Category: Book Reviews

Book Review: The Bookbinder of Jericho by Pip Williams – a war-at-home story set among Oxford’s printing presses

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Pip William’s first novel, the inordinately successful The Dictionary of Lost Words was always going to be a tough act to follow. But when The Bookbinder of Jericho came my way I was soon swept up in Peggy’s story – the work she does at the Oxford’s Clarendon Press in the bindery’s folding room with other women. It’s a segregated working environment, the women collating the pages from the printing room, folding them ready for stitching and binding, a man’s job. Just as it’s men who are always the machine operators and compositors, mechanics and readers.

Oxford itself is also segregated along class lines. Peggy and twin sister Maude live on a canal boat, still missing their mother who died several years before. The are ‘town’, the ordinary working folk who live outside the walls that separate the academic inhabitants of Oxford – or ‘gown’. But we’re on the brink of World War I, and things are set to change.

Peggy can’t help trying to read the books they are folding; she’s smart and yearns for a higher education. Her mother was also a reader, and their canal boat is crammed with books and parts of books that didn’t made the grade, But her sister needs her, or so she thinks, and Peggy sticks by her side. Maude is a little fey, her fingers always busy folding even in her spare time, her conversation a parroting of the phrases of others. The arrival of Belgian refugees, and in particularly Lotte, a grief-stricken woman who joins them at the folding bench, shakes up Peggy’s relationship with her sister, challenging her excuses for avoiding change.

I’d been walking past Somerville all my life, imagining what it was like for the women on the other side of the wall. Now, here I was, a little bit of Jericho littering an Oxford quad. I remembered when I first thought of being one of them – I’d been listening when I shouldn’t have been. She’d be well suited to the Oxford High School, my teacher had said. I know that, Ma had replied, but she won’t leave Maude. My teacher persisted. I think she’s bright enough for college. Ma sighed, It’s not always enough, though, is it? I’d thought of the income I could start earning at the Press, the difference it would make. I’d stopped listening

Other characters breeze through the book and rock Peggy’s world. There’s Gwen, the upper class girl she meets when the two volunteer to read to wounded soldiers. Gwen is ‘gown’, but finds Peggy’s world fascinating. Peggy can’t be sure if her friendship’s genuine or is she just a pet project? Then there’s Bastiaan, the badly scarred Belgian soldier Peggy is drawn to during her hospital visits. He would definitely be ‘gown’ if he were at home, studying architecture, but war has a levelling effect and the two meet as equals.

Tilda is the girls’ mother’s great friend, a flamboyant actress who becomes a VAD at the front, her letters revealing the horrific realities of life in the field hospital at Etaples. There’s Rosie in the canal boat ‘next door’, whose son Jack marches off to war with so many of the boys from the Press. We also momentarily meet Vera Brittain (Testament of Youth) when Peggy attends a function for the refugees at Somerville – the women’s college Peggy eyes with longing.

As Peggy’s views of things are challenged by her new acquaintances, the war grinds on, news of horrific battles and casualty lists filtering back to Oxford. The book is divided into parts which roughly equate to a year in the war, and a book from the presses. In the background there’s another battle going on – the battle for women’s rights, the suffrage movement on hold for the duration. This enlivens the conversations Peggy has with Gwen, but it’s hard for Peggy not to feel bitter. The vote for women when it comes will only be for women over thirty and landowning ones at that – the vote by no means universal.

As the plot goes, The Bookbinder of Jericho isn’t exactly riveting reading. Like Peggy’s life, all the action seems to be happening to someone else, somewhere else. Peggy seems to be in a kind of holding pen, waiting. As a reader I found myself waiting too. What makes the book interesting is the world Pip Williams has created. The little enclave in the printing presses of Oxford is well researched and described in detail. Lovingly so. Then there’s Peggy and Maude’s canal boat and life on the water. Everything tucked into corners to make the most of the space. The frugality of their world – apart from paper, which is everywhere.

So The Bookbinder of Jericho gets top marks for characterisation and world building, for bringing history to life. But I did find myself rushing through it to get to ‘the good bits’ rather than savouring it. There’s still a lot to like and even more to think about so I’ll probably read this author again. This novel’s gets three and a half out of five stars from me.

