Review: 100 Years of Betty by Debra Oswald

100 Years of Betty isn’t high-brow literary fiction and it doesn’t need to be. It’s warm, engaging, and I really enjoyed it. From the first chapter I connected with Betty, not because I’ve lived her life or even experiences 1/3 of what she has, but because Debra Oswald writes her with such humanity that you feel you could bump into her at the shops and strike up a chat.

Betty’s life begins in wartime London, a childhood shaped by the chaos and fear of the Blitz and the slow disintegration of her family under the strain of war and poverty. As a young woman she migrates to Australia in search of something more and begins (bravely in my mind) begins to build a new life in an unfamiliar country. Across the decades we see her navigate love and loss through multiple marriages, raise her children, and weather the quiet triumphs and disappointments that come with time. Betty's life is one of resilience and reinvention. 

One of the things Oswald does beautifully is show the role of chance in our lives. I once heard (and I wish I could remember where) that life is essentially a set of experiences that we tell ourselves stories about, so we can understand and ourselves better. It's an idea that's always struck me and I keep in mind when I am experiencing something challenging or stressful. That idea threads through Betty’s life. She makes choices but she’s also shaped by accidents, encounters, and the circumstances she finds herself in. Looking back, she pieces these moments together into her own narrative, and we see her come to understand who she is.

Reading it felt a little like a time travel novel except we move through time in the right direction. We watch Betty live through decades of change, each new era bringing shifts in social expectations, opportunities, and challenges. I felt joy and heartbreak watching her grow into her true self across all those years, especially as the world around her changes. We particularly see this shift almost immediately after her children are grown and she travels for the first time, moving to another content, to form connections and create a new family for herself, for a time. This moment felt to me like the most jarring or abrupt development in her character. I understand the change is big and abrupt because of the point in her life where she is free, without the responsibility of caring for her children, to finally put herself and her interests first.

One of the storylines that particularly resonated with me was about forced adoption. In a previous role, I worked in a not-for-profit organisation that supported people separated through forced adoption, and the emotions in this part of the book rang true. Oswald captures the pain, the complexity, and the lifelong impact without turning it into melodrama.

At its heart, this is also a story about women’s liberation. It shows how women have seen ourselves over time, how society has seen us over time, and how we have come to expect more from our lives. Through Betty, we see those changes unfold in small, everyday ways. Her confidence shifts, she becomes self-reliant and she knows she deserves and then expects respect.

And who doesn't doesn't love an elderly lady willing to experiment with hallucinogens. 

100 Years of Betty comes highly recommended by me.

Review: The Good People by Hannah Kent

Hannah Kent is one of my favourite authors. I’ve read all of her novels and her memoir. I love the way her writing seems to inhabit a time and place so completely that you can feel as though you are there. When you read her books you can see the world she describes, feel the damp air in your lungs, and experience the feelings and thoughts of the characters, right down to their bones. I saw her speak recently at the Sydney Writers’ Festival and she was just as lyrical and insightful in person as she is on the page.

But The Good People was, surprisingly, my least favourite of her books.

Set in rural Ireland in the 1820s, the story follows Nora, Mary, and Nance, whose lives become entangled through the care of a Nora's sickly young grandson, Micheal after Nora's husband unexpectedly passes away. Nora comes to believe that the “good people” (fairies) might be to blame for his condition, and the women take increasingly desperate steps to help him. 

Kent’s writing is, as always, richly atmospheric. She describes peat smoke curling from the hearth, mist hanging over green valleys, the smell and feeling of the wet and damp earth, and the rhythms of rural life in a way that feel so authentic that you can almost imagine that you are living them yourself. 

The book has a very slow pace which fits this setting. We experience the pace of a rural village in the Irish past and observe the seasonal change and the unchanging superstitious belieds of the community.  But for me, the pace felt a little too slow. I found myself skipping ahead a few pages here and there (and then sheepishly going back because guilt wouldn’t let me cheat properly). I didn’t connect deeply with any of the characters, which made the unhurried unfolding of events harder to settle into. In her other novels, I’ve always found a character or a thread of emotion that I have connected with. Here, I just didn't care as much as I needed to to remain in the story.

The ending also didn’t quite land for me. Without giving too much away, it felt oddly abrupt and left me feeling unsatisfied. That may well have been Kent’s intention, after all, the story is based on a real historical case, but I missed the sense of emotional connection that I’ve come to expect from her.

Still, even a Hannah Kent novel that doesn’t quite work for me is a novel worth reading. The writing alonehas the ability to embed you in a historical moment and I admire this so much in her books. If I had to summarise The Good People, I would say that it is a slow-burn immersion into a past world where folklore and reality blur, but for me it lacked the heartbeat that made Burial Rites and Devotion so unforgettable.

And now, having read all of Hannah Kent’s books, I’m left with the realisation that I’ll have to wait for her to write another before I can lose myself in her words again.

Six Degrees of Separation (Aug): From The Safekeep to Australian Poems to Read to the Very Young

 The meme is hosted by Books are My Favourite Best and is described thus: On the first Saturday of every month, a book is chosen as a starting point and linked to six other books to form a chain. Readers and bloggers are invited to join in by creating their own ‘chain’ leading from the selected book. Each person’s chain will look completely different. It doesn’t matter what the connection is or where it takes you – just take us on the journey with you.

This month we start with the 2025 Winner of the Women's Prize for Fiction: The Safekeep by Yael van der Wouden.  

