he Daily Telegraph - Dictionary of Tommies' Songs and Slang: Review

 Daily Telegraph - Dictionary of Tommies' Songs and Slang, 1914–1918 by John Trophy and Eric Partridge is a fascinating piece of material. Okay, it wasn’t exactly in the format I was expecting but it was none the worse for that. 

The book, I learn, was first published in 1930. It comes in three sections — an updated introduction, the introduction to the original, and the song themselves (subdivided into categories such as Chants and Songs Rarely, if ever, Sung on the March and including a glossary of soldiers’ slang). 

It’s a browsable book, or it ought to be. The fact that much of it comprises a reproduction of the original makes it hard to navigate around but that isn’t really a problem. It just means you have to scroll through rather than jump about via links or the Go To function. It didn’t matter. It was a book I got lost in, and in the best possible way. 

Both the original and the modern introduction are enlightening, but the real value comes from the words the soldiers themselves use — a combination of knowingness and naivety and a view of life from both male and female perspectives and most definitely one from the trenches rather than the ocean wave. (“Never trust a sailor/an inch above your knee” runs one song.)

I was left both informed and moved by this book, and it’s one I shall definitely keep going back to. 

The Corpse Played Dead by Georgina Clarke: a Book Review

Well, this was different. And I mean that in a good way. 

Georgina Clarke’s The Corpse Played Dead is set in Regency London and begins with notorious prostitute Lizzie Hardwick on the way to the theatre, dressed up in her finery, travelling the streets in company of her employer and to the jeers of the crowd — because Lizzie is a woman who (in a previous book in the series) sent a murderer to the gallows and he died cursing her. What a start! 

This is  the second in the Lizzie Hardwick series and I came to it without having read the first, but didn’t need to know the earlier story to become completely consumed by this one. Lizzie’s previous involvement in crime has brought her to the attention of the Bow Street Runners (the police). When strange and violent happenings begin to occur at the Garrick Theatre she’s persuaded to trade her trade (so to speak) for more honest employment as a seamstress at the theatre in order to find out who is prepared to commit murder to ruin theatre manager and impresario David Garrick — and why. 

This was a terrific story, and Lizzie is a terrific lead. The supporting characters are all terrific, too (I particularly enjoyed the public love-ins and private bitching that characterised both Lizzie’s relationship with her co-workers and those of the actors). And Lizzie’s slow-burn relationship with the handsome, austere and disapproving law officer Will Davenport is one that’s captured me early on and is, I hope, going to keep me engaged for some time yet. 

This is by no means the first book of this period that I’ve read with a theatrical setting, but nevertheless I liked the original take on the more traditional regency novel, with the heroine a straight-up honest and open prostitute rather than a slandered and maligned woman of better quality. It meant that her relationship with Will is problematic and, I think, her feelings about herself, too. 

It was nicely written, beautifully set and a page-turner. What more could you ask? 

Thanks to Netgalley and Canelo for a copy of this book in return for an honest review. 

The Bistro by Watersmeet Bridge: Book Review

Sometime — just sometimes — a book comes along that’s as warming as a cup of hot chocolate in a snowstorm, a feelgood read in what seems like an increasingly crazy world. Julie Stock’s latest contemporary romance novel, The Bistro by Watersmeet Bridge, is one of those books. 

So the caveats. It isn’t twisty or shocking or chilling. It’s a romance, which means you’re not going to be surprised by the ending and it doesn’t have plot twists that will catch you in the solar plexus. It isn’t literary (in the sense that you lie awake half the night wondering what it means or if you’ve missed something). But as for what it is…it’s a stonking great cuddle of a book, and I adored it. 

So, the plot. Finn’s bistro in a Devonshire village is in deep trouble and his only option is to sell. When he’s made an offer by Fuller’s, the restaurant chain, on the basis that he remains as chef but a new manager comes in, he has to accept. 

The new manager turns out to be Olivia Fuller, daughter of the chain’s founder, who’s been given Finn’s bistro as a project by her father and is determined to make it a success. Finn, naturally enough, resents the new manager though he finds her attractive, and all sorts of different sparks begin to fly. Just as everything starts to look rosy, the commercial world gets ugly and Finn and Olivia are left with a fight to save their bistro. 

I really loved it. Julie Stock creates believable, engaging characters and places them in realistic and testing situations, so that I found myself rooting for both Finn and Olivia — and, of course, the bistro. Time simply flew by while I was reading it and though it wasn’t a page turner in the traditional sense (I didn’t have to keep reading to know what happened next) I was totally absorbed  from page 1. 

Book Review: Without Her by Rosalind Brackenbury

Rosalind Brackenbury’s Without Her is a thoughtful and beautifully-written piece of women’s fiction.  Claudia is living in America where she’s approaching retirement from her job as a lecturer in film studies when she learns that her lifelong friend, Hannah, (the Her of the title) has gone missing. Claudia drops everything to fly to the south of France where Hannah’s husband, Philip, is waiting at the family holiday home for Hannah to turn up. The story is slender in terms of action but that doesn’t matter. It’s many-layered and thought-provoking, picking up on themes of social obligation, of sacrifice, of control over one’s own life. Claudia is the narrator and as she and Philip wait to see whether Hannah (who has something of a history of disappearing and reappearing) will turn up, she reviews their friendship and their fallouts, the things they did together and the things that kept them apart. 

The writing is terrific. I could feel the heat of the summer sun on the back of my neck and smell the lavender; I could sense Claudia’s emotions and feel the tension as concerns for Hannah’s welfare began to rise. The problem for me, though, was that no matter how well the book was written and constructed I didn’t enjoy it as much as it probably merited. 

