Hello! Today: a little more conversation, Norwegian families, a series of excellent character-themed playlists, what is good magazine writing?

This year has been a film year for me. One week in November I went to the cinema four nights in a row. I could think of five or six films to write about here. Books: not so much. I’ve read a lot, but few books gave me that wide-awake shivery feeling that each part of Dag Johan Haugerud’s Oslo Stories films left me with (which were, of course, brilliant pieces of writing).

Article: Why Are We So Afraid of Conversation? by Lamorna Ash, published in The Dial in November 2025

This review of a genre of books aimed at improving people’s conversational skills so that we may “prosper in the corporate or political sphere” both made me despair and rejoice: Lamorna Ash offers some truly beautiful observations about the joy of talking (observing/learning) while also making me reflect about the various people I have encountered in recent years who use conversation primarily as a strategic tool, a mask, manipulation.

Film: Sentimental Value, directed by Joachim Trier (2025)

What I remember best from watching Joachim Trier’s earlier films on DVDs in my boyfriend’s bedroom over a decade ago is that they felt to me like art by men about men. As a confirmed misandrist (jkjk), I didn’t expect to respond to Sentimental Value, a film about the difficult relationship of a director father and his two adult daughters. Perhaps unfairly, I also didn’t expect themes of multigenerational trauma from Trier. In the event, I was intensely moved by this trio of people who can’t quite get over old hurts, their perceptions of each other, their inability to talk, to see each other not just in relation to the other. Until art intercedes, of course, and becomes a true means of connection.

After watching I revisited this older piece about Joachim Trier’s oeuvre and loved its balanced approach to privilege, ennui and gender: Oslo-Prosessen by Tor Eystein Øverås.

Book: Wiederholung (Repetition) by Vigdis Hjorth, translated from Norwegian into German by Gabriele Haefs

Sentimental Value’s fourth most important character is a house, the family home that sees generations come and go, until it eventually becomes a literal stage for reenactments of previous family dramas (smart!). The obvious comp for books about houses as witnesses is Jenny Erpenbeck’s Heimsuchung (Visitation), but I kept thinking of Vigdis Hjorth’s Repetition. Here, the Norwegian house in question is a stifling, anxiety-inducing, too-small cage of things not said, a place to escape from for the teenage protagonist. In a year of slim pickings from the literary fiction aisle, this was one of my favourites. (And it’s out in English translation in March.)

Learning: What editing magazine stories taught me about writing by Oliver Franklin-Wallis

Not strictly learning facts, this time, but I really enjoyed these tips on writing from a former magazine editor because it helped me understand better why some pieces work and some don’t. As you know, I love the meta-level of work, and what is more meta and more invisible than an editor? (Via Caroline Crampton’s delightful blog/newsletter.)

Other: Themed playlists for various characters from The Terror

One of my highlights of the year: Dave Kajganich, the creator of one of my favourite TV shows of all time, the absolutely haunting The Terror, put together playlists for twenty-two characters (and animals!). This, to me, is what the internet is for, and what the mythical old internet used to be like: a treasure trove of discovery. The playlists feature wildly different music for each of the at-first-glance identical sailor characters, from Donna Summer to Gustav Holst. “Little” is probably my favourite: the character is an anxious high achiever, the playlist is mostly indie rock from the 2000s that I somehow missed the first time round.

That’s it! As always, you can find all past recommendations in this spreadsheet and you can read past newsletters in the archive. Let me know what you’ve been reading, listening, or where you’ve taken the train to.