I read this very recently and you can read my review here. 

The book is described:

An exhilarating tale of twisted desire, histories and homes, and the unexpected shape of revenge – for readers of Patricia Highsmith, Sarah Waters and Ian McEwan’s Atonement. It is fifteen years after the Second World War, and Isabel has built herself a solitary life of discipline and strict routine in her late mother’s country home, with not a fork or a word out of place. But all is upended when her brother Louis delivers his graceless new girlfriend, Eva, at Isabel’s doorstep – as a guest, there to stay for the season… In the sweltering heat of summer, Isabel’s desperate need for control reaches boiling point. What happens between the two women leads to a revelation which threatens to unravel all she has ever known.

First stop: Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. I've chosen a classic gothic novel here. The unnamed second Mrs. de Winter arrives at Manderley and is haunted (metaphorically) by the presence of Rebecca. This is perhaps my favourite book. Like The Safekeep, it's about a woman’s identity blurring and a house filled with heavy memories. My review. 

Second stop: The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters. Another mystery unravelling in a British manor, this one falling into decay and, like The Safekeep, set after the war. A doctor becomes entangled with a family struggling with a perceived haunting. My review.

Third stop: The Secret River by Kate Grenville. I'm not quite sure why this one came to mind next. It brings us to early Australian invasion history, where a man stakes a riverbank and builds a life on stolen lands. I think perhaps it's the wilful ignorance and moral consequences of theft that connects the books in my mind. There is definitely a common theme of moral reckoning across history. My review.

Fourth stop: The Timeless Land by Eleanor Dark. The Timeless Land expands the scope to a broader historical setting. While The Secret River offers an intimate perspective on one family’s journey, Dark’s novel provides a sweeping account of the first years of British invasion from multiple viewpoints, including the Aboriginal peoples. Like Grenville, Dark grapples with the complex legacies of settlement and challenges the dominant narratives of Australian history. I was actually interviewed on Radio National about this book. My review. 

Fifth stop: Blinky Bill by Dorothy Wall. The Timeless Land holds a special place in my own history. It was my grandmother’s favourite book; one she treasured and reread many times. This personal connection leads me to Blinky Bill, another Australian classic, but from a very different angle. Blinky Bill is a children’s story centred on the adventures of a mischievous koala, embodying a playful and irreverent spirit of one type of Australian childhood. The copy I have belonged to my grandmother, linking these two books through family.

Sixth stop: Australian Poems to Read to the Very Young. From the whimsy of Blinky Bill, for me the chain naturally moves to Australian Poems to Read to the Very Young. This collection of poems is deeply embedded in my own childhood memories, and I can still recite many by heart. Like Blinky Bill, it evokes a sense of place and identity shaped by the landscape and language of Australia. Just reading one of these poems returns me to special moments in my childhood.

For good measure, click here to see what in read in July. 

Review: The Safe Keep by Yael Van Der Wouden

This one really got under my skin.

The Safe Keep is one of those books that creeps up on you. It’s set in the Netherlands not long after WWII, and the whole thing feels steeped in silence and tension. In other words, it’s not fast-paced, but you can feel from the opening that there is a sense of unease in the story that it clearly building toward something. 

The story follows Isabel, who’s living alone in her family's home, a large family home in the country side filled with memories that Isabel can't and doesn't want to escape. She’s somewhat cut off from the world, emotionally and practically. There is almost a faint agoraphobia or at the very least severe anxiety feel to the way that Isabel lives. That is, until Eva turns up - her brother’s fiancee, who comes to stay with Isabel. From the moment the two meet in a restaurant, you can feel the tension between them. Isabel immediately feels that Eva is hiding something. Eva appears confident and curious, but at the same time is a little hard to pin down. The dynamic between the two women is intense from the beginning. They are watchful of each other but there is always a sense of something deeper going on underneath for them both. 

The relationship between Isabel and Eva is full of tension, and part of that tension is sexual. Initially, it’s not labelled, and nothing is spelled out too directly, but increasingly there’s an undeniable undercurrent of desire between them. I liked the way the novel handled this. Their attraction is just there in the characters and the way they move around each other. It’s messy, complicated, and laced with repression which is exactly right for the time period and the emotional tone of the book.

The other thread I found really fascinating was the one about postwar theft and hidden complicity. There’s this idea bubbling under the surface that after the war ended, not everyone came out of it clean. Some people took advantage of others misfortune, knowingly or with wilful ignorance. There’s a growing sense that Isabel’s family may have benefitted from things that were never really theirs. That kind of moral murkiness adds a lot of depth to the story. It’s not just about personal memory or trauma, it’s also about national memory and who gets to tell the story of what happened.

The writing is spare and controlled and full of atmosphere. There’s something unsettling about the way van der Wouden builds the story. I felt like I was waiting for something awful to happen, even when everything was quiet. And when the reveal does come, it sinks in almost with a bit of a sickening feeling. The ending is quietly devastating, but at the same time hopeful and so I was left with a haunted feeling I actually really appreciate in a book.

This will be a challenging read for some people. It’s ambiguous and emotionally chilly at times but if you like a book with complicated female characters and moral grey zones that leaves you slightly off balance, The Safe Keep is absolutely worth your time.

July 2025: What I Read

In truth it hasn't been much of a reading month. I was interviewing for a new job and not feeling very enthused in my current job. My daughter and I came down with the flu, which made concentrating on books very challenging and just over all I wasn't super feeling it. 