Book Review: A Million Things by Emily Spurr – a resilient young heroine struggling with loss

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I was drawn to this book by its compelling storyline – a young girl all alone, trying to pretend nothing is wrong after her mother disappears. Well, that’s how it seemed to start with. The book’s told from the point of view of ten-year-old Rae – but it’s not your standard first-person narrative voice. Often Rae is talking to a ‘you’ – the mother who isn’t there.

It would be easy to assume that the mother is missing because she hasn’t come home. But Rae’s mother has been mentally ill for quite some time. No wonder Rae knows about the routine of managing meals and getting herself to school, of walking Splinter, the dog. Rae has had to be the grown-up a lot of the time. Only this time Rae’s mother has ended her life in the backyard shed. With no one else to turn to, Rae must manage as best she can on her own.

Rae decides to keep going on her own. She becomes adept at keeping up appearances. She gets herself off to school, takes care of the house, and feeds the dog. There’s no time for grief. If only that nosy old lady next door wasn’t always on her front verandah watching. But Lettie has secrets of her own, things she doesn’t want anybody knowing about. It’s only when Rae hears her calling for help one day that the two discover that they need each other.

Each time you’d go, noises muffled and sharpened and silence got loud. I’d stand still, trying not to breathe, waiting for the door to open and for you to come back through it. The silence you left after you grabbed the keys from the bowl on the table and slammed out the door would stand like a person beside me. The bang made me jump every time. Even though I knew it was coming. Knew from the second your eyes lost focus and tightened and you stopped seeing me and saw only this thing ruining your life.

Things become more complicated by the arrival of new people along the street, Oscar who is the same age as Rae, just wants to make friends, but when he parrots critical comments of his mother about Lettie, Rae finds herself sticking up for her neighbour. She doesn’t want social services nosing around.

It is heartbreaking the lengths Rae will go to pretend everything is normal, alleviated in some part by her growing friendship with Lettie. We slowly get pieces of Lettie’s story, her family tragedy. The tension builds as all the plates Rae tries to keep spinning descend one by one and a dramatic event brings help from an unexpected quarter.

This is one of those books that has you holding your breath – you are so much in Rae’s impossible world. The friendly banter between Rae and Lettie lightens things a little, but the old woman’s situation is horrendous as well. You feel how easy it is for life to get on top of you and the book becomes a sensitive portrait of the effects of mental illness, but of resilience as well. The reluctance to let someone else into your life when you need help; of not wanting anything to change. Of holding onto the grief that ensnares you, that keeps the missing loved one there as a constant presence.

A Million Things was shortlisted for the Victorian Premier’s Unpublished Manuscript Prize and won the BookBrowse Best Debut Novel 2021. Emily Spurr is certainly a writer to watch. A Million Things gets four stars from me.

Book Review: No Life for a Lady by Hannah Dolby – a light and humorous adventure

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This novel was a breath of fresh air, a lively read that was a welcome pick-me-up without challenging the brain cells too much. Part rom-com, part mystery with a little comedy of manners thrown in, No Life for a Lady follows Violet Hamilton who lives with her father in the English seaside town of Hastings.

We’re in the final years of the 19th century, and at 28, Violet should be happily married off by now, according to her respectable banker dad. But Violet is determined never to marry, her parents own marriage having been somewhat less than blissful. So much so that a decade ago, Violet’s beautiful mother Lily disappeared. She’d just popped out to visit friends one evening and never returned.

Lily’s disappearance might have been an accidental drowning as she was last seen on the pier. Had she fallen into the sea and been washed away? That certainly seems to be a possible theory and the one Mr Hamilton propounds to Violet, all the better for her to put her mother behind her and move on with her life. But Violet feels she would know if her mother had died, and thinks she could be out there somewhere, maybe even needing help.

When Violet decides to hire a detective, she sets in motion a chain of unforeseen events that spell disaster on one hand, but also push Violet to becoming a sleuth herself. Frank Knight is the only detective in town and eagerly takes on her case. But Violet is unimpressed with his lack of professionalism, and his assumptions about Lily seem set to defame her rather than save her.