The reason? I really, really didn’t warm to any of the characters, with the possible exception of Philip. Hannah was positively dislikable, an attention-seeking diva who put her nearest and dearest through stress and misery in the name of her own self-obsession, and all of those people she hurt seemed to adore her all the more because of it. The end of the book raised questions that I should have been more interested in answering than I was, but when it got to the end I’m afraid I really wasn’t invested enough to care what happened to Hannah. 

It’ a shame, because it’s otherwise an excellent book, highly accomplished. But I’m afraid I really, really wasn’t engaged enough to give it five stars. 

Thanks to Netgalley and Dreamscape Media for a copy of this book in return for an honest review. 

Book Review: Murder at Whitby Abbey by Cassandra Clark

Dark Age monastic thrillers have been around for a while, ever since the days of Brother Cadfael (and possibly before) and while I wouldn't say I’m an insatiable fan, I dod enjoy them. Cassandra Clark’s Murder at Whitby Abbey, is the first I’ve met featuring a nun, and i have to say I thoroughly enjoyed it. 

Sister Hildegard of Meaux is sent with a young monk and two seasoned older monks (veterans of the Crusades and so termed “monks militant”) to Whitby Abbey to bid for a holy relic, a lock of hair purporting to be that of St Hilda of Whitby. When the quartet they discover a monastery at increasingly violent odds with the local townsfolk, three other contenders for the ownership of the relic — and a mysterious death. The death turns out to be murder — but who killed Brother Aelwyn and why? Hildegard and her companions are determined to find out. 

The book was a slow starter and in places I found it confusing, but once the pace picked up it turned into a really gripping read, with moments of heart-stopping fear as Hildegard  faced not only an unknown adversary determined to stop her unmasking the murderer, but also risks to her own virtue in a world where being a nun was no guarantee of respect. 

Set in the late fourteenth century against the background of raucous Christmas revels and rising civil unrest, the book is full of local colour. What made it for me, though, was the characters. Hildegard is no saint, a real woman paying penance for past misdemeanours; devout Luke falls in love with a prostitute; and the two monks militant, Egbert and Gregory, were action heroes of a most unusual type. (I confess: I think I possibly fell a little bit in love with them both.) 

Though it’s the tenth in the series and I haven’t read any others (though I now will) it worked fine for me. Apart from the slow start I thought it was a terrific read and the conclusion was both clever and satisfying. 

Thanks to Netgalley and Severn House for a copy of this book in return for an honest review.

Book Review: The Particular Charm of Miss Jane Austen by Ada Bright and Cass Grafton

Hmmm. Maybe I should start with a disclaimer. While I quite enjoy Jane Austen I wouldn’t class myself as her biggest fan, though I read a lot around the period. Bearing that in mind I approached Cass Grafton and Ada Bright’s The Particular Charm of Miss Jane Austen with an open mind.

It’s a time-slip novel, cleverly plotted (perhaps too cleverly as there were a few places where I got confused) and engagingly written. The story is one in which Austen fan Rose, participating in a Jane Austen festival in her home town of Bath, meets a stranger who turns out to be Jane Austen herself, trapped in the present day. Rose’s task is to get Jane back so that the world won’t be deprived of the books she will one day write.

I enjoyed a lot about this book but for me there was fundamental weakness and that was the utter desperation with which Rose felt she had to return Jane to her own time so that she could write all those books. The authors set this up as if they were Saving The World but to me that felt slightly silly as (gulp) I can’t help feeling we would all have survived without Miss Austen’s existing six novels, just as we’ve survived without all the ones she might have written if she hadn’t died young.  

In theory not being a huge fan shouldn’t be a problem as one would expect a book to have a wider appeal than just the die-hard fans. (I’m not a great Charles Dickens fan either, for example, but I’ve recently enjoyed books which feature him as a character). The problem was that I felt rather as if I was on the outside looking in, invited to a party where I know a few people but they all know everyone else better and want to talk in detail about mutual (to them) acquaintances whose names I barely know. I feel a bit churlish saying this but I did feel the significance of some of the plot passed me by. 

A lot of it was very clever, though. I loved the parallel worlds, with and without Jane, in which Rose is confronted with the person she would have been if her interest in the Austen novels and their author hadn’t existed. Her online friendship with American girl Morgan, over in Bath for the festival, would never have existed and in particular I was taken with the dilemma in the romance which was failing for Rose’s in the world with Jane’s writing blossomed in the world without it — a clever touch which genuinely had me struggling to see who it would be resolved. 

I did enjoy this book, as I say, and any Austen fan will surely love it. It’s not the authors’ fault it didn’t quite touch my heart in the way I would have liked. 

Thanks to Netgalley and Canelo for a copy of this book in return for an honest review.

Book Review: A Dream of Italy by Nicky Pellegrino

Sometimes a book just hits the spot and Nicky Pellegrino’s A Dream of Italy did just that. Good books — even great books — don’t work for every reader and I confess I’m a bit picky, but I thought this book was utterly fabulous. 

It’s set in the small, declining village of Montenello in southern Italy where the mayor, Salvio — young, handsome, single and with a matchmaking mamma at his back — decides that the way to attract new blood is to offer some of the derelict properties to foreigners for a Euro apiece on condition they renovate them. The first three properties sold bring very different newcomers to the village. Divorcee Mimi is looking for a new start; Elise applied for the project with boyfriend Richard but carries on alone after their relationship breaks up; and middle-aged couple Edward and Gino are struggling with what they both want from their relationship.

