Blurb

“Your problem is you have a Russian soul,” Anna’s mother tells her. In 1980, Anna is a naïve UConn senior studying abroad in Moscow at the height of the Cold War—and a second-generation Russian Jew raised on a calamitous family history of abandonment, Czarist-era pogroms, and Soviet-style terror. As Anna dodges date rapists, KGB agents, and smooth-talking black marketeers while navigating an alien culture for the first time, she must come to terms with the aspects of the past that haunt her own life. With its intricate insight into the everyday rhythms of an almost forgotten way of life in Brezhnev’s Soviet Union, Forget Russia is a disquieting multi-generational epic about coming of age, forgotten history, and the loss of innocence in all of its forms.  

Review

First of all, I want to say a massive thank you to the author, who reached out via my blog to see if I would be interested in reviewing her book. Lisa had taken the time to read my blog, noticed my enthusiasm for Molly Gartland’s wonderful debut novel, The Girl From The Hermitage, and on the basis of that, thought that Forget Russia might be my sort of book. It’s so lovely to get review requests from people who have carefully matched their book to my interests, and in this case, Lisa was 100% right! Forget Russia is exactly my type of book, and I am absolutely thrilled to have had the privilege of reading it.

The analogy of Russian dolls is almost too easy, but I kind of want to use it, as Bordetsky-Williams has created a structure that really does feel like a puzzle being pieced together. The sense of the past rippling forward, pursuing the generations, is skilfully done: this novel is rich in echoes and resonance. In fact, it reminded me a lot of Heidi James’ brilliant novel The Sound Mirror, in the way that it shows how trauma is passed down through generations. The focus is mostly on the women: Anna’s first person narrative follows her search for answers about her family in Moscow in 1980, her attempts to understand the way in which the experiences of her family have shaped her. The tragedy of her great-grandmother’s rape and murder sets in motion a chain of voices, and with a lovely sense of movement through both time and space (journeys to and from America feature heavily in this novel), we are rocked towards a deeply satisfying conclusion.

The novel is so well researched and so vividly imagined that it has the feel of a documentary. This sense is bolstered by the use of letters, of snatches of poetry and folk song lyrics, and the sectioning off of the story into subtitled chapters. Anna’s sections in particular have an almost journalistic quality, blurring the line between fiction and memoir, and her observational skills and empathetic manner build up a wonderfully detailed and realistic portrait of life in the Soviet Union. It is a setting rich in secrecy, in mystery, and it marries with Anna’s personal search for answers beautifully. But Anna is not merely an observer – she faces her own traumas, her own emotional entanglements, all of which add further layers to this complex, expertly shaped story.

There is so much to admire in Forget Russia: it is a novel that is more than the sum of its parts. It seems to take the genre of historical fiction and merge it with a kind of journalistic sensibility, adding in a dose of family memoir and self-exploration, so that while this may be fiction, it rings startlingly true. I love it when a book transports you to a time and place you know little about, and leaves you with a feeling of greater understanding, and Bordetsky-Williams’ novel delivers this sense in spades. Balancing the sweeping and the specific with expert skill, the author takes us on a journey that shines a light on a fascinating stretch of history, and on characters whose stories deserve to be remembered. I highly recommend this book, and am so grateful to have had the chance to read it.

Forget Russia by L. Bordetsky-Williams is published by Tailwinds Press and is out now.

Blurb

His name was Joseph, but for years they had called him Panenka, a name that was his sadness and his story. Panenka has spent 25 years living with the disastrous mistakes of his past, which have made him an exile in his home town and cost him his dearest relationships. Now aged 50, Panenka begins to rebuild an improvised family life with his estranged daughter and her seven year old son.

But at night, Panenka suffers crippling headaches that he calls his Iron Mask. Faced with losing everything, he meets Esther, a woman who has come to live in the town to escape her own disappointments. Together, they find resonance in each other’s experiences and learn new ways to let love into their broken lives.

Review

I am making a bit of a habit of starting my reviews by praising Book Twitter, but honestly, joining the book community and discovering fantastic new books has been a real highlight in a year in dire need of silver linings. I have become a massive fan of Bluemoose Books, and will read everything they have published and will publish: they do proper good books. Leonard and Hungry Paul was all over Book Twitter when I joined, so I duly bought and read it, and it was such a quiet joy of a book, so deeply comforting without being in the least bit twee. Ronan Hession’s writing is original, quietly courageous, and deeply moving. I’m honestly in shock that a few months later, I have been entrusted with a proof copy of Hession’s new novel, Panenka – it is a privilege I will never take for granted, and I am so grateful to the author and the publisher for providing me with a copy in exchange for an honest review.

