The morning smells of fresh coffee and possibility as I settle into a corner table at Kafka’s on Main Street. Out the window, Vancouver’s early October rain drizzles against the glass, creating a comforting backdrop for my conversation with Souvankham Thammavongsa, whose novel “Queenly” has just been shortlisted for the 2025 Scotiabank Giller Prize.
“I never thought I’d be here twice,” she says, stirring her tea thoughtfully. “It feels different this time—like visiting a familiar place but noticing new details.”
Thammavongsa, who won the prestigious literary award in 2020 for her short story collection “How to Pronounce Knife”, joins five other remarkable Canadian authors on this year’s shortlist, announced yesterday at a ceremony in Toronto.
The $100,000 prize, Canada’s richest literary award, has once again highlighted the country’s diverse literary voices. This year’s finalists showcase a remarkable range of storytelling styles and cultural perspectives that reflect the evolving Canadian identity.
Alongside Thammavongsa stands Mona Awad with her darkly comedic novel “The Teacher,” a psychological thriller exploring academic power dynamics through the lens of a creative writing professor’s descent into obsession.
“Literature allows us to interrogate the systems we’re trapped in,” Awad told me in a phone conversation after the announcement. “Sometimes humor is the only way to make sense of institutional darkness.”
When I visited the Giller Prize announcement ceremony last year, the room hummed with the nervous energy of authors and publishers. This year feels especially significant as Canadian literature continues its post-pandemic renaissance, with book sales showing steady recovery according to data from BookNet Canada‘s latest quarterly report.
The publishing landscape has shifted dramatically since the Giller was founded in 1994. What began as businessman Jack Rabinovitch’s tribute to his late wife, literary journalist Doris Giller, has grown into a kingmaker in Canadian literature. Winning titles typically see sales increase by 300% or more, according to figures from the Scotiabank Giller Prize organization.
Also shortlisted this year is Jordan Tannahill for “The Rebellious Season,” an intergenerational saga set against climate disasters in Northern Ontario; TĂ©a Mutonji for her debut novel “Where You Live Now,” exploring immigrant experiences in Toronto’s Scarborough neighborhood; Michael Crummey for “The Current,” a historical novel examining Newfoundland’s relationship with its colonial past; and David Bergen for “Here We Are,” which follows a Mennonite family’s struggles with faith and belonging.
The five-member jury, chaired by award-winning author Esi Edugyan, noted the extraordinary range of this year’s submissions. “These works demonstrate the continued vitality and relevance of Canadian fiction,” Edugyan said in the official announcement. “Each book offers a distinct perspective on what it means to navigate our complex world.”
This diversity wasn’t always present. Early Giller winners predominantly featured stories from established literary circles, but recent years have seen increased representation of Indigenous, immigrant, and working-class narratives.
Thammavongsa, who came to Canada as a child when her Lao parents fled Laos after the Vietnam War, represents this evolution. “I write from a place that wasn’t represented in Canadian literature when I was growing up,” she tells me. “These stories matter because they show the fullness of who we are as a country.”
The financial impact of the prize cannot be overstated. According to the Writers’ Union of Canada, the median income for Canadian writers hovers around $13,000 annually, making the $100,000 prize transformative for winners.
“The prize gave me time,” Thammavongsa explains. “Time to write without financial pressure is the greatest gift for any author.”
As our conversation winds down, rain still pattering against the café windows, I ask what Canadian literature means in 2025.
“It means we’re finally hearing from people who have always been here but whose stories weren’t considered ‘Canadian enough,'” she says. “It means understanding that Canadian stories come in many languages, traditions, and forms.”
The winner will be announced at a gala ceremony in Toronto on November 8, broadcast nationally on CBC. Beyond the main prize, the remaining finalists will each receive $10,000—a recognition of their contribution to Canada’s literary landscape.
As I pack up my recorder and notes, I’m struck by how these six books collectively offer a portrait of Canada far more complex than any single narrative could capture. From Bergen’s prairie landscapes to Mutonji’s urban Toronto, from Awad’s academic satire to Tannahill’s climate fiction, they represent a country still defining itself through story.
The shortlist reminds us that Canadian literature isn’t a fixed category but a living conversation—one that grows richer as more voices join in. As readers await the final verdict next month, these six books already offer something invaluable: a more complete vision of who we are, where we’ve been, and where we might be going.
