A Book A Week

Marion Crane is on the run, carrying stolen cash and desperate for a place to stay the night. She finds refuge at the isolated Bates Motel, where she meets the proprietor, Norman Bates—a handsome, if somewhat awkward, young man who seems unusually attached to his mother. After sharing a late-night sandwich with him, Marion retires to her room and turns on the shower.

She steps beneath the spray. The sound of falling water fills the room. Then, through the translucent curtain, a shadow begins to take shape.

The screech of violins and the scrape of shower rings on metal explode across the soundtrack as the curtain is pulled back, revealing a knife-wielding figure. Marion's confusion gives way to terror. She screams. The scene descends into a frenzy of flashing blades, splashing water, and chaos. Then, just as suddenly as it began, it ends. The killer slips away. Marion lies dead in the tub, water pouring from the showerhead as blood swirls down the drain.

It's one of the most iconic scenes in film history, a sequence that shocked audiences upon release and continues to influence horror storytelling more than sixty years later.

But what if Marion didn't die? What if, in those frantic moments, she fought back—and won? What if Norman Bates ended up dead on the bathroom floor instead?

That's the irresistible premise at the heart of Marion, in which author Leah Rowan reimagines one of cinema's most famous moments and follows the ripple effects of a story that suddenly takes a very different path. The moment I heard that setup, I knew I had to read it.

With Marion, Leah Rowan modernizes the original story and gives agency to a character who was largely powerless in Psycho. Here, Marion hasn't stolen money simply to run away with a lover. Instead, she's taken funds from the advertising agency where she works in a desperate attempt to help her sister escape an abusive relationship. It's a change that immediately reframes the character and makes her motivations feel more urgent and sympathetic.

And yes, Marion fights back.

What follows after that pivotal moment is a twisting chain of violence, secrets, and revelations that kept me completely riveted. Rowan takes a story whose ending feels predetermined and makes it unpredictable again. The novel moves quickly, embraces its pulpy roots, and never loses sight of the tension that made Hitchcock's original film so memorable.

Most importantly, Marion herself is a fantastic protagonist. She's sharp, resourceful, and determined in ways the original story never allowed her to be. The result is a clever reimagining that honors its source material while confidently carving out its own identity. Fast-paced, suspenseful, and enormously entertaining, Marion is the kind of book that's easy to devour in a weekend and a perfect addition to any summer reading list.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2026, 44)

Ryan O'Connell is probably best known for his TV work on shows like Queer as Folk and Special. I've never seen his shows, so my first introduction to O'Connell came when I read his debut novel, Just by Looking at Him, a couple of years ago. Only after reading and learning a bit more about the author did I realize that much of that story mirrored aspects of his own life. 

Like the protagonist of that novel, O’Connell is a gay man living with Cerebral Palsy. He's been candid about his struggles with addiction, self-worth, and navigating the world with a disability. His writing blends sharp humor, vulnerability, and a willingness to engage with darker subjects without ever losing sight of just how absurd life can be. It made Just by Looking at Him a standout read and left me eager to explore more of his work. That opportunity has finally arrived with Inspiration Porn, a collection of autobiographical essays that promises the same honesty, wit, and unflinching self-examination that made his fiction so compelling.

Much of the first half of the book centers on O’Connell’s past. He writes about parents who fell out of love, a mother struggling with addiction, and a father who was off chasing the life he had always wanted—a life that, at least initially, didn’t seem to include his family. Amid all of this, O’Connell was grappling with being both disabled and gay. Through his trademark humor, he often frames it as if the universe had singled him out for an especially cruel joke. Couldn’t he have been just one of those things?

It should come as little surprise, then, that he eventually found himself struggling with addiction as well. Throughout those difficult years, writing became a refuge. On the page, writing for blogs and then TV, he found a place where he could be honest about who he was. It became a source of freedom, connection, and self-acceptance.