As Panenka isn’t out until next May, I am going to keep this brief, cryptic and spoiler-free, but I couldn’t resist sharing some initial thoughts on this wonderful book. Natasha Randall has recently been posting some interesting thoughts on Twitter about ‘quiet’ books, the ones which don’t have a juicily baited hook, or a huge drama at their centre. Hession absolutely excels at ‘quiet’. I would argue that his genius lies in revealing the truth and beauty at the heart of the everyday, in taking a story about ‘nothing’ (in big, dramatic plot terms, that is) and showing us how it is really about ‘everything.’ Panenka is suffused with poignancy in the purest sense of the word: it pierces the heart, it contains the sting of truth within its gentle rhythms and ‘small’ events.

As a character, Panenka himself is different from Leonard or Hungry Paul, not as innocent, perhaps less immediately appealing. He has lived life and made mistakes, and his flaws are woven into his character. But this adds a richness and maturity to the book: for all the quirks of Panenka’s life story, he is deeply relatable and realistic. He is not a bad man, but he is far from perfect, and his complexities and struggles ring absolutely true. As his history is gradually revealed, each strand adds to the picture, and we come to understand him in a way that feels organic and meaningful. This book is delicately and expertly crafted – Hession is a storyteller in whom a reader can place absolute trust. Panenka flows along so smoothly and subtly that the writer side of my brain couldn’t help but marvel at how much work must have gone into making it all seem so effortless, while the reader side of me just revelled happily in the quiet intricacy of the story.

The care that Hession takes in this book is evident firstly in the beautifully rounded cast of characters. Everyone gets their turn; every character is lavished with attention. We are given little insights into their situation, their feelings, their true selves that shine a spotlight on even the most minor characters. It is a kind of generosity of spirit from the author, it seems to me, and it makes the book teem with life. The second type of care that is obvious in this book is the attention Hession pays to language. I know Ronan Hession is an avid reader of translated fiction; I suspect he is also a linguist, for he has clearly has an utter delight and amusement in language, a love of words, and of turning them over to examine their hidden sides, and it makes reading his prose a joy. In terms of the story, this careful approach to language manifests itself most affectingly when Esther and Panenka converse. Esther is a wonderful character: I loved her deeply, and the way she talks to Panenka and draws him out made me think, on more than one occasion, that if we all spoke to each other like that, life would be better. Words matter, and when we choose them as carefully as Esther does (with Hession at the helm), we can change lives.

Panenka is a subtle masterpiece: the fascinating painting on the cover art could not be more appropriate. With careful, intentional strokes, Hession paints a word-portrait of a man who is neither better nor worse than any of us: he is simply a flawed human being who has made mistakes, who faces obstacles, who tries to live his life in relation to those around him. A good heart beats at the centre of this book, and though Panenka is sadder in tone than Hession’s first novel, it still has that warm glow of gentle faith in humanity, in the power of connection, in finding a way in the world that makes sense for each one of us. It is a beautiful book, and I loved it.

Panenka by Ronan Hession will be published by Bluemoose Books in May 2021 and is available to pre-order from The Gutter Bookshop or Waterstones now.

Blurb

“At minus five degrees, even the densest blood materials start to turn: the beginnings of a human heart will still into black ice.”

Callum has been given an opportunity: Jozsef’s house is the perfect place to live – plenty of room, a sought-after London location and filled with priceless works of art. All that Jozsef asks in return is for some company while he’s ill and the promise that if it all gets too much, someone will be there to help him at the end. It’s fortunate then, when Callum meets Lauren who works in Human Resources and specialises in getting rid of people. Jozsef welcomes them both inside, and so begins a deadly spiral of violence.

Pushed ever onwards by the poison of ambition, and haunted by loses from the past, these characters are drawn together in a catastrophe of endings. Naomi Booth’s second novel is a groundbreaking dissection of class, xenophobia and compassion. Exit Management will seize you in its cold hands and show you the dark heart within us all.

