The Best of 2024
These are a few of my favourite books, films, shows and K-dramas (and even two C-dramas!) from this year
The curious thing about a year starting in the middle of the week is that on the last Friday of the old year, the new year feels quite a distance away. There’s a whole weekend in between, along with a Monday and a Tuesday. Considering the way this wreck of a year has been, that’s enough time to turn the world upside down a couple of times over. Because if there’s one thing that 2024 has reminded us, it is that life has a way of surprising you with death. At some point in the future, maybe we’ll sit down to sift through the cultural grains to understand what it’s meant for humans as a species to turn our back on the natural world because it’s too terrifying to see what we’ve done to it; to go from a terrifying pandemic that made us afraid to draw breath, into a spiral of civil war, genocide, war and grievous loss. It’s a reckoning that we’ll have to do at some point, but that’s for the future at its vaguest. For now, in 2024, let’s just escape into the world of the imagination.
Casual, by Geof Kern
I found this photo by Geof Kern the other day and immediately fell in love with the reader who is so immersed in her book that the circling sharks become peripheral. There’s also the relevant detail that most sharks are not dangerous to humans. The danger is an illusion. This could actually be a photograph of peaceful coexistence, of sharks feeding on the fish that sustains them and a human feeding on what sustains her. Or it could be an absolute idiot who’s about to lose at least one foot because she was so engrossed in her reading, she didn’t realise she’s mid-sea and being eyed by hungry predators.
For the last newsletter of 2024, I want to share with you books, films and shows that made me feel a little like the woman in Kern’s photo. So here we go. Drumroll please, for my personal favourites from 2024.
The Light Eaters by Zoë Schlanger
It’s not only that Schlanger is writing about a topic that feels like an iridescent mash-up of science and fantasy, but also that Schlanger herself is a reminder of why we should exalt writers of (good) non-fiction. Schlanger started focusing on the subject of plant behaviour and plant intelligence because after the ravages of the Covid-19 pandemic, she felt the need to turn her attention to something that felt restorative. In The Light Eaters, she brings together the scientists who are studying plants and discovering just how magical they are with their abilities. Because yes, plants have abilities. Also, according to Schlanger, under the microscope, the emerald green slug slurping up algae looks like the slug is drinking boba tea. Sold.
Question 7 by Richard Flanagan
This is an extraordinary book and I’m mystified that it didn’t make it into lists (while Knife did). Maybe it’s because Flanagan blends memoir with science, history and fiction to create an extraordinary work that defies definition. Flanagan started writing Question 7 after being diagnosed with early onset dementia. He thought he had about a year before the illness set in, so he started writing this memoir, making it a chain reaction of experiences and information that connect his parents, grandmother and himself to the world around them. The dementia diagnosis turned out to be false, which was terrible doctor-ing on the doctor’s part, but I can’t help feel a little bit grateful. It’s hard to imagine everyday life pushing Flanagan to be as driven as he must have felt, to write something as complex and beautiful as Question 7.
Harvey writes about a day in the life of the six aboard the International Space Station in this little jewel of a novel. While making us privy to the floating islands of the astronauts and cosmonauts’ thoughts, Harvey also describes what they see. It’s a masterclass in the use of perspective and description.
Back in 2013, Canadian astronaut Chris Hadfield went up to the ISS and became famous for putting up photos of Earth on his Tumblr. These photos showed the beauty of this planet in a way that many of us had never imagined. I kept remembering Hadfield’s photos while reading Harvey’s descriptions of Earth as seen from the ISS. Her descriptions are like incantations — read them and you will see what she’s describing in your mind’s eye. If you need a book to pull you out of a reading slump, this is the one. Not only because it’s slim, but because of the feeling of wonder that Harvey inspires with her writing.
Clouds over the Pacific ocean (above) and somewhere in the Mauritanian Sahara (below), as seen by Chris Hadfield from the International Space Station.
