Blurb

Sold by her mother. Enslaved in Pompeii’s brothel. Determined to survive. Her name is Amara. Welcome to the Wolf Den…

Amara was once a beloved daughter, until her father’s death plunged her family into penury. Now she is a slave in Pompeii’s infamous brothel, owned by a man she despises. Sharp, clever and resourceful, Amara is forced to hide her talents. For as a she-wolf, her only value lies in the desire she can stir in others.

But Amara’s spirit is far from broken.

By day, she walks the streets with her fellow she-wolves, finding comfort in the laughter and dreams they share. For the streets of Pompeii are alive with opportunity. Out here, even the lowest slave can secure a reversal in fortune. Amara has learnt that everything in this city has its price. But how much is her freedom going to cost her?

Set in Pompeii’s lupanar, The Wolf Den reimagines the lives of women who have long been overlooked.

Review

The Wolf Den was our first pick for the Squadpod Book Club, and I am extremely grateful to Head of Zeus for providing me with a gorgeous hardback copy of the book (complete with bookmark ribbon – one of my very favourite things!) We have had so much fun discussing this brilliant debut – I highly recommend it to book clubs as there is SO much to say!

I am a sucker for a classical setting, and as soon as I heard about this book, I knew it would be right up my street. What I was not expecting was for the novel to feel so fresh and modern, despite being set in ancient Pompeii. The characters, especially the women of the Wolf Den, are so relatable and realistically drawn – they swear and curse and find their own ways of coping with the harsh reality in which they find themselves; they are complex and nuanced and extremely engaging. Even the villains are complicated, and as we get to know the characters better, we learn that no one is quite what they might seem at first.

Amara is a fantastic protagonist, and watching her adapt and do what she needs to do to survive in awful circumstances is fascinating. Her connections to the other characters propel the story along, and her relationship with Dido in particular is beautifully moving. The writing is brilliant – so immediate and immersive. Pompeii comes alive before our eyes, and the descriptions are wonderfully visual, creating a world around the reader.

The novel plunges you into the characters’ world right from the start, and as the story progresses and the action ramps up, it becomes harder and harder to tear yourself away. I read most of the book in two sittings, and it probably would have been one if I’d not had to pause for our lovely book club chat! I am so looking forward to reading the next book in the series and finding out what’s next for Amara and co.

The Wolf Den by Elodie Harper is published by Head of Zeus and is available to purchase here.

Blurb

Five devastating human stories and a dark and moving portrait of Victorian London – the untold lives of the women killed by Jack the Ripper.

Annie, Elizabeth, Catherine and Mary-Jane are famous for the same thing, though they never met. They came from Fleet Street, Knightsbridge, Wolverhampton, Sweden and Wales. They wrote ballads, ran coffee houses, lived on country estates, they breathed ink-dust from printing presses and escaped people-traffickers. What they had in common was the year of their murders: 1888.

The person responsible was never identified, but the character created by the press to fill that gap has become far more famous than any of these five women. For more than a century, newspapers have been keen to tell us that ‘the Ripper’ preyed on prostitutes. Not only is this untrue, as historian Hallie Rubenhold has discovered, it has prevented the real stories of these fascinating women from being told.

Now, in this devastating narrative of five lives, Rubenhold finally sets the record straight, revealing a world not just of Dickens and Queen Victoria, but of poverty, homelessness and rampant misogyny. They died because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time – but their greatest misfortune was to be born a woman.

Review

I haven’t read much non-fiction this year, which is something I need to rectify, so I was pleased when our ‘book club that isn’t a book club’ selected this as our May read. I’ve been wanting to get to The Five for a while, and I was not disappointed.

I really liked the writing style, which felt almost novelistic. Rubenhold writes in a vivid, engaging way, painting a portrait of life in late-nineteenth-century London that takes in all the contrasts and contradictions, the huge disparity between the lives of those who exist practically side-by-side, the shocking hardships experienced by so many. It is really eye-opening, a social history that brings the past to life.