The disappointments of the decade had been compounded by the realisation it was almost impossible for a lady to take up a respectable profession. I had been set on the idea, but now my attic was filled with the skeletons of half-finished hats, faded botanical specimens and, most tragic of all, dusty portraits of a few worthy occupants of the town. This last career had ended abruptly when I persuaded the wife of the town mayor to pose for a portrait. I had faithfully included all three of her chins, upon which she told me she had only sat for me out of sympathy, forbade me to continue as an artist and left, chins wobbling in fury.

Violet finds an old newspaper which leads her to Benjamin Blackthorn, a reluctant detective who has given up the trade in favour of selling furniture in the old, slightly seedy part of town. While he is the opposite of Knight in every way, Benjamin refuses to take on her case, but Violet wears him down enough to allow her to help with one or two cases that require a woman’s touch. Violet is more enthusiastic than subtle at the outset, which leads to some hilarious confrontations.

Dolby’s manuscript for the book was the runner-up in the Comedy Women in Print awards, and there are plenty of fun scenes, the writing’s witty, but there’s plenty to think about too. There are issues around the constraints placed on women in the era, of class and the lack of choice when it comes to making a living: marriage, servitude or prostitution seem to be the main options for women. Add to that the resigned tedium of being stuck in an unhappy marriage; the ignominy of divorce.

Packed with an assortment of quaint and humorous characters, the story builds to a dramatic conclusion involving surprising revelations and a fair amount of danger. For a young lady of her time, Violet has to step outside the norm of proper behaviour but finds allies in surprising places. The ending leaves us with possibilities for a sequel, perhaps more cases for Violet to solve. I shall certainly be keen to read more of Violet’s adventures. No Life for a Lady gets four out of five stars from me.

Book Review: Katherine Mansfield’s Europe: Station to Station by Redmer Yska – a gorgeous book that brings KM’s travels to life

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I don’t read a lot of non-fiction, but being a bit of a Katherine Mansfield fan was drawn to this book. Before reading a sentence however, it was the pictures that won me over. This is such a beautiful piece of publishing. There are multiple double-page spreads showing the places that KM journeyed to in search of better health. Even before her illness, she’d always been a happy traveller, hopping on a train and popping over to Europe. What London-based New Zealander isn’t?

Katherine Mansfield’s Europe describes those journeys, beginning at the end where KM died at Avon, a short journey from Paris. 2023 marks 100 years since her death and there have been a few new books about KM, the Bloomsbury Group author from New Zealand who mesmerised so many with her stories. Yska then takes us around Europe following in her footsteps, visiting the places where she stayed, the parks and gardens, and the memorials. Along with Yska’s own impressions, which are sensitive and insightful, are snippets from KM’s own writing, helping the reader to see things through her own eyes.

The book takes us back to Germany, inspiration for the story collection In a German Pension, where KM was whisked off in a hurry by her mother when discovered pregnant by a man not her husband. There is also Paris during WWI and a flat belonging to a lover. But much of the book is KM’s search for kinder climates and better health as tuberculosis set in. So we have Menton and the Côte d’Azur, San Remo and Ospedaletti as well as the clearer air of alpine Switzerland, and Paris again where she endured an experimental new treatment.

Yska is very interesting on KM’s problematic relationships, firstly with her mother, then her husband, John Middleton Murray, and Ida, the devoted friend who put her own life on hold to act as both companion and nurse. We know KM can’t have been easy to get along with and TB isn’t kind on anyone. There are a few interesting revelations that might shock or surprise – Yska chats to many people as he goes and there always seems to be something new about KM to consider. And it seems everywhere she stayed, KM left behind a following of people determined to remember her fondly, in spite of the caustic observations that pop up in some of her stories.

