Here’s the best of what I read, watched, and listened to in October (and September).
Reading
Books
Roadside Picnic (Arkady & Boris Strugatsky, 1972)
Aliens visit the earth and depart just as suddenly. They leave behind only discarded artifacts; minor tchotchkes of their civilisation. Red Schuhart is a “stalker”, one of the misfits who risk their lives to enter The Zone, the field where those artifacts are found, in order to retrieve them. Scientists try (and fail) to study them. Stalkers, entrepreneurs and hustlers trade the artifacts on the black market. Red must confront the question of how to live with integrity in a world that’s been physically and spiritually corroded, and where answers are impossible.
It’s hard to separate Roadside Picnic from the context of the weary cynicism of the late Brezhnev era. But it’s much more than a fable about the pitfalls of communism (or capitalism, for that matter). Boris and Arkady Strugatsky ask many questions without obvious answers: how would we respond to the knowledge that the universe is utterly indifferent to us? What happens to ethics when survival becomes the only value left? How do we find hope when it seems so far away?
As all the above implies, and despite its title, Roadside Picnic isn’t a fun beach read. Eastern European science fiction, especially that written under socialism, tends to focus more on the limits of human knowledge and ability than its Western counterpart, which – with honourable exceptions, like Ursula le Guin – tended to take human courage and ingenuity for granted, and was more interested in understanding how scientific knowledge could be applied (extra-planetary colonisation, etc). To put it in the form of an aphorism, Western science asks how we can do something. Eastern science fiction, on the other hand, asks if we can, or if we should.
Between the Waves: A Hidden History of a Very British Revolution (Tom McTague, 2025)
A dense, articulate, morally engaged intellectual history of British attitudes towards Europe, culminating (but not concluding) in the Brexit referendum. I especially appreciated how well it addressed blind spots in my knowledge, such as the main contributors of the Conservative Party’s growing Euroscepticism during Thatcher’s leadership, the dominant currents of thought pertaining to Europe between the end of the Second World War and Great Britain’s entry to the European Economic Community (the precursor to the EU), and David Cameron’s major strategic blunders during his attempts to negotiate with Brussels prior to the fateful referendum.
McTague focuses more on individual actors – Prime Ministers and the intellectuals who influenced them – than on the attitudes of the British public. This puts him slightly out of step with conventional historiography which increasingly emphasises “bottom-up” accounts. But Brexit was an elite project, and understanding how it was allowed to happen requires understanding the attitudes of the two major political parties, especially the Conservative Party, to Europe. McTague’s approach shines brightest when he highlights Enoch Powell’s significant contributions to anti-European thought on the British right. By linking Euroscepticism to immigration and the integrity of the British nation, Enoch Powell was the intellectual godfather of Brexit. For all the acclaim that Dominic Cummings et al got for how they framed the argument during the referendum campaign, they were ultimately iterating on Powell’s original claim: Great Britain, because of its history, geography, and the sovereignty of its Parliament, was never quite European.
Articles/essays
Come Closer (London Review of Books, October 2025)
On October 14th, I woke up to the news that D’Angelo had died. As someone who generally considers himself indifferent to celebrity deaths (although I will be a wreck when Bob Dylan passes away), I was surprised how hard I took it. D’Angelo seemed like a semi-mythical character; two universally-acclaimed albums, a long period of self-imposed exile, a comeback album that captured the same magic while also articulating something essential about the African-American experience in the aftermath of the shootings of Michael Brown and Eric Garner, a surprise (and very welcome) contribution to Red Dead Redemption 2, and then a shock death from pancreatic cancer. Niela Orr’s piece captures the beauty of D’Angelo’s music and the length of the shadow he cast better than anything else I read about his death, and stands in the first rank of music writing that I’ve ever read. This is it starts:
D’Angelo, that Pentecostal preacher’s son, the man Robert Christgau called ‘R&B Jesus’, has died, and, with him, a way of seeing and interpreting the world has been withdrawn. Every one of his records was rapturous. There are few people with a singing voice as sensitive, as patient, as sensuous. His music is a reminder that devotion can be a multisensory affair. That an embouchure scar from playing the trumpet – you can hear little fillips of Roy Hargrove’s horn on so many of D’Angelo’s songs – may be related to a prayer bump, the callus that can develop when a forehead continually kisses the ground. He took the mumblings and around-the-house humming that lots of us do and transfigured them. And then he angled those gorgeous utterances skyward, finding matching sensations between gospel and secular music, or between the liquor store and the health-food stand, to quote the lyrics of ‘Lady’, the 1995 hit from Brown Sugar, his first album.
This is a neat enough segue to another recommendation. I recently took the plunge and subscribed to the London Review of Books. It’s one of the best consumption decisions I’ve made for ages. The LRB stands out in a crowded room of literary publications because of its unabashed intellectualism, its cosmopolitanism, its temperance (it’s left-wing, but not shrilly or catastrophically so), and its willingness to publish ultra-long pieces. How I wish Australia had something of its standard.
Australian Foreign Affairs – The Bomb: Will Asia Go Nuclear? (Issue 25)
Australia might have a literary periodical of the quality of the LRB, especially not after the University of Melbourne’s disgraceful decision to nuke Meanjin, but it is at least making real strides in the quality of its foreign affairs writing. I’ve been a subscriber to Australian Foreign Affairs since its first issue, eight years ago. It’s not perfect; like all publications under the Schwartz Media imprint, it is conspicuously silent on Israel-Palestine. But it’s smart and has provided a platform for long-form conversations from established and emerging Australian writers to debate our country’s role in the world.