I was so impressed by how the author manages to construct coherent, rounded narratives about these five women based on the often scanty facts that survive. It is always clear where she is conjecturing, and there is a real sense of respect and, at times, protectiveness towards these women. The false narratives that have been perpetuated are meticulously picked apart, and there is a deeper lesson here about how readily we accept the conventional ‘wisdom’ of any given historical event. I especially liked the way that the murderer himself was relegated to little more than a footnote – he does not get to define these women, he is not given space in their stories. It feels right that the shift in focus should be so extreme as to almost cut him out completely.

In reclaiming the lives of Polly, Annie, Elizabeth, Catherine and Mary-Jane, in letting us see them as individuals, and in upending the convenient, lazy labelling of them as ‘prostitutes,’ Rubenhold performs an incredible feat with The Five. It is a remarkable book, and I am so glad I finally read it.

The Five by Hallie Rubenhold is published by Transworld and is available to purchase here.

Blurb

Quiara Alegría Hudes was the sharp-eyed girl on the stairs while her family danced in her grandmother’s tight North Philly kitchen. She was awed by her aunts and uncles and cousins, but haunted by the secrets of the family and the unspoken, untold stories of the barrio–even as she tried to find her own voice in the sea of language around her, written and spoken, English and Spanish, bodies and books, Western art and sacred altars. Her family became her private pantheon, a gathering circle of powerful orisha-like women with tragic real-world wounds, and she vowed to tell their stories–but first she’d have to get off the stairs and join the dance. She’d have to find her language.

Weaving together Hudes’s love of books with the stories of her family, the lessons of North Philly with those of Yale, this is an inspired exploration of home, memory, and belonging–narrated by an obsessed girl who fought to become an artist so she could capture the world she loved in all its wild and delicate beauty.

Review

A big thank you to Matt Clacher and the publisher for sending me a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

I loved everything about this book. It isn’t often that a work of non-fiction grabs me as firmly as a novel, but this memoir is absolutely stunning, and I was fully immersed in Hudes’ story. It is written with openness and honesty, but also, entirely unsurprisingly, with enormous artistry, of the very best kind, because it is subtle and not distracting. The narrative flows seemingly effortlessly, and yet it is carefully woven, creating a sense of progression and discovery that is bound up with Quiara’s journey and her attempts to find a language of her own. It is so clever and meta it hurts, but Hudes’ fearsome intellect is coupled with an incredible story-telling ability that makes this a hugely entertaining book as well as an intelligent and thought-provoking one.

This memoir is so insightful on the struggle to find a voice, to find a language that expresses our true selves in a way that feels authentic. It sent my mind spinning down all sorts of avenues – I have a special fondness for books with Spanish scattered in the text, as I used to be fluent, and learning and speaking it regularly actually changed my thought processes (I miss it so much!). But this isn’t simply about speaking Spanglish or straddling different cultures – this is about a much deeper search for self-expression, when the ‘self’ contains within it all the multitudes of histories and ancestors and stories and new beginnings and false starts and EVERYTHING that makes us US.

The very best books seem to distil all of life – its joys and sorrows, struggles and celebrations, into a kind of heady cocktail, and that is what reading My Broken Language is like – getting drunk on words, imbibing the fizzing, powerful energy of the Perez women, their gods, their messy lives, their fierce love for each other. This book is by turns achingly cool, self-aware, awe-inspiring, curious, sad, funny – it is both a tribute and a testament, a poignant examination of the communal and a deep-dive into a fascinating individual mind. I know this is a book I will be returning to, and I can’t recommend it enough.

My Broken Language by Quiara Alegría Hudes is published by William Collins and is available to purchase here.

Blurb

When Michael Connolly was a child in the 1970s, his mother told him about all the things that happened to her in that place. All that the nuns had done. The doctors encouraged her to talk, and talk she did. She even tried to tell the public. She wrote letters to the newspapers. She made signs and picketed Mass. The good pious parishioners silenced her. The doctors told her she was delusional. Her husband didn’t post her letters. Her son didn’t believe her.