Katherine Mansfield’s Europe is a lovely book, beautifully illustrated with old photographs, postcards and maps. as well as modern-day views of the places Yska visited. It’s a fascinating dive into the life of an intriguing woman, and a different era – the pre-war ebullience; the horrific war and the restraint that followed. It’s a nice book to have on hand when you revisit the stories – which I did as I read – or even just to flip through for the pictures. It’s an easy five out of five stars from me.

Book Review: The Missing Years by Lexie Elliott – a superbly atmospheric psychological thriller

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I was drawn to this novel by by the setting. Not only the rural Scottish village but the creepy old house, a large manse that dates back centuries and a history including blood-thirsty reprisals during the Jacobite rebellion. It’s bound to be haunted, and yes the opening sentence of Chapter One is ‘The Manse is watching me.’

The narrator of the story is Aisla Calder who has taken a break from her high-powered job based in London as a television news producer, following the death of her mother. She’s been left an old house in her mother’s will, but she is unable to sell it because the Manse is co-owned by Martin Calder, her father, who walked out on his family when Aisla was a child. He hasn’t been seen since and nobody knows if he is dead or alive. Also missing is the packet of diamonds he was carrying for the company he worked for. It’s all very suspicious.

Each chapter begins with an imaginary account of where he might have got to, while Aisla sets in motion the legal proceedings to prove that he’s dead. After living in the Manse a short time, she’s somewhat reluctant to stay. Thank goodness her sister Carrie has agreed to come to keep her company while she sorts things out. Carrie is a bright young actress in a play a commuter train’s ride away in Edinburgh, but there is a strain between them. Carrie can’t quite forgive Aisla for not being around as she grew up, not coming to see her on stage.

It’s bad enough having to deal with all the family stuff, the loss of a mother who was a terrific artist, but not at all loving, of an unsupportive relationship with a top TV news reporter, and having to negotiate the tricky waters of living with her sister. But there’s creepy stuff happening at the Manse too. Her neighbour, friendly Jamie drops in unannounced to explain about his weird sister, Fiona, who has a fascination with the place. It’s best she has her locks changed.

I want to feel that I am me, created from pure air, my genes unsullied by ancestry. I want to feel that my thoughts and reactions and decisions are mine and mine alone. But being here, in Scotland, in the Manse of all places, has me feeling the weight of my DNA, of the history and memories and behavioural patterns it carries. Of the impact it has had, or might yet have, on what I think of as me.

Aisla finds in the attic some old photos from before Aisla was born showing Jamie’s parents and her own – obviously friends. But what are those aerial maps all about? And then there are hostile locals to deal with – openly abusive old Morag – and nasty things left on the doorstep. The house doesn’t seem to like Aisla much either – the heating turns itself off, the smoke alarm goes in the middle of the night and the bathroom door keeps banging. Aisla was sure she’d closed the window.

An intelligent woman in her thirties, Aisla should be able to deal with a lot of this stuff rationally. But she’s always so tired and the emotional events of recent weeks have taken a toll. This all adds to the tension as things get more and more worrisome. She’s made friends with other locals, the handsome Ben who’s a bit of a player among them, and talks to Jamie’s father who was the policeman who investigated Martin Calder’s disappearance. If only Carrie hadn’t become so chummy with weird Fiona. It’s as if there’s no one she can really trust and as a reader you can’t help wondering which if them is plotting against Aisla. Elliott instills a nice undercurrent of menace.

It all builds to a dramatic, nail-biting showdown with the malefactor, the house creating an eerie backdrop, to say nothing of the Scottish weather. The Missing Years is a satisfying story, a brilliant psychological thriller, a breezy, engaging read that’s also nicely written. It’s sure to please fans of Ruth Ware and Clare Mackintosh. I’m keen to read more by Lexie Elliott – it’s hard to resist a title like How to Kill Your Best Friend. This novel gets four out of five stars from me.

Book Review: The War Pianist by Mandy Robotham – wartime danger across the airwaves

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This is one of those wartime novels featuring a heroine who is just an ordinary girl toughing it out against Hitler. She probably never wanted to get involved in the Resistance or working as a spy for SOE, but something has triggered her desire to get involved. There will be a couple of military aircraft from the era on the front cover, discretely in a corner so you know it’s a war story. A ton of books like this have been written lately, and they can be a fun read, but how do you tell which are the good ones?

