I haven’t picked up anything by Lisa Jewell since I read Ralph’s Party as a teenager, but of course my attention was snagged by the fact that her I haven’t picked up anything by Lisa Jewell since I read Ralph’s Party as a teenager, but of course my attention was snagged by the fact that her latest thriller involves a podcast. And I was delighted to find that the hook – the idea that this story, about two very different women who are ‘birthday twins’, ultimately became so wild and horrifying that it was made into a podcast, then a Netflix series – is used brilliantly. It’s impeccably described: I could see the documentary scenes playing out in my mind. Jewell has complete control over the propulsive force of the narrative, hinting just enough at what comes next. I was utterly gripped. But... ultimately, some things about the plot are ill-thought-out and left a really bad taste in my mouth. I can’t give it a higher rating because of that. I might try another of Jewell’s thrillers (in the hope that it isn’t resolved in quite such an offensive/borderline damaging way).
I received an advance review copy of None of This is True from the publisher through Edelweiss....more
A fun and cute YA take on the podcast thriller, with two friends reinvestigating the 1999 disappearance of a local girl for a journalism project. The A fun and cute YA take on the podcast thriller, with two friends reinvestigating the 1999 disappearance of a local girl for a journalism project. The characterisation is very broad-brush, the bad guys glaringly obvious from the start, and the social justice talking points (mostly delivered via implausible lecture-like dialogue from a character who seems to have been created entirely for this purpose) about as subtle as a sledgehammer – but to be fair, I am not the target audience for this book. And when Clarissa’s contemporaries get their chance to talk about her, there are some beautifully written passages about youth, nostalgia, potential and small-town life. This was a nice easy read for a long journey, though I doubt I’ll read the sequel....more
(3.5) I adored Sarah Bernstein’s debut, The Coming Bad Days. This second novel is written in a similarly distinctive style – opening lines: It was the(3.5) I adored Sarah Bernstein’s debut, The Coming Bad Days. This second novel is written in a similarly distinctive style – opening lines: It was the year the sow eradicated her piglets. It was a swift and menacing time. The plot, such as it is, is broader in scope, or maybe it’s just that it’s a little more unfocused, or felt that way to me. The narrator is a woman who sees her life as having been defined by obedience to her ‘many’ older siblings. In keeping with that, when her eldest brother asks her to stay with him in an Anna Kavan-esque ‘remote northern country’, she acquiesces without question. From there it unfurls in several directions: the brother’s ailing health, the suspicion of the locals, a thread of what seems like folk horror, and ultimately, a sort of reckoning with the weight of history. As in in Bad Days I found the writing very striking, but these pithy, glacial sentences are most successful when the narrative concentrates on the personal; less so when applied to bigger themes. A book for those who appreciate the eerie and ambiguous – it reminded me (again) of Fleur Jaeggy, and also Marie NDiaye’s That Time of Year.