I wrote reams on this wonderful book earlier this year, so allow me to point you in its direction. The best part of compiling year-end lists is that the process can be an eye-opener. Like, for instance, I know I loved Dictionary of Lost Words by Pip Williams when I read it, but I needed to go back to this post to remember why. Another thoroughly enjoyable read of 2024 was All Fours by Miranda July, but months later, I could only remember fragments of it. Admittedly, this has more to do with my memory or lack thereof — I’ll never be one of those people who can nonchalantly recite poems or chunks of Shakespeare — but while I can’t quote from Consent, I remember everything Ciment dwells upon as she looks back on her relationship with her husband.
The Crisis of Culture: Identity Politics and the Empire of Norms by Olivier Roy
Although Roy’s focus is Europe, the point he makes about the very concept of culture being in crisis felt persuasive to me. Props to Cynthia Schoch and Trista Selous for their translation because Roy’s an academic and he’s French, but Schoch and Selous make this book read with easy fluency. It’s like Roy is talking to you, explaining why he thinks Europe has lost its cultural swagger, how norms have become so much more oppressive with the growing reach of the internet, and the way markers of identity are increasingly becoming disconnected from their original cultural context. This is a book that isn’t nervous about being full of big ideas. I wish someone would write a book like this analysing modern and contemporary Indian culture.
Alphabetical Diaries by Sheila Heti
A woman journals for 10 years. Then, from a decade worth of journalling, she pulled out a pile of sentences, which she organises into alphabetical order. Out of this emerges Alphabetical Diaries, in which each letter in the alphabet gets its own chapter. Here’s how this literary experiment works: All the sentences beginning with M are in one chapter, followed by N, which has all the sentences beginning with that letter. Two consecutive sentences may be about unrelated things, from different years, connected only by Heti having written both and the shared first letter. It shouldn’t work. This should just be a ridiculous, poncy experiment that loses the sheen of novelty in no time and ends up being a jumbled, boring mess. But this is Sheila Heti. If there’s anyone who can take chaos and fashion it into something moving, beautiful and weird, it’s Heti.
Disappointingly, I read very few romances this year. From that very limited set, my favourite cosy read was Small Bomb At Dimperley by Lissa Evans. It’s like Jane Austen-lite — funny, gentle and dealing with difficult topics with a light but mature touch – but set in 1945. At the heart of the novel is a crumbling old house and a cast of characters trying to figure out where they belong in a fast-changing world, along with a love story (obviously). For those who like their romances to be a little on the smutty side, Failure to Match by Kyra Parsi neatly hits the spot even though the hero is yet another reworking of the Christian Grey character. Fortunately, the woman is not the simpering idiot that was the Fifty Shades heroine.
Now for the movies. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy All We Imagine As Light, but it isn’t on my list. It may have been if I hadn’t encountered so many gushing reviews. Being overhyped is a very real problem, especially in the age of algorithms. Clicking on one review opens the gates for a pile of related ‘content’ and suddenly, all the cats, doodles and beautiful men in the Explore page of my Instagram have been replaced with praise All We Imagine As Light. Anyway, my point is that All We Imagine As Light was good, but it left me underwhelmed. However, I loved the film’s cinematography. Ranabir Das turns the city known for its bright lights into one of shadows and bleached colour. Once the city of dreams, it’s now full of people who move like automatons and inanimate things that seem alive. I can still see that exquisite shot of the sari, hung to dry in a flat, billowing gently near an open window as though it wants to fly away. Also, the film’s final shot — the shack with its twinkling lights and happy people, under a tree whose branches tangle into the dark and starry night sky — is perfection.
The other unforgettable example of cinematography was the Nicole Kidman show, Expats. The show began powerfully, introduced some incredible actors, but the star was cinematographer Anna Franquesa-Solano who filmed Hong Kong so as to emphasise the city’s concrete solidity. Using a palette that is occasionally reminiscent of All We Imagine As Light, Franquesa-Solano turned Hong Kong into a tapestry of grey, blue, beige and shadow, using light to accent its bleakness. From crowds to flyovers and the humble mop, everything is filmed in a way that emphasises how unexotic the city is, while also revealing an underlying grace.