Review

One of the many absolute joys of joining Book Twitter has been discovering indie publishers whose output consistently amazes me with its quality. It is a very reassuring feeling to know yourself to be in good hands with a publisher, and there are lots of indies who give me this feeling: Influx, Bluemoose, Comma, Louise Walters, and now, added to the list: Dead Ink. Having recently read and loved Cat Step by Alison Irvine, I went straight onto another Dead Ink release, and I have to say, Exit Management by Naomi Booth has catapulted straight onto my top reads of 2020 list. It is an incredible book, and I am sure my review won’t do it justice, so I will keep it brief. Huge thanks as always to Jordan Taylor-Jones for providing me with a copy in exchange for an honest review.

I’ll start with the title: Exit Management wins the award for most layered, meaningful title of any book I’ve read this year. The word “exit” has such powerful contemporary connotations, and indeed, the shadow of Brexit looms over this book. But there are so many more “exits” to be managed in this story, each one deepening the significance of the title in a way which honestly left me in awe. I won’t say more here for fear of spoilers, but trust me, this book has LAYERS. I could probably write an essay on the title alone.

The two main characters, Lauren and Cal, are complex, nuanced and utterly believable, even as the events of the plot skew sideways from the expected. Booth employs a dazzlingly effective close third person, with staccato sentences and sensory impressions aligning the reader with their point of view. Written in urgent present tense, the viewpoint feels only just outside their heads: in a film, the camera would be grazing their cheek as it jolts and shudders with their every movement. It is intense and incredibly powerful. Words like ‘gripping’ or ‘immersive’ are not quite enough to describe the effect this book had on me – I couldn’t have stopped reading if I wanted to (which I didn’t!)

All of the characters in the novel are exquisitely drawn. Josef is a fascinating character, a voice from the past, his italicized stories bringing history into the present, and his relationship with Cal is deeply moving. I love that Booth doesn’t question or judge their closeness, or try to explain it too fully: it is simply a beautiful friendship, a slice of tenderness at the heart of the book. It also contrasts nicely with Lauren’s relationship to her mentor, Mina, a tough, cool woman who teaches Lauren how to survive in London. The city itself also becomes a character in the book, and the descriptions of properties are an effective way of highlighting the disparities of London life. Josef’s house, and the changes it undergoes, provides some of the most meticulously detailed, wonderfully visual descriptions in the book. Again, I found a kind of cinematic, camera-panning quality to the writing, which I adored.

This novel explores so many themes: it seems to cover everything, all of life, wrapped up in a cool, stylish, sometimes cynical package, but with aching truth underneath. It is London itself in novel form: sleek, hard exterior hiding the beating hearts and manifold small tragedies of its inhabitants. Objects, possessions, feelings, ambitions, past, present, possible futures; all collide in this exquisite examination of modern city life.

I was absolutely blown away by the sheer scale and complexity of this novel: it is a staggering achievement. Exit Management is a book I will be thinking about for a very long time, and I can’t recommend it strongly enough. I would even go so far to say it’s my favourite book of the year, which is no small claim, as I have read some fantastic books this year! But this one really got its hooks into me, and left me feeling absolutely exhilarated, as only the very best books do. I can’t wait to read more by this author.

Exit Management by Naomi Booth is published by Dead Ink Books and is available to purchase here.

I can’t quite believe that I have managed to read 12 books this month with everything else that has been going on! I’m ahead of schedule to reach my goal of 100 books in 2020, which is nice, although I have already decided that next year I’m not setting a goal. It’s been good to push myself, but I miss being able to take my time with a book, and it has, if I am honest, put me off tackling some of the longer books on my TBR, which I am looking forward to reading at a leisurely pace next year!

It has been another brilliant, eclectic month of reading – do have a look and let me know if any of these catch your eye!

In The Sweep of the Bay by Cath Barton (2020)

I reviewed this beautiful novella as part of the Damp Pebbles blog tour. Louise Walters Books is fast becoming one of my favourite indie publishers, and Cath Barton’s book is a soothing, elegant work, reminiscent of Small Pleasures by Clare Chambers. Read my full review here.

Everything Inside by Edwidge Danticat

This is a stunning short story collection, which presents multiple perspectives on the Haitian disapora. It is the first work I have read by Danticat, but it definitely won’t be the last. My full review is here.

Everything Is Fine by Gillian Harvey (2020)

A hilarious, sharp, deeply modern comic novel which takes in some big themes as it rollicks along, you can read my full review of Gillian Harvey’s sparkling debut here.

