Booker Prize 2025 Longlist

Maria Reva’s Endling is a bold, genre-bending work that fuses climate fiction, political satire, and family drama. Set in a near future where entire species — including humanity — teeter on the brink of extinction, it follows a motley cast of survivors trying to preserve fragments of the past. Reva’s signature dark humor runs through the narrative, making even the bleakest moments strangely exhilarating. Her characters are vivid, flawed, and deeply human, clinging to art, stories, and small rituals as the world unravels. Endling asks urgent questions about what we value, what we choose to save, and who we become when faced with the end of things.

Seascraper is an atmospheric, slow-burning novel set in a futuristic oceanic city built upon a colossal floating structure. Benjamin Wood crafts a narrative that’s equal parts architectural marvel, political allegory, and human drama. The protagonist, an engineer drawn into the city’s labyrinthine power struggles, discovers that beneath the gleaming surface lies a tangle of secrets and betrayals. Wood’s descriptions of the seascraper itself are breathtaking — a character in its own right — while his portrayal of ambition, corruption, and moral compromise is razor-sharp. The novel blends suspense with philosophical inquiry, making it as intellectually engaging as it is compulsively readable.

Kiran Desai returns with a luminous, tender exploration of isolation and connection. The novel follows Sonia, a middle-aged woman adrift in the chaos of a changing city, and Sunny, a young man navigating the uncertainties of migration. Their lives intersect in unexpected ways, revealing the quiet moments of grace that can emerge between strangers. Desai’s prose is rich, observant, and suffused with empathy. She captures not only the ache of loneliness but also its peculiar beauty — the way it shapes identity and sharpens perception. The novel is both intimate in scope and universal in its themes, reminding us that even in solitude, human lives are inextricably linked.

Ledia Xhoga’s Misinterpretation is a sharp, inventive debut that plays with language, translation, and the gaps between what is said and what is understood. The novel follows a translator caught in a web of political intrigue, where a single mistranslation could have catastrophic consequences. Xhoga uses this premise to explore the slipperiness of truth and the power dynamics embedded in communication. Her narrative is clever, layered, and often darkly funny, making Misinterpretation a standout among contemporary political novels.

Tash Aw’s The South is a rich, layered portrait of identity, migration, and the shifting tides of history. Set across Southeast Asia, the novel follows a cast of characters whose personal choices are shaped by colonial legacies, political upheaval, and economic migration. Aw writes with elegance and restraint, capturing the contradictions of belonging and alienation. His characters grapple with where they come from and where they might belong, often finding that the answers are more complex than they hoped. The novel is both intimate in its character work and sweeping in its historical scope, offering a deeply human lens on a rapidly changing region.

David Szalay’s Flesh is a stark, unflinching look at the human body — its desires, vulnerabilities, and inevitable decay. Through interconnected stories, Szalay examines the ways in which flesh shapes identity, relationships, and mortality. His prose is precise and unsentimental, yet moments of unexpected tenderness break through the cool surface. The novel is visceral in the truest sense, confronting the reader with the physical realities we often ignore. It’s a work of rare honesty and artistry.

In Love Forms, Claire Adam examines the many shapes love can take — romantic, familial, platonic — and the ways it can both sustain and wound us. The novel weaves together multiple narratives across decades, each connected by a single, mysterious artwork that changes hands over time. Adam’s writing is lush but precise, imbuing everyday moments with emotional weight. She is equally skilled at portraying tenderness and cruelty, revealing how love’s forms are never static. By the end, the reader is left with a mosaic of interlinked lives, each altered by their encounters with love in its shifting guises.

Susan Choi’s Flashlight is a masterclass in psychological suspense. The story follows a woman who, after a seemingly mundane encounter, begins to suspect she is being followed. The 'flashlight' of the title refers both to a physical object and to the piercing beam of attention — wanted or unwanted — that can alter one’s sense of self. Choi plays expertly with perception, unreliable memory, and the thin line between vigilance and paranoia. Her sentences crackle with energy, and the tension is unrelenting, leading to an ending that is as surprising as it is inevitable.

Andrew Miller’s The Land in Winter is a haunting historical novel set in a snowbound landscape on the brink of political upheaval. The protagonist, a solitary figure tasked with guarding a remote outpost, becomes embroiled in events that will alter the course of the nation. Miller’s prose is vivid and immersive, his descriptions of winter both beautiful and oppressive. The novel explores themes of loyalty, survival, and moral ambiguity, offering a story that is as gripping as it is atmospheric.

One Boat is a quietly devastating story of survival, cooperation, and human frailty. Jonathan Buckley places a small group of strangers on a boat adrift in uncertain waters, both literal and metaphorical. As resources dwindle and tempers flare, alliances form and fracture. Buckley’s prose is spare yet lyrical, his pacing deliberate, mirroring the slow drift of the vessel. The novel becomes an allegory for our shared planet — fragile, finite, and utterly dependent on collective care. It’s a work of subtle power that leaves the reader pondering long after the final page.

Katie Kitamura’s Audition is an elegant, taut novel about performance — both on stage and in life. The narrator, a professional actor, becomes entangled in a high-stakes production where art, politics, and personal relationships collide. Kitamura examines the masks we wear, the roles we play, and the cost of authenticity. Her prose is restrained yet charged, revealing as much in what is unsaid as in what is spoken. Audition is as much about the performance of identity as it is about the theater, offering a layered meditation on truth and artifice.

Natasha Brown’s Universality is a compact yet expansive novel, exploring themes of race, privilege, and the shared patterns that bind human experience. The narrative shifts between voices and settings, creating a tapestry that questions what it means to be truly universal. Brown’s prose is crystalline and deliberate, each sentence carrying weight. She balances intellectual rigor with emotional resonance, crafting a work that challenges the reader to see beyond borders, identities, and preconceived notions. The novel is both an interrogation and a celebration of our interconnectedness.

Benjamin Markovits’s The Rest of Our Lives is a richly observed family saga that spans decades. The narrative traces the shifting dynamics between siblings, lovers, and friends as they navigate ambition, failure, and the quiet compromises of adulthood. Markovits writes with a warmth and insight that makes even the smallest moments feel significant. The novel is a meditation on time — how it erodes, reshapes, and sometimes heals our relationships. It’s an expansive, absorbing read that rewards patience with emotional depth.