But I digress. Movies.
I think this is my favourite Indian film of the year, though admittedly, it benefits from recency bias since I only saw it after it landed on streaming (on Prime Video, for those in India). Shuchi Talati’s debut film is about a teenage daughter and her prickly relationship with her mother. The little, everyday frictions between the two are captured so well. Despite very little happening in terms of incident, Girls Will Be Girls feels taut as a perfectly-tuned string. Much of the credit for this goes to Preeti Panigrahi, who is pitch perfect as the goody-two-shoes central character, Mira. Girls Will Be Girls is also the first Indian film in which people speak English in a way that sounds natural. That said, this is one to watch either alone or with friends. I’m not sure how many mothers will feel comfortable watching this film with their daughters.
This would have been a brilliant documentary at any point in time, but that a group of Palestinians and Israelis came together to make a film just before Israel embarked upon a genocidal war on Palestine makes this all the more important and heartbreaking. When the collective started making the film, the idea was to show the tactics used by Israel to destroy an area in the West Bank known as Masafer Yatta. Now, it’s documentation of a place and people from a time when they were determined to dig their heels into the land that is their home while being forced out by the Israeli state. It’s also a portrait of a friendship between journalist Yuval Abraham and Palestinian activist Basel Adra.
In 2021, France returned 26 works of art to Benin (from a collection of approximately 7,000, looted during the period when Benin was a French colony). Director Mati Diop follows the artefacts’ journey and lands in the middle of a raging debate in Benin about these national treasures. The documentary is an exercise in magical realism and Diop’s use of the black screen and auto-tuned voices are phenomenal. (I love the idea of auto-tuned voices representing elements that exist beyond life, death and history because these transformed voices retain only the barest trace of humanity, having been stripped of their original timbre and tone.) Dahomey is a portrait of a people who are in the process of constructing their identity, excavating it out of colonial oppression and erasures; a people who are trying to determine how the past fits with the present. I wish it was possible to screen this film for any and every college student who has chosen to study the Humanities. Tremendous and thought-provoking.
A film set in the Vatican is duty bound to look stunning and Conclave takes this responsibility seriously. It doesn’t matter where you pause the film, you’re guaranteed an incredibly beautiful frame. Even if all you see on screen is an ashtray with cigarette butts or a luridly yellow wall that turns out to be the perfect background for black habits. I hadn’t expected a film about choosing a new pope to be either so riveting or so darn hopeful, but Conclave is somehow both. Ralph Fiennes is extraordinary as the bland and bureaucratic Cardinal Lawrence. He’s in almost every scene and doesn’t have a single moment of obvious heroism, yet he effortlessly claims the spotlight for his character. Also, I doubt there’s a living actor who can pack so much emotional charge into every vowel of dialogue that he utters.
Sean Baker’s film about a young sex worker who catches the eye of a Russian oligarch’s son is tremendous, even though the story intermittently loses its momentum (but the ending is perfect). The titular Anora is a woman whose life is a collection of hardships, but she still shimmers with the determination to be happy. I expected Anora to be moving because Baker has a gift for telling the stories of women who may be broken, but remain full of joy and hope. What I hadn’t anticipated was how funny it is (this is my mistake. Baker never loses sight of humour and laughter, no matter how heartbreaking his topic. Just look at Tangerine and The Florida Project). The scenes with the Armenian gangsters are hilarious and Mikey Madison as Ani/ Anora is very much the moment.
This is one of the most heartwarming films I’ve seen in ages. There’s gorgeous artwork, a cast of brilliant voice actors — led by Lupita Nyong’o as Roz the robot and Pedro Pascal, as Fink the sly fox — and the cutest duckling of 2024. What more could you ask for? Wild Robot is also a very timely meditation upon artificial intelligence, emotional intelligence and obedience. Although the film drops broad hints about a sequel, Wild Robot doesn’t end in a way that makes you feel like you’ve spent ticket money only to be dropped miles before the destination (I’m looking at you, Wicked).
