Love and Mercy (2015), directed by Bill Pohlad

In quite a departure from the usual biopic, Love and Mercy snaps back and forth in time, quite a risk given that Brian Wilson is played by two very different actors in Paul Dano and Jon Cusack. The technique is annoying at first, but ends up working quite well, comparing and contrasting the tortured musical genius pre and post breakdown. The director’s style is elliptical, sometimes to the detriment of the story. It is good not to be spoon-fed and the audience gets a clear enough picture of Wilson’s horrible childhood without needing to see every awful detail. However his first marriage could have been given a little more attention, with his wife barely named let alone fleshed out as a character. Likewise his relationship with his brothers and fellow Beach Boys; we only know which one is cousin Mike Love because of the fights. Paul Dano is convincingly weird as the younger Brian, showing how his anxiety and developing mental health issues were compounded by drug abuse and a sense of alienation. Jon Cusack is engagingly vague as older Brian, who has been rescued from his complete breakdown by a manipulative psychotherapist, in a frypan to fire situation. In a scenery-chewing performance, Paul Giamatti has the thankless role of the dastardly doctor and Elizabeth Banks is warm, sweet and credible as the woman who rescues Wilson from his clutches. The film benefits greatly from using the actual Beach Boys music on the soundtrack and a nice cameo from the man himself on the closing credits perfectly punctuates it.

Peaky Blinders series 1

Birmingham in 1919, the Peaky Blinders are a half gypsy criminal gang run by the Shelby family, known for keeping razor blades in their caps for assaulting opponents. Illegal bookmaking, race fixing, protection rackets - you name it, they do it. Immediately after WWI the times are changing. Men have returned with untold damage and women are reluctant to return to their pre-war restricted lives. The authorities are cracking down against revolutionary ideas from Russia and seem more worried about strikes and communists than fighting crime. Sometimes it’s hard to distinguish between the cops and the criminals, so similar are their methods and their morals. Cillian Murphy is absolutely mesmerising as gang leader Tommy Shelby, who has a vision for the future and the ruthlessness to make it happen. The strong supporting cast includes Helen McClory as Aunt Polly and Sam McNeill as Inspector Campbell. The first episode is a little confusing, trying to work out what the relationships are and the modern music is literally discordant. This lessens as the series progresses, with the music increasingly well-matching the action, although the relative ages of the Shelby siblings is never quite satisfactorily resolved or explained. Youngest brother Finn is around 10-12; while second youngest John has four children. The tension builds throughout the six episodes, culminating in a breathtaking cliffhanger to series 2.

Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, by Ransom Riggs

Jacob Porter’s grandpa has always been a bit odd; his fantastical and sometime nightmarish tales became harder to believe as Jacob grew older. But when Jacob hits 16 tragedy strikes and the tales have suddenly become all too real. Jacob sets off on a quest for the truth behind his grandpa’s extraordinary stories and discovers that he is not so ordinary himself. Some plot elements don’t quite hang together, particularly those concerning time loops, and it’s a little hard to swallow that a group of children could requisition boats on a fishing island in wartime Wales. However it’s best not to think too hard about the anomalies and let the action sweep you along into the intriguing world of peculiar children, the birds that protect them and the monsters that hunt them. The use of period photographs to illustrate the text is an interesting quirk and adds an element of depth. The ending sets up for the inevitable sequel, apparently mandatory in modern YA fantasy.

Rogue One (2016), directed by Gareth Edwards

This Star Wars story is set immediately prior to A New Hope, the very first Star Wars movie, and leads into that film very nicely for fans, although it also stands alone. It contains all the usual Star Wars tropes – lots of space fighter pilot action; explosions; strange creatures; and heroes up against it. The very good cast is somewhat wasted as there is not much of a script; dialogue and plot are sacrificed to action every time and actors of the calibre of Mads Mikkelson and Ben Daniels don’t get enough to do. Nevertheless Felicity Jones carries the film as reluctant rebel Jyn Erso; Diego Luna is appealing as her counterpoint Cassian; and Ben Mendelsohn makes a good villain. The sound is a problem – quite often words and sentences are hard to make out as they are swallowed or obscured. And the music is terrible, noticeably unsubtle and overdone. It’s apparently the first of the franchise’s soundtracks not composed by John Williams and it shows. There is not a lot of humour; the little there is supplied as usual by the robots, with a notable contribution from the awesome blind Jedi. It could have done with some extra lighter moments to provide some balance. The Star Wars glamour disguises what is actually a rather grim war story – the rebels keeping hope alive against overwhelming odds and losing almost everything along the way. Not one for the kids.

Brooklyn (2015), directed by John Crowley

Adapted by Nick Hornby from a book by Colm Toibin, this delicate and slow-moving film is not for action freaks who can’t sit still and watch a story gradually unfold. A coming of age tale, told through the immigrant experience, it is in many ways a small film about love and family and finding a home. Eilis starts as a shy and reserved young woman with a limited future in country Ireland, who allows others to direct her. She gradually grows into a confident young woman who must choose between two men, two countries and two futures. Beautifully shot, the period looks and sounds authentic; the contrasting look and feel of 1950s Ireland and 1950s New York clearly demonstrating the difficult choices Eilis must make about her life. Saoirse Ronan carries the film, her expressive face taking the viewer inside Eilis’s head so that you feel all her emotions along with her. She is well supported by Emory Cohen and Domhnall Gleeson as the rivals for Eilis’s affection and future, as well as a solid extended cast of mostly Irish and British actors. The road not taken always provides an interesting story. Would making different decisions make us happier, or just happy in a different way? There is no way of knowing the answer, but this thoughtful film gently poses a question worth considering.

Between a Wolf and a Dog, by Georgia Blain

What does the title mean? The obscure metaphor initially seems to refer to the unloved family pooch, but he quickly disappears from the narrative, making it difficult to see the point of him at all. Is it the wild wolf of creativity versus the dog of domestic reality? Is it as base as sister beast versus sister bitch? It never becomes apparent. Sisters Ester and April are estranged, largely because of Ester’s ex-husband, perpetual man-child Lawrence. Their mother Hilary lays an enormous responsibility on him, which she hopes will trigger forgiveness and reconciliation, and he rises to the occasion in an unlikely denouement. The writing is clear and beautiful, the story less so. Despite her distractingly annoying missing H, Ester is the most believable and relatable character. Her motivations, behaviours and reactions strike a chord of recognition. By contrast, April and Lawrence are unconvincing and Hilary is a little insubstantial. The result is a novel of style and promise that does not quite deliver on substance. It is nevertheless a great pity it will be Blain’s last novel as she sadly died last week, at the age of 51.

Promise, by Sarah Armstrong

The gut-wrenching topic of child abuse is made slightly more palatable by looking at it from the point of view of someone who is trying to help. Anna is put in the position of not being able to ignore the abuse when her new next-door neighbours loudly thrust it in her face. And faced with the same situation – of a small child asking for your help and a child protection system seemingly ignoring the problem – what would you do? This novel cuts through the bullshit to pose that question to all of us. Fearing for the child’s safety, Anna takes drastic action and inevitably must face the consequences. The clear, direct writing avoids clichés and caricatures. The developing relationship between Anna and the child, Charlie, is believable and moving. As we learn more about Anna’s history the reader better understands her motivations and where this might lead, as does she. The action moves around between Sydney, country New South Wales and the Gold Coast and the geography is slightly confusing to anyone unfamiliar with the terrain, but this is only a minor distraction from the plot. The book would probably make a good film. You often hear the phrase, “until you’re a parent you can’t understand” but assured tale indicates that just maybe you can.