A Necessary Blessing by Sarah Head (2020)

This book is very different – a quirky. supernatural village-set mystery which opens a planned series of Roelswick stories. Full review here.

The Miseducation of Evie Epworth by Matson Taylor (2020)

Oh Evie, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways…I fell hard for the heroine of this wonderful debut novel, and I defy you not to do the same. Matson Taylor has created a character who lives beyond the pages, and I can’t wait to see what she gets up to next. Full review here.

Three Rival Sisters by Marie-Louise Gagneur translated by Anna Aitken and Polly Mackintosh (2020)

Translated for the first time into English, these two stories by French writer Marie-Louise Gagneur are reminiscent of Austen, but even more biting. I loved them. Full review is here.

The Servant by Maggie-Richell Davies (2020)

The Servant is a brilliantly immersive depiction of life in the lower classes in eighteenth century London. It gets pretty dark, but the writing is compelling and wonderfully detailed. My full review is here.

Cat Step by Alison Irvine (2020)

The first of two excellent books published by Dead Ink on my reading list this month, Cat Step is a gripping, taut, powerful exploration of motherhood and grief. You can read my full review here.

Exit Management by Naomi Booth (2020)

I’m in the middle of writing my review for this staggering novel, so all I will say here is that this is one of the best books I have read this year. And I’ve read some brilliant books this year. It blew me away. More later…

Panenka by Ronan Hession (2021)

I was so lucky to receive an early proof of Ronan Hession’s new novel, out next May from Bluemoose Books. I couldn’t wait to dive in, so in I dove/dived(?) and I will be posting my thoughts shortly. Spoiler alert: it’s utterly wonderful, and you don’t need to wait for my review to get this one pre-ordered.

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier (1938)

I have apparently reached the age where I can no longer remember if I have read certain books, or if I did read them, it was twenty years ago so it doesn’t count. I read (or possibly reread) this with my crew from The Write Reads – we have the BEST book chats, total anarchy and lots of wild speculation, and this was a really fun book to talk about with them! Opinions were mixed, but on the whole, I loved it. I may or may not write a full review of this one – I am trying to remind myself I don’t HAVE to review every book I read!

Forget Russia by L. Bordetsky-Williams (2020)

Technically I am still reading this book, but since it is the 30th and I will definitely finish it tonight, it counts as a November read! Forget Russia is an incredible piece of work, a historical novel that feels like a documentary; a gorgeously written puzzle of the past being pieced together in front of my eyes. I am absolutely loving it, and I hope I can do it justice when I come to write my review.

So there we go, 12 wonderful books, which have got me through a rather turbulent month! I’d love to hear about your best November reads, so drop me a comment and help me grow my already enormous TBR!

Ellie x

Blurb

A provocative, elegantly written analysis of female desire, consent, and sexuality in the age of MeToo

Women are in a bind. They are told that in the name of sexual consent and feminist empowerment, they must proclaim their desires clearly and confidently. Sex researchers tell us that women don’t know what they want. And men are on hand to persuade women that what they want is, in fact, exactly what men want. In this environment, how can women possibly know what they want—and how can they be expected to?

In this elegantly written, searching book Katherine Angel surveys medical and psychoanalytic understandings of female desire, from Freud to Kinsey to present-day science; MeToo-era debates over consent, assault, and feminism; and popular culture, TV, and film to challenge our assumptions about female desire. Why, she asks, do we expect desire to be easily understood? Why is there not space for the unsure, the tentative, the maybe, the let’s just see? In contrast to the endless exhortation to know what we want, Angel proposes that sex can be a conversation, requiring insight, interaction, and mutual vulnerability—a shared collaboration into the unknown.

In this crucial moment of renewed attention to violence and power, Angel urges that we remake our thinking about sex, pleasure, and autonomy without any illusions of perfect self-knowledge. Only then will we bring about Michel Foucault’s sardonic promise, in 1976, that “tomorrow sex will be good again.”

Review

One of the most powerful pieces of television I’ve watched this year is Michaela Coel’s searing show I May Destroy You. Like many people, I was struck by how well Coel portrays the myriad complexities that surround issues of consent and desire. When Maya at Verso offered me the chance to read Tomorrow Sex Will Be Good Again, which deals with similar themes, and in fact references the show, I jumped at the chance. Many thanks to Maya for my proof copy, which I received in exchange for an honest review.