This means that my reading essentially fell into two categories: New Reads and Re-Reads.

New Reads

100 Years of Betty by Debra Oswald

I loved this, it was just such a journey with a character that it was easy to identify. It's so illuminating seeing a story unfold through such changes over time - from poverty-stricken war-torn England to modern day Sydney. People see such changes in the course of their lives. I wonder what I will see. 

The Good People by Hannah Kent 

Kent is one of my favourite authors and I have always loved her books, until this one. It's not that I didn't like it but it was easily my least favourite of her books. There just wasn't anything about it that grabbed my attention or connected me to the characters. I do feel very fortunate to have a signed copy though, which I picked up when her saw her speak earlier this year at the Sydney Writers Festival. 

The Quiet Grave by Dervla Tiernan

This is the final book in the Cormac Reilly series by Dervla Tiernan; a fairly standard crime series set in Galway, Ireland. I wasn't too fussed on the first book in the series, but persevered with books 2 & 3 which I increasingly enjoyed. The Quiet Grave fell a little short for me again. Like the first book, the resolution came so suddenly, and was just so unlikely, that it was a little disappointing. 

Re-Reads

I re-read a fair few cosy detective novels this month. Agatha Christie came in with Appointment with Death and Dumb Witness. I also listened to Murder on the Links as an audiobook read by Hugh Fraser.  

I read Australian author Kerry Greenwood's Away with the Fairies, The Castlemaine Murders and Murder in Williamstown. 

The Picture of Dorian Gray also got a look in. I remember really enjoying this book when I first read it but reading it again now my enjoyment was far less. Perhaps I just wasn't in the right mood to be reading men mansplaining their personal views on life and the world but honestly, I found it pretty dreary this time around. 

Review: The Mystery Writer by Sulari Gentill

I love Sulari Gentill’s Rowland Sinclair series. They’re clever and funny and stylish and I hope to be able to read more as they are published (will there be more?). So I was excited to try The Mystery Writer, one of her more contemporary standalone novels. And at first, I was all in. The premise is intriguing. A young Australian woman, Theodosia Benton, moves to the US to chase her dream of being a writer. She becomes friends with a famous novelist, gets caught up in a relationship with him, and before long finds herself at the centre of his murder investigation.

The early chapters are great. It has that contemporary feel with just the right dose of thriller. Theo is a satisfying main character. She is determined, slightly unsure of herself, and pulled into a world she doesn’t fully understand. The setting, the pacing, and the mood all worked for me. It had that very moreish quality where I kept reading just a bit further each night than I meant to.

But then came the ending.

Without giving anything away, I just found it a bit much. The final act took a turn that felt over the top, and it wrapped up far too quickly for my liking. I don’t mind a bit of implausibility in a mystery novel, but this stretched things a little too far. I was hoping for a slow and sensible unravelling, but instead it was all very sudden and, frankly, a little ludicrous.

It reminded me of The Nowhere Child by Christian White, which I also read recently in the way that they both have a strong, promising start that gradually builds tension, only to completely lose me with an ending that didn’t quite fit the tone of the rest of the book. It’s frustrating when you’re enjoying the ride and then feel like the author lost confidence in the story and just sped to the finish line.

That said, I didn’t dislike the book. I enjoyed most of the journey. Gentill is a good writer, and the idea behind the novel, which is probably about exploring ambition and developing creative identity, is interesting. But it didn’t land for me in the way I hoped it would. I would still recommend it, with a warning that the ending might leave you a bit cold.

So not my favourite Gentill (Rowland Sinclair still holds that spot) but I’m glad I gave this one a go and I will still eventually read all of her novels. 

Review: The Scholar and The Good Turn by Dervla Tiernan

I’ve done a complete turnaround on this series.

After reading The Rúin, I wasn’t totally convinced it was for me. I didn’t dislike it, but it felt a bit slow and unsatisfying. But I kept going and I’m so glad I did. With each book, the series gets stronger. By the time I finished The Good Turn, I was completely hooked. This is now a series I genuinely look forward to continuing.

In The Scholar, Cormac Reilly finds himself drawn into a murder investigation after his partner Emma discovers a hit-and-run victim near the university where she works. The case quickly escalates. Layers of privilege, power, and pharmaceutical money complicate everything. It’s more tightly plotted than The Rúin, and I found the pacing better too. There’s still that brooding atmosphere and a focus on Cormac’s professional isolation, but it felt more focused this time. I got a better sense of who Cormac was as a character, someone who was reserved but felt things deeply. 

Then came The Good Turn. This one brings Peter Fisher, Cormac's colleague, to the forefront, and the narrative shifts between Galway and the small coastal town of Roundstone. A young girl is abducted, a key arrest is botched by Peter Fisher, and Cormac makes a career-defining decision to deal with corruption in the police force. The story delves into the police corruption and even outside of that the procedural pressure felt by police and the personal fallout for them. I found myself more invested in Peter than I expected to be, and the change of scenery added something fresh to the series. McTiernan manages to keep the crime procedural format and deepen the emotional stakes.

In short, I recommend this series. The characters become more compelling as we go, and McTiernan seems to grow more confident with each book. So if you’ve read The Rúin and weren’t quite sure, I’d encourage you to keep going. I enjoyed The Scholar a lot, but The Good Turn really sealed the deal for me. I'm reading the fourth book now. 