The Theoretical Foot, by MFK Fisher

Renowned as a food writer, who also wrote autobiographically, MFK Fisher’s only novel was published long after her death, which begs the question did she want it published at all? It’s an odd book, allegedly drawn from her own life, containing a story within a story. Set in Switzerland just prior to WWII it depicts an interesting slice of a very particular life of American ex-pats. Sarah and Tim are madly in love and living in sin outside Geneva. They would marry if they could and are presumably awaiting a divorce to be able to – it is never made entirely clear. Their idyll is beset by visiting family and friends, some welcome some not, all difficult to deal with in their own way. All the visitors are in love with the wrong people and torture themselves and/or each other because of it. Some of the characters are supremely slappable, some are overly complicated, others impenetrably enigmatic. The writing teeters between lyrical and tedious, with some mesmerising descriptions of landscape, food and clothes and some excruciating pseudo-psychological analysis of feelings and motivations. If it is true that the enveloping story of illness, pain and death is taken from life then it must have been extraordinarily difficult to write and it is no wonder the novel was not published in Fisher’s lifetime. The setting is beautiful, the situation and timing interesting and the characters have promise. It probably needed a fair bit more work, particularly from an independent editor, to make it worth publishing.

Dancing on the Edge, directed by Stephen Poliakoff

In 1930s London, Stanley Mitchell is chief writer at the fledgling magazine Music Express. He discovers and promotes the Louis Lester band, a troupe of black jazz musicians, to fame and fortune. Some of the band members were born in Britain, but others have immigration difficulties. Favour from high society, including royalty, both helps and hinders Louis and the band’s progress as they battle for musical change, deal with racism and the fallout of the behaviour of mysterious American millionaire Masterson. The murder of a band member turns the gloriously soapy costume drama darker. It flags a bit in the middle, as the story is drawn out possibly longer than necessary, but picks up again towards the end, as justice of a sort is done in the fifth and final episode. Chiwetal Ejiofor is outstanding as Louis, with Matthew Goode his usual appealing self as Sydney. A strong supporting cast features many familiar faces, with strong performances from John Goodman, Jacqueline Bisset and Joanna Vanderham. But the real star of the show is the music, which perfectly illustrates the rapidly changing era between the two world wars and covers some of the flaws in the writing.

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (2016), directed by David Yates

The Harry Potter franchise is a fantastic beast indeed and JK Rowling is making the absolute most of it. The title was a textbook at Hogwarts School of magic, authored by Newt Scamander. The movie takes us to New York in 1926, which Scamander visits prior to publishing his book, based on his fieldwork. The evocation of the era is lovely; the special effects are great and must be truly spectacular in 3D; and Scamander’s world of fantastic beasts is truly magical. The film is too long and would have benefited from a harder edit and a few more laughs. It does develop some timely themes about the perils of bullying and victimising the ‘other’, highlighting the dangers of driving difference underground where it can become twisted and destructive. Eddie Redmayne inhabits the socially awkward Scamander, but sometimes swallows his words; Colin Farrell makes a suitably dark villain and Katherine Waterston is sweet as the black sheep American auror who changes from enemy to ally. An unexpected cameo from Johnny Depp is spot on and the best work he has done in some time, given its brevity.

Dead Men Don’t Order Flake, by Sue Williams

Fish and chip shop owner Cass, a middle-aged widow and part time private investigator (unlicenced), is looking into the road accident death of a young journalist. In this she is hampered by her rather dense son, who also happens to be the local cop, and sometimes helped by her fellow residents of the one-horse town of Rusty Bore. At the same time she must deal with the sudden reappearance of her teenage sweetheart – long thought dead. This flippant murder mystery sees Cass traversing the dusty country roads to the neighbouring two-horse town of Hustle and the thriving regional metropolis of Muddy Soak. The action is brisk, the characters fully realised and avoiding caricature and the relationships authentic, those between mother and sons particularly striking a chord. It may have been helpful to have first read the previous book featuring Cass, as there are several obscure references to previous events that are not explained. They are not intrinsic to the plot but they are to the characters and their sometimes complicated relationships.

Enchanted Glass, by Diana Wynne Jones

Academic Andrew Hope has forgotten most of what he learned about magic as a child from his grandfather. When he inherits his grandfather’s house and his field-of–care, Andrew is at a bit of a loss. Orphaned Aidan needs Andrew’s help in fending off both the authorities and his magical stalkers. Luckily he is able to help in return with Andrew’s magical memory problem. Easily blending the magical and real worlds, Diana Wynne Jones brings her usual mix of complex human interactions, romance, adventure and humour to the last novel published in her lifetime. The slightly ambiguous ending leaves open the possibility of a sequel, but it was not to be. Her death from cancer in 2011 was a sad loss to the world of fantasy writing. It is such a pity there will be no more of these wonderful books, but at least there is the joy of re-reading the favourites.

Living Dangerously, by Katie Fforde

This early novel from the prolific Fforde follows her standard formula. As ever, her characters are engaging and her topics well researched – giving the story more depth than your average romance, although it is perhaps less polished than her later books. Her heroines are usually 30-something, with interesting careers or prospects, not virgins, but not too experienced (we can’t possibly have a slut!). They are set among the British upper middle classes, often in the Home Counties or just beyond and almost totally shun modern technology – mobile phones and computers seldom intrude on or contribute to the plot. We are generally introduced to the bloke she will end up with very early on – it is just a question of following the inevitably tricky path to true love. In Living Dangerously, 35-year-old Polly is an aspiring potter who works in a café to make ends meet. Her friends are keen for her to ‘couple-up’, but will she choose toy boy journalist Tristan or the reserved widower David, a wealthy wine merchant? The title of this one is a bit of a stretch, as there is precious little danger on offer, and the underlying topic of urban renewal versus greedy property developers is treated a little perfunctorily. But the journey to the inevitable conclusion is enjoyable and entertaining, even if the predictable conclusion is boringly conservative. Just occasionally it might be fun if one of Fforde’s heroines did live dangerously and choose the bad boy, but that would not fit the template that her loyal legion of fans are undoubtedly happy with.

Dr Strange (2016), directed by Scott Derrickson

Apart from his slightly wobbly American accent, Benedict Cumberbatch makes a convincing and at times compelling Dr Strange. His transition from arrogant neurosurgeon to broken wreck to humble-ish student to reluctant superhero is interesting and believable and that red cloak is to die for. Rachel McAdam doesn’t have enough to do as his erstwhile lover Christine and Mads Mikkelson is wasted as the villain, but it is always good to see him on screen in anything. Tilda Swinton is her usual marvellous self as the Ancient One and her interplay with Strange is the most entertaining element of the film. The action scenes are a bit long and repetitive, with the fun special effects somehow reminiscent of Inception and a bit overdone. As usual it is worth staying beyond the credits for a glimpse of the next Marvel film.

Through a Camel’s Eye, by Dorothy Johnson

A case of an abducted camel becomes a murder mystery in the sleepy Victorian seaside town of Queenscliffe. Rookie cop Anthea, reluctantly deployed to the country, gradually comes to terms with her new circumstances and her new boss. Mild-mannered local cop Chris has to learn to trust and accept help from his new offsider. More than a crime drama or police procedural, the novel is an ode to quirky country towns and their characters, painting both lovingly without ignoring their flaws. The language is lyrical, evoking a strong sense of place. Some convenient coincidences allow the crime to be solved, but not at the expense of the overall story arc, which is satisfyingly resolved.

The Road to Winter, by Mark Smith

In post-apocalypse Australia, teenager Finn has been fending for himself for a couple of years, thanks to his survival skills and his Dad’s foresight. He keeps sane with the company of his dog and by surfing – his escape from dismal reality. Into Finn’s isolated and relatively safe life bursts Rose, who is on the run from a gang of ‘wilders’. She brings excitement, danger and a world of possibilities. Tense and thrilling, this assured debut novel is a worthy addition to the growing genre within YA fiction that looks into a dystopian future. It rushes a bit to the conclusion, which nevertheless works, while leaving room for a potential sequel.