This topic is timely, fascinating, and vital, and Angel’s book, though short, makes a huge contribution. Divided into four sections, ‘On Consent,’ ‘On Desire,’ ‘On Arousal’ and ‘On Vulnerability,’ this extended essay probes the rhetoric around consent, the #metoo movement, and female desire, revealing the places where disparities and contradictions lie hidden. I have to admit, as a feminist, I think I have previously aligned myself with certain tenants of consent culture without perhaps analysing it in enough detail. As Angel points out, though, we do have to start somewhere. There is nothing wrong with saying that consent is essential, of course, but this book explores the reasons why that cannot be the end of the discussion. The link between confidence culture and consent culture is examined, and Angel posits that by putting the onus on women to know what they want, this rhetoric ignores the unknowability of desire, its mutability, its reliance upon context.

Tomorrow Sex Will Be Good Again is elegantly argued and extremely well researched. I learned an awful lot about the study of desire, about the work of sexologists, and about the conflicting scholarly opinions on these unsurprisingly contentious topics. For such a slim book, it packs in a lot of information, but it is written in an accessible, thoughtful style that is never less than fascinating. There is a point in the text where Angel observes that were she ever to accuse someone of sexual assault, her own frankness and openness in discussing her sexuality would almost certainly be used against her: the truth of this hit me hard, and, I think, demonstrates just how important these conversations are.

I found this book extremely thought-provoking, and I very much hope it is widely read. Angel’s arguments are compelling, nuanced, and eloquently expressed; I found myself nodding in agreement (and doing my usual thing of reading out passages to my slightly terrified husband) at several points. Her central theme, that sex is not an object to be given or taken, but an encounter, an interaction, a conversation, seems so obvious but is so often forgotten. This is a powerful, important book – it addresses the vital question, as posed by Angel herself: “Why should women have to know themselves in order to be safe from violence?” There are no easy answers, but the conversation is a crucial one, and this book is a valuable contribution to it.

Tomorrow Sex Will Be Good Again by Katherine Angel will be published in March 2021 by Verso Books and is available to preorder here.

Blurb

One mistake can unravel everything….

She only left her daughter in the car for a minute; just a quick minute whilst she ran into the shop. She barely thought twice about making the decision, but it soon began to consume her every thought. And not just her thoughts, but those of every neighbour, police officer and social security worker in a 15-mile radius. But this is her child. Surely she knows best?

After she’d made the move to a small town in Scotland, the rolling hills and blustery beaches seemed to be the perfect backdrop for her and her four-year-old daughter, Emily, to start again. It wasn’t always easy just the two of them, but Liz was sure that she could manage this time. And now this?

Sometimes, one mistake is all it takes to unravel everything. Cat Step is a lyrically sparse tale about judgement, intergenerational relationships, community, class and the expectations that we place on mothers. With sharp prose Alison Irvine has crafted a compassionate narrative that compels you to listen on.

Review

Thank you so much to Jordan Taylor-Jones and Dead Ink for providing me with an ARC of the book in exchange for an honest review. I’d seen a few people raving about this book on Twitter, so I bumped it up the TBR, and I am glad I did.

Cat Step begins with the dramatic incident outlined in the blurb: the narrator leaves her young daughter unsupervised in the car while she pops into the shop, and a chain of events is set in motion. As a plot device, I am a massive fan of the seemingly innocuous moment that reveals itself to be a hinge on which the story pivots – when it is done well, as it is here, it is simultaneously satisfying and unnerving. In making a snap decision, one which I think any parent will understand, even if they wouldn’t do it themselves, Liz lays herself open to the very worst sort of criticism and scrutiny. The question of whether or not we are fit to be parents is agonising enough when it swirls privately in our own anxious, sleep-deprived minds: when it becomes a matter of public reckoning, it must be horrific.

The first person narrative allows Irvine to fully explore the complexities of the mother-child relationship, and the way frustration can turn to love and back again in an instant is brilliantly depicted. It reminded me a lot of Lydia Kiesling’s novel, The Golden State, which I read earlier this year – both books isolate the mothers in a new environment, allowing for an intense focus on that key relationship and what it means for the women’s identities. Both Kiesling and Irvine do important work in laying bare some of the more uncomfortable truths of parenthood, and it is refreshing to see such honesty and insight in fiction – too often the intricacies of parenting are glossed over as not interesting enough to be part of the story. Cat Step captures not only the emotions of motherhood, but also the physicality, the practicality, the mental load that mothers carry, so that even in the midst of a crisis, Liz worries about getting to nursery in time for pick up; even when she feels as if she is falling apart, she must still attend to the day-to-day business of caring for her child. It is powerful and very well done.

