Recommendations: The Best of 2025

Well, the year 2025 is over and not a moment too soon (though who am I kidding, 2026 is looking equally grim). This post may be a bit late, but I always get there in the end, so here are my top recommendations for the year that’s just passed: everything I read, watched or played that struck a particular chord and which may help you escape the hideous burden of day-to-day reality.

I actually found it rather difficult to narrow things down into a reasonable list (especially given my OTT gorge of pop-culture franchise material in July), which speaks to the surprising quality of my reading/watching year.

2025 was divided into several themes, and though that sounds like it might impinge on just enjoying myself, it actually gave me the structure I needed to focus on specific interests while also finding new material in each subject, whether it be Arthurian legend, Greek myth, Tudor drama, pirates, unicorns, folk horror, or Magical Girls.

There was also a surplus of television shows that were cancelled after one season, though many of them I was watching for the second time: Crossbones, Nautilus, Around the World in Eighty Days, NBC’s Dracula, Sinbad, Atlantis (okay, that one had two seasons), The Winter King, Camelot, Cursed, Onyx Equinox – and I’ve just this month finished Emerald City. So yeah, I broke my own rule about not starting new shows until I was sure they’d be finished, but there’s still something a little fascinating about projects that get greenlit but are unable to gain enough traction for a continuation.

As it happened, my New Year’s Resolution was to avoid American-made or US-based material, which saw me in good stead for most of the year (sans July, and a few films in December) and made for a nice change of pace. The decrease in violence – specifically gun violence – on the screen was extremely noticeable, and so my viewing intake was considerably more restful as a result. Of course, this meant I missed out on a few shows I’ve been meaning to catch up on (Elementary, 1923, Welcome to Derry) but hey – they’re not going anywhere.

Blog-wise, I managed more reviews and commentary than most years (I see on the sidebar that even though my activity gradually decreases with each year that passes, I managed three more posts than in 2024). Personal highlights include a Contrast/Compare between Black Sails and Andor, an in-depth look at the treatment of Rebecca and Rowena in Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe, meta about the Evolution of the Vampire in projects like Dracula, Nosferatu and Carmilla, Ranking the 39 Episodes of the BBC’s Robin Hood, and reviewing every episode of MGM’s Robin Hood (still no word of a renewal on that front, so I can probably add it to the above list of single-season shows).

There was also an uptick in fandom drama this year, or so it seemed, whether it’s the tedium of the culture war, the astounding lack of media literary in your average viewer, histrionics surrounding thwarted shipping endgames, or stories once again being held hostage by the whims of the loudest online voices. I may have more to say about it in a later post, as bloody hell was it a headache.

Finally, we lost a lot of talent this year, from Robert Redford to Diane Keating, and though I always feel a little uncomfortable about noting such things on a blogpost (it feels so superficial somehow) I was especially saddened to hear of the early death of Michelle Trachtenberg at just thirty-nine years old, who I’ll always remember as Harriet the Spy and Dawn Summers. Likewise, Val Kilmer was probably more of a Han Solo to me than Han Solo himself as Willow’s Madmartigan (sorry, I came to Star Wars later in life!) and Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa as the very sinister, but equally very compelling Shang Tsung in Mortal Kombat (conversely, it would appear I went through my villain phase very early in life, at age ten or so).

And of course Rob Reiner, whose death was a terrible shock and part of an ongoing investigation. I’ve no idea what I could possibly say that could be in any way meaningful, only that The Princess Bride was a staple of my childhood, as it was for so many others.

Rocking Horse Land and Other Classic Tales of Dolls and Toys complied by Naomi Lewis and illustrated by Angel Barrett

I love drifting into a book illustrated by Angela Barrett, and her delicate style is perfectly suited to a picture book about the importance of our first companions in life: the toys of our childhoods. Whether they’re dolls or bears or tin soldiers or rocking horses, her illustrations capture the fairy tale magic of a living toy, whether they’re found in ornate dollhouses, grand palaces, cluttered workrooms, or the enlarged world of a nursery from the perspective of children that have been shrunken down to a tiny size. It’s a beautiful collection.