Sunset Song (2016), directed by Terence Malick

A sweeping adaptation of what has been billed as the classic Scottish novel; Sunset Song doesn’t quite work as a film and would probably be better as a TV mini-series. Agyness Deyn is miscast as Chris; she has an expressive face but her acting abilities are tested beyond their capacity and she looks far too old for the part of a girl depicted from around the age of 15 to 22. One could say she is a woman of many Ys and not a few whys. The story is pretty grim, encompassing paternal brutality, marital rape, murder-suicide, attempted incest and to top it all off, World War 1. There is a brief pre-war period when Chris comes into her own and finds love and happiness, but the film soon descends once again into grim reality. The device of Chris narrating her own story, seemingly by reading chunks of the book, is clunky and annoying. Some of the dialogue is ludicrous and some of it incomprehensible. The use of music is unsubtle, although some of it is beautiful. The cinematography and costumes are lovely; the supporting cast is interesting, including Daniela Nardini as Chris’s mother. The film is too long and painfully slow; there are way too many long lingering shots of the land, of Chris’s face looking at the land and of the changing light on buildings and the land. We get it; the land endures where nothing else does. Chris represents the land and she endures. The message is heavy handed to the extreme.

Stalin’s Hammer: Rome, by John Birmingham

A failure to realise that the Stalin trilogy of novellas was a follow-up to the Axis of Time trilogy of novels meant the first couple of chapters of Rome were largely incomprehensible. A prologue would have been useful for the stupid and the unwary. Fortunately the story soon takes over and it zips along, with only the occasional time travel reference causing confusion. Birmingham is a warfare hardware nerd. His gun descriptions are far too precise for the average reader, but they no doubt tickle the fancy of fellow nerds. Fortunately his engaging writing style and well-drawn, layered characters are more than sufficient to keep the ignorant interested. Several questions occur around the development of this alt-history post WWII, such as how the technology introduced by ‘uptimers’ evolved so fast and how one of them became US president within 10 years of arrival from the future. Likely most of them would not be an issue for those who have read the Axis books, although the presence and demeanour of Prince Harry still takes some explaining. Even without the useful foreknowledge Stalin’s Hammer: Rome is a good read, which whets the appetite for the next two – Cairo and Paris. It is probably a good idea to get hold of the Axis of Time books first though to catch up on the back story.

The adventures of Holly White and the Incredible Sex Machine, by Krissy Kneen

Too long and promising a lot more than it delivers, this book’s title perfectly represents its contents. It is said that one person’s erotica is another’s pornography and if your tastes trend towards vanilla, this book is definitely not for you. The journey from repression to sexual freedom apparently requires one to delete all boundaries; one must be open, literally, to anything. The depiction of sex is dominated by pain and is devoid of sensuality. The ludicrous ending is ironically appropriate. Perhaps that is actually the point of the book, as it id difficult to see another.

Any Human Heart, directed by Michael Samuels

Spanning most of the 20th century, this four part British series was adapted by William Boyd from his own novel. Everyman Logan Mountstuart is played by three different actors – Sam Claflin, Matthew McFadyan and Jim Broadbent. He is a not-so successful writer and a deeply flawed man, who experiences great love and great loss. There is a touch of Forrest Gump in some of his celebrity encounters – Winston Churchill, King Edward and Mrs Simpson, Ernest Hemingway and Ian Fleming. But it serves to illustrate many significant events of the last century, including the Spanish Civil War, WWII and Thatcherism. Hayley Atwell is wonderful as Freya, the love of Logan’s life, and the story is ultimately dominated by the relationships in his life – friends, lovers, wives and children. Often funny, frequently sad, sometimes moving, occasionally silly, always engaging, Any Human Heart boasts a very strong supporting cast, including Gillian Anderson, Kim Cattrall, Tobias Menzies and Natasha Little, and is thoroughly enjoyable.

A House for all Seasons, by Jenn J McLeod

Four books in one tell the story of four very different young women who receive a strange legacy that helps resolve their shared and individual pasts. Sara, Poppy, Amber and Caitlyn were at school together in rural Calingary Crossing, where all had it tough in different ways. Sara had to care for ageing and disabled parents living in poverty. Poppy had a distant and disappearing war vet father, who could not cope with their family tragedy. Amber’s perfection was a front for a life of domestic violence. Caitlyn always had to the good girl, who lived up to others’ expectations. All sought solace from unconventional Gypsy in her magical house. A tragedy marred the end of their school days and they all fled town as soon as they were able, but all found they carried the baggage of their past into their new lives. Gypsy’s legacy brought them back together, with conditions that made them all attempt to confront and resolve their pasts. Can they do it and all forge a bright new future? The first two stories are fleshed out quite well, with Sara and Poppy both flawed and appealing. The author seems to have run out of steam for the last two girls. Amber’s story runs straight to soap and her character is not very believable. Caitlyn doesn’t have a chance to convince, her story is so sketchy. The inevitable ending is a little too pat, which is a pity, because there were some really good ideas that just needed a bit more attention to work well.

The Light between Oceans, by ML Stedman

On remote Janus island off the WA coast, World War I veteran Tom Sherbourne tends the lighthouse station poised between the Indian and Southern Oceans. He is lucky enough to meet a woman willing to share the splendid isolation, but their love story is marred by an inability to have a child. When a baby is washed ashore, it looks like their life and love could be back on track, what could possibly go wrong? A slow start does gradually build to an engrossing, sad tale of a bad choice, made from love, that can have no good outcome. Small town prejudice and the lingering effects of a brutal war contribute to the pressure and difficulty involved in choosing to do the right thing. One can’t help but feel for the deeply tragic lighthouse keeper, who is almost literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. Sympathy is harder to maintain for his equally tragic wife, whose bitterness threatens to compound her tragedy. The book has been made into a film starring Michael Fassbender and Alicia Vikander, two very European actors for such an Australian story.

The Book of Pearl, by Timothee de Fombelle

This fractured fairy tale of an exiled prince is difficult to get into, as the disjointed narration is off-putting. It gradually becomes easier to read as the narration is reduced to the occasional, if seemingly unnecessary, intrusion into the story. Jumping between occupied France in World War II and a land of fairies and magic, Joshua ‘Ilian’ Pearl is searching for a way to return to his lost life and love. The narrator’s purpose becomes clear towards the end of the book, but his insertion into the story remains clunky and unconvincing. There is some nice writing of the patisserie and the Pearls' relationship with their adoptive son. As an undoubtedly tragic fairy story, the Book of Pearl doesn’t quite work. If there is meant to be anything deeper to discover – perhaps about displaced persons or the search for self? – it is hard to find, or possibly lost in translation from the original French.

Bridget Jones’s Baby (2016), directed by Sharon Maguire

Totally predictable, but nonetheless enjoyable, this third instalment of the Jones girl’s diary provides many laughs. The gang is all back on board barring Hugh Grant’s Daniel Cleaver, who is cleverly replaced by McDreamy Patrick Dempsey. It is refreshing to see Bridget and her friends and lovers allowed to be realistically older. Emma Thompson is great as the caustic obstetrician and there is a lot of fun had with the TV takeover of generation hipster, even if Bridget Jones as a hard news producer takes a fair suspension of disbelief. The film does trail off a bit at the end, towards its all-too-neat and never really in doubt conclusion. It will be interesting to see of a fourth film is made of Helen Fielding’s latest Bridget book, which is set five years later.

The Graveyard of the Hesperides, by Lindsey Davies

In the week leading up to their wedding, Roman sleuths Flavia Albia and Tiberius Manlius Faustus discover a mass grave in a beer garden undergoing renovations. The semi-reluctant bride leaves the nuptial preparations to her teenage sisters as she plunges into another murder mystery in the underbelly of Rome. Each Davis novel is gently educational, but never didactic, about an aspect of ancient Roman society. This one examines the murky world of prostitution, as well as dipping back in to construction and policing, and concluding with marriage rituals. Divine retribution almost spoils the wedding party, but our indomitable heroes battle through, as ever. Always fascinating, amusing and entertaining, Lindsey Davies' books contain relatable parallels to modern times. Will we next see Flavia Albia struggling to balance work with motherhood? It is to be hoped so.