I received an advance review copy of Study for Obedience from the publisher through NetGalley....more
(3.5) I’d been saving a bunch of ‘holiday books’ (easy reads set in summer and/or abroad, mainly thrillers) until I actually went on a holiday; The Vi(3.5) I’d been saving a bunch of ‘holiday books’ (easy reads set in summer and/or abroad, mainly thrillers) until I actually went on a holiday; The Villa was the first of these I read while away, and definitely the best. It has a similar setup to The Writing Retreat, and also reminded me of The Witch in the Well: the frenemy relationship, the premise of a blocked writer holing up in a big gothic house in the hope of making progress on a book she’s barely started, flashbacks to another fraught period in the villa’s history. Initially, I found the chapters about modern-day friends Emily and Chess far more absorbing than the 1970s scenes featuring teenage writer Mari and her rock-star boyfriend. With a lot of plot and a swiftly paced narrative, the 70s characters do end up feeling a bit thin. It all eventually comes together, though, and I thoroughly enjoyed the twisty ending. Plus, the vivid, colourfully imagined setting is just what you want from a book called The Villa....more
(2.5) Sun Damage has the ‘unlikeable people on a summer holiday’ vibe of Durrant’s hits Lie With Me and Take Me In, but it seems to be aiming for (2.5) Sun Damage has the ‘unlikeable people on a summer holiday’ vibe of Durrant’s hits Lie With Me and Take Me In, but it seems to be aiming for something bigger: its character study of an itinerant scammer put me in mind of Skin Deep, albeit without the depth, while the setting and mood make it feel similar to Voyeur. We first meet Ali and her partner in crime Sean on a beach in France, where they attempt to con posh tourist Lulu out of some money. Something goes wrong, and in the sort of ludicrous twist that could only happen in a summer pageturner, Ali agrees to impersonate Lulu and take up her job as a private chef. Only after all this has happened does the plot described in the book’s blurb – the thing about nine people with secrets cooped up at a remote villa – actually come into play. This means there’s really not a lot of room for the rest of the story to be developed properly, and it repeatedly feels like the plot is stalling. There are just too many things happening: the book would’ve been better either as a more detailed portrait of Ali (with things like the cringeworthy romance subplot cut out), or stripped back to its bare bones as a tense, taut thriller. Instead, it’s underdeveloped in every direction, with characters who really shouldn’t be quite so boring, and a cheesy, contrived ending....more
Lucy Clarke is the writer of holiday thrillers for me, and this delivered exactly what I wanted from it: a quick, gripping read with a sun-soaked settLucy Clarke is the writer of holiday thrillers for me, and this delivered exactly what I wanted from it: a quick, gripping read with a sun-soaked setting, easily definable characters and a bunch of twists. A group of friends (well, some friends and some sketchy newcomers) head off to a Greek island for a hen party; naturally, it all starts coming apart after a few drinks and party games, and by the end of the holiday there’s a body on the beach. I had a ‘character I’m rooting for’ and ‘character I’d gladly see killed off’ pinned down from the beginning, and was pleased to have my expectations of the plot subverted a little bit. The characters are generally unsubtle ‘types’, and some of the red-herring subplots are resolved far too neatly, but that's all fine when it comes to a book like this, imo....more
In the mid-1980s, with paranoia about communism at its height, Marie Mitchell is (you guessed it) an American spy whose mission is to seduce Thomas SaIn the mid-1980s, with paranoia about communism at its height, Marie Mitchell is (you guessed it) an American spy whose mission is to seduce Thomas Sankara, the charismatic young president of Burkina Faso. The title says action thriller, the premise says romance; the book is more slow-paced and thoughtful than either impression suggests, weaving in flashbacks to Marie’s childhood and reflections on her conflicting status as a black woman in a very white, male profession. This was a solid three-star book for me. I wasn’t always convinced by the dialogue, nor the concept of the protagonist writing this whole story down in a letter to her sons, but the plot’s interesting enough (and even quite informative) and it held my attention....more
A fast and fierce little book, strange and glittering, a fusion of the familiar and the outlandish. I didn’t always grasp what was and wasn’t real, buA fast and fierce little book, strange and glittering, a fusion of the familiar and the outlandish. I didn’t always grasp what was and wasn’t real, but that’s part of the enjoyment. Absolutely fizzing with ideas and wordplay.
Some books are like dreams that vanish from the memory once they're finished. Others are more like physical places: I can call their geography to mindSome books are like dreams that vanish from the memory once they're finished. Others are more like physical places: I can call their geography to mind, I feel I could step back into them if I wanted. Garth Greenwell's What Belongs to You, which I read in 2016, fits into the latter category. I've retained a strong impression of the setting, the authorial voice, the general ambience of the book; I liked it a lot at the time, and this sense of gravity has solidified my idea of its greatness. So I was keen to read this follow-up – not quite a sequel, but rather a 'continuation' of Belongs. Though the narrative never explicitly confirms it, all the details suggest this is the same protagonist, and most of the book is once again set in Sofia, Bulgaria.
