What stayed with me
I read and watched and listened to a lot this year. There were many strong contenders. I am not even sure these are my favourite releases of 2025. But they are the ones I keep carrying with me. They slip into walks. They turn up when I am trying to work. They sit quietly in the background and refuse to leave.
This is not a best of list. It is more like a pocket inventory. Hell, I am no critic – this is me sharing the stuff I loved in 2025.
The book that kept me moving
“The North Road” is a book about a road, but it never really feels like it is about transport. It feels like it is about pressure. Pressure of history. Pressure of memory. Pressure of trying to keep going when stopping might be easier.
Rob Cowen walks the old spine of Britain and notices everything that most of us speed past. Dead ground. Old violence. Soft moments of beauty that sit right next to pain. I read it slowly, often in short bursts, and it made me think about how landscapes carry stories whether we listen or not.
It stayed with me because it refuses neat conclusions. The road does not heal you. It just gives you space to think. Sometimes that is enough. Sometimes it is not. That honesty mattered to me this year.
The album that kept drifting back
“vari/ations: Ode to Oram” never settles. It floats. It hovers. It feels like sound remembered rather than sound performed.
Built around the work of Daphne Oram, it pulls tape, electronics and human touch into something that feels both ancient and unfinished. I listened to it while working, while walking, while staring at nothing in particular. Each time it felt slightly different.
What I carry from it is permission. Permission for work to be strange. Permission for process to show. Permission for things to be unresolved and still meaningful. It reminded me that experimentation does not need to shout to be brave.
The film that felt like a quiet song
“The Ballad of Wallis Island” is gentle in a way that sneaks up on you. A small island. A lottery win. A folk duo with old wounds. On paper it sounds light. In practice it is full of ache.
The film understands that music is rarely just about music. It is about time. About versions of yourself you cannot quite return to. It is funny, but never cruel. Sad, but never heavy handed.
Watching it was like I had listened to a song I did not want to end. That feeling lasted longer than the plot details, which is usually how I know something has landed.
What I am left with
There were many strong contenders this year. Books I admired. Albums I respected. Films I enjoyed. These three are not necessarily the best. They are simply the ones I keep bumping into in my own head.
- A road that keeps asking questions.
- Sounds that refuse to sit still.
- A film that hums quietly after the screen goes dark.
I am unsure if these are actually my favourites. But they are what I carry with me. And for now, that feels like enough.