Love and Friendship (2016), directed by Whit Stillman

A film adaptation of a book is limited by the strength of the source material. Jane Austen’s novella Lady Susan reads like an early draft of what may have been developed into one of her classic novels, had she lived long enough to do it. This could have freed an adaptor to take up the development task, but if anything Stillman is too faithful to the original. His trademark slow and talky approach does the novella no favours and the early part of the film is very slow and quite dull. There are rather too many long and lingering scenes of people walking and of grand house interiors, corridors and ceilings galore. The momentum does gather and the laughs increase, so that the film finishes better than it starts. Kate Beckinsale is outstanding as the beguilingly manipulative and impoverished widow, who must use her wit and charm to survive and to try to secure a future for herself and her long-suffering daughter. Xavier Samuel and Chloe Sevigny also shine, as her suitor and her confidante respectively. The plot, such as it is, resembles a storyline from The Bold and The Beautiful, but the script includes some classic Austen lines, such as Lady Susan’s description of her friend’s husband as, “too old to manage but too young to die.”

Daughters of the Storm, by Kim Wilkins

Known for her dark fantasy, Kim Wilkins’ earlier novels build on European legends to create dense and interesting tales that feature strong female protagonists and combine romance and adventure with an edge of menace. Daughters of the Storm is a disappointment, the characters thinly drawn and the plot boring and sometimes ludicrous. His five floral daughters spirit the king from the palace and imprison his wife without anyone noticing; who is governing the country? None of the characters is likeable, least of all the five sisters at the centre of the tale, which makes the story a hard slog. It seems a classic case of early success guaranteeing publication of later novels without adequate editing. This almost-500 page tome reads like an early draft that needs a lot of work. The ending clearly sets up for a sequel; whether anyone would want to read it is a big question.

Be Frank With Me, by Julia Claiborne Johnson

This gripping and unusual tale of a nine-year-old genius conjures up the ghosts of Harper Lee and J D Salinger. Wunderkind author Mimi Banning has lived in Californian seclusion for decades, ducking the fanatics inspired by her debut novel. She needs to write a much-belated second novel to escape financial trouble after being defrauded. Her long-suffering New York publisher drafts his capable assistant, Alice, to monitor her progress and remove any impediment to completion. Alice can’t get a look at Mimi’s manuscript and finds herself acting as housekeeper and nanny to Mimi’s eccentric nine-year-old son, Frank. Families are strange beasts and practical Alice navigates many twists and turns in her quest to solve the mystery of Frank and his family, learning a lot about herself in the process.

Inside Out (2015), directed by Pete Docter & Ronnie del Carmen

All too often a movie with lots of hype fails to live up to it. Sad to say this is the case with Inside Out. The film deserves much credit for good intentions. It is intelligent, thoughtful, worthy – and dull. The concept – examining what goes on inside our heads – is so interesting, but seems really to be aimed at parents rather than children, as the sophistication looks to be well beyond most under 12. Joy, fear, sadness, disgust and anger; this is the first problem, with such a limited range of emotions and only one of them positive. A major theme of the film, that there is a place for the negative emotions, doesn’t really resonate that strongly, with Joy clearly the hero who should be in charge and all is lost without her. The best part of the film is the post-script, where the emotions are seen at work in all the other characters, showing the diversity of feeling in all the major and minor characters, but it’s too little, too late to really make it the film as a whole a success.

Marked in Flesh, by Anne Bishop

The fourth novel of ‘The Others’ series from the queen of dark fantasy brings to a violent resolution the conflict between humans and the ancient wild forces of the Terra Indigene. Interesting parallels could be drawn between Bishop’s Humans First and Last movement and the various reactionary forces surging through the real world at present. It can only be hoped that the One Nations, Brexiteers, climate change deniers and Trump supporters meet a similar fate to HFL. Bishop’s alternate realities are always fully realised and totally believable. Her characters – human, shapeshifter and vampire - are finely drawn with depth and complexity. The darkness and violence of her tales is leavened with humour and love. The only niggle with Marked in Flesh is the frustration of the extremely slow development of the relationship between human Meg Corbyn and shifter Simon Wolfgard. One would have thought that by the fourth book they would have got beyond holding hands. But then again, considering the damage the fragile Meg has suffered from her past as a captive blood prophet, the slow burn is kind of refreshing. It’s just a complete departure from Bishop’s very sexy Black Jewels series. Is there another book in the story of human survival after The Others have asserted their dominance and put humans back in their box? If only to take Simon and Meg’s relationship further, it is to be hoped the answer is yes.

Outlander series one, Starz

Based on a best-selling series of books by Diana Gabaldon, Outlander very successfully suspends disbelief to time travel between the 1940s and the 1640s and create an epic adventure romance. Costumes and settings are perfect and the casting is close behind. Sam Heughan and Catriona Balfe are supremely engaging as the leads, Jamie and Claire, and Tobias Menzies makes a fine fist of two very different characters in two different time zones. There are some strong sex scenes and much has been made of them being filmed from the women’s point of view. This is actually true; they are very powerful and sit comfortably among the adventure and politics of this complex tale of an intense historical period in Scotland. It was frustrating to realise the DVD of series one had been released in two parts. Just as total addiction had set in, there was a wait for the second half. After the early focus on Claire, part two shows more from Jamie’s point of view. The love story is very credible as the chemistry between the leads is off the charts. This show is seriously sexy! Episodes 13 and 14 take a slightly strange, slow meander that doesn’t really add much to the story, but does serve as a suitable lull to heighten the impact of the violence and trauma of the last two episodes. Those familiar with the book expect it but it is still harrowing and hard to watch, perhaps made more so by the anticipation. All in all, series one is a very good adaptation of the book, taking all the good things from it and making them better. Roll on series two. Not to mention three and four, which are already in the pipeline.

Ghostbusters, (2016) directed by Paul Feig

So often a film with a good premise and a strong cast is let down by the script. There was a lot of hoo-ha and fanboy outrage about this all-female remake of the original, so it’s sad to be unable to completely dismiss it because of a script that is lacking in coherence and wit. The special effects are great and sometimes genuinely scary. The four leads – Melissa McCarthy, Kristen Wiig, Kate McKinnon and Leslie Jones - work well as an ensemble, with McKinnon especially good. Chris Hemsworth as their sidekick is suitably attractive and there are some nice inversions of the stereotype, but he has to work too hard. The problem is partly one of expectations – you are waiting for four such strong comedians to be funnier. But they are let down by the dialog, some of which is truly lame. It is a highlight to see cameos from all the major players of the original and overall the film is enjoyable, it just could have been better.

The Last Painting of Sara de Vos, by Dominic Smith

It took a while to get into this novel, which jumps between three time periods and locations; the ‘Golden Age’ of Dutch painting, mid 17th century Netherlands; 1958 New York; and 2000 Sydney. The most compelling narrative is that of artist Sara de Vos, who faces hardship, loss and betrayal while struggling to continue to paint in the 1730s and 40s. The story of Martin and Ellie, which starts with a theft and a forgery in 1958, is less interesting, but serves as the key to the mystery of what happened to Sara. In the end everyone finds a measure of happiness, which is possibly a little too pat. This is not the great novel it has been hyped up as, but it provides an intriguing insight to a little known aspect of Dutch art via a different sort of relationship across three continents and three centuries.

The Madwoman Upstairs, by Catherine Lowell

It is hard to know what to make of this book for most of the way through it. At times it veers towards Jasper Fforde send-up territory, while at others it teeters on the edge of dry, with a sustained debate on literary criticism. An examination of authorial intent versus reader perception; a treasure hunt; a romance; a mystery; a psychological study of the price of fame and another of father-daughter relationships; the story has all of them and is consequently somewhat disjointed. The reader is never quite sure what direction it will take next, which is a bit disconcerting but ultimately quite fun. The last remaining descendent of the Bronte family, American Samantha Whipple enters Oxford with trepidation about the potential affect of her name. The original thinker discovers her beloved late father has set her a quest for her family legacy, but will her terribly English tutor help or hinder? One of the best things about this story is its championship of Anne as the most interesting Bronte, and it has some new angles on Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. The ending provides a genuine laugh-out loud moment for Bronte readers, a satisfying conclusion to an odd book.