I’d really enjoyed the audiobook version of The Resistance Girl by Mandy Robotham, which took me to the war in Norway. It had engaging characters, a really nasty malefactor, a bit of romance, plenty of suspenseful dodging of the enemy, and the promise of a happy ending. But I learned a lot about the war in Norway and how it affected people, the heroic ways they fought back. The story didn’t shy away from some of the horrific events of the war but describes them off-stage so nothing’s ever too harrowing for the reader.

And it’s much the same here with The War Pianist. Marnie works at the BBC in London helping to prepare radio scripts for airing. Her parents have decamped to Scotland and apart from cousin Susie who is wondering about leaving London too, her only family is Gilbert, her adored grandfather, still running his tailoring business near Trafalgar Square. But after a bombing raid by the Luftwaffe, Marnie is horrified to discover the shop has been levelled and her grandfather is dead.

Reeling with grief, Marnie goes back to the shop one day in search of a memento of her beloved relative only to find hidden away in a basement cupboard, a radio set for transmitting. Gilbert was a man with a secret, and Marnie worries that he might have been a spy. As she carries the radio away with her she is brought to a halt by an ARP warden who turns out to be someone else keeping a secret. Willem is a Dutch Resistance fighter in London to help shore up support from Britain on the behest of Queen Wilhelmina.

Willem persuades Marnie to take over from Gilbert, sending coded messages to Corrie, Willem’s fellow Resistance fighter in Amsterdam. Marnie knows all about radios from her work at the BBC, and she and her grandfather used to play games in Morse Code when she was young. So Marnie, fired up with rage against Hitler because of the Blitz and her grief, is the perfect recruit to step into Gilbert’s shoes. But she has to be careful, as there are reports of fifth columnists supporting the enemy at large, who are watching and listening. Who can she trust?

When the inevitable sirens stir the BBC’s populace into the basement that evening, something in her – she doesn’t know what – is drawn in the opposite direction, up onto the roof of Broadcasting House. Climbing out into a sky already glowing orange and a wind warmed by fiery destruction, she stands aghast. It’s as if Hitler has taken a match to a box of fireworks and simply sprinkled the contents across London – the red tracer fire of ack-ack guns meeting mandarin sparks from a fresh explosion, tiny pockets of green-blue glow like fireflies amid the rubble as the gas mains are hit below. A rainbow of destruction that’s both vivid and grotesque.

The story weaves Marnie’s story in with Corrie’s in Amsterdam, where things are a lot more desperate under the Nazi Occupation. It’s only 1940 and the resistance is in its early stages while reprisals and food shortages are the order of the day. There are reports of devastation in other cities like Rotterdam and fear is widespread. But Corrie continues with her radio, messages kept as brief as possible to avoid her site of transmission being pinpointed by the enemy.

The story takes Marnie across to Amsterdam where the plot ramps up a lot. Here the evil Nazi officer, Lothar Selig, is keen to make his mark – he also turns up in The Resistance Girl – when one of the Willem’s team disappears. There’s an emotional connection, so this gives the story a bit more punch. Marnie is also torn emotionally, but will do anything to help and her radio skills become crucial. The story builds to a taut ending and it’s a satisfying read, without ever being too grim centre stage.

I confess I didn’t enjoy this quite as much as The Resistance Girl, although it’s still a pacy read and interesting for the most part. The romantic element seemed a bit forced, maybe because the character of Willem is not particularly well developed. I might give Robotham another go, or if I’m in the mood for a good wartime story, I’ll head back to Pam Jenoff or Kate Quinn, who are pretty solid in this genre. The War Pianist gets three out of four stars from me.

Book Review: Lucy by the Sea by Elizabeth Strout – a memoir-like novel that relives those dark early days of Covid

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If you’re an Elizabeth Strout fan like I am, you’ll have come across Lucy Barton before. She’s an easier character to like than Olive Kitteridge, the character of the eponymous novel which earned Strout a Pullitzer Prize. Lucy is a novelist who has come from a very humble beginning in a small town. So she tends to turn her author’s eye on the world – watching people’s interactions and thinking.