Three decades later, still caught in the guilt from that time, Michael sits watching the news about the mother and baby homes unfolding, and realises, with his mother long gone, that she had been telling the truth all those years ago. Fallen is a stark and beautifully written account of the impact on one family of a shameful chapter in modern Irish history.

Review

Many thanks to Kevin at Bluemoose for sending me a proof copy of Fallen in exchange for an honest review. I have loved everything I’ve read from this wonderful indie publisher, which always makes me ever so slightly nervous, as it sets a very high standard!

Luckily, Mel O’Doherty’s novel is yet another triumph. I could tell from the opening pages that the quality of the prose was outstanding, and the story that unfolds is an incredibly powerful one. This is a heart-breaking book: the horror of what Elaine goes through, and the effect it has on her family, makes for difficult reading at times. It is absolutely shocking to read about what went on in the mother and baby homes, even more so because the structure of the novel cleverly moves backwards in time as well as forwards, so that we are completely emotionally invested in Elaine by the time we see the full, nightmarish reality of the home.

What struck me most about this book is that it is not only an expose of the criminal practices that went on, but it is also a deep exploration of shame and guilt. The fact that Michael and his father, who both love Elaine deeply, betray her by not believing her at the time is so poignant, and the traumatic results for Michael in particular are explored with nuance and subtlety. He can’t simply join in the outcry at the discovery of what really went on – because he had already been told. It’s so tragic and complex and really quite devastating. That moment when the penny drops, when Michael realises what we, as readers, already know – that Elaine wasn’t delusional, that it all happened as she said – is one of the most powerful, affecting moments I’ve read in a novel this year.

By refusing to use the reality of the situation as a ‘plot twist’ for the readers, and instead having us be aware before Michael is that Elaine is telling the truth, O’Doherty avoids ‘shock factor’ tricks and allows for a much more complicated psychological exploration of the effects of trauma on both Elaine and her son. There are also plenty of wonderful characters – John, Michael’s eccentric friend, and Jill, whom Michael admires from afar, both inject some much-needed levity into proceedings, while also providing another perspective on themes such as finding your own path and writing your own story.

Fallen is strikingly original, but it does have shades of other brilliant books I have read. I was reminded of two of my favourite books of last year: The Truth Must Dazzle Gradually by Helen Cullen, and The Sound Mirror by Heidi James (also published by Bluemoose). If you loved either of these books, then Fallen will be for you. It is a tough read in terms of its subject matter, but the way it is written and structured is exquisite, and I highly recommend this profound, intelligent, beautiful book.

Fallen by Mel O’Doherty is published by Bluemoose Books and is available to purchase directly from the publishers here.

Blurb

Come of age in the credit crunch. Be civil in a hostile environment. Step out into a world of Go Home vans. Go to Oxbridge, get an education, start a career. Do all the right things. Buy a flat. Buy art. Buy a sort of happiness. But above all, keep your head down. Keep quiet. And keep going.

The narrator of Assembly is a Black British woman. She is preparing to attend a lavish garden party at her boyfriend’s family estate, set deep in the English countryside. At the same time, she is considering the carefully assembled pieces of herself. As the minutes tick down and the future beckons, she can’t escape the question: is it time to take it all apart?

Assembly is a story about the stories we live within – those of race and class, safety and freedom, winners and losers. And it is about one woman daring to take control of her own story, even at the cost of her life.

Review

Thanks so much to Alexia at Penguin UK for sending me a proof copy of Assembly in exchange for an honest review. The back cover is littered with praise from writers I deeply admire, like Bernardine Evaristo, Olivia Sudjic and Diana Evans, and I’d seen Book Twitter folk whose opinion I really value raving about it, so I was expecting this to be good.