That Sugar Film (2015), directed by Damon Gameau

Despite having a name that sounds like something delicious to eat, Damon Gameau has some important points to make about the devastating health effects of consuming too much sugar and how big business had a vested interest in hiding this fact. Even if you think you are across nutrition, this documentary offers some eye-opening facts that justify the public health crusades of campaigners like Jamie Oliver. It tries a bit too hard to mitigate the dull facts with lame overkill. It really didn’t need Stephen Fry declaiming in rhyming couplets to get the message across, or superhero outfits. Gameau demonstrates the effect of an average daily intake of 40 teaspoons of sugar over two months on his own body. The tactic is derivative but effective, as you see the rapid deterioration of his health. Despite the silly bells and whistles, this is a serious film that is worth taking seriously.

The Wrong Girl, by Zoe Foster

The best thing about Australian chick lit is that it is Australian, meaning local readers of the genre can enjoy the cultural familiarity – no translation required. Zoe Foster’s characters are well drawn and their relationships are largely believable. The use and abuse of drugs and alcohol is a strong underlying theme that is very relevant to contemporary Australia, but the sexual references are surprisingly coy. At its best Foster’s writing is wryly amusing, but every aspect of the plot is completely predictable. Set in the world of TV chefs, The Wrong Girl is entertaining enough - in the manner of fast food – easy, tasty, but ultimately not really satisfying. Overall it is pretty bog standard chick lit, so it’s surprising that it is apparently being filmed for channel 10. Just goes to show that success really is about who you know.

The Sidekicks, by Will Kostakis

Three private schoolboys - Ryan, Harley and Miles - have little in common but their mutual friend, Isaac, who has just died. Nevertheless they pull together to process their loss, move on and grow up. The story is told in three parts, from the perspective of each of the boys – the swimmer, the rebel and the nerd. It’s an interesting approach, which works quite well as a picture of Isaac is gradually built up and the reader gets a different perspective of each of the three from the perspective of the other two. Unfortunately none of the three protagonists is quite credible; the cardboard stereotypes of jock, rebel and nerd never quite get fleshed out into real people. This is particularly the case for Miles, the nerd, and as his version is the final segment of the story this is a major problem. Harley, the rebel, is the most successful and his relationship with Isaac’s grieving mother is poignant, containing a ring of truth that the book as a whole lacks.

Queen of the Desert, (2015) directed by Werner Herzog

Filmed on location in Morocco, Jordan and England, the cinematography is outstandingly beautiful, with sharp contrast between the isolation of the Arabian desert, the green of England and the gracious architecture of the various cities. The story of English explorer and archaeologist Gertrude Bell’s independent travels through what became Iraq, Jordan, and Syria, in the early 20th century is fascinating and worthy of a much better film than this. At its best, the dialogue is expository and didactic, more suited to a documentary than a drama. At its worst, it is stilted and laughable. The film is extremely fuzzy with its timeline, causing confusion and mucking around with history. Nicole Kidman’s performance is patchy; she is more convincing as the increasingly confident desert traveller, but is undermined by the film’s insistence on the capable Bell being portrayed as a kind of femme fatale, which apparently requires lots of panting and heavy breathing to express deep emotion. Some of the casting is odd. James Franco should be romantic as Bell’s first love, Cadogan, but he comes across as a bit oily and creepy. Robert Pattinson is better than expected as TE Lawrence, and he and Kidman work well together. Damian Lewis is as solid as ever as Bell’s later love. The actor who plays Winston Churchill can’t suppress his cockney accent, which just sounds stupid. A few genuinely laugh-out-loud moments are scattered through the film, but the humour sits a little oddly among all the desert intensity. The costuming is as glorious as the scenery, but it all adds up to a film that looks good but is not much more than this.

Last Sacrifice, by Richelle Mead

The final instalment of the Vampire Academy mostly manages to avoid a sense of anti-climax, despite being somewhat predictable. Richelle Mead writes with great pace and style, which helps in overlooking some of the plot stretches. It also helps that this franchise is infinitely superior in every way to the execrable Twilight series and most of its proliferation of vampire/werewolf successors. It does share the Twilight addiction to soul mates at the expense of common sense, but it manages to achieve a satisfying conclusion without jumping the shark. There are enough intriguing small threads left untied to beg the question – is this really the end of the saga? Only time will tell, but a continuation of the story would not be unwelcome.

Jonathan Unleashed, by Meg Rosoff

The smartest and most interesting thing about this book is its title. It is quite possible the title was devised first and the story was dreamed up to fit it. In a wicked twist, the hapless protaganist is a ditzy male in the wrong job and with the wrong partner, instead of a ditzy female. The characters are thinly drawn, with the dogs more believable than most of the humans. Jonathan’s romantic dilemmas are ludicrous. There are occasional funny moments to get you through what is otherwise predictable chick lit.

Suite Française (2014), directed by Saul Dibb

The complexities of human relationships in wartime are no different to those in peace, but they are perhaps more intense. Collaboration can be borne of a bid for survival or a relief from loneliness, or even of true love. Based on the posthumous best selling novel of Irene Nemirovsky, Suite Francaise is an intensely romantic, yet brutal illustration of small town life in German-occupied France during WWII. The ruling class in Bussy, just outside Paris, have more in common with their German overlords then their own poor tenants, but this does them little good in the long run. Cowed by her mother-in-law, gentle Lucille does not greatly miss her soldier husband, whom she barely knows. She finds a kindred spirit in Bruno, the German officer billeted on them and must negotiate a perilous path between fellow villagers and the occupying force, finding courage and strength on the journey. Michelle Williams, Matthias Schonaerts and Kristin Scott-Thomas lead a strong supporting cast of mostly British actors. Williams employs a spot on English accent (as does Aussie Margot Robbie), which is a bit odd, given the film is set in France. With villains and heroes on both sides, there is no black and white in this story of power and its abuse and how war allows this to flourish.

The Girl on the Train, by Paula Hawkins

Voyeurism, infidelity and sociopathic behaviour are the hallmarks of the latest ‘must-read’ thriller, which keeps the reader guessing most of the way through as to who is the real villain. The story is told from the perspectives of three different women, whose lives intertwine in unexpected ways. The primary voice is that of Rachel, a deeply troubled woman who is dubbed by the police “an unreliable witness” and so she proves to be. The red herrings are at times a little clumsy. Rachel’s continuing self-destructive behaviour is exasperating. None of the characters is really likeable, although the women do engender some sympathy. The action zips along and former journalist Hawkins’ crisp style is easy to read, but despite the victims finding way to fight back, the overt misogynistic violence that pervades the book leaves a nasty taste.

Burial Rites, by Hannah Kent

The first novel of Adelaide writer Hannah Kent has been highly acclaimed and awarded. Hype can be off-putting and a story of the last Icelandic woman to be executed sounds grim and not hugely appealing. But latecomers to the book will be rewarded with a stark but engaging tale set in rural Iceland in the 1820s. Immaculate research is blended seamlessly into the fictionalised account of the life and death and Agnes, informing it but never overwhelming it. Believable and moving, the harsh life and landscape is not romanticised. Kent delivers a strong sense of place, which is key to the story of a woman trapped and condemned by the circumstances of her difficult life.

Interstellar (2014), directed by Christopher Nolan

This film was seriously overhyped on release. Watching it several years later on DVD, it is hard to see where all the hoo-ha came from. Possibly it was from Batman afficionados worshipping at the shrine of Christopher Nolan. Probably it played better on the big screen. The film has a solid cast – Matthew McConaughey, Anne Hathaway, Jessica Chastain – and a really interesting premise – the search for new worlds to replace the one humans are in the process of killing off. It takes a gamble on hard science, which doesn’t pay off because the subject is very dense and then is eventually overtaken by fantasy. Even devotees of science fiction would find it hard to suspend disbelief. The broad themes are admirably ambitious, but heavy work is made of the messaging and the film drags to an unlikely conclusion. It's disappointing, because there is a sense that it could have been really good when it is just meh.