Cleanness starts strong. In the first chapter/story, 'Mentor', the narrator meets a student, who makes a halting confession and tells a story that is familiar to the narrator from his own adolescence. It's compelling and affecting. The second and third – 'Gospodar', about a sexual encounter, and 'Decent People', about attending a protest march – are overlong, rambly, and anticlimactic. It is clear by this point that Cleanness is made up of separate scenes, loosely connected, if they are connected at all. Yet there is a throughline: at the (literal) centre of the book is the narrator's relationship with R., which has come to an inevitable end, leaving the narrator unmoored. Part 2, subtitled 'Loving R.', is dedicated to sketching out this relationship in more detail. Then we're back to disparate scenes: a night out with a group of writers, another hook-up, a night out with former students.
It's disappointing to have to write that I just didn't get much out of Cleanness and don't have much to say in conclusion. Greenwell's writing is beautiful – of course. But the book feels so thin. (Figuratively, I mean.) The connecting thread of the narrator's relationship with R. isn't enough to imbue the other scenes with meaning. I liked the prose; the rest left me cold.
I received an advance review copy of Cleanness from the publisher through Edelweiss.
(4.5) This book isn’t published until March 2020 (NB: this review was written in November 2019), but I’ve been hearing about it for the best part of a(4.5) This book isn’t published until March 2020 (NB: this review was written in November 2019), but I’ve been hearing about it for the best part of a year. The buzz is so strong that I have already seen other forthcoming books being marketed with ‘for fans of My Dark Vanessa’ in the PR copy. For fans of a book that hasn’t even come out yet! I’m generally dubious that anything can live up to this level of hype (just look at The Miniaturist), and dubious about the subject matter, too – a 15-year-old girl having a sexual relationship with her fortysomething teacher. I was made even more wary by the UK marketing campaign, which leads with attention-grabbing but stomach-churning quotes such as the teacher’s memorable statement: ‘It’s just my luck that when I find my soulmate, she’s fifteen years old.’
We meet Vanessa in 2017. She is 32 and working as a hotel concierge. Straight away, one thing becomes clear: Vanessa does not believe herself to be a victim. She stays in contact with the teacher, Jacob Strane, though they no longer have sex: last time they tried, when she was 27, ‘it didn’t work. He kept going soft; I was too old’. Nevertheless, she imagines they will end up together, after a fashion: ‘I assume I’ll be the one he turns to in ten or fifteen years, whenever his body begins to break down’. (Already, Russell has you picking up on the affected nonchalance here and figuring out Vanessa’s character.) Another former student has accused Strane of assault, and Vanessa – at least at first – is in denial, firmly on Strane’s side.
But the most important parts of the story are told in flashbacks to 2000. These are chapters I fell into head-first. I felt like I had observed, even participated in, these scenes rather than read them. There’s a children’s-book magic at work here: the setting is enchanting; the corners are horribly dark. Vanessa is a scholarship girl, already an outsider, and freshly lonely after a painful friendship breakup. She romanticises everything about her school, Browick, and through her eyes the reader too comes to see it as a fairytale place. The power Browick holds for Vanessa is clear – leaving would be unimaginable. Into this vulnerable space comes Strane, gifting Vanessa a copy of Lolita, brushing her knee as he reads her poetry, telling her ‘you’re a dark romantic like me’.
What Russell does so well is the contrast between Vanessa’s memories and her reality, both past and present. With every glimpse we catch of the latter, we see how Strane has ruined Vanessa’s life – how her every thought and decision is still governed by him. His voice is forever in her head; she has trapped herself in amber as the girl she was at 15, the girl she believes he ‘fell in love’ with. At the same time, back in 2000, you understand perfectly how easily this terrible seduction could happen. Vanessa’s tension jumps off the page with such power that I kept forgetting what I was reading about – instead I was there, in the moment, frozen with dreadful excitement.
My Dark Vanessa is one of those books to which book-review cliches – ‘unputdownable’, ‘can't believe this is a debut’ – can be applied sincerely. I read it quickly and was consumed by it entirely, emerging as if from a trance. It traverses its thorny subject better than perhaps any similar story I have read, not just in its technical approach but in its use of empathy. As you read, Russell puts you in Vanessa’s shoes. You feel everything the character does: exhilaration, doubt, denial, fear; devastation when she admits the truth of her experience; anger at the adults who failed her younger self; and finally, hope.
