#reading reflections

I wish I were the night, so that I might watch your sleep with a thousand eyes. ― R.F. Kuang, Katabasis

I really had a lot of fun with this book. Honestly, so much of the pre-publication discourse was about pre-reading lists and people gatekeeping the story. Guys, I never read Dante and I don’t know a thing about logic and this book is about neither of those things.

It’s about burnout. About losing your self-esteem. It’s about suicidal thoughts. It’s about the power dynamics in mentor–mentee relationships. It’s about academia and all its dark sides: underpayment, overwork, discrimination, and manipulation. For a book that throws so much shame at scholars for their arrogance, competitiveness, and gatekeeping knowledge, I find it deeply ironic that readers put together an overly pretentious “to-read-before-this” list.

The story itself is a dark academia fantasy that feels like a grown-up version of Alice in Wonderland. Our main character Alice (Kuang admitted naming her after Carroll’s character) goes to hell with her main competition, rival, and former friend Peter. Together they journey through different layers of hell, and each layer confronts Alice with her own arrogance, depression, burnout, and her lack of awareness of the sexism and manipulation she’s been victim of. There is also a love story here—a very sweet slow burn romance—but it isn’t the center of the book. At heart, this is a character’s journey through mental health, despair, and finding meaning in her life.

I really enjoyed Kuang’s depiction of Hell. It felt inventive, funny in many parts, and mirrored the journey Alice needed to be on. I will say the last third of the book felt a bit slower to me, but the final chapters built up to a strong and satisfying conclusion.

I was a big fan of Babel, but these two books are very different takes on dark academia. Babel critiques academia at the macro and systemic level : its roots in racism and colonialism. Katabasis, on the other hand, critiques academia at a very micro level: the impact on PhD students, their mental health, and the toxic power dynamics that can suck the life out of you.

Personally, I’ve been reflecting a lot on my own academic journey lately. I’m still healing from severe burnout and depression, so this book came at the right moment for me. It resonated with so many of my own struggles, and I deeply empathized with Alice.

While it’s not my absolute favorite of Kuang’s books, I truly enjoyed what she tried to do. I love how she always experiments, how she keeps me on my toes. I know the themes she cares about, but it’s always a surprise which genre she’ll explore them through.

She is a force to reckon with, and I’m rooting for her !

✦ My rating: 4/5 stars ✦

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Some further links :

Katabasis Reading log : my reaction to a bunch of different quotes

A recount of RF Kuang's talk in Cambridge

Babel Book Review

More book discussion !

My Dinner with Hayden: A Heated Rivalry Short Story is one of those pieces that feels deceptively simple on the surface but actually packs a lot of nuance into its short length. It’s essentially a character study wrapped in the guise of a dinner date, and Rachel Reid uses the confined setting to explore tension, vulnerability, and the messy overlap between rivalry and attraction. The dialogue is sharp, witty, and often laugh‑out‑loud funny, but what really elevates it is the way the banter gradually reveals layers of insecurity and longing beneath the bravado. You can tell Reid relishes writing these characters sparring with each other, and the chemistry is undeniable.

The pacing is brisk, which works well for a short story, though at times it feels like the emotional beats could have been given just a little more breathing room. There’s a sense that the dinner is both too long and too short: too long in the sense that the back‑and‑forth occasionally risks becoming repetitive, too short in that the resolution arrives quickly and leaves you wanting more depth. That said, the compactness is part of the charm. It’s like being dropped into the middle of a heated conversation and then whisked away before things get too tidy, which feels true to life.

Stylistically, Reid balances humour with sincerity in a way that makes the story accessible even if you haven’t read the full Heated Rivalry novel. Fans of the series will appreciate the extra insight into Ilya and Shane’s dynamic, but newcomers won’t feel lost. The writing is clean and engaging, with just enough descriptive detail to ground the scene without bogging it down. It’s very much dialogue‑driven, which means the success of the story hinges on whether you enjoy listening to two people verbally spar for twenty‑odd pages. Personally, I found it compelling, though I can imagine some readers wishing for more action or variety.

Where the story shines brightest is in its emotional honesty. Beneath the teasing and the digs, there’s a palpable sense of care, and Reid captures that contradiction beautifully. It’s not just about rivalry, it’s about intimacy expressed through competition, which is a tricky balance to strike. The ending manages to be both satisfying and open‑ended, leaving space for readers to imagine what happens next.

Unknown    -    Mark Entwistle

British, b.1961-

For he was gayer than I had thought, more tender than I had dreamed, youthful and ardent in a hundred happy ways [...] My Maxim laughed and sang, threw stones into the water, took my hand, wore no frown between his eyes, carried no burden on his shoulder.

Rebecca, Daphne Du Maurier, Chapter Seven, p.g. 76

The interiority displayed by Du Maurier's protagonist is truly astounding - she is alive to the fact that she is intruding upon a place with history and emotional weight when she moves to Manderly - everyone knows all about Rebecca, about her time at Manderly, everyone but her, and emotionally she feels as though she's missing out on a public secret.

That idea of not knowing something common to one's fellows, especially Max and the emotional scars he carries about his first marriage (Edgecoombe), is the source of her burgeoning obsession with Rebecca, what causes her to abandon her inhibitions and pepper Frank with questions even she finds unseemly in Chapter Eleven.

Because of this lack of knowledge about Rebecca, she hovers around Maxim with anxiety, frightened that one wrong word will evoke memories of the tragedy in the bay, and send him hurtling back to the edge of a mental breakdown.