Arthur: The Always King by Kevin Crossley-Holland and Chris Riddell

If you’re looking for the definitive retelling of King Arthur’s life for young readers, then this might just be it. Spanning everything from the Sword in the Stone to the Holy Grail to the affair between Lancelot and Guinevere to the Battle at Camlann, the book reads rather like a series of snippets from Arthur’s life; clear, detailed moments that shine forth from within the mists of time.

Crossley-Holland is great at describing great sweeping events alongside tiny minutia; a lot of it deliberately unnecessary and only there to provide verisimilitude. Since the material used here has clearly been cherry-picked from the wide variety of other Arthurian retellings, the randomness becomes delightful, a perfect encapsulation of the sheer strangeness of these tales. Yet along with Riddell’s quirky illustrations, Crossley-Holland still grasps the power and poignancy of Arthur’s life story, and his poetic-prose retains the numinous quality of these tales; that innate mystery that’s so essential to any retelling.

In many ways it feels like a compendium of Arthuriana as well as a retelling; a shortened version of what Lev Grossman similarly does in The Bright Sword (though that’s deliberately a sequel to all the events that are recorded in Arthur: The Always King).

Cat’s Cradle: The Golden Twine, the Mole King’s Lair and Suri’s Dragon by Jo Rioux

It’s clear from the conclusion of this trilogy that Jo Rioux may have bitten off a little more than she could chew, as more than a couple of important plot-points are left dangling. But such is life – we don’t always get answers to everything. It’s only the journey that matters.

Depicted in an art style that’s highly reminiscent of Cartoon Saloon, this is the tale of Suri, a monster-tamer who forms a motley band of companions as she travels to the Giant’s Belt, a range of mountains that she crossed as an infant in the talons of a dragon. The trilogy’s greatest pleasure is just exploring this world alongside Suri: the quaint townships, the rolling hills, the crystal caverns under the mountains – Rioux details everything in her careful, expressive artwork.

Helen of Wyndhorn by Tom King and Bilquis Evely

More incredible art, which alone makes this graphic novel worthy of a long, leisurely read. Highly reminiscent of Charles Vess’s illustrations for le Guin’s A Wizard of Earthsea and Gaiman’s Stardust, this book carries you to the brink of a faerie otherworld and then shoves you straight in. The framing device, of a tape-recorded interview with Helen’s governess and its journey from hand to hand over the years, yields its own rewards as it explores themes of memory, loss and the passage of time. The vitality of the characters, the intricacy of the plot, the sheer artistry involved in bringing this story to life – it’s a feast for the eyes and mind.

(King and Evely also collaborated on Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow, which James Gunn’s next Supergirl film is based on. Shout out to that graphic novel too!)

Wonder Woman Historia: The Amazons by Kelly Sue DeConnick, Phil Jimenez, Gene Ha and Nicola Scott

Speaking of DC Comics, here’s another stunningly illustrated story that delves into the history of the Amazons of Themyscira, their leader Queen Hippolyta, and their relationships with the various gods and goddesses of the Greek pantheon. In many ways, it’s a relief to read a story that so fearlessly commits itself to its feminist text, in which female characters are front and centre of every panel and the patriarchy their undisputed enemy. Unfolding over the course of several years, we watch as outcast women from all walks of life form a society of their own, help each other survive in a hostile world, establish a society on the island of Themyscira, and eventually witness the birth of Diana, the girl who will one day become Wonder Woman.

Sir Gawaine and the Green Knight by Anonymous

Some stories are so old, so rich, that you feel you were born knowing them, and so it is with the tale of the Green Knight who storms into King Arthur’s court on Christmas Eve and proposes a game. Any knight seated at the Round Table can strike him any way he wishes, provided that one year hence, the Green Knight can deliver upon him the same blow in kind. Gawaine meets his challenge by lopping the giant’s head off, only for the knight to retrieve it from the floor and command him to meet him at the Green Chapel next Christmas.

The name of the author who wrote this alliterative verse has been lost to time, leaving only the story itself. It’s moody and mysterious, and yet also deeply humanist in its conclusion that Gawain’s transgression in wearing a magical sash to protect himself from the Green Knight’s axe was an understandable decision, and one that the court imitates in order to honour his bravery.