First Person Shooter, by Cameron Raynes

Bikies, bullying, drugs and dysfunction – all are just as rife in a small regional town as in the city, but with fewer resources devoted to dealing with such problems and fewer places to hide from them. Fifteen-year-old Jayden lost his mum when he was three and his dad is recovering from a serious car accident. He stutters badly and is addicted to the video game Call of Duty. At school he is a weirdo, but not a loner as he has found his tribe, and then there is Shannon – his neighbour and best friend, who could be more. Shannon has her own demons. Her dad died before she was born and her mum is nearing the end of a prison sentence for shooting dead her violent stepfather. Both kids enjoy target practice with their rifles, but avoid shooting live targets, even pest animals like foxes. Raynes evokes an all-too believable country town with issues. The tension builds as the day of Shannon’s mum’s release approaches and the small town and its surrounding farming families brace for repercussions. Jayden’s limits are tested as he learns to rise above his disability and break free of others’ expectations of him.

Deadly Election, by Lindsey Davis

Former academic Lindsey Davis uses her considerable knowledge of imperial Rome to inform and underpin her witty and intelligent historical detective novels. Amid the murder and mayhem we gently learn the intricacies of Roman law, politics and society, simultaneously educated and entertained. The endearing and persistent Marcus Didius Falco was the hero of 20 books, set mostly in the relatively benevolent reign of the Emperor Vespasian. The ascension of the vengeful and unstable Emperor Domitian has prompted Falco into retirement, leaving his adopted daughter Flavia Albia to fill his shoes. The unconventional widow brings a new flavour to these Roman tales, coming from the perspective of a working woman. They are not as funny as the Falco novels, but are just as engaging. This one, the third in the new series, examines complicated family relationships amid a minor election and Flavia Albia’s growing romance with magistrate Tiberius Manlius Faustus. Davis has seamlessly applied the transition from father to daughter, Falco and the rest of her family remaining peripheral characters who add to the narrative without taking it over.

Song One (2014), directed by Kate Barker-Froyland

Folk music is the star of this quiet little film about love found in the face of tragedy. Anne Hathaway is Franny, an anthropologist estranged from her folkie younger brother, Henry, who has rejected academia. He is in a coma following a car accident and she deals with her fear and guilt by using his journal as a map to his life. Musician Johnny Flynn is a revelation as Henry’s folk idol and Franny’s love interest. It is to be hoped his talents are recognised and used more in future. Song One pretty much bombed with critics and at the box office, but deserved better and will be enjoyed by those who like folk music and films in the vein of Begin Again.

Wild (2014), directed by Jean-Marc Vallee

The Pacific Coast Trail runs from the US/Mexico border to the US/Canada border through deserts, hills and forests. Cheryl Strayed decided to walk the trail to get her life back together after going off the rails following the death of her beloved mother. Reece Witherspoon plays Cheryl, who had turned to sex and heroin to escape her misery and destroyed her marriage in the process. The Nick Hornby script from the Strayed memoir is tight, the solid supporting cast includes Thomas Sadoski as ex-husband Paul and the outstanding Laura Dern as her mother. Flashbacks are woven in well to create a credible and engaging tale of redemption and healing.

Recipes for Love and Murder, by Sally Andrew

Alexander McCall Smith is quoted endorsing this Tannie Maria mystery and you can see how it fits into his oeuvre, if somewhat self-consciously. Unusual African setting – check; quirky and homely amateur female detective – check; challenging and lovable circle of friends and colleagues – check; unlikely romance – check. Racism is apparently almost a thing of the past in this small country town in post-Mandela South Africa. Domestic violence is not, and former victim Tannie Maria earns her keep as an advice columnist and cookery writer at the local paper. When one of her advice seekers is murdered, Tannie Maria feels she let her down and is determined to help gain justice. Use of Afrikaans dialect and slang is excessive and annoying, particularly as the glossary is at the back – too late to be helpful. The history lessons are shoehorned in and don’t really add to the story. But Andrew evokes a strong sense of place with almost poetic descriptions of scenery and wildlife that do belong among the action. Delicious recipes are well woven into the plot and help to flesh out the appealing characters and their motivations.

Love the One You're With, by Emily Giffin

Revisiting the road not travelled and looking up the one that got away has become all too common in the era of the book of face, often with mixed results. Newlywed Ellen faces the choice between the temptation of passion past and the contentment of a stable present, complicated by the ties of friendship and family and the pull of career. Emily Giffin’s characters are flawed, as well as relatable, but her later novels are less edgy, more conservative than her early successes, Something Borrowed and Something Blue. While the outcome of Love the One You’re With is predictable, the route there at least teeters on the edge of interesting.

Harnessing Peacocks, by Mary Wesley

With her first novel published at the age of 70, Mary Wesley had plenty of time to hone her sharply observed brand of social comedy. Probably best known for the wartime shenanigans of The Camomile Lawn, in Harnessing Peacocks Wesley jumps forward in time to create equally quirky and engaging characters, gently skewering the snobbery of the ‘right sort’ of people while celebrating a slice of English life that always fascinates. Resilient single mother Hebe has escaped the stifling hypocrisy of the ‘right sort’ and supports her small family by making the most of her talents in the kitchen and the bedroom. But is she courting hypocrisy herself by using her earnings to send her son to the kind of school that will gain him admission to the society she has turned her back on? Brutally honest about sex, money and marriage and about people’s motivations around all of them, Harnessing Peacocks is also a warm and funny tale of taking love where you find it and creating a satisfactory family to replace one that is not.

Eye in the Sky (2016), directed by Gavin Hood

Intelligent, balanced, thoughtful and well cast, this film examines the chain of command and the decision process of a drone strike on high-level terrorists about to implement a suicide bomb attack in Nairobi. The tension rises as politicians and the military across several nations wrestle with the ethical and legal dilemma of preventing terrorism versus collateral human damage. Helen Mirren and Alan Rickman are strong as the military officers with responsibility for the strike. They have to deal with the vacillations of politicians above, some of whom are more concerned with covering their backsides than making decisions. They also have to take into account the concerns and questions of those below, including agents on the ground and the drone pilots, who actually have to do the dirty work. The technology demonstrated is awesome, but never overwhelms consideration of the human cost. Tension builds as the risk of letting the terrorists escape is weighed against the life of innocent bystanders, particularly a nine-year-old girl selling bread in the street outside the targeted building. Viewers are posed the question – what would you do? And there are no easy answers.

The Wife Drought, by Annabel Crabb

The saying that behind every successful man stands a woman just about sums up Annabel Crabb’s contention that working women need wives in order to match men’s success. Emphatic and repetitive, the book certainly proves its point. A plethora of stats no doubt support the argument, but become tedious despite Crabb’s bright and breezy writing style. That Australian society has made very little progress on this issue, compared with other western nations, is undeniable and depressing. Crabb doesn’t really come up with anything new and offers little in the way of practical solutions to overcome the entrenched social conditioning that maintains the status quo. She argues that change is necessary for the benefit of men, as well as women as all have more to gain than lose. But there is a sense that she is only preaching to the converted.

Plain-speaking Jane, by Jane Caro

A mouthy woman who can laugh at herself, Jane Caro epitomises someone ‘destroying the joint’ by being very good at what she does and not afraid to talk about it. Her autobiography contains bit too much childhood detail; yes it’s important to know where you come from, but that doesn’t mean you have to document every road your bus travelled down the way to each and every school you attended. Very Sydney-centric, her story is nevertheless that of everywoman and includes brave accounts of the effect of childbirth and motherhood on career; battling mental illness; and a triumph of will and talent over self-doubt and societal bullshit. Caro is an impressive woman who somehow manages to relate her (considerable) success in a male-dominated industry without big-noting herself. After the extreme detail of the early years, there is a bit of a rush to the finish. It would perhaps have been entertaining to read more of her time on ABC TV’s Gruen franchise, which is how she became more widely known outside Sydney. But this is a relatively minor niggle about an enormously entertaining memoir.