I especially like how each issue goes deep on a single topic. The most recent issue explores the ramifications for Australia of our putative Indo-Pacific allies developing nuclear weapons. It’s a deep subject that tangentially touches on many other areas of national interest – the perception that the United States is no longer a reliable security guarantor, Australia’s contributions and commitment to nuclear treaties, and the troubled state of global arms control more broadly.
Watching
Slow Horses (Season 5)
Slow Horses is good because it does two things at the same time: it pulls apart the cliches of the spy/espionage genre while also delivering its familiar comforts – the intrigue, the wit, the gadgets, and the happy endings. Season 5 mostly did that. But I also think there was a lot that it didn’t do, or didn’t do well: too much reliance on the idiot plot to advance the story, too many unresolved or dropped storylines, too much odd dialogue, too much Jackson Lamb magic. But a mediocre season of Slow Horses is, all things considered, still a good season of television (and the finale was good). I think this is an example of the downside of Slow Horses’ much-feted rapid production schedule – a new season every year is great, but less so when it feels half-baked. Hopefully the sixth season will be as good as the preview trailer made it look.
Mickey 17 (2025)
On the flight to Tokyo (more details about the trip to come), I watched: most of the new season of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (their best in years), The Naked Gun (high joke density, even if they don’t all land), Predator (maybe every movie should be Predator), and Mickey 17. I was predisposed to like this: Bong Joon Ho’s previous film, Parasite, is one of my favourites, and I have a slightly inexplicable fondness for Robert Pattinson. I’d heard from friends whose opinions I take seriously that Mickey 17 didn’t quite deliver on its promise – too trivial, uncertain of whether it was a comedy or drama, too much screen time for the bugs. I was surprised by how prominent the bugs were to the story. I didn’t love Mark Ruffalo’s performance or how glib a Trump caricature his character felt. And the neatness of the resolution felt slightly out of kilter with Bong’s film-making. But I still enjoyed this: for its ambition, for its willingness to veer between moods, and for Pattinson’s performance.
One Battle After Another (2025)
I’m not enough of a film buff or a perceptive enough critic to properly explain why One Battle After Another was as good as it was. So I’ll just say that I was awed by the cinematography, particularly one long scene midway through the film featuring Benicio del Toro and the climactic chase scene, was impressed by director Paul Thomas Anderson’s ability to impart a message about the importance of activism and perseverance, enjoyed the characteristically absurd Pynchonian humour, and loved this film’s deeply human heart. I know this is its own kind of cliche, but in an era of derivative, recycled IP, One Battle After Another felt truly original. Give Sean Penn the Oscar.
Listening
Jiro Inagaki & His Soul Media – Funky Stuff (1975)
It’s not that much of a mystery why Japan’s jazz scene began producing so much fusion in the 1970s and 1980s. Everywhere else did, Japan’s jazz scene was already productive, and the country’s strength in electronics manufacturing made the synthesisers which were so integral to the fusion sound readily accessible.
The real mystery is why Japanese jazz fusion has become so popular online over the last couple of years. I suspect it has a lot to do with the “japanese jazz when driving on a warm night” Youtube playlist, which brings together several of the scene’s most prominent names – Jiro Inagaki, Hiroshi Suzuki, Ryo Kawasaki, and Kiyoshi Sugimoto – in one slick passage. From there, the trend flowed downhill to Spotify Discover Weekly playlists and leaked into the real world. I know from personal experience that Japanese record stores are making good money selling jazz fusion LPs to Westerners.
The important thing is that, beyond whatever cool status Japanese jazz fusion may signal, it actually sounds good (despite what some jazz purists might say). Inagaki’s Funky Stuff and Hiroshi Suzuki’s Cat are my highlights from Japan’s fusion era. Funky Stuff really swings. Cat is more restrained, with fewer overt funk influences. Both are well worth checking out, especially if more conventional jazz doesn’t quite do it for you. Ryo Fukui’s Scenery is also a popular record of the time, even if I think its hype slightly exceeds its musical merits.
Playing
Hades (2020)
It took me a while to get into Hades. I immediately saw the appeal – the fluid gameplay, elegant writing, beautiful art design, and deep meta-progression. But, as someone who usually prefers slower-paced games, I wasn’t very good at it. After recently picking it up again, I can safely say that, while I’m still not very good at it (I’ve advanced to the final boss a handful of times but am yet to defeat them), it’s clicked. Hades operates on so many different axes (weapons, boons, in-game choices), which makes every run feel unique – but still winnable. I know I’ve only just scratched the surface (and haven’t played the sequel, which recently came out of Early Access), but Hades has already yielded hours of enjoyment.
Doing
Visiting Tokyo
My wife and I recently returned from a week in Tokyo. My impression was that the best parts of Japanese society are highly visible to tourists. Tokyo is clean, interesting, and safe, the food is cheap and tasty, and the metro system makes it easy to get around. The dysfunctional elements, meanwhile – the impending demographic crisis, the apparent xenophobia, conservative gender relations, to name a few – are mostly hidden. There’s approximately a thousand interesting things to do, to suit any possible array of tastes: we went to DisneySea (bizarre, fake, yet mesmerising), a folk craft museum and a downstairs jazz bar, ate fried cream sandwiches, went to an achingly pretentious third-wave coffee shop, bought far too many Japanese jazz LPs (to be clear, this is my affliction, not my wife’s), and generally tried to immerse ourselves as much as possible in this huge city that combines
Oh, and everything positive you’ve heard about the convenience stores is true. Tokyo’s 7/11s are approximately a thousand times better than ours, and the fried chicken from Lawson is tastier than most of the specialty shops here. Australia will become a better place when our convenience stores more closely resemble Japanese combini.
What have you been enjoying, or at least trying to enjoy, lately? Let me know!