Each of us who obsesses about reading and books has an idea of The Reader we are, the books we choose and the writers whose stories we most value and prefer to share.

Note: obsesses, I’m aware that this is weird. But tracking our selections is one way to see if our idea of ourself as a reader fits with reality; and, when data doesn’t bear out our concept, it’s easier to spot a pathway to change (either habits or ideas—or both).

When I have been focussed on shifting a particular reading habit, I have checked my stat’s either mid-year or quarterly for motivation; this past year, I resolved to not check, to see where that might lead. (This is still obsessing–only it’s harder to spot in the wild.) 

Almost everything about my 2024 reading (which included resuming a lot of projects that had either faltered or failed in previous years) pleased me, and I wanted to plan less and to make more reading decisions in-the-moment. So I was prepared to be disappointed, but comforted because the satisfaction of previous years could balance out potential dissatisfaction.

So, what happened? In some respects, reading in 2025 was similar to reading in 2024: 240 books (compared to 231), 60895 pages (compared to 60463), with the shortest being Cora Ruskin’s new poetry collection Mostly Soldiers (50 pages) and the longest being a reread of George Eliot’s Middlemarch (1008 pages) and both of those being longer than the previous years’ extremes.

The number of short story collections (25) and genre novels (20) were similar, the percentage of CanLit was the same (38%), as was the percentage of women writers (57%, last year was much higher, but this is typical and matched 2023 perfectly).

My quietest and busiest reading months are historically different, year over year, and 2025 was no different (last year they were January and a tie between February and September, respectively).

Two significant changes are evident in the stat’s, however.

First, my non-fiction reading increased to 33% (which was intentional, as I’d sought to increase the amount of non-fiction by Indigenous writers in particular), and that saw a corresponding drop in literary fiction by the same amount (9%). Most non-fiction I read is related to writing and reading, and there were lots of essays and memoirs swelling my stacks this year; only in one other year have I read like this, but I’ve enjoyed it.

Next, I was surprised to see my selections of writers of colour shift from 60% in 2024 to 46% in 2025. I’ve been trying to read more diversely since the early ‘90s and that figure has steadily risen (with some notable plateaus) as access to a wider variety of books improved. If anything, I thought my “Shelf of Mexico” project in 2025 would have increased this percentage, so I was surprised. The works in translation doubled (from 8% to 16%), however, so perhaps it’s more about adding a different kind of diversity.

That’s a pattern I hadn’t sought to change, but this one I did: in recent years, I’d noticed that it was increasingly hard to step back from new publications. In 2024, I’d wanted to focus more on backlisted reading, but somehow 52% of my reading was new (from that year, or the previous two years). So I was pleased to find that shifted to 35% in 2025.

My experiment worked: keeping a classic in the stack at all times, so that the language and style wasn’t ever off-putting. But I also allowed a couple of review publications—some of the biggest temptations for new books—to accumulate unread (it drove me half-mad, so I’m not going to try that again, but hopefully all the fun I had with backlisted reading will be enough to keep the habit afloat alongside new releases).

Because I really loved some of those backlisted reads, including Christina Stead’s chunky 1945 novel For Love Alone (which added to my enjoyment of The Man Who Loved Children, later) which I didn’t post about, but I left post-length comments on Bill’s post. (We’re going to reread Stead’s Letty Fox: Her Luck from 1946 this spring, and Bill’s got some other Steads close at hand—later in 2026 we’ll probably get to A Little Tea, A Little Chat from 1948. Join, if you wish.)

Reading than one book by a single author in succession is another habit lost in recent years, and more generally I sought to respond more immediately to what I’d been reading and enjoying (or lacking and craving). Little bursts into particular authors’ backlists or certain subjects of interest: I was craving all of that.

As a younger reader, it was standard to read everything I could find by an author whose book appealed. Love one of an author’s books: read them ALL, and read them all RIGHT NOW. (Reading through backlists to write reviews for work is still standard, but I forgot it used to be fun.) I especially loved reading a few books by Agustina Bazterrica and Silvia Moreno-Garcia, noticing a similar feel to all their books but enjoying radically different premises.

Those were both new-to-me writers but, whereas in 2024 59% of the books I read were by writers new-to-me, in 2025 only 47% were by new-to-me writers. And, actually, most of my favourite reads from this year were by writers whose writing I’ve enjoyed previously: like Percival Everett’s James, Madeleine Thien’s The Book of Records, and Maria Reva’s Endling. I also really loved rereading this year, returning to 19 favourites (compared to just 5 in 2024).

The Toronto Public Library 2025 Reading Challenge kept me focussed on Indigenous writers (the challenge didn’t specify that, I just thought it would be fun), and the 24 books I read for it represented nearly as many different nations. (In total, I read 34 books by Indigenous writers this year: a few more than usual, inspired by the challenge.) This year I’m going to aim for half of my Indigenous reading to be non-fiction again. (But I want to explore James Welch’s fiction, and I also hope to watch more films.)

But I don’t need a Capital-C Challenge to spice up my reading year; after the current American administration officially renamed the Gulf of Mexico last year, I renamed part of my bookcase the Shelf of Mexico. I planned to read 21 books by Mexican or Latin-American—or ancestrally-Iberian or Spanish-language—writers, and read 26 (only one of my choices stumped me, and I’ll try again this year). Maybe, I thought at the time, it will be a four-year-long project. I can’t tell you how exciting it’s been! (As exciting on-the-page as American news has been distressing off-the-page.)

And it’s not only the oligarchs who have backhandedly influenced my reading: many of you who are reading this right now have influenced my book selections throughout 2025. Part of reading more responsively, in my mind, is following-up with various recommendations and suggestions, and I managed to do that every month last year, although sometimes very belatedly. When I wrote about those books here, I expressed my thanks, but I didn’t write about all of them, so here is a more general thank you, to each of you who inspires me to borrow a book or add it to my shelves, to contemplate or undertake a new project or to reconsider or resume a neglected one. And a reassurance that I am always grateful for this, even though I do not always remember where recommendations originate. Thank you very much!

I hope you all look back fondly on your reading and friendships (bookish and otherwise) in 2025, and are eagerly anticipating another good bookish year. Next time, talk of read-o-lutions and possibilities for 2026 on-the-page.

I’ll be catching up online over the next few days (and sharing some of my “holiday” reading) but feel free to leave a highlight from your 2025 reading below!