Review: The Cryptic Clue: A Tea Ladies Mystery by Amanda Hampson

I absolutely love this series.

This is the second in Amanda Hampson’s Tea Ladies Mystery series (following The Tea Ladies, with The Deadly Dispute to come) I try to savour these books because I love them so much but they're just so easy to fall into that I end up devouring them in a few sittings.

The Cryptic Clue is set in 1966 Sydney, just a street or two from my current office. That proximity adds an extra layer to the reading experience, walking down those same laneways and picturing Hazel, Betty, Merle and Irene stepping through a bygone version of the city.

In this adventure, the tea ladies are juggling a plot that threatens national security, a coded message promising the spoils of a bank robbery and tensions at Empire Fashionwear over job cuts. It's cosy crime in all its glory.

I love the way that Hampson captures the rhythm of 1960s work life. You can almost live the tea trolley rolling in, the banter and the biscuits. And there’s a delightful commentary tucked in exploring the looming automation of tea services, class divides (cream biscuits vs plain ones), and the quiet power of a group of women who refuse to be sidelined. There is humour tinged with sadness in the character's reflections that no automated tea station where workers can simply help themselves to tea would ever replace a tea lady. 

I especially love how close I feel to Hazel. She is observant, pragmatic, and grounded. And thanks to the setting, I can picture her ducking into a corner café in Surry Hills and spotting clues between sips of tea.

If you’re a fan of cosy crime and strong, clever women (and especially if Sydney’s your city) The Cryptic Clue is an absolute delight. It's smart, witty, and just the right level of puzzling without tipping into overly dark territory. Highly recommended, I can't wait for the next one but at the same time I am delaying it to savour the experience of the series. 

Review: Bliss by Peter Carey

Well… this was a bit of a ride.

I finally read Bliss by Peter Carey as part of efforts to read the winners of Australia's Miles Franklin Awards (it was the 1981 Winner, here is a record of my efforts so far). Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what to make of it. It’s one of those books that made me feel like I had missed something important, like there was a deeper meaning just out of reach, but I couldn’t quite grab hold of it. People rave about Carey, and this one was his debut novel which kickstarted his career and won the Miles Franklin Award, but I just didn’t connect with it.

The novel opens with Harry Joy, an advertising executive, literally dying and coming back to life. After that, he becomes convinced he’s living in hell. And from there, it just gets stranger. There’s satire, there’s surrealism, there’s environmentalism, there’s infidelity, there’s a woman in a tree… it’s all happening, and yet I found myself mostly confused and detached.

Carey’s writing is clever but I didn’t feel emotionally invested. I spent a lot of the book trying to work out what was going on, or more often what I was meant to take from it. I think it was meant to be funny in parts, or biting in its social commentary, but it all felt a bit kooky for kooky’s sake. Maybe it was pushing boundaries at the time, but now it just feels kind of… odd?

There were moments where I caught glimpses of what Carey was trying to do which was critiquing consumerism and playing with ideas of personal transformation etc, but I struggled to care about Harry or the other strange characters. Maybe that’s the point? Maybe it’s all meant to be disorienting and ironic and a little absurd. If so then he met the brief, but not in a good way - at least for me.

That said, I can sort of see why it’s a classic of Australian literature. It’s bold, and Carey clearly wasn’t interested in writing a straightforward story. But I don’t think I’ll be rushing to read it again or recommending it to anyone unless they’re in the mood for something truly bizarre.

So: clever, a bit crazy, a bit kooky. Not really my thing. But if you like your fiction strange and satirical, Bliss might be the book for you.

Review: Revisiting The Chrysalids by John Wyndham

 

"Watch thou for the Mutant; Keep pure the stock of the Lord."

I first reviewed The Chrysalids in 2011 and declared it one of my favourite books of all time and honestly, nothing has changed. I’ve now read it multiple times, and each time I pick it up I’m gripped all over again. It’s one of those rare books that never loses its power for me. Every time I read it I find myself holding my breath in the same places, turning the pages fast and completely absorbed. 

Written in 1955, The Chrysalids is a post-apocalyptic novel set in a future that feels alarmingly possible. Society has collapsed (we assume due to nuclear disaster), and the survivors have retreated into a fundamentalist worldview where 'purity' is everything. It’s a rigid, brutal world in which any deviation from the norm (whether animal, plant, or person) caused by the nuclear disaster is hunted out and destroyed.

The protagonist and narrator, David, is a quiet boy growing up in this strict religious farming community. But he’s also harbouring a dangerous secret: he has telepathic powers. There are others like him who can communicate silently across great distances and who realise that they must band together for survival and hide what they are. But of course, that only lasts so long. The tension builds as David and the others are forced to run, ultimately placing all their hopes in a mysterious, advanced society from a far-away land called Sealand (which is very obviously meant to be New Zealand, I love that).

Reading it again, what continues to impress me is just how modern this book still feels. Wyndham might be writing from the 1950s, but his insights into bigotry, conformity, fear and power could be written today. The Chrysalids is a novel about intolerance, and I don't just mean the overt kind. Importantly, it's about subtle, systemic, internalised intolerance. It asks huge questions in a deceptively simple way: What is 'normal' and who gets to decide? What happens when you fall outside of that?