I received an advance review copy of My Dark Vanessa from the publisher through NetGalley.
In central Florida, a photographer is called to jury duty. The trial is sensational, high-profile stuff: a teenage girl is accused of murdering her 18In central Florida, a photographer is called to jury duty. The trial is sensational, high-profile stuff: a teenage girl is accused of murdering her 18-month-old brother by way of arson. During sequestration, the photographer begins an affair with another juror, an anatomy professor. Throughout the trial, we only know the photographer and her lover by their court aliases, C-2 and F-17. Only much later are we told what they're really called; it's funny how those real names never quite seem to fit.
C-2 met her husband when she was 24, he in his late fifties; now 86, he is in the throes of an illness he fears will kill him, and C-2 is his sole carer. F-17, on the other hand, is ten years younger than her. No doubt because of the large gap in her marriage, C-2 often computes things in terms of age: 'She would like one last dalliance before she gets too old... If her husband lives another ten years, his mother's life-span, she will be sixty-two – young for a widow, but old for a dalliance.'
I liked this well enough, but I felt it could've been elevated. I look at the description above and think, I have written about this in such a dull and matter-of-fact way – but that is the tone of the book itself, clinical and devoid of passion. I wanted the whole concept to be passed to another writer (Laura van den Berg kept coming to mind) who could really have exploited its potential. As it is, The Body in Question is finely crafted and well-written, but lacklustre. C-2 is oddly lacking in interiority; neither her marriage nor the affair ever become emotionally absorbing. I'm unsure what sort of reaction her story is intended to provoke in the reader.
The trial, on the other hand, is very interesting. So the overall experience is like watching a really good crime drama while a boring couple are having an argument right in front of you, so you can only hear about 30% of the dialogue. I realise the point is to show that juries are fallible, they're human, they have other stuff going on, they miss crucial details and develop prejudices among themselves – but it's not a good look for a novel when the background plot is three times as compelling as the 'main' one.
I think those who loved Jamie Quatro's Fire Sermon might enjoy this too. Personally, I want a novel about an affair to make me really feel something, something more than 'I'm annoyed these people aren't taking the trial seriously'.
I received an advance review copy of The Body in Question from the publisher, Pantheon.
Josie's dad was murdered when she was a teenager. Since then, she's changed her last name, moved to New York, and stopped speaking to her twin sister Josie's dad was murdered when she was a teenager. Since then, she's changed her last name, moved to New York, and stopped speaking to her twin sister Lanie. The news of her mother's death takes her back home to Illinois; unfortunately, this coincides with a resurgence of interest in her father's murder, via a Serial-esque podcast aiming to prove the convicted man is innocent. Plus Josie has to deal with the fact that a) she's never told her fiancé the truth about her past and b) Lanie is now in a relationship with her (Josie's) first love, Adam.
Are You Sleeping is a solid entry in the burgeoning Podcast Thriller genre. I read most of it in an airport and on a plane, while I was pretty tired and needed something I didn't have to concentrate on too much. A few days later, I can't honestly say that I have much recollection of the plot, but I did enjoy it while I was reading.
(2.5) Well, this was one of the most peculiar novels I've ever read. I'm almost stumped as to what to say about it.
I'll start with the basics. Set in (2.5) Well, this was one of the most peculiar novels I've ever read. I'm almost stumped as to what to say about it.
I'll start with the basics. Set in New Zealand, it centres on a twentysomething woman, Cynthia, who has what appears to be a passionate obsession with her yoga instructor, Anahera. Cynthia invites Anahera to run away with her, and Anahera, who happens to be in the middle of a divorce, unexpectedly agrees. Cynthia clears out her dad's bank account and the two of them (accompanied by Cynthia's dog, whose name is... Snot-head) buy a boat, the eponymous Baby. Something that Cynthia delusionally perceives as an idyllic escape is interrupted by two things: 1) the two women sort of – inadvertently – kill someone, and 2) a man called Gordon inserts himself into their relationship.
