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.