Still, I’m not sure anything could have prepared me for just HOW good this book is. The physical book itself is very slim; the chapters are short and often experimental in form, sometimes approaching poetry, and the total word count must be pretty low. But Brown makes EVERY SINGLE WORD count. I’ve been reading flash fiction recently, and there is a hint of that here – the absolute precision of pared down prose, of making each word work to earn its place in the text. It is an astonishing feat, really, because you finish Assembly feeling as if you’ve been absorbed in a much longer work. I need to read it a few more times to work out exactly how she does it, as at the moment the method behind the brilliance is beyond my skills to articulate. You’ll just have to read it for yourselves!

The sharp, meticulous layering of theme and structure creates a work that feels utterly fresh, utterly new. As the narrator digs deep into the ugly heart of British society, as her own experiences of prejudice and racism are revealed, there is a strong sense of forging a new path, of picking apart the hierarchies and traditions, both societal and literary, in order to expose the possibility of something different. It is confronting and angry and brilliant, and the personal decisions she comes to seem both shocking and somehow inevitable.

This is a book that demands to be reread, to be treated with respect, to be paid attention. I am certainly going to revisit it, and marvel again at its razor-edged prose and defiantly original structure. I’d go so far as to say: you NEED to read this book.

Assembly by Natasha Brown is published by Hamish Hamilton and is available to purchase here.

Blurb

Gold Fury is a short novella of flash fiction, tracing twenty moments in the journey of a stolen car as it moves through the criminal landscape of a rural town.

It was shortlisted for the Bath novella-in-flash award 2020.

“They guy told me to run and not look back, and he had a gun.”

“Yes, that’s all I know. I already told you what he looked like.”

“Yes, that’s my car, a gold Plymouth Fury 1970.”

“Why would you be looking through my letters? It’s my personal property. It had nothing to do with what happened.”

“I wasn’t trying to blackmail anyone.”

NO ONE RUNS FOREVER.

Review

I am a big admirer of flash fiction, and anyone who can write it well. It is such a skill. I recently reviewed Laura Besley’s micro fiction collection, 100neHundred, which put me in the mood to explore more of this form, so I was thrilled to be offered a copy of Kieren Westwood’s novella-in-flash in exchange for an honest review.

Gold Fury is a short but thoroughly immersive read. The flashes work brilliantly to slowly build up a picture of the various strands of the story, and there is a strongly visual sense created by the vignette-like sections. It reminded me very strongly of series like Fargo and True Detective, in which the careful set-up and framing of each striking shot is just as important as what is actually happening on screen. The crime anthology feel works really well, and although the plot is murky and elusive at first, this only serves to add to the tension and the focus on the intensity of the language.

Good flash fiction is an almost poetic thing, a microscopic examination of the power of words, used sparingly and to maximum effect. Westwood excels at eking out the full meaning of each sentence, creating an intense experience, so that even characters we only spend a page or two with have an impact. Diane in her jewellery store, looking out at the “gold junkmobile” on the car transporter; Harley calling half-heartedly after his dog then settling down to watch the news and trying to convince himself he’s just a “tired old man” imagining things – all these small moments in amongst the bigger, more dramatic events of cop chases and police station raids and car crashes are what elevates Gold Fury, what makes it seem real and human and honest as well as being a fast-paced crime drama.

I am completely unsurprised that Gold Fury was short-listed for the Bath Novella-in-Flash Award last year – it is compelling and immersive, wry and clever, and I thoroughly recommend it to anyone who wants to try something a bit different. If you’re a fan of the shows I mentioned, I think you’d really enjoy this, as would anyone wanting to explore the bright, brilliant world of flash fiction.

Gold Fury by Kieren Westwood is out now and is available to purchase here.

Blurb

Ida is a forty-year-old architect, single and struggling with the feeling of panic as she realises her chances of motherhood are rapidly falling away from her. She’s navigating Tinder and contemplating freezing her eggs – but tries to put a pause on these worries as she heads out to the family country cabin for her mother’s 65th birthday. That is, until some supposedly wonderful news from her sister sets old tensions simmering, building to an almighty clash between Ida and her sister, her mother, and her entire family. Exhilarating, funny, and unexpectedly devastating, Grown Ups gets up close and personal with a dysfunctional modern family.