Lucy’s upbringing and her relationship with her mother are the subject of the first book, My Name Is Lucy Barton. Her hometown, Amgash is the subject of the stories in Anything Is Possible, and is where Lucy returns to visit her siblings who are still there, after her long absence in the city. Oh, William is Lucy’s story again, and concerns her relationship with William, her first husband. And this continues in Lucy by the Sea, which is also what some people might call a “Covid novel”.

And I found this a bit difficult to start with. William is a scientist, and as he watches the news about the virus decides it’s time to leave New York. He wants Lucy to leave too and persuades her to pack a suitcase and go with him to the small seaside town of Crosby in Maine. They’re only going for a few weeks. He also insists their two daughters, Becka and Chrissy to move out of the city too – although Becka resists. William’s the only one who can see what’s coming.

The novel takes you back to those terrible early days – the deaths, and the lockdowns, the personal distancing and the fear. We see it all through Lucy’s eyes and being a writer, she’s observant and sensitive. New York was hard hit and news footage on TV is must-see viewing for William. When they venture out to go shopping the locals give them the cold shoulder and one day they find an angry sign on their car telling them to go back to New York.

A strange compatibility was taking place gradually between William and me. I had even forgotten about how I used to have to go down to the water and swear because he wasn’t listening to me when we had supper. I mean, we were essentially stuck together, and we sort of adapted to it.

Thank heavens for Bob Burgess, the genial lawyer (and also a main character in The Burgess Boys, which I also highly recommend). Bob makes them welcome, finds them some Maine licence plates and becomes a good friend of Lucy’s. The story takes us through the months that follow, the couple’s fears for their daughters, William’s attempt to reconnect with his lost sister, their settling in at Crosby as well as shifts in their own relationship. There is more sadness than joy, but there is still hope by the last pages.

For quite a way through this novel I felt a lot more uncomfortable as I read than I usually do with Strout’s fiction. And this is because she brings to life that terrible time as Covid first took hold and also the political events that followed – the divisions in society shown on the TV, and so on. But somewhere towards the end, I felt the wisdom of the book and I went from wanting to rush through the book to get it finished to taking my time and enjoying it.

Much is made of Lucy having come from poverty. Strout has made this an asset, even if it troubles Lucy, as it means she can talk to just about anybody. I love her openness and truthfulness. Her attempts to understand people from other walks of life and across the political spectrum. I wish more authors did this. And William is forced in this book to confront again the terrible way he treated Lucy years before. It seems the Covid crisis makes everyone focus on what really matters in their lives.

Lucy by the Sea is well worth the read, even if you wonder what else can be written about this character. It is a thoughtful novel, and makes you think. And the writing is so natural, it really seems like your inside someone’s head. But if you’re not ready to relive that awful time, give it another year or two. It’s a four-star read from me.

Book Review: Old God’s Time by Sebastian Barry – a deceptively gentle novel that will tear at your heart

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For a novel on the Booker long-list, this is a very easy book to slip into. The story is set in the mid 1990s and is told from the point of view of Tom Kettle, a recently retired Dublin policeman. As a character he suffers more from aloneness than loneliness, as Tom’s family of ghosts are ever present, in his thoughts and more.

Tom lives simply, recently taking a flat that’s an annex to a castle, also divided into flats, by the sea. It sounds idyllic, and indeed his first visitors comment on it. It’s a February evening when two policeman from his old station knock on his door. They bring with them documents about an old case that Tom had handled, in fact had put his heart and soul into, only for the commissioner to call an end to taking it further.

Tom can’t bare to look inside the folder, but instead insists his visitors, Detectives Wilson and O’Casey stay to eat with him. All he can offer is rarebit made from cheese singles, and hauls out his daughter’s air-bed and blankets. It is too dreadful a night to send them out to catch the bus back to the town. It’s a fairly light scene with pockets of humour, O’Casey’s digestion not best pleased by the rarebit and Tom can only imagine how uncomfortable his visitors must be bedding down in his living room

But underneath is a storm of feeling that will gnaw at Tom and slowly his story and that of his late wife June and their children will emerge. And what a sad tale it is. Tom and June were both brought up in church run orphanages where predatory priests made use of small children. And it is just such a case that Tom has to relive for his old colleagues. He can never reveal how personal the case it is and so it festers.