What stood out more on this re-read is just how unsettling some of the ethical questions are. Wyndham doesn’t make it easy for us to pick sides. The religious fundamentalists are clearly oppressive, but the Sealanders, with all their superiority and cool detachment, are not necessarily the comforting saviours they appear to be. There’s a moment near the end when one of the Sealand women explains, without emotion, why those who can't communicate telepathically will inevitably be left behind. And you realise that every society, no matter how advanced it considers itself to be, has its own intolerances and dogma.

That’s what I love about this book. It’s not just thrilling and absorbing, it also leaves you thinking long after you’ve put it down. I keep returning to the idea that prejudice never looks the same twice. It mutates, just like the people and animals in the story.

This time around, I couldn’t help but see the parallels with today’s politics, particularly in the US where groups like Trump supporters rail against things like "liberal cancel culture” and preach about free speech and traditional values, while simultaneously banning books, suppressing education, and attacking anyone who doesn’t conform to their version of what’s 'normal'. It’s the same pattern Wyndham explores - a fear of difference and change disguised as moral certainty.

And we’ve seen shades of it here in Australia too. I reflect on the national debate around the Voice referendum and the way some political leaders painted the proposal as divisive while encouraging fear, misinformation and a rigid definition of unity that excluded actual inclusion. It’s not hard to draw a line from that kind of rhetoric back to Waknuk. In both cases, it’s about controlling the narrative of what belongs, and what doesn’t.

Wyndham reminds us that intolerance often wears the mask of righteousness. Whether it’s religious purity in Waknuk and the US or political dogma and national identity debates in Australia and the US, the urge to define and destroy the 'other' is disturbingly persistent.

I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. The Chrysalids is easily my favourite Wyndham. It's one of my all-time favourite books full stop. And somehow, it keeps getting better and more relevant every time I read it.

Review: The Lost Man by Jane Harper

 

There is a particular comfort in a Jane Harper novel. She reliably provides a great read for when you want to be hooked but you don't want to be challenged. Her novels are always very similar, geographically and thematically, and she has become one of my favourite authors for when I want to pull myself out of a bit of a reading slump. That sounds a little negative, but I don't mean it to, I enjoy her novels and think that they would be appealing to a wide audience. 

The Lost Man transports readers to the blistering sun and dusty expanses of the Australian outback, to the fictional Spinner family cattle station in regional Queensland. The novel opens with the death of Cameron “Cam” Spinner, found near an isolated historical grave in scorching heat. His vehicle is found abandoned some kilometres away, with no explanation for why he would have abandoned the car and found himself at the isolated spot he ultimately met his death. His brother Nathan finds himself unravelling what happened to Cam.  

Harper uses shifting timelines to uncover fractures in the family. Cam’s death might be accident, suicide, or something darker. Each chapter peels back another layer of familial history. There is resentment between the brothers, buried disputes and Cam, Bub and Nathan’s fraught relationship with their abusive father. The tension builds gradually until the reveal, with no major twists along the way. The tension arises from suppressed emotions, strained silences, and obligations born of duty. They silently move around each other, usually being careful not to revisit old wounds in their dealings with one another and occasionally airing old grievances. In other words, it's a slow burn and good for if you want something atmospheric and psychological.

Harper’s rendering of the outback makes it almost a character in and of itself. It is oppressive but beautiful. Like with The Dry and Force of Nature (also great books), Harper uses the landscape of the setting to heighten tension. The physical landscape and the psychological landscapes mirror each other.  

Although I enjoyed it a lot, I did enjoy The Dry, Forces of Nature and even Exiles slightly more. The slow build in The Lost Man, although effective, at times felt a little slower than I would have preferred and I found myself waiting for it to speed up a little. Nonetheless, I recommend The Lost Man if you’re drawn to character‑driven mysteries set in evocative landscapes, with a slow‑burn reveal and emotional depth.

Six Degrees of Separation (July): Theory and Practice to Babel: Or The Necessity of Violence

The meme is hosted by Books are My Favourite Best and is described thus: On the first Saturday of every month, a book is chosen as a starting point and linked to six other books to form a chain. Readers and bloggers are invited to join in by creating their own ‘chain’ leading from the selected book. Each person’s chain will look completely different. It doesn’t matter what the connection is or where it takes you – just take us on the journey with you.

This month starts with Theory and Practice by Michelle de Kretser:

In the late 1980s, the narrator of Theory & Practice—a first generation immigrant from Sri Lanka who moved to Sydney in her childhood—sets up a life in Melbourne for graduate school. Jilted by a lover who cheats on her with another self-described "feminist," she is thrown into deeper confusion about her identity and the people around her.

I admit to only having read one book by Michelle de Kretser, The Lost Dog and I wasn't enamoured with it. I know I've read so many good things about Theory and Practice, but I don't think it will be high on my priority list. 

A favourite book of mine by an Australian author - The Book Thief by Markus Zusak (my review here). Love it, everyone should read it, one of my all-time favourite books. I could rave all day about this. 

Another book that begins at the end: We Need to Talk about Kevin by Lionel Shriver (my review here). This novel is epic. It had me completely hysterical at the end. I remember calling my husband crying and worrying him that something was really wrong. It was, but fortunately just in the story. 

I also cried like a baby in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by JK Rowling (my review here), when Dobby died. He died a hero's death, but goodness it was heartbreaking. 

Another tearjerker - The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger (my review here). I love this book. One my absolute favourites and I would read it more often if it wasn't right at the top of my bookcase where I can't reach it. 