Malayalam noir delivered one of the quietest thrillers of the year. Retired Army veteran Appu Pillai has lost his licensed pistol, much to the embarrassment of his son Ajayan. The question of what happened to the pistol leads Ajayan’s new wife to start looking into the curious rituals that the father and son follow. Why does Appu Pillai keep his room locked? Is the visitor who claims to be an old friend of his really the person he claims to be? Why does Ajayan want to keep his wife and father at a distance from one another? There are a couple of logical loopholes in the plot, but the tension is so delicious, I was willing to turn a blind eye to them.
Another Malayalam film about family secrets. When Anju’s ailing husband dies after years of being unwell, she is desperate to move on and begin a new life with the man with whom she’s been having an affair. For Leelamma, her son’s death forces her to confront truths she’s tried to turn a blind eye to for decades. The relationship between Anju and Leelamma is keenly observed and both Urvashi and Parvathy sink their actorly teeth into their roles. Director Christo Tomy does a fantastic job of using floodwater in his storytelling.
This documentary works best if you’ve watched The Boy and The Heron and are in the mood to rabbithole into the labyrinth that is Miyazaki’s imagination. Director Kaku Arakawa followed the man behind Studio Ghibli around for seven years, documenting how Miyazaki made The Boy and The Heron. The way the documentary uses clips from various films to articulate subtexts is a geek’s delight and the film feels like a legend that helps the viewer decode The Boy and The Heron. It’s also a portrait of an artist who is growing old alone. Incredibly moving.
Now for the shows. Although I didn’t end up finishing English Teacher and Say Nothing, both are very good in the first few episodes. That I abandoned them is a me problem. Because instead of these two, the shows that I should have abandoned were The Bear, Bad Sisters, and Slow Horses, all of which have had brilliant seasons in the past, but this year churned out episodes that ranged from indulgent to meh to rubbish. I suppose it’s comforting to know brilliant people can also have off days. Anyway, on to the good ones.
Greek myths reimagined, an alternate reality in which gods walk among mortals, Jeff Goldblum as Zeus, Suzy Eddie Izzard as one of the three Fates — this show was catnip designed for me. And it was brilliant. Showrunner Charlie Covell played around with ideas of destiny, human agency, trans identity in a myth cycle that drew upon famous characters like Prometheus, the Minotaur, Daedalus, Orpheus, Eurydice and Cassandra, but offering a radical new take. Although it is rooted in classical Greek mythology, you don’t need to know the originals to enjoy Kaos. Covell’s tale is very much a story of their own making and their imagination is truly epic. Kaos is dazzling in its inventiveness. Since Netflix is evidently filled with idiots, they didn’t renew it for another season even though Covell had imagined a three-season arc. Still, at least we got this one season.
One of the things I loved about this series was that despite being set in the world of warriors, practically every fight happens off camera. The clashes and skirmishes invariably recounted by witness survivors, often to the hero Toranaga (an excellent Hiroyuki Sanada) whose greatest weapon is his stillness. Guess who gets the show’s best fight scene? Lady Mariko (played to perfection by Anna Sawai). Rachel Kondo and Justin Marks’s elevate the pulpy doorstopper that was James Clavell’s novel by placing the Japanese characters at the centre of the narrative. The result is a show that, despite its weak moments, feels like historical fiction done right.
Is there anything Maya Erskine can’t do? In Mr. and Mrs. Smith, she does action, delivers punchlines without missing a beat, plays a messy romantic lead whom you fall in love with in no time, and makes it seem as though an undercover spy is a perfectly normal and credible profession. Created by Donald Glover (who has incredible chemistry with Erskine) and Francesca Sloane, Mr. And Mrs. Smith is the most delicious blend of a love story and an action thriller. The show also had one of the best finales I’ve seen this year.
The Diplomat
Following up on a solid first season is a challenge, but showrunner Debora Cahn brings to the table everything she’s learnt from being on the writing teams of Grey’s Anatomy and The West Wing. This season was actually better than the first, with Keri Russell’s Kate Wyler deciding she’s going to be ambitious. David Gyasi continued to do wonderful things to the three-piece suit, but let’s be fair, he just seems too unmessy for Kate. Cahn is so good at writing relationships that are all wrong, but feel right.