There’s literally a Chekov’s gun in the story too. Tom was a sniper in Malaya before his stint in the police, which gives you a hint at what he’s capable of. So while the story seems to have a gentle flow about it, and a very Irish narrative style which is descriptive, lyrical and ambling, there’s a spring-loaded tension and a kind of inevitability here as the story draws to its conclusion.

And all soundlessly, with an almost comic fall, the poor creature would go down, hardly bothering the earth, Tom’s aim so good they called him Beady-Eye as a happy nickname. Beady-Eye Kettle. A talent that rescued him in his own country, the mercy of being allowed into the police. Oh yes. Killing rebels gave him his Irish life, away from the shame and shambles of his childhood.

What I particularly liked about the book was the character of Tom, who seems just so ordinary, with his little routines. His trips to the shops, his buying an ice cream cone, his carting home a bag of sausages and potatoes. But simmering beneath, we can’t help wonder, as Tom does, about the state of his mind, haunted as he is by the past and those he’s lost. It’s difficult to tell what is real at times as we are so much inside Tom’s head.

For such a tragic story, and there really is no other word for it, Old God’s Time is immensely readable, the writing is exquisite and then there’s that sympathy you have for Tom. As a character, Tom is so well understood by the author, his narrative voice seems so true. The pacing is perfect – as I said at the beginning, you are so easily drawn into the story, and Barry doesn’t put a foot wrong. Though it’s not the sort of book you should read if you need cheering up. But I can see why it’s on the Booker long-list, so it’s an easy five out of five stars from me.

Book Review: The Night She Disappeared by Lisa Jewell – another stylish psychological thriller from an always-reliable author

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I often pick up a Lisa Jewell novel when I want a light, engrossing read. The Night She Disappeared is one of those books where the rich girl from a loveless family makes friends with the much loved poor girl with problems – and disaster ensues.

Tallulah lives in a village with her divorced mother and brother and is doing fine until an unplanned pregnancy has her reconsidering her options. She’s barely out of school so enrols at the nearest polytechnic, a bus ride away and organises her life around her baby. She didn’t plan on living with her boyfriend, Zach, but he is insistent he wants to get back together and she unbends and lets him move in with her at her Mum’s home. Mother, Kim is delighted as she sees in Zach someone who adores her daughter and will be a good father.

But Tallulah meets Scarlett at the bus stop – glamorous, dangerous looking Scarlett, who is at the same college, doing art to Tallulah’s social work course and the two become unlikely friends. Scarlett lives at Dark Place, a large house across the woods that has a dark history, but has had lavish amounts spent on it. As the weeks and months roll by, Tallulah compartmentalises her life between college, home life with her family and Zach, and secret meetings with Scarlett.

The story flips between Tallulah’s story and a year or so later when Sophie moves into the village with her partner Shaun. He’s the new head teacher at Maypole, a private school a mere woodland stroll from Dark Place, where Tallulah and Zach were at a party they night they disappeared. Sophie is an author of cosy mysteries, but here she’s suddenly aware of an unsolved mystery right on her doorstep.

When Sophie finds a sign saying “Dig here” and an arrow, she can’t help herself. What she finds soon draws her into Tallulah’s story, as well as meeting Kim working the bar at the local pub, a woman she wants to help. But in the background there’s her own relationship to consider. Shaun is obviously stressed. He has only chosen the job at Maypole to help fund the expensive schooling his ex-wife has insisted on for their daughters. And he and Sophie have never lived together before. They used to enjoy London so much too. Raking up what happened on the school’s doorstep isn’t going to help Shaun settle in to his new job.