Utterly Dark trilogy by Philip Reeve

I cannot describe the thrill I felt when I discovered Philip Reeve was releasing a fantasy trilogy with the deliciously evocative titles of Utterly Dark and the Face of the Deep, Utterly Dark and the Heart of the Wild, and Utterly Dark and the Tides of Time. Even now the words make me want to kick my feet with glee.

Combining the enigmatic nature of Faerie from stories like Jonathan Strange and Lud-in-the-Mist, the primal forces found in the works of Susan Cooper and Alan Garner, and the heady summer holiday endlessness of an Enid Blyton Famous Five bok. That glorious blending of genres and vibes is what resonated so deeply when I read these books: that brand-new, yet deeply familiar feeling. Sometimes you chance upon stories that feel like they’ve been written just for you, and this is one of them.

Unraveller by Frances Hardinge

Every new publication from Frances Hardinge is a cause for celebration. The intricate plots, beautiful prose, endearing characters – every component of her work always comes together so perfectly, like a silken puzzle box gradually snapping into place. Presented here is a world where if you feel something – anything – strongly enough, you can curse another person, leading to a high demand for our protagonist, an “unraveller,” the only known person in the world who can lift (or unravel) a curse.

From this high concept premise comes a tale of vast swamplands, dark secrets, and an atmosphere straight out of “The Highwayman” by Alfred Noyes: “The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees; the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.” That’s the exact tone of the world Hardinge conjures here.

The Left-Handed Booksellers of London by Garth Nix

I hope to revisit both Susan Cooper’s The Dark is Rising and Garth Nix’s own Abhorsen books in 2026, and this certainly whetted my appetite for both. Capturing Cooper’s use of ancient mystical powers rising to the surface of modern-day life and Nix’s own flair for inventiveness in the creation of complex magical systems, this story details the adventures of Susan Arkshaw, on a mission to find her unknown father. Things get very strange, very quickly.

Nix is a master at so many things: action, character, dialogue, setting – whenever you crack open any of his books you know you’re in the hands of a master who has a great yarn to share with you. This one in particular was such a satisfying mingling of eighties Bohemian London and primal forces lurking just beneath its surface. As the story unfolds, you can feel their immensity and power.

Whisper of the Heart (1995)

It will always amaze me how Studio Ghibli manages to make engrossing films out of – well, nothing much in particular. Highlights of this film involve young Shizuku checking out library books, gazing at a grandfather clock, following a cat through the streets, and sharing stories with an old man. It’s completely riveting – not just the realistic and detailed animation, but the blissfully low stakes, which are largely based on a young girl’s curiosity about the world around her.

Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992)

I unashamedly adore this film, despite the liberties it takes with Stoker’s text (that said, it’s more faithful than most other adaptations, even if poor devoted Jonathan definitely gets the short end of the stick). But it’s so deliciously Gothic. The practical effects, the character actors, Eiko Ishioka’s stunning costumes, the sheer unmitigated melodrama of it all. With Winona Ryder at her most beautiful and Gary Oldman at his most campy, it makes for a perfect double-feature with…

Nosferatu (2024)

I’m often heard groaning about “dark romance,” but I’m not opposed to it if writers know what they’re doing. That is, if it’s actually dark and not some piffling Mills and Boon fluff. Admittedly, I’m still parsing my way through a lot of what this film depicts, particularly pertaining to Ellen and her relationship with Count Orlok.

Is Nosferatu a metaphor for Ellen’s repressed sexuality? Is he the embodiment of child abuse? Or a symbol of the societal shackles she longs to break? Is her sacrificial death a victory or a tragedy? Did she secretly want Orlok’s attention or could she have found fulfilment with Thomas? Is it empowering that she gives into her desire? Does it even have to be empowering? Maybe it’s just meant to be fucked up. Somewhere between the shippers gushing about how sexual coercion is secretly feminist and the pearl-clutchers worrying about sexual morality in fiction, is the truth of the matter: it’s complicated.

While you’re trying to figure it all out, you can sit back and enjoy the visuals, as this film is drenched in rain and mist and shadow and gaslight. It’s just as opulent as Bram Stoker’s Dracula, though where its predecessor went Gothic, this goes for grim German Expressionism, as befits its setting.