I am noticing a theme that a lot of the books that I would say are my favourite also make me cry. I will have to do some self-reflection about this at a later date. 

With that in mind, another favourite book but this time one that didn't make me cry: The Vintner's Luck by Elizabeth Knox (my review here). I've never met anyone else who has read this so if you have, please make yourself known! Similar to The Time Traveller's Wife it's a magical realism novel, but in this case it's not time travel but a vintner in the early 19th century who makes friends / falls in love with an angel. Sounds weird, but its beautiful. 

Finally, the most recent book that I read that could be considered magical realism was Babel: Or the Necessity of Violence by Rebecca F Kuang (my review here). Wonderful deep dive into the question of how necessary violence is to bring about real, important, and necessary social change. Definitely a relevant question for today. 

For good measure: the books I read in June

June 2025: What I read

The Women by Kristin Hannah: An historical novel exploring the experience of women who served in the Vietnam War. I really enjoyed this novel. Being only in my 40s I am too young to have memory of the Vietnam War, and this was an easily accessible read that explored the experiences of a group of women that history has previously ignored somewhat. 

  

The Safe Keep by Yael Van Der Wouden: This is a hard one to summarise. It is set in post-post Netherlands and is a deep exploration of..... perhaps I could say the weight of history on our personal lives and identities. 

The Mystery Writer by Sulari Gentill: A mystery story about a young writer who seeks to discover the identity of her mentor and lover's murderer. I love Gentill's Rowland Sinclair novels. Initially I really enjoyed this book, but I liken it a little to The Nowhere Child which I read recently - it starts off strong and then completely lost me with it ludicrous ending. 

The Chrysalids by John Wyndham: My favourite of Wyndham's novels. No matter how many times I read it, I can't put it down. 

The Good Turn and The Scholar by Dervla Tiernan: Books 2 & 3 in the Cormac Reilly series. After not being entirely excited by the first in this series, I actually think that they get better as the series progresses. 

 

Bliss by Peter Carey: Seriously kooky - really, I have no idea what I read or why I read it. Honestly, just a bizarre book, I barely know what to say. 

The Cryptic Clue: A Tea Ladies Mystery by Amanda Sampson: I love this series. I am trying to read it slowly because I enjoy it so much, but honestly if you are into a cosy detective book - this series is for you. Bonus for me is that it is set in the streets down from my current office building and so I try to imagine myself on those streets, back in the 1950s and 1960s, and really see the story through the eyes of the characters.  

Insomnia reads 

My insomnia reads - those books I read late at night when insomnia has me in its grips. In June I did what I try very hard not to do and just read my day books at night time. I try to avoid this because a new book will keep me in its grip, which makes it harder to put it down and at least try to rest. Much of The Mystery Writer by Sulari Gentill was read late at night. 

I did, however, have one insomnia read this month: A Caribbean Mystery by Agatha Christie. It was chosen at random and I had read it enough to know 'who dunnit' so the mystery element wasn't there to keep me reading longer than I should.

WWW Wednesday: 2 July 2025

  WWW Wednesday is a meme that is hosted by Taking on a World of Words. It's a very simple premise of sharing with others The Three Ws:

What are you currently reading? 

What did you recently finish reading? 

What do you think you’ll read next?

For a more detailed summary of the month, here is June: What I read

Currently reading

This is the final book by Hannah Kent that I will have read, and I think I can now confidently say that Kent is one of my favourite authors. I am really enjoying this so far and am trying to read it slowly and savour it given I will need to wait for her to write another book before I can read anything else by her. 

Just finished

I most recently finished The Women by Kristin Hannah, which provided a meaningful and easily accessible insight into the experiences of women who served in the Vietnam War. 

I also recently finished The Safe Keep by Yael Van Der Wouden and I highly recommend it. It was written do beautifully and deeply delves into deeply personal matters that are also important social issues for the world, really, to grapple with. 

What is next?

Who knows. Too Much Lip by Melissa Lucashenko. I recently purchased Midnight and Blue by Ian Rankin after seeing him speak at the Sydney Writers Festival (my post here) and Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver. But I also would really like to read another book by Kristin Hannah. The world is my oyster. 

WWW Wednesday: 18 June 2025

  WWW Wednesday is a meme that is hosted by Taking on a World of Words. It's a very simple premise of sharing with others The Three Ws:

What are you currently reading? 

What did you recently finish reading? 

What do you think you’ll read next?

Just finished

I just finished The Mystery Writer Sulari Gentill. I love Gentill's Rowland Sinclair series, and this was the first of her novels that I have read since completing the Sinclair series. What did I think? I read it compulsively much longer into the night than I should have, and then those final few chapters..... anyone else who has read this will know what I mean. It did not have a satisfying ending. More thoughts incoming in a future review. 

Currently reading

When I saw that The Safe Keep by Yael Van Der Wouden (shortlisted for the Booker Prize 2024) won the Women's Prize for Fiction 2025 I decided it was time to pick it up. I started it on Monday and, so far, I love it. 

What will I read next?

Honestly, every time I try to answer this, I read something else, so take this with a grain of salt. I have borrowed on my eReader The Women by Kristin Hannah, and I had better read that before they take it off me. Other candidates are Bel Canto and The Blue Sisters. 

Open to suggestions!
 

Recent reviews:

• The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin by Alison Goodman
• The Nowhere Child by Christian White
• Coming up: The Lost Man by Jane Harper

Review: The Nowhere Child by Christian White

I had read quite a few positive reviews of The Nowhere Child by Christian White and so it seemed serendipitous when I came across it for $3 at a local book fair. 