Nicky Pellegrino weaves together these diverse characters and the village locals to create and intriguing and uplifting tapestry. As I read I felt the sun on my skin and the sweet sugar blast of cake from the pasticceria on my tongue; I saw the vivid colours of the deep Italian south and heard the lilt of the accents. 

All of the characters were well-drawn, believable and appealing and their stories drew me in, individually and collectively. As their stories progressed and Salvio’s dream of a revived Montenello (not to mention his mother’s dream of a daughter-in-law) met with bumps in the road, I became entirely absorbed in this new and entrancing world. 

It’s rare that I rave about a book quite as completely and maybe another reader will spot flaws in it. If there are any, I don’t care. It swept me along and I kept reading until it was done. A lovely, lovely read. 

Thanks to Orion and Netgalley for an advance copy of this book in return for an honest review. 

Book Review: The Reversible Mask by Loretta Goldberg

I have to say straight out: Loretta Goldberg’s The Reversible Mask is one of the best-written books I’ve read for a very long time. 

It’s billed as a historical mystery but it’s much more than that, the journey of a soul in troubled times. Edward Latham is a Catholic at the court of Queen Elizabeth I but, unable to reconcile his beliefs with his service at court, he flees to Scotland to offer his service to (Catholic) Queen Mary. But Scotland is as unstable as England is unsafe and it’s only the beginning of Edward’s adventures. 

As he careers around Europe in the service of various Catholic powers we learn about his life and his loves, his good side and his bad. The portrayal of the battles between his heart and his head, his faith versus his inherent allegiance to his country, all make for a sensitive and, in the end, compelling portrayal. 

I say “in the end” because this book isn’t without its weaknesses and the middle section seemed to drag for me, to the extent that I almost gave up on the book. It was a section where Edward is in Constantinople pursuing information on the Ottoman Empire’s trade policies, and while this isn’t quite as dull as it sounds it’s certainly a section where there’s relatively little action. The main part of it is Edward’s romantic adventure with the man who seems the love of his life, but the section is too long a lull in what’s otherwise an action story. (There is an scene where Edward and his servant disguise themselves as a camel, but that was all the action, and I found it more than a little unbelievable).

I feel a bit mean criticising the book in this way, especially given that Goldberg’s writing is so deliciously inventive and luxuriant, but the best books marry plot, pace and character in the perfect balance and for me this book didn’t quite deliver in this respect. It’s definitely one I’d recommend, though. 

Thanks to Netgalley and Madeglobal Publishing for a copy of this book in return for an honest review. 

Book Review: Churches and Churchyards of England and Wales by Richard Hayman

 Churches are such a fixture of the English and Welsh countryside that I barely pay them much attention, though if I find myself in a town or village with half an hour to spare I usually take a wee wander around a churchyard. In truth, I really haven’t had much of an understanding of how and when these buildings developed, and the social and cultural contexts within which they are built. 

Richard Hayman’s Churches and Churchyards of England and Wales has changed that. The book is split into sections — on the churchyard, the exterior, the interior and so on —  and for each takes the reader from the earliest churches to more modern times, pointing out different styles, different features to look out for and describing the background to the evolution of the churches as we see them today.

I thoroughly enjoyed it. It’s a well-illustrated treasury of knowledge, slotting a lot of new information into the framework of the little I did know about the subject. There was a lot to take in and it’s something I’ll definitely go back to, dipping in and out of it as a source of information. It’s well-laid out, easy to read and has a short but useful section at the back which points the reader towards some of the best places to see some of the features illustrated in the book.  

All in all, strongly recommended for anyone with even a passing interest in church history. 

Thanks to Netgalley and Shire Publications for an advance copy in return for an honest review. 

Book review: The Time For Murder is Meow by T. C. LoTempio

TC LoTempio’s The Time For Murder is Meow belongs firmly (or should that be furmly?) in what I’m beginning to recognise as a popular subgenre in crime — the cosy small-town murder mystery with cats. Who knew something like that would take off? But it has — and yes, though I think you can have too much of a good thing, I read it and will continue to do so. 

The Time For Murder is Meow is the first in a series in which actress Shell McMillan takes over her aunt’s pet shop after losing her role in a major TV series. Arriving in small-town New England, Shell finds herself at the centre of a lot of small-town small-mindedness, and it all ends in murder. 

I enjoyed this book, but only up to a point. It galloped along at a cracking pace (possibly too quickly to be realistic, but I don’t imagine that really matters). I did have some problems with it. I found the whole premise of the plot, which was based around the local museum’s decision not to display Shell’s aunt’s collection of theatre and cinema posters, very slender, and when further secrets were dug up they didn’t really provide a convincing motive for murder either. 

When I think about that I wonder if it’s because the characters didn’t quite convince me. Other than Shell and her partner-in-crime (and former costar) Gary, they really weren’t very well developed and the potential bad guys tended to merge into one another. The effect of that was that I didn’t really engage with much of the plot and the whole murder side of it felt like much ado about nothing. And, dare I say it, the cats weren’t particularly appealing characters either. (Sorry!) 

I did find Shell’s attraction to (and flirtation with) the handsome detective Josh to be a little different and, the local colour was greatly entertaining. The problem, I think, is that I found this subgenre has been so much better done by others (specifically Lilian Jackson Braun).

Nevertheless it was a pacy and an entertaining read, and anyone who enjoyed Braun’s The Cat Who… series will probably enjoy this one, too. 

Thanks to Netgalley and Midnight Ink for a copy of this book in return for an honest review. 