Review

I’m a big fan of translated fiction, but I haven’t read much Norwegian fiction at all, except for Vidgis Hjorth’s excellent book Long Live the Post Horn! – so I was intrigued by Grown Ups and delighted to be offered a spot on the blog tour. Many thanks to Tara at Pushkin Press for providing me with a proof copy in exchange for an honest review.

This is a slim book, but it packs a real punch. It is both funny and really unnerving, so close to the bone that it feels dangerously exposing. I have rarely read a book in which the family dynamics at play feel quite so hostile and tense without it tipping over into a full-blown thriller. The relationship between Ida and her sister is frequently uncomfortable to read, but it is horribly accurate on the way we needle those close to us, pressing the most sensitive nerves because we have intimate knowledge of where they are. The knowledge that a family member carries, especially a sibling, is a potential incendiary device: all that history simmers just under the surface. It’s horrifyingly and fascinatingly realistic to watch the sisters poking each other with their sharpened words.

Ida is a hypnotic protagonist. She’s not likeable, which is refreshing (I’ve talked before about how we need more unlikeable female protagonists!) but it is possible to sympathise with her situation as she wrestles with the ticking of her damn biological clock, and the sense of time passing her by before she has really worked out what she wants from life. She is a really interesting mix of cynicism and naivety – she veers from childish behaviour to trying to keep everything together, and I found my feelings towards her changed moment to moment. Sometimes I just wanted to shake her and tell her to behave – other times I was completely on her side. When your emotions are so highly activated by a character, you know the book is a good one!

This is a brave, sometimes shocking novel, which ramps up the tension in subtle ways until by the end you really do feel that anything could happen. The vivid present tense and the careful descriptions of the family meals and evening drinking sessions at the cabin create an immersive reading experience, and I finished the book feeling as if I had been more than just an observer of this incredibly complicated family holiday. Intelligent, angry, uncomfortable and at times almost unbearably tense, this is a brilliant book that I highly recommend, and I look forward to reading more of the author’s work.

Grown Ups by Marie Aubert translated by Rosie Hedger is published by Pushkin Press and is available to purchase here.

Even before discovering Book Twitter and the world of Book Blogging, I would usually set myself a TBR and stick to it, working my way through a list of books more or less in the order I’d written them down, sometimes months before. I’ve had yearly TBRs before that I have hardly deviated from.

But now, the way I read is changing. Now, more and more, I find that setting myself a list of books to read makes me chafe against the restriction, artificial and self-created as it is. Part of it is petty rebellion, wanting to be a bit ‘naughty’ and not follow the rules (sadly this is about as rebellious as I get these days!) but there is also something else going on.

I am becoming, slowly but surely, much more of a mood reader. Having studied literature at university, I got used to having set book lists and plodding my way through them methodically, and I guess I got stuck in that habit for a long time. I used to finish every book I started, dutifully, even if I wasn’t enjoying it. These days, I am much more likely to put a book down and pick up something else if it isn’t doing it for me. Sometimes it’s just a case of the wrong time, and I can come back to it later and enjoy it more. Sometimes the book just isn’t for me – and I’m learning to be okay with that.

There is, of course, the issue of books that NEED reading by a certain time – blog tour books, ARCs kindly provided by lovely publishers and publicists, author requests that make me feel very guilty if I leave them for months (it does happen, and I do apologise – I WILL get to them!). I have had to cut down on blog tours in order to accommodate my changing reading habits – I will always try and meet my commitments, I just need fewer of them at the moment.

What it boils down to is that I don’t want to feel obligated to read a book – I want to really, really fancy reading it. I think I’m having a sort of reaction against being so prescriptive with my reading for so long, and I reckon it will balance out again soon, so I will keep my hand in with the tours and so on, but for now, I am also going to let myself enjoy this new, freer way of reading.

I’d love to know your thoughts on this – do you set yourself a monthly TBR? Or are you a mood reader? If you take part in tours and read advanced copies, how do you stop it from feeling prescriptive and keep the sense of the fun of reading alive?

