroine who refuses to conform. What saves our protagonist from the whole “not like the other girls” routine is that Vasya’s longing for freedom isn’t necessarily framed as a good thing. The way it sets her apart from other women is a source of grief for her, and her longing for freedom is a burden that costs her dearly.

She’s a wonderful character, simply because she transcends the usual clichés of the whole “I want to escape this provincial life and be freeeeeeee!” mentality that you find in so many heroines of her ilk.

Ivanhoe by Walter Scott

If you want to know how to write a puzzle-box plot, read Agatha Christie. If you want to know how to teach important life-lessons without moralizing, read Lloyd Alexander. And if you want to understand the importance of structure, read Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe. The way the story is divided into three distinct parts, the “connective tissue” chapters, the gradual reveal of Robin Hood’s identity, the profound influence it had on later books of this nature – you learn so much just by reading it, far beyond the enjoyment of the story itself.

This was my first re-read in some years, and I was stunned at how much easier it was to comprehend this time around. Yes, it’s rather too verbose, and yes, Ivanhoe himself is a bafflingly dull protagonist. The less said about historical accuracy, particularly pertaining to the concept of chivalry, the better. But the rest is just *chef’s kiss* and worth it for Rebecca alone.

Dracula by Bram Stoker

It’s nice when a classic story – one that’s been fully absorbed into pop-culture and which is known to all – manages to surprise you. It’s the genuine unsettling ambiance of the book, the remarkable descriptive passages, the subtextual insight into the anxieties of late nineteenth century society, the fact that this is the grand-daddy of all vampire fiction.

To know the gist of the story, but then to read the original text was quite an experience, and so much of the novel’s effectiveness is in the way it’s told: the epistolary effect, the deliberately unanswered questions, the overturned assumptions (Renfield is not an ex-lawyer, Lucy is not a shameless flirt, and Dracula is not a tortured antihero). To read an old, old story for the very first time can be quite a trip.

Women’s Lore by Sarah Clegg

I don’t read a lot of non-fiction, but I probably should given how much I enjoyed this exploration of the Mesopotamian goddess Lamashtu and how Clegg follows the trail of her influence throughout the ages, linking her to the likes of Lamia, Lilith, Melusine, and more modern depictions of vampires and sirens, demonstrating how her story and purpose was hijacked across the course of history to become more symbolic of mankind’s sexual fears of women than a way for women to ameliorate their fear of childbirth.

Her hypothesis isn’t always watertight, but her argument is compelling, and I was fascinated throughout.

The Son of Robin Hood (1958)

I watched a lot of Robin Hood films this year, and this one ended up being the standout. Not because it was good per say, but because it was interesting. Some years after Robin Hood’s death, the remaining outlaws send away for his son, a youth called Deering, in the hopes that he’ll be able to lead them to victory against a new foe.

And in a twist that I honestly didn’t see coming, Deering turns out to be a she. I know that if you’re reading this, I’ve just spoiled it for you, but there’s honestly some masterful misdirection at work here. This year brought me a newfound appreciation for the art of structure, and this obscure little movie from the fifties may be hideously sexist (despite its premise, Deering does not become leader of the outlaws) but it’s astoundingly good at situating its plot-points, character beats, twists and Chekhov’s Guns precisely where they need to be for maximum effect.

Sleeping Beauty (1959)

I had forgotten how much I loved this movie, so let me give you a brief rundown of some of the details I most appreciated this time around:

The moody colour palette. The way Aurora’s hair moves. The lingering mystery of what Merryweather’s gift would have been if Maleficent hadn’t interrupted her. As this post points out, the swag of the background extras.

The astounding fact that the film’s protagonists are three middle-aged women. That they defend Prince Philip with bubbles, flowers and rainbows. The way they call each other “dear” (affectionate) or “dear” (withering). The coziness of their tree-adjacent home. The amusing fact that the film incorporates the castle-wide slumber, but because the screenplay has done away with the “for one hundred years” detail, it all comes down to the fairies realizing they’ve catastrophically screwed up, and so deciding to render everyone unconscious for an indefinite period of time in order to hide what they’ve done until they can fix their mess.

That it incorporates Tchaikovsky’s score from the ballet. How the animation is based on real medieval tapestries. The “here’s your precious princess!” meme. Remembering how much it charmed and fascinated me as a child when the fairies shrunk themselves and hid in a trinket box for a secret conference. And of course, Maleficent herself – though I’ve already spoken about her at length.

I feel like I could disappear into this movie, and it really is one of my absolute favourites.

Panna a Netvor (1978)

I watched a lot of fairy tale films from the seventies and eighties this year, and this one was by far the standout. A Czech film, it hits the basic notes of any traditional “Beauty and the Beast” story, but with tweaks both narrative (here the Beast himself is responsible for Beauty’s father losing his fortune) and visual (the Beast is not leonine or deformed as he’s usually depicted, but bird-like in appearance).