Murder at Morrington Hall by Clara McKenna: Review

I love a good mystery, especially a good murder mystery. I love a good historical novel. And I love a good romance. Clara McKenna’s Murder at Morrington Hall promises all three. It’s 1905 and American heiress Stella accompanies her father to attend a wedding in the south of England only to discover that she’s the intended bride, traded along with her wealth and a prizewinning racecourse for a title. But Stella, being as spirited as the horses, isn’t having any of it — even though Viscount Lyndhurst, her intended, brings a flutter to her heart. And then there’s a murder. 

There’s very little original in fiction, I suppose, which means we judge a book on its execution, and I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It’s a light-hearted romp through a country house setting, perhaps a little light on the characterisation but great fun to read. It was engaging without being riveting and the characters were likeable. There are humorous touches and a couple of points where I laughed out loud. 

The book is the first in a series, which is intriguing because unless something significant happens the romance is effectively concluded (no spoilers but, look, you know whats going to happen). Ms McKenna may surprise me, in future books, though, and actually I’m pretty certain the pairing of Stella and Lyndy is strong enough to stand the test of a happy marriage if that’s what she has planned for them. 

I’m looking forward to reading more in this fun, light-hearted series and finding out what high jinks this entertain gin couple get up to in stuffed-shirted Edwardian England. 

Thanks to Netgalley and Kensington Books for a copy of this book in return for an honest review. 

Plate Tectonics and Great Earthquakes by Lynn Sykes: Book Review

I should say up front. This book didn’t quite do what it said on the tin.

I was expecting Lynn Sykes’s Plate Tectonics and Great Earthquakes to be an accessible reference book. Sykes is an authority on the subject of plate tectonics and as both an undergraduate and a postgraduate student I’d read extensively around his subject, including some of the original papers he references.

The book was principally about Sykes and his works, in what seems to be a new fashion for biographies of eminent scientists. Inevitably, therefore, though it referenced other scientific developments, it wasn’t the overarching work that I envisaged.

It began began promisingly enough, with an outline of how the discipline of plate tectonics evolved, but I did find it bafflingly diffuse, with a lot of detail on some areas of seismology and very little on others, reflecting the aspects on which Sykes worked. In particular, I enjoyed the section about earthquake prediction; but then there were four chapters on earthquakes and nuclear power, much of which was really about engineering and hazard management.

This was interesting enough in its own way, though probably more so for an engineer rather than an Earth scientist, but it really wasn’t what I was looking for in the book.  And then there were the anecdotes about his field trips, or his relationships with his colleagues, which came from nowhere and led nowhere, many of which left me scratching my head about precisely why they were in the book (such as, for example, the sentence about one colleague standing while everyone else remained seated).

It felt a little self-indulgent, as though the author couldn’t quite make his mind up whether it was a reference book or a memoir. I wasn’t sure, either. I enjoyed it, though I think a reader without a reasonable grasp of the subject would have struggled with a lot of the scientific terminology.

Thanks to Netgalley and Columbia University Press for a copy of this book in return for an honest review.

Book Review: The Gentle Art of Tramping by Stephen Graham

Sometimes it’s hard to know what to make of a book. And reading Stephen Graham’s The Gentle Art of Tramping, in which he advises the would-be “tramp” (or long-distance walker, as we’d now describe it) on how to go about their business certainly gave me pause for thought.

Don’t get me wrong. On balance I think I liked it. But the truth is that some book are timeless and some books can become dated, and this is definitely one of the latter. So how do you judge it? As a historical piece, a window into a mindset of the time between the wars? (It was first published in, I think, 1926.) Or with a modern eye, a social conscience that can’t help twitching at some of the post-Imperial, overly-class conscious observations?

Graham makes a clear distinction between types of tramp — there are those like him, middle-class and seeking to escape the rat race, and there are the good-for-nothing hobos who can’t be trusted. (When the former helps himself to an apple from your orchard, by the way, it’s scrounging; when the latter does it it’s theft.) This is the problem I had — that a number of his attitudes and observation made me cringe, as if I’m listening to that old uncle complaining about the old days and how much better they were.

On reflection, though, I’ll judge it for its original intention. It captures a desire for freedom and communing with nature. It’s shaded with the echoes of the First World War, its end less than a decade old, and the restlessness of the new world comes through. It’s very readable and Graham’s whimsical humour appeals as he offers advice on what to take, where to walk and how to avoid getting into trouble in the less salubrious parts of the world.

As a book it describes a wider restlessness, a frustration in which one was “identified by one’s salary or by one’s golf handicap”. For all its occasional crassness (to modern readers at least) I enjoyed it.

Thanks to Bloomsbury and Netgalley for a copy of this book in return for an honest review.

Book Review: The Confessions of Frannie Langton by Sara Collins

Content-wise Sara Collins’s The Confessions of Frannie Langton has just about everything — drama, passion, violence, murder, opiates, illegitimacy, mixed-race relationships (a big no-no in nineteenth century London), lesbianism (ditto) and more. It was a whirling dervish of a journey from Jamaican slave plantations to Newgate Gaol via luxurious London mansions and the whorehouse. 

If I had to pick a single theme from it I couldn’t. It touches on education, on racism, on scientific ethics, on forbidden love, on the oppression of women regardless of their race or class, and on more besides. It’s rich and it’s complex. In summary, the story is that of Frances Langton, mulatto maid to a London couple, on trial for their murder, and the story unwinds through her confession, the story of her life. Frances can’t defend herself because she has no memory of the events that led up to the crime and it’s only by unpicking her life that she comes to understand.