'Her name is Sammy Went. This photo was taken on her second birthday. Three days later she was gone.' On a break between teaching photography classes in Melbourne, Kim Leamy is approached by a stranger investigating the disappearance of a little girl from her Kentucky home twenty-eight years earlier. He believes Kim is that girl. At first she brushes it off, but when Kim scratches the surface of her family history in Australia, questions arise that aren't easily answered. To find the truth, she must travel to Sammy's home of Manson, Kentucky, and into a dark past. As the mystery of Sammy's disappearance unravels and the town's secrets are revealed, this superb novel builds towards an electrifying climax. Inspired by Gillian Flynn's frenetic suspense and Stephen King's masterful world-building, The Nowhere Child is a combustible tale of trauma, cult, conspiracy and memory. It is the remarkable debut of Christian White, an exhilarating new Australian talent.

The Nowhere Child, is Australian author Christian White’s debut novel, had a tantalising premise - at least for me - and it definitely hooked me within the first few pages. It begins with a woman in Hobart, Tasmania, Kim, being approached at work by a man who says that he believes she is not who she thinks she is. Within days, Kim realises that she may not be who she thinks she is, and she is drawn into the disappearance of a two-year-old Sammy Went many years ago in the USA.  The story began very strong. I was hooked, the writing was direct, and the story felt cinematic.

But somewhere along the road, probably at about the halfway mark, the book lost its way. 

The story goes back and forth between past and present and as the mystery deepens, so does the cast of characters. We explore a small-town American community full of secrets, fundamentalist religion (cult) and its followers and troubled family members. And while I appreciate the way in which the narrative unfolded, I increasingly found myself unconvinced by the direction the story and I increasingly started to wonder why so many of the characters would behave the way that they did. 

That's where The Nowhere Child lost me - the balance between drama, mystery and believability wasn't quite right. The eventual solution to the mystery felt too far-fetched and arrived far too suddenly. It then ended with a speed that left me oddly unsatisfied. I wanted more from the characters emotionally, more time to process what the story meant beyond its twists.

It wasn't all bad. I enjoyed it and there were moments of tension and emotion. But to be frank, when it reached its conclusion, I thought "come one, seriously?" In short, it started strong but didn't fulfil its promise.

Review: The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin by Alison Goodman

The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin by Alison Goodman

This is the second in Goodman’s “Ill-Mannered Ladies” series, which follows my new favourite twin sisters Lady Augusta (Gus) and Lady Julia Colebrook. I enjoyed the first in the series so much that I pre-ordered this and read it as soon as it was released. The Colebrook twins are fabulous - unmarried, unapologetic, unrelentingly curious and courageous as anyone could hope to be. In this book, the sisters find themselves helping fugitive Lord Evan and his sister, by saving the sister from the clutches of their eldest brother and trying to clear Lord Evan's name of the murder he has been convicted of.  

I actually think I preferred this second instalment to the first. It is so entertaining - Sherlock Holmes meets righteous feminist indignation. I think what improved this story for me was that rather than focusing on several mysteries, it followed the one throughout. What really makes this such an entertaining book is the relationship between Gus and Julia. They are so different, and yet so loyal to one another. They can read each other's minds and yet at times are so exasperating to one another.  I loved them in the first book (The Benevolent Society of Ill-Mannered Ladies), and I loved them even more here. They feel like the kind of women you might want to write old-fashioned letters to and would find highly intelligent and entertaining correspondents. 

And the romance, sigh. Gus continues her slow-burning romance with Lord Evan, who remains on the run from the law. Julia starts her own romance with a bow-street runner, a more subtle romance than that of Gud and Lord Evan, but obviously still deeply felt. What is great about this series is that despite Gus and Julia having romantic interests in the story, they remain committed to what I would call social injustice and the restrictions that society places upon them due to their age and gender.  

I highly recommend this series, written by an Australian author. Start with the The Benevolent Society of Ill-Mannered Ladies and know that it will get even better in The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin. 

Review & Author Talk: Hannah Kent on her memoir Always Home, Always Homesick (Sydney Writers' Festival event)

Hannah Kent, where do I begin. After I had my children, I suddenly found it very hard to read and write. Over time, I gave up my blogging (Page Turners) and stopped reading. When I did read, I usually re-read. It was Hannah Kent's Burial Rites that was the first fresh book that I had read for a long time that grabbed and retained my interest. I became lost in it, and I have loved Hannah's Kent's writing every since. 

I was so excited when I saw that Hannah Kent would be speaking at the Sydney Writers Festival, and at a lovely local bowling club that I was very familiar with. I reached out to my girlfriends, and we all agreed that we would have a mid-week night out together to listen to Kent speak about her new memoir Always Home, Always Homesick. 

I feel very fortunate to have been able to see Kent speak about this work which is no doubt special to her. She spoke so articulately and lyrically about her experience of Iceland and of writing. I could hear her written voice coming through and she had the audience engaged with her unique experience of living in Iceland and later writing about a well-known Icelandic story of the final execution in the country. 