Showrunner, writer and director Nida Manzoor is a powerhouse of talent and this is on full display as she concludes this adorable show about a group of Muslim women who become friends when they form a punk rock band. I defy you to not fall in love with Amina and her bandmates. In season 2, Manzoor guides each one of her characters through challenges and trials with affection, wisdom and humour. Plus, the soundtrack is a blast. Please look up “Villain Era” and “Malala Made Me Do It” (the latter does in fact have a video featuring Malala Yousufzai).
Coming to comfort watches: Bridgerton 3 more or less delivered, thanks to the wonder that is Nicola Coughlan. I remain unshakeable in my conviction that Coughlan deserved a hotter (and better) co-star than Luke Wotsisname. Of course my true providers of comfort watches lie further east. So let me end with my picks from Asian drama.
Will Love in Spring
What do you have to eat for breakfast to come up with the idea of writing a love story between a mortician and an amputee? Will Love in Spring is anchored by two messy characters with oodles of charisma. How each one navigates the red/ yellow flags that the other waves is part of this drama’s charm, but it’s also interesting to see how the show handles the ‘problem’ of an ambitious young woman who thrives in the big city and feels out of place in the small town that is her home.
Midnight Romance in the Hagwon
It hasn’t been a great year for K-dramas, but this love story between a senior teacher at a cram school and her junior colleague hit all the right spots for me. The drama explored what competition is doing to the idea of education, how toxic ambition can become, and celebrated many avatars of friendship. Plus Jung Ryeo-won and Wi Ha-joon are wonderful together. It’s sad that Wi Ha-joon will get a lot more eyeballs for appearing in Squid Games 2, which wastes the actor, than Midnight Romance. The show was also filmed beautifully, using a muted palette that felt refreshingly different from the usual plastic prettiness of K-dramaland.
The Double
A young woman who has spent her whole life being the ideal, devoted wife wakes up to find her husband wants to bury her alive. Literally. She somehow survives her husband’s murderous plans, assumes the identity of another woman and returns as an avenging angel of sorts, much to her husband’s horror. (This is a period piece and a C-drama. Don’t go around demanding watertight logic.) The Double is less of a romance and more of a thriller, with the heroine plotting and overthrowing all those who stand in her way. However, there is a mad hot hero who is almost always appears in a swirl of slow-mo and fluttering fabric, and directs a smouldering gaze that makes global warming feel secondary. Great fun.
Doctor Slump
Overturning the usual trope of the two leads being super successful, this K-drama was about two people struggling with burnout, stress and depression. It had a hero who was surviving on the generosity of strangers, and had absolutely nothing under control. The heroine was clinically depressed to the point of needing both therapy and medication. All of this feels rather quietly radical for a genre that peddles in wish fulfilment and fantasy. I didn’t expect to find this one so watchable, but in addition to being a warm and tender exploration of mid-career lows, Park Shin-hye and Park Hyung-sik were fantastic together.
No Gain No Love
With its very first scene, in which a young girl goes up to the coach and asks why girls and boys have to play different sports (and have unequal portions of the playground allotted to them), this drama had my heart. As it went on, No Gain No Love stumbled here and there, but mostly did a great job of critiquing the kind of baggage a successful woman has to carry. While doing so, it didn’t lose sight of the fact that, first and foremost, the lead pair need to deliver a love story that makes you smile.
I’m going to stop now because Substack is telling me that if I write any more, this newsletter will be “too long for email”. Joke’s on you, Substack. It’s too long, full stop.
Dear Reader, have a wonderful year-end and here’s to a 2025 that lets us be the best we can be.
Thank you for reading. May stories work their magic whenever you need them.
Light years sounds interesting. Also photos of Earth on Tumblr? it made me feel like space is all too real (which it is) and not a mysterious thing.
Delicious post to wrap things up. A truly shitty year (and that's an understatement) but thank you for bringing out the distractions in it.