I feel in my head that this is a very good book, but somehow my heart just didn’t buy into it. Perhaps it’s because it’s so complex that it becomes bewildering, or perhaps it’s because I found the central part of it slow. And while the characters were all brilliantly drawn — no, exposed — I didn’t find any of them likeable. Even Frannie herself, a strong woman and a heroine I feel I should be rooting for, was someone I couldn’t quite engage with as much as I wanted to. 

There’s a lot to commend the book. The writing is powerful, though I thought it could have been pared down in certain places, and the scene-setting is lavish, bringing the smell of the burning sugar cane plantation into my nostrils, the sweaty claustrophobia of Newgate prison into my living room. The issues are important. But somehow, for me, the chemistry wasn’t quite there and the whole was less than the sum of its parts.

But don’t be put off. I think it’s a better book than I’m giving it credit for. 

Thanks to Netgalley and Penguin Books for a copy in return for an honest review. 

Book Review: Underland by Robert Macfarlane

There’s no getting away from it: Robert McFarlane’s Underland is a book as rich and complex as the underground world it describes. 

In many ways it’s an extraordinary book, a fascinating exploration of what lies beneath out feet. Some of the world he explores is man-made, some of it is natural; some of it is good and some of it quivering with evil like a Bond villain’s lair. 

“From the vast below-ground mycelial networks by which trees communicate, to the ice-blue depths of glacial moulins, and from North Yorkshire to the Lofoten Islands,” says the blurb, “he traces an uncharted, deep-time voyage. Underland a thrilling new chapter in Macfarlane's long-term exploration of the relations of landscape and the human heart.”

I loved it. I’m a fan of nature writing at the best of times, though sometimes it can be a bit slow. There are a couple of Macfarlane’s other books that I haven’t quite finished — not because they aren’t good but in much the same way as it’s sometimes hard to finish an incredibly rich dessert, so rich that you just can’t manage to eat any more, no matter how much you want to. 

Underland doesn't fall into this trap, largely because the worlds he describes are so powerful in themselves. He visits some worlds I’ve heard of and others I had no idea existed. He looks at cave paintings and the crazy urban life of the explorers of the Parisian catacombs, he goes scrambling down crevasses in melting glaciers and into mines and cave systems. 

There are, admittedly, one or two places where the writing felt a little pretentious and I really wanted him to stop listening to the sound of his own voice and get on with the plot (because although it’s non-fiction it definitely had the power of a story). But overall it’s a compelling read and I would recommend it to anyone. 

Thanks to Netgalley and Penguin Books for a copy of this book in return for an honest review. 

A Hero on Mt St Helens by Melanie Holmes: Book Review

Anyone who has any real interest in volcanoes will know of the cataclysmic eruption of Mt St Helens in 1980. I have a bit more than a passing knowledge as my academic background is one of Earth science, so Melanie Holmes’ A Hero on Mt St Helens is a book that immediately resonated with me.

It’s a biography of David Johnston, a volcanologist with the United States Geological Survey, who happened to be on duty on a ridge overlooking the volcano when it erupted, killing not only Johnston but but fifty-odd other individuals unfortunate enough to be within the danger area (which turned out to be far beyond that which the USGS had forecast).

The book is a biography of Johnston, calling on memories of his friends, writings from his diaries and so on, and in a way it’s a strange book. Johnston, risking his life to monitor the volcano was a hero by chance. A day later, even a few hours later, and someone else would have been in his place. Then I might well be reviewing a biography of someone else entirely.

On that basis you can argue that Johnston wasn’t heroic, but in a way he is Everyman. He represents all of those who take on such a dangerous task to protect us from potential natural hazards, and although much of his life is unremarkable it’s the very ordinariness of his background that helps to show how easily, and by chance, ordinary, dedicated scientists can become heroes. 

In addition to to the minutiae (I would even say trivia) of Johnston’s life, the book contains a wealth of information about Mt St Helens and other volcanoes, about volcanic hazards and the personal stories of other volcanologists.

Because I’ve studied something of the discipline and keep myself up to date on what’s going on in the field, much of this wasn’t new to me. But for anyone who is interested but doesn’t know much about the topic, the story of David Johnston, an accidental hero, is fascinating, informative and in the end, useful. I thoroughly recommend it.

Thanks to Netgalley and the University of Illinois Press for a copy of this book in return for an honest review.

Review: The Forgotten Village by Lorna Cook

Over the Bank Holiday weekend I thoroughly enjoyed reading Lorna Cook’s novel The Forgotten Village. The book is set in the village of Tyneham in Dorset, which was requisitioned during the Second World War and the villagers were evicted, never to return, and has a dual timeline.

One story plays out during the last days of Tyneham as the villagers prepare to move out and Lady Veronica looks to seize her only chance to escape from her violent and brutal husband, Sir Bertie — only to be thwarted at the last minute by the arrival of Bertie’s brother. In the present, newly-single Melissa and handsome celebrity historian Guy meet for the first time on a visit to the forgotten village, find a photograph of the old days and set out to track down the story behind it.

The concept — dual timeline, lost village, past secret unearthed in the present — isn’t original but I did find Lorna Cook’s telling of her tale appealing. The older story had everything. There was drama, there was passion, there was betrayal, there was death, all playing out against the background of war and a sense of impending doom.

The present day story couldn’t hope to match it, and for me the book suffered a little from that, as Melissa and Guy’s tribulations seemed very frivolous compared to those that had gone before. I’m afraid I didn’t really engage with either of them in the way I did with the hapless Lady Veronica and I tended to race through the modern scenes to focus on the compelling story in the past.