Enys Men (2022)

This may end up being my most contentious recommendation, because this film is straight-up weird. Largely plotless and with only a handful of characters and minimal dialogue, it follows the daily activities of a nameless woman on a rugged coastal island, seemingly taking scientific recordings of the wildlife. Shot on 16mm film to capture a seventies aesthetic, it’s a film impossible to explain and not guaranteed to satisfy. All I can say is that I was captivated. What does any of it mean? No idea. But the meaning is there somewhere, and all the more potent for being tantalizingly out of reach.

It’s about the vibes, people, and more interested in establishing a mood than telling a story. But what a mood!

Jason and the Argonauts (2000)

I’m allowed one completely self-indulgent recommendation in every one of these lists, and this year it’s the Hallmark miniseries Jason and the Argonauts. Is it good? Not really, but I truly believe the first half is the most faithful adaptation of the myth ever committed to film, from the hostile takeover of Iolcus, to Hera’s patronage of Jason, to the way our hero loses a sandal while helping a mysterious old lady across the river. The costumes are surprisingly good, as is (some of) the CGI, and the on-location filming in Turkey which brings it all to life.

Someone gave a damn, even if it all falls apart in the second half. Jolene Blalock as Medea is serving looks, the likes of Natasha Henstridge, James Callis, Derek Jacobi, Ciarán Hinds, Adrian Lester and Olivia Williams pop up in cameo roles, and – what can I say? It makes for pleasant background noise.

Jane Eyre (2006)

I had forgotten how good this miniseries was, and though I’m far from having watched all the Jane Eyre adaptations out there, I’m still tempted to say this is the best of the lot. With enough time to delve into Jane’s pre- and post-Rochester life, ensuring that she’s the undisputed protagonist of her own story, it also makes her budding romance with the surly master of Thornfield Hall the centrepiece of the drama.

That Rochester is essentially a walking red flag on so many levels is mitigated by Toby Stephens’s performance, demonstrating kindness and humour beneath his gruff façade, while Ruth Wilson is not a Jane Eyre to be pushed around. The most crucial turning point of the novel is when she chooses her soul’s integrity over love, a scene that remains intact here. Plus, I’m inordinately fond of Christina Cole’s snotty little Blanche Ingram.

The Living and the Dead (2016)

Like most good folk horror, this is all about the atmosphere, capturing that unsettling mood of the genre. Yes, there’s a twisty-turny time-travel plot, as well as Colin Morgan and Charlotte Spencer as a young married couple struggling with the usual strain of having to run a farm while preternatural hauntings go on all around them – but we’re really here for the evocative visuals: crumbling mansions, ancient rituals, empty swings, damp autumnal forests, ghostly figures in sepia photographs, a haunting soundtrack... It is simply soaked in atmosphere, and the joy is immersing yourself in it.

Black Sails (2014 – 2017)

I’ve already said so much about Black Sails over the course of this year, but here’s a little bit more. Concerned with the pirates of Nassau during the Golden Age of Piracy and their growing attempts to wage war on civilization, the four season show spins a tale of love, loss, righteous causes, integrity, and what you’re willing to give up for the greater good.

It’s a rare show in which every season is better than the one before, but season four of Black Sails is a perfectly constructed jigsaw puzzle of motivation, alliances and characterization. Everything falls into place so beautifully; every conversation, decision and action sequence blends into the show’s overarching themes.

I talked a lot about story structure in 2024, but this year ended up being more about story logistics. They can be fascinating if you do them right, and Black Sails had a deep interest in the practical considerations that lay beneath the colossal undertaking that its characters were attempting to pull off, from whether or not to boost moral by building a fuck tent for the men, to how the best laid plans can fall apart if there’s no wind to fill your sails. (To contrast: Nautilus didn’t get bogged down in any technical details but at the expense of the show’s sense of realism, while I always wanted more from The Amber Spyglass in regard to just how exactly Lord Asriel’s forces were going to battle the Kingdom of Heaven).

But Black Sails hits just the right notes, forcing all its characters to choose between their tiny worlds and the greater good. There is no right answer, but between the introspective monologues, the fusion of theme and characterization, and all that juicy moral ambiguity, everything locks together perfectly. Damn, now I want to watch it all over again.