While much of this first section was compelling, it also felt like stories I'd heard before. It was in the second half of the collection that O’Connell truly took us into something different. There’s a universal experience many queer people can relate to. So much of our formative years are spent coming to terms with our sexuality that we don’t always get the chance to fully embrace it. I think about the occasional pang of jealousy I feel when I see queer teenagers going to prom together. I'm thankful that the world has evolved enough for them to feel safe doing this, but it's an opportunity that simply wasn’t available to me.

O’Connell explores a similar feeling after meeting his longtime partner, Jonathan. Just as he begins settling into a committed relationship, he’s struck by the fear that he may have missed out on an entire chapter of his life. It’s a kind of FOMO of sexual exploration. In true Ryan O’Connell fashion, he tackles that anxiety with equal parts humor and honesty, chronicling the decision to open his relationship and the resulting adventures in what he calls his "Slut Diaries."

As many laughs as there are in this portion of the book, it would be easy to overlook its deeper exploration of boundaries—of desire, emotional well-being, physical limitations, and, most importantly, the strength of a long-term partnership. Throughout it all, O’Connell maintains the balance of humor, chaos, vulnerability, and authenticity that makes his voice so distinctive. His life may look very different from that of many readers, but the emotions driving these essays are universal. The longing for connection, the fear of missing out, the struggle to accept ourselves, and the desire to be truly seen transcend the specifics of O'Connell's story. Inspiration Porn is the work of a writer willing to venture into uncomfortable territory—for himself and for his readers—and the result is a book that will have you buckled with laughter in one moment and deep in contemplation the next. 

For more information, visit Amazon and Goodreads. 

(2026, 43)

Last year, a coworker recommended Hildur Knútsdóttir’s The Night Guest, and I devoured it in a single sitting. I loved the tightly wound suspense, even if the ambiguous ending left me with more questions than answers. Despite some unevenness, the novel intrigued me enough that I knew I’d give Knútsdóttir another shot. That opportunity came with her newest release, Dead Weight, kindly provided to me by the publisher.

Unnur has built a life that is, on the surface, perfectly comfortable. She throws herself into her work in pursuit of a promotion and spends her free time traveling with her boyfriend, who also happens to be married. It’s unconventional and undeniably lonely, but it’s a life she’s convinced herself is enough.

That fragile routine begins to unravel when she discovers a black cat sitting on her couch.

At first, Unnur brushes it off as a strange inconvenience, shooing the cat from her apartment. But when it returns the next day, she tracks down its owner, a troubled young woman named Ásta, who asks Unnur to care for the cat temporarily while she gets her life together.

What follows is the beginning of an uneasy and increasingly complicated friendship. Ásta’s situation proves far more dangerous than Unnur initially realizes, and like the black cat that wandered into her home, darker omens begin to follow close behind. Before long, Unnur finds herself caught between Ásta and her abusive boyfriend, forced to confront just how far she’s willing to go to protect someone else and herself. 

With Dead Weight, Hildur Knútsdóttir delivers another quick, twisted little tale that quietly lulls readers into a false sense of security before pulling the rug out from under them. At first, the story feels almost deceptively ordinary, and I found myself wondering where exactly it was headed. Then suddenly, the darkness I’d come to expect from Knútsdóttir’s writing crashes into the narrative with full force.

Content warnings for domestic violence and abuse are absolutely warranted, and some moments are genuinely unsettling. Even so, I was glued to the story, unable to stop turning pages as the tension escalated.