The review

Always Home, Always Homesick is a memoir written with the lyrical quality Kent is known for. The memoir delves into her experience as a teenage exchange student to the beautiful Iceland, which has become her home away from home. It has a non-linear structure, moving between her experience as a teenager living with host families, as a creative writing student researching for Burial Rites, and her experience as a new mother reflecting on her experiences in the past and how they have shaped her. The structure means that the memoir is fragmented, but it is very cohesive and, in a way, deeply intimate. 

As the title suggests, the main theme of the memoir is the paradox of feeling at home and homesick at the same time. While in Iceland as a teenager, Kent feels homesick for her family and friends, but eventually comes to feel a sense of belonging. Eventually, she becomes deeply connected to Iceland and feels homesick for it - especially as she struggles through those early weeks and months with a newborn. It evokes in her a sense of longing. What was interesting in the Sydney Writers Festival author talk was that she spoke about discovering that home for her also meant writing. She felt at home in writing, and could feel at home wherever she was, so long as she was writing. I that sense Always Home, Always Homesick shows home as a physical location, but also as an emotional state. 

Much of the memoir provided insight into Kent’s creative writing practice and how it's changed over time. I loved reading about how she would write stories under a special tree at her family home and kept journals as she grew up and as she travelled. During the author talk she spoke about how she felt at home in her writing writing, but I had sense during the memoir that writing was also how she processed her experiences and feelings.  

Always Home, Always Homesick also contains Kent's reflections on motherhood. It begins with Kent awakening from a deep dream, but finding herself still in almost a dreamlike state as she wakes to feed her newborn. She reflects on how motherhood changed her body, her mind and her sense of time - all things that I thoroughly identify with. She explores the tension between her need for solitude and creative space but also her new role as a primary caregiver for young children. It was funny at the author talk to hear her reflect on her writing process pre and post children. Before children Kent had a strict writing routine that she believed was essential to the writing process. Having children taught her that she still tap into her creativity, despite having background noise and mess and interruptions - something all parents need to get used to. 

The memoir contains such evocative descriptions of Iceland, I have become determined to visit one day to see the beauty for myself. In her descriptions of Iceland and Australia, Kent describes the natural world so beautifully and clearly that one can't help but feel she must have a deep connection to the natural world.

In short, Always Home, Always Homesick is a beautiful memoir that combines personal experiences, intimate insights and evocative descriptions of Iceland. If you haven't read anything by Hannah Kent before, I suggest that you start with her debut novel Burial Rites, which is directly linked to this special memoir. For fans of Kent's fiction, you will love this foray into non-fiction. The Good People is the only one of Kent's novels that I have not yet read, and at the author talk I was able to purchase a copy and have Kent sign it. It is definitely a book that I will treasure. 

  

Six Degree (June) 2025 Women’s Prize for Fiction, All Fours by Miranda July.

The meme is hosted by Books are My Favourite Best and is described thus: On the first Saturday of every month, a book is chosen as a starting point and linked to six other books to form a chain. Readers and bloggers are invited to join in by creating their own ‘chain’ leading from the selected book. Each person’s chain will look completely different. It doesn’t matter what the connection is or where it takes you – just take us on the journey with you.

This month starts with All Fours by Miranda July, which has been shortlisted for the Women's Prize for Fiction 2025. It is described as: 

"A semifamous artist announces her plan to drive cross-country, from LA to New York. Twenty minutes after leaving her husband and child at home, she spontaneously exits the freeway, beds down in a nondescript motel, and immerses herself in a temporary reinvention that turns out to be the start of an entirely different journey."

 

I hadn't heard of this until this month's Six Degrees of Separation. However, the envisaged long cross-country drive in All Fours made me immediately think about The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver, which I read last year. It's Kingsolver's first novel and is the story of a young woman named Taylor who takes a cross-country drive that leads to an unexpected turn in her life.

Keeping to the theme of cross-country drives, I can't go past The Passage by Justin Cronin, a post-apocalyptic novel set around a zombie-apocalypse (of sorts). The early stages of The Passage depict a road trip taken by FBI Agent Brad Wolgast, as he seeks to rescue and protect a small girl, Amy, from the federal government. I won't spoil it too much, but I honestly love this book and it's still one of my favourites. Sadly, the sequels didn't measure up, which is often the case.

The Road by Cormac McCarthy. It's another post-apocalyptic novel about a father and his son journeying across America after an event has wiped out most of humankind. I read this quite some time ago and remember it being very bleak and dark. There's something about post-apocalyptic novels that create such a great setting for a long journey across country.

The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham, another of my favourites and another post-apocalyptic novel with a road trip—this time by the narrator Bill Masen and a woman he rescues from captors, Susan. Together they travel across England looking for other survivors to band together with and fight for survival.

Finally, you just can't go past The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien when it comes to talking about long cross-country trips. I mean – Bilbo crosses Middle Earth on his own path and journey. An epic tale of courage, friendship, and the battle between good and evil.

And of course, The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien, where Frodo embarks on a perilous cross-country journey across Middle Earth to destroy the One Ring. Another legendary epic full of adventure and high stakes. Chef’s kiss.

I look forward to reading what everyone else had come up with for this month. Feel free to review my posts about the Sydney Writers Festival which I attended recently. At Big Beginnings I saw Kaliane Bradley (The Ministry of Time), Ferdia Lennon (Glorious Exploits) and Dominic Amerena (I Want Everything) speak about their journey to publishing their debut novels. At Untrue Crime I saw Ian Rankin, Kate McClymont and Shankari Chandran (Unfinished Business) speak about the important of truth and authenticity in crime writing.