The book bills itself as: “the most gripping, heartwrenching page-turner of summer 2019” and I felt that it was overselling itself a little. The way one story overshadowed the other made it feel a little unbalanced: I would have liked a little more action — and drama — in the present. Melissa’s relationship problems passed with little more than a shouting match and a lot of internal agonising while Guy’s (I can’t give detail without spoilers) mostly played out off the page.

So in short, I think I would have liked an added dimension, but I did enjoy the story of Tyneham in the 1940s, so much so that I think it would have made a terrific novel in its own right, with the opportunity for a little more development of the characters involved. That apart, it was most definitely an enjoyable read, well-written and nicely set.

Thanks to Netgalley and Avon for a copy of this book in return for an honest review.

Book Review: Witchcraft and Secret Societies in Rural England by Nigel Pennick

I don’t quite know where to begin with Nigel Pennick’s Witchcraft and Secret Societies in Rural England, except to say that I really enjoyed it. It’s not like any other book I’ve ever read, and I suppose it did have its limitations, but in a bizarre way it was fun and I learned a lot. 

The book’s a bit of a slow starter. It’s almost a quarter of the way through before we actually got to any secret societies and witchcraft, and much of the opening was taken up with a detailed description of the area of eastern England on which the book is focussed. Some might find that frustrating. I didn’t. I found it completely fascinating, and the book took me longer read than it might have done because I was busy looking up all the places in Google Maps. (That’s  good thing, by the way.)

When we got into the meat of the book, it was intriguing. Some might find the rituals of Plough Monday and the secret initiation rituals of the Horsemen, never mind the magic spells of the toadmen, to be irrelevant in this day and age but the book contains a wealth of information on traditional rural ways. 

Two things about it astonished me. The first was how long these traditions persisted in parts of East Anglia — right up until the early part of the last century in some cases — and the second was how many apparently unconnected pieces of knowledge already in my head fell into place as I read. 

If the book lacked anything, it was a slightly more rigorous examination of exactly how the rural witches managed to hoodwink their contemporaries — for example, the author makes a reference to certain substances being used to stop horses in their tracks but doesn’t go into detail — but other than that it was an absorbing and enriching read. I’m not sure it’s the book for everyone, but if you’re interested in traditions then yes…you’ll enjoy it as much as I did.

Thanks to Netgalley and Destiny Books for a copy of this book in return for an honest review. 

Book Review: Wakenhyrst by Michelle Paver

On a long train journey over the weekend I sat down with Michelle Paver’s Wakenhyrst, and I devoured it at one go.

There. That’s probably all you need to know but I feel I ought to make a bit more of an effort to tell you what I loved about it, and the book certainly deserves it. It’s a complex, compelling, dark, twisted, wonderful, readable book.

It’s set in the early part of the twentieth century and it’s the story of Maud, a child when the story begins. Stuck in a house on the edge of the fens with a wealthy but eccentric father, an irritating younger brother (who, being a boy, is granted seniority) and a long-suffering mother whose endless pregnancies almost all seemed destined to end in miscarriage or death, Maud has a grim coming of age.

I quote from the blurb. “When [her father] finds a painted medieval devil in a graveyard, unhallowed forces are awakened. Maud's battle has begun. She must survive a world haunted by witchcraft, the age-old legends of her beloved fen – and the even more nightmarish demons of her father's past.”

There was so much to love about this book. The sinister fenland with its lingering spirits is drawn as a place that would drive anyone mad. Even Maud, a practical young woman, begins to believe in evil things that creep around the corridors of Wake’s End, the house, at night. The characterisation is wonderful, the story telling extraordinary, so that I was drawn into it and just kept reading and reading and reading.

If there was one thing I didn’t like about it, it was the prologue and epilogue that brought the story into the 1960s. Yes, there was information there that tied up the loose ends of the story, but I didn’t feel it was necessary and slightly weakened the whole thing for me. Not much, though, and certainly not enough to stop me recommending it to anyone looking for a darkly satisfying read.

Thanks to Netgalley and Head of Zeus for a copy of this book in return for an honest review.

Book review: The Forest of Wool and Steel by Natsu Miyashita

“You have to strip away all preconceptions” says one of the characters in Natsu Miyashita’s novel The Forest of Wool and Steel, and I tried when I picked up this book. It was an adventure for me at all sorts of levels. I don’t read much Japanese literature — barely any, in fact — and it’s set in the rather arcane world of piano tuning, about which I know nothing. 

And it’s a book in translation, which wouldn’t normally bother me but there were a couple of clumsy turns of phrase which caught me out, and I wasn’t sure how much of this was down to the translator or ho much was the intention of the author — nothing significant, but enough to distract me. (“A celebratory piece to celebrate the happy couple” is one example.

Tomura is deputed one day to take the local piano tuner to deal with the school piano and this sets off a burning ambition within him to become a piano tuner himself. As he works his way through his apprenticeship he learns life lessons to add to his piano tuning — lessons about talent and persistence, humility and failure. And he learns them not just from his colleagues but from his clients, in particular the talented twin pianists Yuni and Katsune. 

Perhaps it was me, but it took a long while to get going. The technical stuff went over my head and the way that every well-tuned piano brought some positivity into the lives of even the most clumsy amateur pianist left me feeling a little inferior. (I too have had a bad piano tuned and I’m afraid I couldn’t hear any of the subtle differences that Miyashita describes. Was that me? Or did I just have an awful piano tuner?)

I enjoyed it, though. It wasn’t a rip-roaring read but eventually I was drawn in to Tomura’s pilgrimage, to his understanding and interpretation of how the forest of wool and steel (the description of the innards of a piano) tied in with his own upbringing. By the end I understood that he’d learned a lot about himself and his soul, and it’s a book I’ll be thinking about for a while to come. 