And yet, once again, I found myself conflicted by the ending. The climax itself is dark and unsettling, but there’s very little aftermath to the events that unfold. Instead, the story seems to simply stop, cutting away just as I wanted to sit with the consequences of everything that had happened. There’s a brief epilogue that offers a little more context, but if anything, it only raises additional questions. Ultimately, that ambiguity left me feeling torn. I admire Knútsdóttir’s ability to create atmosphere and unease in such a compact space, but I can’t help wishing the novel had given just a bit more resolution to match the intensity of the journey getting there.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2026, 42)

Are you quick to take action? I know I am. I tend to be highly action-oriented, driven to complete a task the moment I realize it needs to be done. But over time, I’ve also learned that speed comes with pitfalls of its own. Is everyone else moving with the same sense of urgency? Do they even understand why the task matters in the first place? Move too quickly without alignment or clarity, and the consequences can be more damaging than moving more slowly to begin with.

In Speed, John H. Zenger and Joseph R. Folkman draw on years of research to explore the value of acting quickly in professional environments and how the most effective leaders balance urgency with intentionality.

The book is divided into two sections. In the first half, Zenger and Folkman outline the benefits of moving quickly in an increasingly fast-paced world. Information now travels instantly, industries shift overnight, and organizations that fail to adapt risk being left behind. According to the authors, the most effective leaders are those who can respond decisively while still aligning their actions with the broader vision and purpose of their organization. It’s this combination of urgency and clarity that inspires both success and loyalty within teams.

The second half of the book is the more practical section, highlighting eight tactics leaders can adopt to increase their effectiveness and speed within an organization. Zenger and Folkman dive into topics like embracing innovation and change, sharpening strategic perspective, demonstrating courage, setting stretch goals, communicating clearly, maintaining an external focus, taking initiative, and deepening knowledge and expertise. According to the authors, even developing just a few of these traits can dramatically accelerate a leader’s impact.

When Michael Crichton passed away in 2008, readers lost one of the great masters of the techno-thriller, an author with a unique ability to merge cutting-edge science and technology with pulse-pounding storytelling. Yet even after his death, Crichton’s literary output has remained surprisingly active. Unpublished manuscripts have surfaced, unfinished concepts have been completed by other writers, and we’ve even seen unlikely collaborations, including a posthumous novel with James Patterson just a few years ago.

So perhaps it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise that, eighteen years after his passing, a “new” Crichton novel has arrived. A Murder in Hollywood, originally written under a pseudonym back in 1973, is finally seeing the light of day.

Publicist Harvey Jason is no stranger to troubled productions. It’s the 1970s, and Hollywood is overflowing with oversized egos, rampant excess, and enough sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll to derail even the most carefully managed film set. Harvey’s job is to keep the chaos under control.

His latest project, the would-be Western blockbuster Bloodrock, has been cursed from the start. Endless rewrites and a screenwriter who keeps demanding more money have ballooned the budget and pushed the production behind schedule. And now things have gone from disastrous to deadly.

That very screenwriter has been found murdered in the bathtub of his motel room.

As the studio scrambles to keep the film afloat, Harvey finds himself caught between managing the increasingly volatile production and staying out of the way of Harlow Perkins, a brilliant and notoriously ruthless investigator determined to uncover who killed the writer. 

At first glance, A Murder in Hollywood reads like a throwback murder mystery steeped in nostalgia for a bygone era of glitz, glamour, and Hollywood excess. But then I reminded myself that when Michael Crichton originally wrote the novel back in 1973, this wasn’t nostalgia at all—it was contemporary fiction, offering a snapshot of the very industry he was beginning to break into himself.

That realization reframed the entire novel for me. What initially felt like a fairly straightforward murder investigation revealed itself to be something much more quintessentially Crichton. No, it doesn’t revolve around cutting-edge technology the way many of his later works would, but it still contains all the hallmarks of his storytelling: a compelling premise, brisk pacing, and a colorful cast of characters navigating a system built on ambition, ego, and illusion.

There’s also something fascinating about seeing traces of the writer Crichton would eventually become. Even this early in his career, you can feel his instinct for momentum and entertainment taking shape on the page. A Murder in Hollywood is an entertaining and intriguing time capsule, offering readers a glimpse into both 1970s Hollywood and the early evolution of one of thriller fiction’s most influential voices.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2026, 39)