The writing style is equally impressive. Sparse, spare prose, not a word wasted, with sharp dialogue which cuts to the heart of the story: this is a masterclass in taut story-telling. It feels as if the author has taken a specific stopped moment in time and stretched it out, cleverly weaving in strands from the past and glimmers of the future. For me, I was less interested in the uncovering of Robbie’s secrets than I was in watching Liz’s story unfold, although I liked the narrative drive that Robbie’s past provided. Liz is such a complex and fascinating character: watching her push and push when she knows she ought to stop and walk away makes for gripping reading.

This novel is a brave, honest, unflinching look at parenting, at grief, at the imperfect but necessary nature of human connections. It is skilfully written, utterly absorbing, sprinkled with unique touches like the references to dance and the beautiful descriptions of the light on the Campsie Fells. I was captivated by this book, and I am in awe of Alison Irvine’s assured, strong voice. I am really looking forward to reading more by this author.

Cat Step by Alison Irvine is published by Dead Ink and is available to purchase here.

Blurb

1765.

London.

Young Hannah Hubert may be the granddaughter of a French merchant and the daughter of a Spitalfields silk weaver, but she has come down in the world.

Sent one spring day as maidservant to a disgraced aristocrat, she finds herself in a house full of mysteries – with a locked room and strange auctions being held behind closed doors.

As a servant, she has little power but – unknown to her employers – she can read. And it is only when she uses her education to uncover the secrets of the house, that she realises the peril she is in.

Hannah is unable to turn to the other servant, Peg, who is clearly terrified of their employers and keeps warning her to find alternative work.

But help might come from Thomas, the taciturn farmer delivering milk to the neighbourhood, or from Jack Twyford, a friendly young man apprenticed to his uncle’s bookselling business. Yet Thomas is still grieving for his late wife – and can she trust Jack, since his uncle is one of her master’s associates?

Hannah soon discovers damning evidence she cannot ignore.

She must act alone, but at what price?

Review

I am extremely grateful to the author for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. I was very intrigued by the description of The Servant: genre-blending historical fiction with a strong female protagonist ticks a lot of boxes for me, and I am delighted to say I was not disappointed. This is a brilliant, powerful book.

The story is narrated by the servant, Hannah, in vivid present tense. Rich in sensory detail and expertly crafted, the narrative feels completely immersive, and allying us so closely with Hannah’s experiences has the effect of drawing the reader right into the book, in a way which is almost suffocating at times, echoing Hannah’s suffering. It is incredibly effective, removing the barrier between protagonist and reader, putting us in Hannah’s place, and I have to say that during some of the more traumatic experiences, I had to come up for air and escape for a short while. It does get dark, and I would advise readers who find themselves triggered to tread carefully. But it is also, I think, one of the most realistic portrayals of servitude that I have ever read – Hannah’s desperate situation rings true. This is not a caper or a jolly, this is the harsh, brutal existence that many in her position would have faced.

Hannah herself is a strong woman in an appalling situation. I had some frustrations with her as a character at points because she closed herself off from a path of escape due to her principles, but this was a sign that she had become so real to me that I felt annoyed with her for not doing what I wanted her to do! Her relationship with Peg is touching and original, and I was glad she had at least one companion she could trust. Her fear of men, which understandably grows as the novel progresses, highlights her vulnerability in the male-dominated world she exists in, and had me aching in sympathy for her. The sense of not knowing who to trust, of not being able to rely on anyone except herself and poor, beaten-down Peg, looms tragically over the story, and eventually I came to understand her actions more and more. The author deftly avoids neat solutions and happy ever after cliches, bringing to bear a modern understanding of the effects of repeated trauma and suffering.

The Servant is an extremely well-written, powerful novel, which draws the reader into its dark, sometimes terrifying world and offers an examination of the real consequences of the class system at the time. It is brutal but skillful, encompassing big themes of power, corruption, education, and so on, while remaining focused on the story of one individual whose life was not counted as important by so many around her. At its best, historical fiction gives a voice to the forgotten, and Maggie Richell-Davies pays respect to the women of Hannah’s class by doing just that. This was an emotional, immersive, utterly engrossing read, and I am very glad I had the opportunity to follow Hannah on her journey.