Everything about Baby is strange. The characters' motivations are completely opaque; the dialogue sometimes makes them sound like robots. (The first thing Gordon says when he meets Cynthia and Anahera is 'I am a German man'.) The bubble they exist in seems cut off from reality, and not just because they're on a boat. For all that, there's an irresistible rhythm to it and I wanted to read on – if only in some attempt to figure out what the hell was going on.
I'm surprised to see that numerous other reviewers have interpreted Baby as a comment on millennial lifestyles and Young Women Today. It's so very odd – Cynthia's (and, for that matter, the others') actions so far removed from anything that could be considered normal under any circumstances – that it feels (to me) entirely disconnected from the real world. True, Cynthia obsessively watches reality TV on her phone and treats the machinations of The Bachelor contestants as a kind of guide for life. But Cynthia also appears to be a psychopath, so I'm not sure anything she does should be treated as representative of her generation.
I might have been a bit more generous with my rating, but a few days later I read Melissa Broder's The Pisces – a similarly quirky novel, but much more successful in terms of structure, character development, use of humour, just about everything really. The Pisces is such an assured handling of a lost, idiosyncratic protagonist that it made Baby's flaws more glaring in retrospect. Annaleese Jochems is very young (she was 22 when Baby was published) and obviously very talented; what she attempts here doesn't quite come off, but I'm still excited to read more from her.
I received an advance review copy of Baby from the publisher through Edelweiss.
(3.5) I zipped through this entertaining historical novel, which tackles one of my favourite subjects for fiction: weird cults. Even more intriguing, (3.5) I zipped through this entertaining historical novel, which tackles one of my favourite subjects for fiction: weird cults. Even more intriguing, this particular weird cult has its basis in fact. The Panacea Society was founded in 1919 and was led by Mabel Barltrop, aka Octavia, who claimed to be the Daughter of God. Almost all the members were women; Dilys, the protagonist, was one of them. McGlasson's version of her life is heavily embroidered, but many other details are drawn from real-life accounts of the Society.
Dilys never quite feels she's able to meet Octavia's exacting standards. Members of the Society are required to observe their fellow 'believers' and report on any possible sins, transgressions or secrets. Unlike Octavia's increasingly powerful right-hand woman Emily, Dilys is often found wanting. A meeting with a stranger, Grace, offers Dilys a valuable chance to redeem herself by offering up a new recruit. However, when Grace joins the Society, the relationship between the two women heads in an unexpected direction, putting them both at risk.
The ending is rather opaque, but I nevertheless found it satisfying in light of Dilys's escalating unreliability. It's a clever way to manage the difficult task of creating a fictional story around a real person.
I received an advance review copy of The Rapture from the publisher through NetGalley.
(4.5) A no-name painter – 'no-name' as in 'not famous', but also literally, as she remains nameless throughout the book – is on the verge of a career (4.5) A no-name painter – 'no-name' as in 'not famous', but also literally, as she remains nameless throughout the book – is on the verge of a career breakthrough. She is nearing completion of her series Rich Ugly Old Maids, a set of large-scale oil paintings loosely based on the seven virtues. Then the loft in which she has been living and working burns down. Her insurance won't be paid out, because she wasn't supposed to be living there; her management still expects the show to be delivered on schedule, as she'd claimed the finished works were in secure storage. As she sees it, there's only one way out. She has to recreate the work, via the single item she managed to salvage: a notebook containing meticulous notes on the process used to create each painting.
In the background of all this, there's another important character: Carey Logan, the narrator's hero. Until she killed herself at the age of 37, Logan, a sculptor and performance artist, was an art industry darling. She was the most famous member of a five-person collective, Pine City; the group went on to establish a residency of the same name in upstate New York. As the narrator secures a place at Pine City and gets to know Logan's collaborators, the parallels between the two women become worryingly clear.