Clade, by James Bradley

Set in a dystopian future, beginning not too far from now, the effects of cataclysmic climate change on a planet and on a particular extended family are seen in snapshots over a span of around 50 years. Grimly realistic and all too believable, the novel shows the day-to-day reality of the impact of the changing climate on ordinary people and the society they inhabit. Despite it all they continue to live, love, breed and hope, reflecting the truth of the title, which is a reference to the tree of life. Individual characters are not especially appealing, but they are mere cogs in the overall machine of a crisply-written and gripping tale. Books written in the present tense can often be intensely annoying, but here it is less so and as the story continues it actually seems quite apt, when the future depicted is increasingly uncertain.

Friday Night Lights (Series 1-5), directed by Peter Berg

You don’t have to take any interest in American football, or even in sport generally, to get a lot out of Friday Night Lights. For the outsider the obsession with high school football in small town Texas is bizarre, but by all accounts fairly accurate. The first series introduces super coach Eric Taylor, his wife Tami and the town of Dillon, where the Dillon High Panthers reign supreme. Deep and complex themes, well-developed characters and satisfying story arcs move through all five seasons, with the exception of one strange turn in season two. A good man and a good marriage are at the heart of the show, but neither is ever too good to be true. We see the politics of schools, and of small towns, from the point of view of kids and teachers; the joys and perils of parenting; and of course the intricacies of football and what it means to be part of the team, or not. Deeply engaging, it is one of those series that is sad to finish, although it is good that it did not run too long and jump the shark.

The Elegance of the Hedgehog, by Muriel Barbery

What a very strange book. At times tedious, often stretching credulity, occasionally very entertaining, it is not at all clear why it became an international best seller. It is written from alternating points of view, those of 12-year-old Paloma Joss and 54-year-old Renee Michel, the concierge of the apartment building in Paris where Paloma’s family lives. At times the voices are difficult to distinguish, which is possibly intentional, but does not contribute to enjoyment of the story. Precocious Paloma is suicidal and contemptuous of her neglectful family. A plain exterior and inferior class disguise Renee’s refinement and intelligence. The former regains some sense of childhood and the latter a sense of self from their involvement with a new resident, a wealthy elderly Japanese man. Quirky in the extreme, the book’s shock ending comes as something of a relief.

Vampire Academy, by Richelle Mead

An update on the old boarding school genre to the era of the supernatural, the girls of Mallory Towers and St Clares might struggle at the Vampire Academy. No midnight feasts or lacrosse games here. Despite its complex vampire politics and frequent violent confrontations, it is still essentially a story of the strong bond between teenage girls. Lissa and Rose have to negotiate peer pressure, snobbery, bullying, boy trouble, oh and murderous relatives. Fans of this series were apparently not keen on the movie version, mainly because of some casting issues, and there is no sign of a movie franchise developing as the books have. This seems a pity, as the books have far more meat than many such, for example the dreary Divergent series.

Inbetween Days, by Vikki Wakefield

When Mr Right is wrong for you and Mr Wrong is right for you and you are torn between love and hate for both your sister and your mother, life is complicated. Add to that being stuck in a small town known as a suicide spot, with no ambition and not much of a future and life looks pretty bleak. This intense and complex story does have its lighter moments and overall draws a credible picture of the pain and pleasure of becoming an adult. The metaphors are sometimes a little heavy handed, but the language is sometimes poetic, the plot maintains suspense and the ending is satisfying, offering hope without tying up the story too neatly.

Newt's Emerald, by Garth Nix

Known as a master of compelling YA fantasy, a regency romance from Garth Nix seems an extraordinary departure. The style owes everything to Georgette Heyer, the queen of regency romance, and at first it does sit a little awkwardly. But Nix soon finds his own rhythm and seamlessly blends his world of magical powers and enchanted jewels into the early 19th century. And if we can have Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, then why the hell not? A fast-paced blend of mystery crime thriller, fantasy and historical romance, it is reminiscent of Phillip Pullman’s Victorian era novels, featuring accountant Sally Lockhart. Although Newt’s Emerald is lighter in tone, like Pullman Nix writes women well and his heroine, the improbably named Lady Truthful, is intrepid and endearing. The novel lends itself to a sequel and would make a fun film., so hopefully there is more to come.

The Huntsman - The Winter War (2016), directed by Cedric Nicolas-Troyan

The story is a bit predictable, with suspense undermined by the obvious, but is nevertheless entertaining, with plenty of action, some romance and a little humour. A very strong team of British actors, including Sheridan Smith, Alexandra Roach, and comics Rob Brydon and Nick Frost, supports the stellar main cast, Chris Hemsworth, Charlize Theron, Jessica Chastain and Emily Blunt. Lighter in tone than the original Huntsman movie, Snow White (Kristen Stewart) is only referenced in absentia. The very lovely Hemsworth sustains his vaguely Scottish accent better in this one and the quite lovely Chastain does ok with her vaguely Irish accent and is more convincing in the action scenes. One notable aspect of the film is that three of its four main characters are female and are played by actresses over 30, and one of them is partnered by a male of the same age; kind of refreshingly realistic, as opposed to the common Hollywood narrative of mostly men, partnered by women more than 20 years' younger. The ending, ostensibly comprehensive, clearly leaves the way open for another follow-up – should the box office demand. It may happen.

The Woman Who Stole My Life, by Marian Keyes

Back and forth in time we go, over a few years in the life of Stella Sweeney, Dublin beautician, wife and mother of two, who wrestles karma to find happiness. Keyes delivers in her usual warm, funny-wry and poignant style, an engaging tale of a woman attempting to rise above her own fears and self-limitations. Some stupendously slappable characters, not least at times Stella herself, stop the story tipping over into fairy-tale territory, but the inevitable happy ending does arrive in a bit of a rush, after the long drawn-out journey towards it.

Illuminae, by Amie Kaufman & Jay Kristoff

It starts off well with an attack on a remote illegal mining colony by an evil mega corporation, BeiTech. Several thousand refugees, including resourceful teen exes Kady and Ezra, manage to evacuate from the planet but are pursued by BeiTech, which wants to destroy the evidence and hence all survivors of the attack. Written in the style of an official report on the event, including briefing notes and redactions, the characters are engaging and the story zips along. Unfortunately it becomes increasingly difficult to physically read, with sections of text swirling all over the page and grey text on a black background. All very creative, but all very unnecessary. Similarly, the plot deteriorates into sheer silliness, as the teen rebels pull off miracles while battling bureaucracy, zombies and an AI spaceship that is going insane, as well as the villainous BeiTech. The novel’s subtitle – The Illuminae Files_01 – and the slightly cliffhanger ending indicate that this may be the first in a series. Don’t bother.

Healing (2014) directed by Craig Monahan

Heavy with symbolism and metaphor, Don Hany and Hugo Weaving lift this tale of gradual redemption way above its meagre budget. Imprisoned for 18 years and estranged from his family, Viktor Khadem (Hany) is transferred to a low security prison farm to prepare for his eventual release. Case officer Matt Perry (Weaving) is there to ease the transition and introduces a program to care for injured raptors and prepare them for release back into the wild, all while he and his wife are coming to terms with the loss of a child. A solid supporting cast, including Xavier Samuel, Justine Clarke and Jane Menelaus help to flesh out a deeply moving story, beautifully filmed in a glorious location - Healesville Sanctuary, outside Melbourne.

Here Be Monsters (ebook) by John Birmingham

The First Fleet has just arrived in Sydney Harbour, preparing to deal with the dangers and privations of a new world. But Captain Watkin Tench and his cohorts encounter a world of wonders and inexplicable horror. This rollicking alternative history of time travel and zombies leaves the reader wanting more. We know our hero lived to tell the tale to the Royal Society, but how did they escape the Scourge? How did Tench court his wife Jennifer? What happened after the American colonies were won back? Answer my questions Birmingham damn you!