The Servant by Maggie Richell-Davies is published by Sharpe Books and is available to purchase here.

Blurb

Much acclaimed amongst her contemporaries and yet all but forgotten today, Marie-Louise Gagneur was a defining voice in French feminism. These stories, translated into English for the first time, critique the restrictions of late nineteenth-century society and explore the ways in which both men and women are hurt by rigid attitudes towards marriage.

In ‘An Atonement’, the Count de Montbarrey awakes one morning to find his wife dead, leaving him free to marry the woman he really loves. Could the Count have accidentally killed his wife? And how can he atone for his crime?

‘Three Rival Sisters’ tells the story of the rivalry between Henriette, Renée and Gabrielle as they compete for the affections of one man. But marriage does not necessarily guarantee happiness, as the sisters are about to find out.

Steeped in wit, empathy and biting social criticism, and with echoes of Charlotte Perkins Gilman and Kate Chopin, these stories show Gagneur to be worthy of renewed attention.

Review

I was lucky enough to win an ARC of this book, which is part of Gallic’s Revolutionary Women series, and I will definitely be checking out the other titles. I always think it is quite exciting to read an older book which has been translated for the first time: there is a sense of rediscovery, of hidden treasure coming to the surface.

This book is made up of two stories, the title ‘Three Rival Sisters’ and ‘An Atonement’. Taken together, they give a wonderful flavour of Marie-Louise Gagneur’s style and concerns. The tone is acerbic, dripping in irony, revelling in melodrama while undercutting it with sharp wit. Imagine a French Jane Austen: more stylish, darker, Galouises cigarette dangling from a painted lip as she jabs into the hypocrisies of the French upper classes with her pen.

In the first story, the sisters compete for the affections of the entirely unworthy Monsieur de Vaudrey, whose arrival provides intrigue and excitement in their mundane lives, but also tears them apart. There is an arch knowingness to the writing, as Gagneur draws attention to the conventions of novels of the day, establishing a delicious complicity with the reader in which the artifice is both exposed and scrutinised:

“Let us, then, bring our modest tale to its quiet conclusion, and put aside the conventions of storytelling with their twists, turns and entanglements.” (p.71)

Despite the acid wit, there are notes of tenderness, particularly in her descriptions of the relationship between the two younger sisters, Gabrielle and Renee. Cynicism may be the key flavour here, but there is enough heart to engage the reader and to save the story from total parody. In ‘An Atonement’, too, there are hints of real love and hope and conflict which stand out as nuggets of truth amidst the melodrama.

The translators, Anna Aitken and Polly Mackintosh, have done a great service in bringing these stories to an English readership. There is enough that will be familiar to readers of nineteenth century literature to enable them to quickly immerse themselves, while the delightfully sharp edge adds fresh bite to this style of tale. I highly recommend this book, and will be keeping my eye on future publications from this publisher.

Three Rival Sisters is published by Gallic Books and is available to purchase here.

Blurb

July, 1962
 
Sixteen year-old Evie Epworth stands on the cusp of womanhood. But what kind of a woman will she become?
 
The fastest milk bottle-delivery girl in East Yorkshire, Evie is tall as a tree and hot as the desert sand. She dreams of an independent life lived under the bright lights of London (or Leeds). The two posters of Adam Faith on her bedroom wall (‘brooding Adam’ and ‘sophisticated Adam’) offer wise counsel about a future beyond rural East Yorkshire. Her role models are Charlotte Bronte, Shirley MacLaine and the Queen. But, before she can decide on a career, she must first deal with the malign presence of her future step-mother, the manipulative and money-grubbing Christine.
 
If Evie can rescue her bereaved father, Arthur, from Christine’s pink and over-perfumed clutches, and save the farmhouse from being sold off then maybe she can move on with her own life and finally work out exactly who it is she is meant to be.  
 
Moving, inventive and richly comic, The Miseducation of Evie Epworth is the most joyful debut novel of the year and the best thing to have come out of Yorkshire since Wensleydale cheese.  

Review

This wonderful debut novel is a breath of fresh air, and the perfect antidote to all the 2020 madness. I am not going to write a long review, because some books lodge themselves firmly in my heart and not my head, and simply deserve to be shouted about as an absolute joy. In a way, I wish I had read this book sooner, but actually, Evie came to me at the perfect time, and reading this novel felt like a warm hug from a friend at a time when warm hugs are hard to come by/legally prohibited.