Every turn of Fake Like Me is remarkably well handled. There's a sense that the narrator is stepping into Carey Logan's shoes, but she doesn't lose her identity, and her own art never ceases to be important. Her surroundings, from the fashionably ramshackle Pine City to her wealthy friend Max's astonishing modernist home, easily spring to life in the mind's eye. As do her paintings. I had guessed the twist well ahead of its reveal, but I didn't care. I think that's the best way to do a twist, really: it doesn't matter that it's reasonably obvious to the reader, because it's still immensely satisfying to watch everything (finally) click into place for the narrator.
Smart and authentic and incredibly gripping, Fake Like Me isn't just a step up from Bourland's debut, I'll Eat When I'm Dead; it's several flights of stairs up. The narrator and her art are utterly believable creations. If you enjoyed What I Loved, The Strays or The Ecliptic, I urge you to add this to your wishlist. It's a literary art novel laced with enough elements of the psychological thriller to make it feel taut and compulsive – a brilliant concoction.
I received an advance review copy of Fake Like Me from the publisher through NetGalley.
(2.5) In the very near future (2022), a crew of (mainly) scientists set sail for the Mariana Trench in search of mermaids. This isn't as outlandish a (2.5) In the very near future (2022), a crew of (mainly) scientists set sail for the Mariana Trench in search of mermaids. This isn't as outlandish a mission as it seems: several years earlier, a documentary crew went missing in the same area, and their remaining recordings show the boat under attack by bizarre humanoid creatures. This footage has been dismissed as a hoax, but those aboard the Melusine know the truth is a lot stranger and much more horrifying. I was thoroughly engaged for the first quarter or so (Grant's writing reminded me of Sarah Lotz); after that, my interest began to nosedive. This story could have easily been told with half the pages; it could've been a brilliant novella. It's not just the enormous cast of characters that weighs it down – there's SO much repetition. How many times do we need to be told that Jacques and Michi love killing things and are really into each other, or that Olivia is a geek who cosplays as Emma Frost? And as for the phrase 'lovely ladies of the sea'...
Into the Drowning Deep is essentially a trashy horror film – and I LOVE trashy horror films, but everyone knows they should be no more than 90 minutes long, while this is the equivalent of a three-hour epic. A case of an excellent premise outstaying its welcome by several hundred pages.
This is the second thriller this year (that I know of) to be clearly inspired by the Slender Man case. (The first being Mister Tender's Girl, which I This is the second thriller this year (that I know of) to be clearly inspired by the Slender Man case. (The first being Mister Tender's Girl, which I didn't finish.) It centres on Sadie Banner, who, as a child, is introduced to the legend of a sinister figure known as 'the Tall Man' by a group of older girls. Justine, the ringleader, explains that the Tall Man can make his acolytes 'special' if they prove their devotion to him – but he also 'takes daughters'.
While it's unclear whether this evil figure is real or Sadie is suffering from a delusion, she carries her belief in the Tall Man into adulthood. So when, as a student, she unexpectedly gets pregnant and decides to keep the baby, Sadie believes the safest thing to do is abandon her daughter, lead the Tall Man away. Flash forward to the present day: Sadie's daughter Amber is now a teenager. We learn very early that Amber has stood trial for murder – though she was found not guilty – and, trading on the resulting media notoriety, has become a sort of celebrity.
I know the above sounds like I'm giving a lot away about what happens in the story, but thanks to an intricate structure of interlocking narratives, pretty much all of it is disclosed in the first couple of chapters. Locke does a good job of juggling a plethora of voices and perspectives throughout. First, there's the story of Sadie and Miles, Amber's father, and later, Amber herself. This strand stretches from 1999, when Sadie and Miles meet, to 2016, the year of Amber's crime. In 2018, we meet Greta, assistant director on a documentary film about the Banner family, as she follows Amber on a media tour of the USA. Then there are flashbacks to Sadie's childhood, in which we see how she falls under the spell of the Tall Man. Later, extracts from the diary of another character – the mother of one of Amber's friends – are also added to the mix.