I was raised on a steady diet of fairy tale movies as a child, and this is the one that reminded me most of their very distinct aesthetic: the graininess of the film, the ingenuity of the practical effects, the mysteriousness of the story, the blissful lack of Hollywood affectation about it. Despite having never seen it before, the nostalgia that Panna a Netvor invoked only added to its potency, and I’m looking forward to seeing it again.

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000)

This film has been talked to death and I’m not sure I can add anything meaningful to the discussion twenty-five years after its release. Just watch it, watch it, WATCH IT.  Jen’s identity crisis is one for the ages, and the scene in which she spits: “friendship isn’t real anyway,” half in self-pitying petulance, and half in genuine heartbreak is just one of the many extraordinary scenes at work throughout this film.

Red Cliff (2008)

The film for which the word “epic” was created, though it miraculously never loses sight of intimate moments between its vast cast of characters. Based on the historical Battle of Red Cliffs that occurred at the end of the Han dynasty, it is largely interested in the logistics of warfare and the dire consequences it has on everyday life. When you think about it, this is extremely rare – most war films just have their opponents charge each other on a battlefield without any thought of strategy.

It's amazing how effortless such a massive filmic undertaking unfolds on the screen, with characters sharply established, tactics explained, stakes drawn up, and then battle scenes shot in such a way that you can actually tell what’s going on – another rarity.

When Marnie Was There (2014)

Only two organizations could have ever brought this story to life: the BBC back in the seventies/eighties, and Studio Ghibli. They’re the only ones capable of capturing the distinctive atmosphere of Joan Robinson’s original book.

It was the latter who delivered in 2014, producing this dreamy, mysterious film that is blissfully unconcerned with anything but being itself. It takes its time, it’s not afraid of its spiky protagonist, it fills the screen with beautiful images, and there is nothing that even remotely resembles the three-act structure that’s so prevalent in Western films.

I watched this with my mum, and towards the end she was heard to utter: “where is all this going?” That should be taken as a very high compliment.

Much Ado About Nothing (2019)

Controversial opinion, but I preferred this take on the famous comedy, performed at the Delacourte Theatre Stage in Central Park, to the 2011 version with David Tennant and Catherine Tate. I loved the backdrop of the Georgia brick mansion, the choreography that cleverly takes place on balconies and in the white picket-fenced yard, the framing of war that makes the whole thing feel like a few days of respite in troubled times, and of course, the performances.

Grantham Coleman is up there with Kenneth Branagh as Benedick whose bravado belies the fact that he’s the most decent man in the whole production, and Margaret Odette is hands down the best Hero I’ve ever seen. It’s such a thankless role, but she makes it sing. And of course, Danielle Brooks as Beatrice, one of my favourite Shakespearean heroines.

You can watch it yourself here.

The Tragedy of Macbeth (2021)

Denzel Washington and Frances McDormand as Lord and Lady Macbeth, what more do you want? Well, how about a film shot entirely in black and white in which each frame looks like a scene upon a stage, even though there are shots of the horizon and vast outdoor landscapes throughout? It’s hard to properly describe what is done here, though Robbie Collin described it as “resonating with the ancient power of a ritual.” That’s as evocative a description as any.

I promise you, Kathryn Hunter’s portrayal of the Wyrd Sisters will haunt your dreams.

Le Bazar de la Charité (2019)

I went into this miniseries relatively blind, which is the best way to approach a story. When you don’t know what to expect, you can’t be disappointed, but you can be pleasantly surprised. Using the real tragedy of a fatal fire that broke out at a charity auction in Paris, 1897, the plot branches out into three main storylines involving three very different women, and how they cope with the aftermath.

First and foremost, it’s a story about the strength and bravery of these women, but also provides an implicit commentary on the roles of men in their lives. The male characters in this miniseries only exist in relation to the three female protagonists, and they’re deliberately divided into two distinct categories: those that respect us, and those that only see us as mere objects.

It goes to some dark places, but ultimately reaches a well-deserved happy ending. What bliss.

Slow Horses (2022 –)

The hype is real; go to your nearest available screen and watch this show immediately. Four seasons of six episodes each so far, with at least two more on the way (a veritable miracle!) makes this show perfect for a rainy day binge-watch, as well as being funny, clever and occasionally heart-breaking.

Everyone involved is at the top of their game: Jack Lowden, Rosalind Eleazar, Saskia Reeves, Kirstin Scott Thomas, Jonathan Pryce, and of course Gary Oldman as the appalling Jackson Lamb. There’s no glamour to be found here, for this is the stale beer-flavoured side of espionage, in which the day can only be saved by the loser wannabes.

X-Men ’97 (2024)

We are drowning in a sea of prequels, sequels, legacy-quels, reboots and remakes, and yet every once in a while, one of these things will come along to prove that such things aren’t inherently bad. They just need to be done well.

This is a direct continuation of the X-Men cartoon that aired back in the nineties, which (before the Bryan Singer films came along) was probably the most popular and well-known adaptation of the comic books. Picking up directly where the show left off, with Professor X heading off into space and the X-Men left behind to fend for themselves, it ends up being staggeringly good, grappling with issues of prejudice, violence, identity, and politics with a standard of writing that absolutely no one could have anticipated. We’re talking Andor-quality levels of shock regarding what people thought it would be, and what was actually delivered.