Thanks to Netgalley and Random House UK for a copy of this book in return for an honest review. 

Murder in Park Lane by Karen Charlton: Book Review

I keep promising myself I’m going to kick my cosy mystery habit and move on to something edgier instead, but somehow I never do. My latest read, Karen Charlton’s Murder in Park Lane, did nothing to make me want to look elsewhere. 

The book is set in London in 1812 and it’s the fifth in a series featuring Inspector Lavender and his sidekick Ned Woods, but it worked very well as a standalone. So many series writers slip up here, but Charlton has it spot on — just the right amount of backstory, enough hints about past mysteries to nudge the reader towards them without leaving you feeling that you’ve missed out, and yet she manages to engage the reader with her recurring characters (though I would guess there are only two detectives, so there’s not a huge amount of room for confusion).

There’s murder afoot, in fashionable Mayfair, where a man has been found mysteriously dead inside a locked room with no murder weapon. This intriguing premise was perhaps solved rather earlier than I would have liked, but the mystery took off nicely, full of twists and turns as people’s secrets were revealed. Lavender and Woods are hot on the trail, though, relentlessly picking their way through the mysteries of the wealthy and the titled, the poor, the moneylenders and the fraudsters until they reach a satisfying conclusion.

For the most part I loved the characterisation, which was neat and anything but cliched, and I laughed out loud at some of the turns in the book (such as the nymphomaniac elderly ladies with an eye for handsome young men). I wasn’t so taken with the subplot of Woods deciding he was overweight and fasting to the detriment of his health, which was something that felt far more like the behaviour of a teenage girl than of a policeman with an adult child. It was so odd that I assumed it must have something to do with the plot, but it didn’t and rather petered out.

That one gripe aside, I thoroughly enjoyed this book and will definitely be going back to read more in the series. 

Thanks to Amazon Publishing UK and Netgalley for a copy of this book in return for an honest review. 

The Beginner's Guide to Beekeeping by Samantha Johnson and Daniel Johnson: Book Review

I’ve always had a bit of a fondness for bees, always wanted to keep them some day. I’m perhaps a little nearer to actually doing so than I ever have been before, but beekeeping is nevertheless an activity about which I know very little. Not nothing — I once went along to a couple of beekeeping trial sessions — but very little.

So of course what I need is a Beginner’s Guide to Beekeeping and Samantha Johnson and Daniel Johnson have written one. And, on the basis of my limited knowledge of the subject, very good it is too.

It isn’t exhaustive by any means, but it fulfils the function of an introduction — really readable, clearly illustrated and easy to understand. It covers all the questions I might have thought to ask and a whole lot of others that hadn’t occurred to me. And it covers everything from what type of bees there are and what they do, right the way through to how to build your own hive and how to produce and market your honey and beeswax.

It’s geared to the American beekeeper, so that a lot of it wasn’t relevant to me (I don’t need to worry about how to protect my hives from black bears, for example, or from temperatures of minus forty, and the regulations where I am will be different from those covered in the book). That didn’t matter. I still found it both interesting and enlightening.

I’ll have to wait a while before I get round to setting up as a beekeeper, if I ever do. But I feel a whole lot more confident about the project than I did before but if my dream becomes reality, this is the book I’ll turn to to start me off.

Thanks to Netgalley and Voyageur Press for a copy of this book in return for an honest review.

A Testament to Murder by Vivian Conroy: Book Review

Oh, thank goodness. The Golden Age of crime fiction is back.

Agatha Christie (people tell me) is passé in these days of gritty crime, but I have a fondness for the gentler, more cerebral crime fiction from the period between the wars. In Vivian Conroy’s A Testament to Murder, the first in a new series featuring retired London detective Jasper, the genre is back with a bang.

The premise upon which the plot rests is as clever and irresistible as any I’ve met. Billionaire Malcolm Bryce-Rutherford is dying and invites a selection of friends and family to spend his final days with him at his chateau on the Riviera. They include his secretary, his business partner and his wife (formerly married to Malcolm himself) and their son; his nephew and his wife. And when they’ve arrived he breaks the news ti them. Each day he will change his will in favour of one of them and that person — unknown — will be heir for twenty-four hours only. He dangles in front of them the temptation to murder. If they kill him on the day they’re the heir they inherit but if the murder is discovered they hang, and if they get it wrong someone else gets all the money.

It’s a fantastic setup, and as the story goes on the characters’ back stories are revelled and it becomes clear that not one of them has a guiltless past. As Malcolm and his lawyer pull the strings the tension begins to mount — and the guests themselves begin to die. Malcolm’s neighbour, retired Metropolitan Police detective Jasper, is enlisted by the local police to see what he can find out.

I thought this was a fabulous book, in the true tradition of the 1920s mystery, from the complicated set-up to the denouement in which Jasper exposes everybody’s secrets, their motives and opportunity, before revealing the killer. Twist after twist in the plot kept me guessing right the way through. I loved it.

Thanks to Canelo and Netgalley for a copy of this book in return for an honest review.

The Stone Circle by Elly Griffiths: Book Review

 Elly Griffiths’ The Stone Circle is the tenth in the series featuring forensic archaeologist Dr Ruth Galloway and DCI Harry Nelson, and the first I’ve read. It’s written in the present tense, which is unusual for a crime novel and something I struggled with for the first part of the book, though when I got used to it it wasn’t a problem. 