There's a lot going on, and it's to the author's credit that these multiple entangled threads don't become confusing. The plot offers up many points of intrigue to maintain the tension and pace. How is Amber's crime linked to Sadie? Who was Amber's victim? Is the Tall Man real? As someone who loves horror, I was disappointed that the book didn't lean into this last question as hard as it could have. The shadow of the Tall Man is, I think, mostly a unique selling point to make this particular thriller stand out in a crowded market.
While Locke handles the supernatural element with impressive subtlety, she never really delves into the potential it offers. As a result, there's something lacking here. Something a bit... soulless, perhaps. The idea is great, and it’s difficult to put a finger on anything specifically wrong with the writing; it just feels, when you come to the end, like an empty shell of a story. Which sounds much harsher than I mean it to – The Tall Man is certainly enjoyable, and sometimes that’s all you need. It just might not stick in the memory for long.
Lucy is a 38-year-old PhD candidate who has been trying (and failing) to write her thesis on Sappho for years. After a bad breakup, she goes to stay iLucy is a 38-year-old PhD candidate who has been trying (and failing) to write her thesis on Sappho for years. After a bad breakup, she goes to stay in her sister's LA beach house and starts attending group therapy. It all reads like a wryly amusing take on thirtysomething aimlessness and the impossibility of modern dating – and then Lucy begins an intense physical affair with a merman named Theo. I plucked this from the depths of my to-read list because I thought it might make a good holiday book, and it does fit the bill: it's brief, fast-paced, smart but very readable, all of which are things I look for in a 'beach read'. But there's much more to it than I assumed, and its apparent lightness is deceptive. The Pisces is an incredibly horny book that's also very honest about female desire, both physical and emotional – in fact, I'm not sure I've ever read anything so precise on the intricacies and mechanics of sex from a woman's perspective. I ended up both loving it and feeling it'd given me a lot to think about. I hope Broder writes more fiction, because this is a dynamite debut.
Sophia's life in London is a bit of a mess, and after an ill-advised hook-up with a married colleague that threatens to jeopardise her career, she fleSophia's life in London is a bit of a mess, and after an ill-advised hook-up with a married colleague that threatens to jeopardise her career, she flees to her parents' country home. There, she finds an unimaginably horrifying scene: her mother has repeatedly stabbed her father, leaving him in a coma, before taking her own life. Sophia can't believe her mum, Nina, could do this, but the police confirm they are treating the case as an attempted murder-suicide.
In the aftermath of this shocking event, Sophia finds out Nina has written a book – a memoir. Not only that; she's got a publishing deal. Thereafter, the bulk of the narrative is made up of extracts from Nina's memoir, and alongside Sophia, we learn the hitherto-unknown tale of her past. After dropping out of her studies at Cambridge circa 1989, Nina becomes part of a commune named Morningstar, led by charismatic rock star Aaron Kessler. She is quickly drawn into a carefree, hedonistic way of life and an intoxicating relationship with Aaron. But this idyll can't last, and the fallout will reverberate over decades, ultimately wending its way to Sophia in the present day.
I liked Everything Is Lies, but I think it says a lot that I can remember very little about it less than a week after finishing the book. As with Callaghan's debut Dear Amy, I can't shake the impression the author has been asked to shape her narrative in a certain way, the better to make the resulting book slot into the domestic thriller market. There's a lot to appreciate in Nina's story, and with more detail and care, this could make a compelling novel in its own right – something in the vein of Linda Grant's excellent Upstairs at the Party. The murder-suicide part doesn't really need to be there, and the present-day storyline about Sophia's job is completely redundant.
I probably wouldn't have finished reading this if I wasn't on holiday, and that's how I'd recommend it – fine as a throwaway holiday read; otherwise, there are better versions of this story you could seek out. As well as Upstairs at the Party, try The Poison Tree by Erin Kelly, The Bellwether Revivals by Benjamin Wood, The Predictions by Bianca Zander, or The House at Midnight by Lucie Whitehouse.
I received an advance review copy of Everything Is Lies from the publisher through NetGalley.
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