***

2024 was the year in which I gave up watching new releases, as I’ve been burned too many times by shows that get cancelled almost immediately (and the decision paid off when it came to The Acolyte). Why invest in something that will never be resolved? Instead I went back to a time in which shows could run for seven seasons straight with twenty-two episodes per season; a dizzying prospect by today’s standards.

It was also a very structured year in terms of what I chose to watch, and when. I had long-term projects, such as my ongoing Babysitters Club re-read, working through the films, shows, books and graphic novels of The Dark Crystal franchise, and taking a chronological journey through the Plantagenet and Tudor dynasties, starting with The White Queen miniseries last year, and ending with that titular character’s grand-daughter Queen Elizabeth in (ironically) the Mary Queen of Scots movie. It was a an expedition comprised of several miniseries, a four-season show, a few films, and even a stage musical.

Most months adhered to a particular genre when it came to the movies I watched, such as Teen Rom-Coms, Historical Epics, Eighties Fairy Tales, Vampires, and Shakespeare Adaptations; categories that were not always conductive to female representation, but every now and then one could surprise you.

It was also the year of Robin Hood, and my ongoing quest to watch as many possible variations of the legend as possible – which at this point, is just a bunch of rather terrible films from the forties and fifties, though they do have a certain charm about them. Most significantly, I finished all four seasons of Richard Greene’s The Adventures of Robin Hood, a black-and-white television serial that was an important stepping stone in the evolution of how this character is portrayed in modern pop-culture.

He also famously cameos in Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe, which inspired a number of screen adaptations, the best of which (in my opinion) is the 1997 miniseries starring Steven Waddington, Ciarán Hinds and Susan Lynch.

I finally came to the end of my Slavic fantasy reading list, which I have to admit came as something of a relief. There’s only so much you can take of freezing cold, onion domes, the house on chicken legs, and people downing shots of vodka, but it was a big tick on my to-do list and for the most part I enjoyed myself. The amount of times Baba Yaga turned up, no matter how late in the game, was admittedly rather amusing, though it as definitely helped me realize I have to take a long break from YA (and adult novels that seem to want to be YA by keeping the earnest social commentary and forward-thinking female protagonists, but adding more graphic sex and violence. They’re not the worst thing in the world, but damn are they annoying).

After so many years I’ve come to the end of watching and reviewing each episode of Legend of the Seeker, a show I’m going to miss dearly, and forever regret not getting the third season it was clearly gearing itself up for. Is it too late to greenlit a renewal? The cast still look pretty good! On other fronts, I’m still chugging through Elementary (only two seasons to go now), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (commentary on season two will begin shortly) and Xena Warrior Princess (season five ahoy). Though I have to say, Shōgun didn’t do much for me, so I probably won’t watch the forthcoming season two. Sorry!

Um, what else? Reading wise I read a few classics either for the first time (Bram Stoker’s Dracula and Ray Bradbury’s Something Wicked This Way Comes) or for the second (Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe, Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla). Other significant reads were finishing Sharon Penman’s The Queen’s Man quartet, continuing with Barbara Cleverly’s Joe Sandilands mysteries after a long hiatus, and Gillian Flynn’s entire canon (which admittedly, is only four books, one of which is only a short story).

I also had fun with some good old Apple Paperback ghost and mystery stories, particularly those penned by Betty Ren Wright and Mary Downing Hahn. Now I’m making my way through Philip Reeve’s Mortal Engine books, and am thoroughly enjoying them – I’ll have to follow up with Scott Westerfield’s Leviathan trilogy and the recent anime adaptation, since they very much fit in with that steampunk aesthetic.

On the stage, I managed to see an adaptation of Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express, which managed the setting of the titular train quite fantastically, a musical called Fairy Stories, which was very loosely inspired by the Cottingley fairies incident, and the ballet of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which was beautiful and ethereal and magical and other superlative adjectives.

But what struck me as I went through my reading lists for 2024, looking for things to comment on for this post, is that the year was spent either concluding or continuing things, as opposed to starting anything new. There have been things I’ve very much enjoyed: Philip Reeve’s Utterly Dark, Margaret Owen’s Little Thieves, Skye McKenna’s Hedgewitch, Liz Flanagan’s Wildsmith, Jo Rioux’s Cat’s Cradle, Tim Probert’s Lightfall, Spiderman: Across the Spider-Verse, Duck Tales, The Owl House, Interview with the Vampire – the problem is, I simply haven’t finished them yet.

It’s hard to talk about something when it doesn’t yet have an ending, and perhaps that’s the theme of 2024 in general. We’re all entering 2025 with a deep sense of apprehension, which isn’t all that surprisingly given what’s been going on... and we have no idea how it’s going to end.

Maybe I should try being a bit more unpredictable in the year ahead, though I’ve already launched a new take on my Woman of the Month posts (I’m showcasing female villains this year) and have a secret New Years’ Resolution that will hopefully become apparent in the coming months. Plus, my media blackout continues. It’s really quite relaxing.