I have managed to read 13 books in May (including finishing off my reread of LOTR), and I have honestly enjoyed them all. There have been some real stand-outs this month, and plenty that are likely to end up on my Top Reads of 2021 list! Here’s a quick summary, with links to my full reviews where relevant.

Mrs Death Misses Death by Salena Godden (2021)

Mrs Death Misses Death is such a special book. I think it is one of those works that will mean different things to different people – it is a generous book that leaves space for the reader, as well as being a linguistically dazzling novel that pushes the boundaries of the form. You can read my full review here.

Fridge by Emma Zadow (2021)

The first playscript I have reviewed on my blog! Fridge is an original, engaging work, and reading it was almost as good as visiting the theatre! You can read my full review here.

Yes Yes More More by Anna Wood (2021)

I absolutely loved this vibrant, joyful short story collection – it is bright and bold and full of energy. I highly recommend getting your hands on this one. My full review of this brilliant book is here.

The Lamplighters by Emma Stonex (2021)

I’m so pleased I managed to make time for this gorgeous book this month. It’s not only a physical thing of beauty, it also combines stunning prose with a gripping story, making for an almost perfect reading experience. I highly recommend it! My full review of The Lamplighters is here.

Mrs Narwhal’s Diary by S.J. Norbury (2021)

This is a lovely, gentle book, full of humour and surprisingly poignant truths, especially about the nature of long term relationships. And Rose is a new favourite character of mine! My full review is here.

100neHundred by Laura Besley (2021)

This is a stunning micro-fiction collection – each story is exactly 100 words long, and these bite-sized pieces back a real punch! The whole spectrum of human emotion is represented. A wonderful book. My review is here.

Catch The Rabbit by Lana Bastasic (2021)

I was blown away by this fiercely original novel, which has been translated into English by the author. You NEED to meet Sara and Lejla! You can read my full thoughts on this brilliant book here.

Still Life by Sarah Winman (2021)

I knew I was going to love this book, and I was not disappointed for a second. Still Life is going to be right up there with my top reads of 2021. Don’t miss it! My full review of this gorgeous book is here.

The Five by Hallie Rubenhold (2019)

I read this book along with our ‘book club that isn’t a book club’ – I’d been meaning to get around to it for a while, so it was great to finally find an excuse. It is a staggering piece of non-fiction, reclaiming the narrative for the victims of Jack the Ripper, recreating their stories and shining a light on the brutal choices they faced as women in an unforgiving era. I’ll hopefully get a full review of The Five up soon.

The Big Four by Agatha Christie (1927)

I’m working my way through the Poirot books, along with some friends from The Write Reads, and it was nice to return to a novel after last month’s short stories. I enjoyed The Big Four – there was a surprising ‘international man of mystery’ vibe that I haven’t come across in the Poirot novels yet, and I liked the global conspiracy aspect! Hastings really does annoy me, though, his poor wife! Lots of fun reading this one, looking forward to the next installment!

The Stranding by Kate Sawyer (2021)

This is SUCH a good book – I read it in one sitting, and absolutely loved it. Original, moving, unexpected, and above all, beautifully written. Definitely one to pre-order. You can read my full review here.

Gold Fury by Kieren Westwood (2020)

My second flash fiction book of the month, Gold Fury is a wonderful novella-in-flash that has a True Detective/Fargo type vibe, taking you on a whirlwind journey as the pieces of various criminal activities gradually slot together. I’ll have a full review up on the blog this week – look out for it!

The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien (1954)

I’ve been rereading this along with some friends from The Write Reads, and I have finally finished! It has been an utter joy to revisit Middle Earth. The sheer scope of Tolkien’s imagination never ceases to astound me. We’ve buddy-watched the first two films, as well, and I am looking forward to finishing up with the film of The Return of the King!