The plot centres on the discovery of the remains of a missing girl on an archaeological site in Norfolk — a hangover from a previous unsolved case — and on a series of notes to the investigating team in the style of a previous character who’s now dead. I found myself more than a little confused by the references to what seems to be an earlier book in the series, which is probably what you expect if you come in quite late rather than beginning with book one, but I have a lurking fear that I may have missed a few things as I wasn’t entirely sure of the ins and outs of the previous investigation. 

Griffiths also has a lot of characters and several points of view and it took me a while to keep track of who was who and why they were there, especially given that several of the relationships were extremely complicated with partners and ex-partners, sibling and half-siblings and so on. There’s a short section at the back with mini-biographies of some of the characters and I would have found that really helpful up front (preferably with a few more characters included). 

All of the cast of characters were believable too, though I found Ruth and Nelson’s on-off romance (he’s married with a new baby) a little irritating. In fairness, I suspect that’s also my problem rather than the author’s, because coming in late to the series means I’ve missed a lot of the character development and the back story.

It’s a beautifully written book — at times introspective but I liked that — and its evocation of the landscape of North Norfolk is compelling. These two were the book’s great strengths for me, and I felt transported to the bleak coastal landscape. And although it wasn’t always pacy, the suspense at the end when a baby went missing left me on the edge of my seat.

My gut reaction was that this wasn’t an easy book to read. Is that really a problem? I don’t think so at all — I like a book that rewards effort and this one certainly did. It’s so well done that I would certainly persevere with future books and go back to catch up on earlier ones in the series.

Thanks to Netgalley and Quercus Books for an advance copy of this book in return for an honest review.

In the Night Wood by Dale Bailey: Book Review

I approached Dale Bailey’s gothic thriller, In the Night Wood, much as the protagonist, Charles, approaches the wood of the title — with curiosity and a little apprehension. I’m not normally a reader of gothic fiction but the book appealed and I was ready to take a punt so, like Charles, I stepped off my usual path. 

Unlike Charles I didn’t get lost, and nor was I disappointed. Charles is an American academic with an uncomfortable professional past, a tragic personal life and a guilty secret. He’s also obsessed with a peculiar literary piece from the past, a strange gothic fantasy, and his wife Erin happens to be the last surviving descendant of the author, Caedmon Hollow. When Erin inherits Hollow’s fantastical house and forbidding secret wood, it seems the perfect place to escape the loss of their daughter and the difficulties in their marriage. But of course it isn’t. 

It’s a beautifully-written book, with the descriptions of the tortured wood startling in their intensity. I enjoyed and believed in the characterisation, especially of Charles and Erin, though I couldn’t pretend to like either of them. I could feel for them, though, as they drift apart, tortured by guilt, he driven by his obsession with Caedmon Hollow and she increasingly dependent upon drink and opiates to get through the day. 

In places it slows down, but as they become draw into the strange complications of a past and a present life, the pace picks up as the race is on to save a child’s life and prevent history repeating itself yet again as tragedy. And because it’s gothic, and because it’s a fantasy, and because in places it’s totally weird, it kept me guessing to the very end. That’s a weakness as well as a strength because although the main part of the plot was concluded, I was left without an answer to what felt, to me, like the central theme in the book — Charles and Erin’s relationship. 

Early on the book is heavy with the phrase “once upon a time” and the emphasis on life as a story. But once upon a time implies an ending that tells us, at the very least, whether or not they lived happily ever after. This genre, of course, doesn’t require that, and Dale Bailey acknowledges it in so many words (“maybe if there weren’t really any happily ever afters to our once upon a times…”). But nevertheless I felt that the story was left incomplete. 

That apart, it was a fascinating, if dark, read and I thoroughly enjoyed it. 

Thanks to HarperCollins and Netgalley for an advance copy of In The Night Wood in return for an honest review. 

A Front Page Affair by Rhada Vatsal: Book Review

Anyone who knows me knows I love a cosy mystery. If they know me really well, they might know that the things I like most are complex, engaging characters, a believable setting and a good plot. In this respect, Rhada Vatsal’s A Front Page Affair, partly delivers.

Kitty (real name Capability) Weeks is a New York socialite in the early months of the First World War. Europe is getting deeper into conflagration and America is poised on the edge of war. Kitty, an aspiring journalist with the society pages of a New York newspaper, is sent to cover a party at an uptown country club, only to find herself witness to murder — and of course, she’s determined to track the killer down.

I very much wanted to like this book, and it does have a lot going for it. It has a clever setting and fictional events are cleverly woven in with actual historical ones. The plot was clever, focussing on the diplomatic manoeuvrings around America’s potential entry into the war, and there were twists and turns aplenty, although, if I’m honest, some of them stretched my credibility a little bit too far (no spoilers, but surely no FBI agents would allow a member of the public along on a mission to intercept a killer just because she happened to be interested in the case).

So far, so good, but the element of the book the rather disappointed me was the characterisation. For me, any book has to be driven by the characters. I want to feel engaged by them. I want to care about them. In this book, I didn’t, and the end result was that I felt the whole thing was rather superficial. Characters came and went. There was no depth to them, no complications. Kitty herself was a spoiled rich girl and never really stopped to think about anything, except in passing. The minor characters, too, weren’t clearly drawn in terms of character (describing someone’s external appearance is only part of it) and, for example, all the FBI agents tended to merge into one in my head as I read.

I realise I’m being fussy, here, and other people may look for different things from a book. It’s not a bad book, by any means, but just one that didn’t give me what I’m looking for from a cosy novel. If you want a pacy, light read with a few twists and  lot of fascinating (real-life) background about New York in 1915, then this is definitely your book, even if it wasn’t mine.