Meanwhile Kim is battling away, trying to manage the baby as well as keeping alive her hope for Tallulah’s return. There are a bunch of minor characters who have a role in what happened and who could be suspects in the case. There’s a nice policeman who listens and does what he can. The story moves to an astonishing and gripping ending and I’d be amazed if you manage to put it all together before it’s all revealed. It might even give you goosebumps.

I am happy to say that The Night She Disappeared did its job; it’s a stylish, engaging, relaxing read. The main characters who tell their story are easy to empathise with, even if they do silly things or fail to stick up for themselves. And the plot is nicely measured out between them to keep you hooked. I’m not sure I enjoyed it as much as others I’ve read by Jewell, but it’s still an easy four out of five stars from me.

Book Review: The Mysterious Case of the Alperton Angels by Janice Hallett – another twisty mystery that will have you hoodwinked

~ Judith ~ Leave a comment

I’m beginning to know what to expect every time I pick up a novel by Janice Hallett. First of all it will be told in an unusual format – often in emails and texts or transcriptions from recorded conversations. The other thing is that the story will have me totally hoodwinked. Normally, with mystery novels, I have a go at trying to solve the mystery from the clues presented, considering the characters and their motives, their histories. But for this novel, I didn’t bother trying, just went along for the ride.

The story begins with documents from a safe deposit box relating to the publication of a book. We follow Amanda Bailey, a journalist and writer of true-crime books, when she is commissioned to write a book on Alperton Angels. This was a cult lead by the self-titled Gabriel Angelis, now residing in prison for the murder of a waiter. Eighteen years ago, the cult ended in the deaths of several of its members, and the miraculous rescue of a baby, which the cult believed to be the Antichrist.

There is no doubt that Gabriel Angelis is an evil man, and that prison is the best place for him, in spite of his pleas that he did not kill anyone. But what he did do was lure vulnerable teenagers into his orbit, in this case Holly and Jonah, who survived the ritual bloodbath eighteen years ago, Holly saving the baby from sacrifice when the stars were apparently in alignment.

Eighteen years later, where is that baby now? That is going to be the main focus of Amanda’s book along with the whereabouts of Holly and Jonah and what they’ve made of their lives since. But a rival publishing company is also interested in the Angels, and have chosen Oliver Menzies to write another book on the case.

Oliver and Amanda were on the same journalism course twenty odd years ago, a course that Amanda left abruptly without qualifying. And when her publisher suggests that she and Oliver work together to begin with so that they can ensure their books cover different territory, Amanda is not a happy camper.

It’s not easy getting people to talk about what happened, but one thing that does come across is that Amanda is a consummate professional and slowly the facts slot into place. Oliver just bumbles along and the What’sApp banter between them adds plenty of entertainment. This is just as well as a book of emails and texts would soon pall if Hallett didn’t manage to make them lively. So too are the transcriptions typed up by Ellie Cooper for Amanda. Ellie is a kind of sounding board for Amanda’s discoveries and offers lots of good thoughts, plus her asides as she transcribes Amanda’s phone-recorded interviews are a hoot.

But it’s the plot that really has you hooked, packed with twists and turns, and beguiling little details that had the police stumped. What was the deal with that Mini Clubman that ran off the road and disappeared? And those weird newspaper adverts – what did they mean? Hallett really knows how to use red herrings. Towards the end of the book, you suddenly begin to realise what really happened, and start to join the dots and see connections. Suddenly the unbelieveable all begins to make perfect sense.

The Mysterious Case of the Alperton Angels is another diverting read from Hallett but it works best if, as a reader, you enjoy puzzles. We only get to know characters as they reveal themselves in their emails and texts – we don’t even know where they live, or even a lot about what they look like. But perhaps Hallett deliberately impedes the reader’s empathy for them because of how untrustworthy many of them are.

I think Agatha Christie would approve of Hallett’s style. How many times have I read Poirot remind Hastings not to take too much at face value. How you can never be sure that a witness isn’t lying. And it’s the same here. The Mysterious Case of the Alperton Angels is a modern take on the classic detective novel. I can only gaze on and admire its cleverness. But cleverness isn’t everything in a book and I like a bit more from my crime fiction; I like to feel something too. So its a three-and-a-half star read from me.