I'll Give You the Sun, by Jandy Nelson

Jude and Noah are twins, negotiating adolescence after a tragic loss. They were once so close they divided the world between themselves, but a tragic loss, mutual jealousy and dealing with their emerging sexuality have led to a devastating rift. The trauma seems to have engendered a personality swap, with popular girl Jude becoming a loner and outsider Noah burying his true self and turning ‘normal’. A new mentor for Jude is the catalyst for change, but will Jude and Noah be able to get their shit and themselves together? The story alternates between each twin’s point of view and jumps back and forth in time to explain how they have become estranged, not sparing their flaws and mistakes but engendering sympathy for each nonetheless. The ending is possibly a little too neat, but draws on the continuing minor theme of fate and spirituality to suspend disbelief, in line with the quote used on the cover, ”We were all heading for each other on a collision course, no matter what. Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.”

A Waltz With Matilda, by Jackie French

In a sweeping tale of drought and flooding rains, we follow Matilda from the age of 12 to 33, from poverty in the city to wealth in the bush. Her story mirrors the development of Australia into a federation on a somewhat soap operatic scale. The depth of research is impressive and throws up many interesting facts about Australia’s history that may not be well known. Unfortunately the history has a tendency to swallow the story, rather than informing it, verging on didactic and with several unlikely plot points detracting from the story. This is mitigated somewhat by the use of letters, especially Matilda’s correspondence with suffragists, which plausibly adds details of the movement for votes for women. Matilda herself is a little too good to be true, her trajectory underlining an essentially positive and optimistic outlook for the new nation. Nevertheless the characters are vividly drawn and with the story ending at World War I and the dawn of a new era for both Matilda and her country, it will be interesting to see where the next book in the series takes them.

Suffragette (2015) directed by Sarah Gavron

This is an important film that should be compulsory viewing in all schools and by all parliamentarians to reduce ignorance about why feminism matters. A laundry worker in London's East End, Maud Watts stumbles into suffragism almost by accident. It is 1912 and women have few rights, not least the right to vote. Life is harsh for working men and even harsher for working women. Maud's dawning realisation of her powerlessness and her sacrifices in the fight for better are movingly depicted. Winning votes for women would be a step towards women gaining control over their own lives; 50 years of politely requesting change has got them nowhere and the Women’s Social and Political Union decides it’s time to get militant. The entrenched powers that be feel the threat and clamp down hard, treating activist women like terrorists and enlisting the media in a conspiracy to ignore them and their cause. Maud and her colleagues resort to increasingly desperate tactics to gain attention in a bid to change the world for their children’s sakes, culminating in a stunt that cannot be ignored. Even people familiar with the history of British suffragettes may be shocked and disturbed by the visual representation of their brutal treatment by authorities. Carey Mulligan commands the screen as usual as Maud and is ably supported by Helena Bonham Carter and Anne Marie Duff. The film does not pretend to be anything other than political and makes a very powerful point at the end with a scroll down timeline of when women achieved the vote around the world.

Under Majordomo Minor, by Patrick DeWitt

A weird combination of fable and gothic novel, with a touch of comic book adventure thrown in to the mix, Under Majordomo Minor is a bit of a headfuck. In the first few chapters the overblown language, with multiple adjectives per sentence, is a tad tedious, but it either eases up or you get used to it and it becomes less of a bother. Our hero, dear reader, aimless 17-year-old Lucien Minor, leaves home and takes a job as under majordomo in a castle in another town. His adventures include falling in with thieves, falling in love and witnessing a violent orgy. A bizarre and fantastical ride, the reader remains in Lucy’s corner all the way, despite his many flaws.

Cloudwish, by Fiona Wood

Scholarship girl Van Uoc keeps her school life and her home life strictly separate. It’s hard work living up to the stereotype of overachieving daughter of refugees, especially when you are starting to develop wants and needs that don’t fit the pattern. Her two worlds collide when she gets involved with jock of jocks Billy Gardiner, who is struggling with his own stereotype of parental and peer expectations. Luckily there is always Jane Eyre to turn to for guidance. Given their extreme reliance on Van Uoc for translation and negotiating bureaucracy, one wonders how on earth her parents managed for so many years before she came along. The actual wish element is unnecessary and a little silly; seemingly only present to justify the title; the story would have been better without it. But these are minor quibbles in a moving and engaging tale of cultural difference and finding your way.

Burning Man (2011) directed by Jonathan Teplitzky

A dim memory of reasonable reviews on release of this 2011 film about a chef gone troppo led to recording it on SBS2 to watch later. And what a moving experience was almost missed. Matthew Goode (of Downton Abbey and Good Wife Fame) is almost unrecognisable as the grief-stricken and out-of-control chef. But he carries the film through from its initially disparate and obscure fragments of a life in pieces to a coherent whole that gradually comes together, as does his character, Tom. The burning metaphor is a little stretched, but the time jumps back and forth are clear and helpful in understanding what is going on in Tom’s world. A stellar supporting cast including Bojana Novakovic, Essie Davis and Rachael Griffiths help drive this desperately sad tale to a reasonable conclusion.

Green Valentine, by Lili Wilkinson

Some YA books transcend genre to be universally relevant. This is not one of them. Perfect and popular Astrid is determined to make the world a better place. An unlikely alliance with rebellious Hiro leads to romance and multiple clashes with authority. Politically correct to the point of nausea, the improbable plot becomes cartoonish as all comes right in the end. Harmless enough.

Antipodes Gin, Certified organic spirit - 45%

There was initial scepticism about this drink. It sounded good, but how much better than a regular gin could it actually be? OMFG it’s from another planet. Seriously, it’s like a completely different spirit. The first sniff is incredibly aromatic, and a sip indicates it could easily be drunk neat, or over ice with a splash of lime – in fact the perfect gimlet. The taste was so distinctive there was concern that tonic would overwhelm the flavour and that perhaps soda would be a better match. No need to worry, the gin more than holds its own with tonic. In fact compared with soda water and a dash of lime, tonic is a far better match – the flavours are complementary. Billed as Australia's first certified organic and carbon neutral gin, it is triple distilled with flavours such as orange peel, lemon myrtle and pepper berry and refined with pure Australian rainwater. In a word, yum.

The Secret Chord, by Geraldine Brooks

King David has commissioned his personal prophet, Nathan, to write a warts and all biography. And so we receive the history of a charismatic leader with many flaws, from his abusive childhood to his bitter end. David is a musical prodigy who unites the tribes of Israel, committing brutal rapes and mass murder along the way. A clear, although possibly not intentional, demonstration of the fact that history is generally his-story and rarely her-story, Brooks’ novel is a bit of a slog through the slaughter. A redeeming feature is the hope for better from the next generation, but David’s motivation is never entirely clear. Brooks is known for bringing history to life in her novels, impeccable research informing engaging fictional characters and their stories. The Secret Chord features real historical characters, about whom there is more mythology than known facts, which creates some tension between story and actual history. Ultimately the nature of these beasts leaves rather a sour taste, most of them are characters the should perhaps stay buried in the past.

The Beauty is in the Walking, by James Moloney

Jacob has cerebral palsy but gets around on his own two feet, thanks to the dedicated care of his over-protective mother. She has a nice, safe job lined up for him when he finishes school and his life in a small Australian country town has been well and truly mapped out for him. A coming-of-age tale that sometimes tries a little too hard, Jacob’s journey of self-discovery covers disability, racism, sexual awakening and the insularity of country life.

Elizabeth is Missing, by Emma Healey

This quietly devastating tale combines a murder mystery with an account of a woman’s gradual decline into dementia. Written from the point of view of Maud, the novel cleverly intersperses her ultra sharp memories of her parents and older sister in her teen years, just after World War II, with her current fuzziness about her daughter and grand-daughter. What has happened to Maud’s good friend Elizabeth? Can she solve the mystery and will she remember it if she does? Maud is determined that she will and, with the support and care of her often exasperated daughter, she uncovers more than she knows she is looking for. Emma Healy has written a poignant story of love and loss that strikes a strong and lingering chord, with a subtle examination of the effects of ageing on an individual, on her family and friends and on her community.