It really has been a cracking month for reading. I’ve felt as if I’ve been on a winning streak, with cracking read after cracking read, and it has been really nice to be a bit more flexible and mood read more than I usually do. I hope you’ve had a great reading month, too – do let me know what you’ve enjoyed this month!

Happy reading!

Ellie x

Blurb

HER WORLD FELL TO PIECES.

FROM THE BONES SHE BUILT A NEW LIFE.

Ruth lives in the heart of the city. Working, drinking, falling in love: the rhythm of her vivid and complicated life is set against a background hum of darkening news reports from which she deliberately turns away.

When a new romance becomes claustrophobic, Ruth chooses to leave behind the failing relationship, but also her beloved friends and family, and travels to the other side of the world in pursuit of her dream life working with whales in New Zealand.

But when Ruth arrives, the news cycle she has been ignoring for so long is now the new reality. Far from home and with no real hope of survival, she finds herself climbing into the mouth of a beached whale alongside a stranger. When she emerges, it is to a landscape that bears no relation to the world they knew before.

When all has been razed to the ground, what does it mean to build a life?

The Stranding is a story about the hope that can remain even when the world is changed beyond recognition.

Review

Since I first heard about this book, I’ve had a feeling it was one for me. I was thrilled, therefore, to win a proof copy on Twitter, and since this month I’ve been trying to do more ‘mood reading’ and be less rigid about my TBR, when I got the urge to read The Stranding, I happily indulged myself.

I was not disappointed. This is a gloriously original book, a story that takes you on a proper journey, that immerses you in its characters and language and its wonderfully compelling dual structure. I read it in one sitting, staying up far too late, and I regret nothing.

There are a lot of clever things about this book. It is unexpected in a lot of ways – from the intense contrast between Ruth’s Before life in London and her life on the beach in New Zealand with Nik, highlighted by the alternating chapters, to the way Ruth is presented as a character. She is great – she’s flawed and indecisive and she makes mistakes, she’s so real and vivid, even a more conventional narrative with her at the centre going about her life and struggling to work out what she wants would be well worth reading. There is a lot going on in London, with (horrible) Alex’s gaslighting of Ruth, her own inability to be honest in her relationships and friendships, her itchy feet and longing to escape. But Sawyer offers us SO much more than this – the horrific global incident that changes everything is also a catalyst for a new way of life for Ruth, and the story mode changes from contemporary woman-in-the-city to something much more profound, apocryphal even. I was deeply moved by the New Zealand-set sections of the book, all the more so because of how skilfully they are interwoven with the more conventional narrative. It is just so well done.

I can’t bang on too much about my favourite characters and scenes, because a lot of the joy is in discovering these for yourself as you read, and I am not about to spoil this gorgeous book for anyone. I’ll content myself with saying that as the story progressed, I became more and more attached to the characters, more invested in their future, to the point where the closing pages were an extremely emotional experience. Sawyer writes beautifully, and has an uncanny ability to marry humour with wisdom, levity with truth. There are powerful symbols and almost biblical overtones in some of the passages, but it is all delivered with a leavening touch of down-to-earthness (I think the Kiwi slang helps a lot with this!). At times I was reminded of Lucy Irvine’s non-fiction book Castaway, which I read years ago, but which really stayed with me as a vivid portrayal of what survival means on a day to day basis; everything about Ruth and Nik’s struggle to survive feels absolutely authentic and real.

There is a resonance to this story that really touched me – although not (quite) comparable to the apocalypse, this past year has been hard on all of us, and I think there has been, for some of us, a reassessment of what is really important. This may sound trite, but in my own life this has had very real consequences in terms of the decisions we’ve made as a family recently, and something in The Stranding really struck a chord with me. The pandemic has not stripped away the trappings of our lives to such a dramatic extent as the disaster that befalls the characters in Sawyer’s book, but maybe it has taught some of us to re-examine our priorities. There is nothing didactic about this novel, but I think there is a gentle, beautiful lesson in it, about family, about love, and about nature.

The Stranding by Kate Sawyer is out on 24th June from Coronet Books and is available to pre-order here.