The book reminded me of Adrian Mole, in that the young protagonist feels so incredibly real that I completely forgot that she was fictional. But of course, Evie is very different from Adrian. Evie ROCKS. She is, in terms of likeability, probably my favourite fictional character that I have met this year. She is such a joyous presence on the page – her voice is authentic, hilarious, realistic despite the crazy circumstances she finds herself in, and, although she is far from annoyingly perfect, she seems to me to represent a really lovely way to live and to be. I honestly think Matson Taylor has created a character whose ability to learn and to change and to grow up without losing the best of childlike joy and innocence is a lesson to us all. We should all try to be a bit more like Evie!

The story itself is funny, poignant, and well-written. The period detail is lovely (I keep using that word because it is such an Evie word!) and despite Taylor’s light, humorous touch, there are plenty of truly moving moments. And also lots of drama, which is a huge amount of fun! The supporting characters are a fabulously eccentric bunch, and I loved – or loved to hate – them all.

I think what I loved most about this book was the way in which it shows, in a completely non-preachy way, how to accept imperfections or disappointments without letting them curb your enthusiasm for life. Life is messy, it is imperfect: sad, crazy, mad, bad, weird stuff is always going to happen, but there is always joy and humour to be found in between.

I am absolutely thrilled to hear that an Evie sequel may be on the way – I would follow her for many, many more books!

The Miseducation of Evie Epworth by Matson Taylor is published by Scribner UK and is available to purchase here.

Blurb

A stunning novel of family secrets, ancient magic and healing – perfect for fans of Barbara Erskine and Christina Courtenay.

Ruth Turner has a unique ability. She can walk through time, seeing the village, religious community and inhabitants as they used to be. Abandoned by her philandering husband, she makes new friends amongst village leaders, Greg Iles, the village blacksmith, Granny Compson, a retired farmer’s wife and Lord Peter Brazington, the prickly Earl of Haverliegh, owner of Roelswick Estate.

As Ruth learns more about village history, she uncovers many secrets, which change her life and affect her closest friends, putting her at the centre of ghostly retribution. Can she use her new knowledge to unravel the cause of all the trouble before her community is torn apart again?

A Necessary Blessing is the first book in the Roeslwick Chronicles by Sarah Head. Set deep in the heart of the Cotswolds, it charts the story of a rural village where modern and ancient practice work side by side.

Where past beliefs inform present customs, promoting future action, we understand how water is a necessary blessing to us all.

Review

Many thanks to Charlie Farrow for providing me with a digital copy of the book in exchange for an honest review. I was really intrigued by the sound of this book – I didn’t quite know what to expect, and I was pleasantly surprised by how quirky and original it is.

The world this novel takes place in is very unusual. While it is set in Roeslwick Village in modern times, it is as if the contemporary gradually recedes as the novel progresses: there is a strong sense of moving back in time, as the traditions and superstitions that link the villagers to their past subsume the touches of modernity that open the book. By the end of the novel, it is almost a shock when email or mobiles or Landrovers are mentioned, as I really felt as if I was reading historical fiction by that point. I can’t think of anything else I have read which does this in quite the same way – it is strikingly original.

The large cast of characters are all vividly drawn and their individual personalities come through as the story unfolds. However, there is also a strong sense of the collective, of a community bound together by its history and its rituals. Ruth is an interesting guide to follow as she is seemingly an outsider, but gradually becomes more and more inextricably linked with the village. For me, the supernatural storyline worked well, and I liked that the majority of the characters seemed surprisingly unperturbed by the existence of a spirit world alongside their own – it added to the sense of quirkiness and strangeness!

The novel is fast-paced and very visual – action scenes are dramatically described, and the village itself provides a convincingly constructed stage for this bizarre events to play out on. It occurred to me more than once that it would make a fantastic TV adaptation! The conclusion is satisfying, but with a hint of more to come, and I do think Roelswick would be an interesting place to revisit. The rich folklore and mysterious goings-on are underpinned by solid characters that engage the reader’s sympathy. I very much enjoyed the way this book started out quite conventionally, with a woman escaping a bad marriage, and then quite quickly became something very unconventional indeed! You certainly need to be able to suspend your disbelief to fully enjoy this book, but if you are prepared to go with the flow and let the excitement carry you away, you’re in for a fun ride!

A Necessary Blessing by Sarah Head is published by Heresy Publishing and is available to purchase here.