Ludwig (2024 –)

This might just be the perfect cozy detective series. It practically demands that you curl up with a hot drink and a warm blanket on a rainy night before watching it. David Mitchell is essentially playing himself (not that there’s anything wrong with that) as a neurotic puzzle-maker who gets roped in by his sister-in-law to help her find out what’s happened to her missing husband – his twin brother. The formula unfolds nicely, with one standalone crime solved per episode as Mitchell finds himself impersonating a police investigator, as well as steady forward momentum on the overarching mystery of his brother’s disappearance. It’s just delightful.

The Excavation of Hob’s Barrow (2022)

Yup, I definitely enjoyed a lot of folk horror this year, and this independent point-n-click game was no exception. I truly do love the pixellated worlds that remind me of my early childhood playing the old Sierra and Lucasfilm games, and this one took me right back.

You play as Thomasina Bateman, who has come to the village of Bewlay at the invitation of a resident to investigate a strange barrow on the outskirts of the moors. We’re given the opportunity to explore this foreboding but beautifully rendered landscape of forests, moors, town squares, farmland – and of course, the ancient depths of Hob’s Barrow. Much like The Living and the Dead, it perfectly captures that ominous folk horror aesthetic, where natural beauty exists side-by-side with an eerie preternatural presence. Take a look at some screenshots:

***

I have just a few more honorary mentions…

The short story “The Shadow,” from E. Nesbit was a chilling, thought-provoking piece about how the scariest ghostly encounters don’t seem to have any rhyme or reason to them, while M.R. James’s contribution to the genre can’t be understated – my favourite is “The Mezzotint,” but among the BBC’s television adaptations, you have to watch “A Warning to the Curious”:

I made my way through the entirety of Philip Reeve’s Mortal Engines series (called Hungry Cities in the US publications) and they’re incredible. The way he can create these vast, detailed worlds and make them seem completely grounded, not to mention populating them with a Dickensian cast of ingenues, crooks, assassins, historians, journalists – all of whom burst to life on the page… well, it’s a little depressing in a way, since he makes it look so effortless. (And for the record, my favourites remain A Web of Air and Infernal Devices – though we’ve got Bridge of Storms coming up this February).

It continues to be a golden age for children’s graphic novels (Jo Rioux’s Cat’s Cradle wrapped up this year, but Tim Probert’s Lightfall and Marjorie Liu’s Wingbearer are still going strong) and I was chuffed to track down two documentaries on Greek mythology on my library’s streaming archives, namely because after so many years I got to see Angel Coulby as Calypso and Anjali Jay as Medea. What are the odds that two of my favourite actresses were in the same line of documentaries?

Fantasy and sci-fi epics were covered by Andor, The Wheel of Time, House of the Dragon, Dune Prophecy and The Rings of Power, though two of them have come to an end (one prematurely) and the others still eking out their progress in six-to-eight-episode seasons that take years to produce. It’s a frustrating process, but this year at least, fans of the genre had a lot to feast upon. I enjoyed them all to one extent or another.

Hayao Miyazaki’s The Boy and the Heron was unsurprisingly a gorgeous piece of cinema, but for whatever reason I wasn’t really able to lock in, so I’ll be revisiting that in the near future in order to do it justice, and having watched Euripides’s Medea on stage for the first time, I’m now scrambling to get as many different recordings of the play as possible.

During my July intake of all the big-budget franchise offerings, the standouts were Predator: Killer of Killers and Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga, though as far as legacyquels go, Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire and Beetlejuice Beetlejuice were surprisingly enjoyable (and vibed extremely well together – I watched the latter with a friend and she agreed that it reminded her a lot of Ghostbusters).

I’d also be remiss if I didn’t mention watching the first two Alien films – the only Alien films, and as much as I enjoyed K-Pop Demon Hunters, I think I enjoy it even more as a success story. Absolutely no one at Netflix cared about this film in the lead-up to its release, and yet it became a smash hit entirely on the strength of its own merit. As this article puts it: Netflix Fell Backwards into K-Pop Demon Hunters’ Success.