Big Little Lies (HBO) directed by Jean-Marc Vallee

Transported from Sydney’s northern beaches to California’s Monterrey, this series is otherwise very faithful to the bestselling novel by Liane Moriarty. The casting is pitch perfect – the women, their husbands, the kids and the Greek chorus of parents commenting throughout. Showered with awards and accolades, the all-star ensemble is fabulous – Rhys Witherspoon, Nicole Kidman and Laura Dern leading the pack. The tension of the who-is-it and whodunit aspects, building to a reveal at the end, is naturally diluted for anyone who has read the book, greatly reducing the impact. Nevertheless they are well done and the journey there is enjoyable. It departs from the book somewhat towards the end, mostly to the benefit of the drama, although it does neglect the why to some extent – it doesn’t make sense why one person in particular gets involved with the action, or why they are shielded by all the others - something that is explained clearly in the book. The choice of music to punctuate the action is particularly notable – once again pitch perfect. There has been talk of a second series and it will be interesting to see where the writers and producers take it without the strong source material of the original.

The Break, by Marian Keyes

Amy is a busy 40-something with a business, three children and a lot on her plate. Following the deaths of his father and his friend, her husband Hugh has been sunk in a depression he can’t break free of. Hugh decides he needs a break from their life and their marriage; he will leave behind all responsibilities and go travelling in Asia for six months. But he’ll definitely be back. There is nothing Amy can do to dissuade him and she is left to deal with everything, torn between rage and heartbreak as she tries to stay afloat. But Hugh’s selfish decision means Amy is also on a break, with the opportunity to explore what she wants in life too. Keyes trademark wry funny style has the reader firmly in Amy’s corner, even while questioning some of her choices. The predictable conclusion is inevitable but a bit annoying, with the story very much about the journey rather than the destination.

And Fire Came Down, by Emma Viskic

The second novel featuring hearing-impaired investigator Caleb Zelic, And Fire Came Down once again bounces between Melbourne and the fictional coastal town of Resurrection Bay. Caleb is suffering undiagnosed PTSD from the events of the first book, which is not helped by witnessing the death of a young woman seeking his help at the start o this one. She had a connection to his home town and Caleb can’t leave it alone, despite increasingly violent warnings to do so. Throw in problematic relationships with his ex-wife, ex business partner and ex junkie brother and searing summer temperatures to make life even harder. The gripping read races to a slightly unsatisfying conclusion, which lacks credibility even though it leaves Caleb with a conundrum that will radically affect his future – and no doubt future books.

Lady Bird (2017), directed by Greta Gerwig

A mother and daughter story rather than a coming of age story, Lady Bird is sweeter and sadder than expected. The humour is wry and random rather than laugh out loud and the sad moments could require tissues, especially for those who have experienced similar fraught relationships. Christine ‘Lady Bird’ McPherson is more like her mother, Marion, than either of them is comfortable with. The film follows a year in their life in Sacramento, Lady Bird’s last year at her full on Catholic high school before going to college. She is desperate to get away to somewhere more cultured and sophisticated, while her mother is determined to hold on tight. It is 2002; the US is in recession and the yawning gap between the haves and the have nots is growing ever wider. From a cash-strapped family on the ‘wrong side of the tracks’, Lady Bird aspires to more. The year is full of milestones and experiments, including first love, passing the driving test and first sexual experience. It has a very good ensemble cast but the film rightly belongs to Saoirse Ronan and Laurie Metcalfe as the fierce and strong daughter and mother. Ronan makes Lady Bird loveable despite her many flaws and Metcalfe constantly redeems the hard-edged Marion. The bittersweet tale demonstrates how it is possible to love people but not really like them, especially when they are your family.

The Trials of Morrigan Crow, By Jessica Townsend

Morrigan Crow is a cursed child, destined to die at the age of 11 after a short lifetime of being blamed for everything that goes wrong. On her 11th birthday life suddenly takes a new turn when an eccentric stranger seems to offer her a way out of her fate by entering the weird and wonderful world of Nevermoor. Can Morrigan adapt to her new circumstances and take the chance of a new life or will she be dragged back to her dark fate? Owing a great debt to the dark fantasy of Harry Potter, there is also an element of Willy Wonka about Nevermoor. There is too much exposition in the first third of the book – it takes a while to get to the fun stuff. It holds some nice messages about friendship and community and how people live up – or down – to expectations. The scene is firmly set for inevitable sequels and it will be interesting to see where Morrigan’s journey takes her next.

Midnight Jewel, by Richelle Mead

Part companion novel and part sequel to The Glittering Court, Midnight Jewel tells the story of Mira. She is a refugee in search of a brighter and a better life in the colonies via the marriage agency that is the glittering court. Mira’s story is just as improbable as incognito aristocrat Adelaide’s, involving spies, pirates and treason, but it is interesting to view the story from a different perspective. Minor characters from the first story take a more prominent role in this one and several blanks are filled in. Mead manages to avoid too much repetition in the overlap of the stories, meaning Midnight Jewel could not stand alone. One exception is the remarkable survival skills of the third jewel, Tamsin, which are reiterated – no doubt to set up the third thrilling instalment of the saga.

Obvious Child (2014), directed by Gillian Robespierre

Aspiring stand-up comedian Donna mines her own life for her material, with an honesty that is confronting and sometimes alienating to the people in it. Dumped by her boyfriend for a supposed friend, her day job at a bookstore threatened by closure, there is lots of material to draw on. She is a smart woman with many options who chooses a creative life because she has to. Supportive, if challenging family and friends help her through. Jenny Slate is annoying, appealing and compelling in the lead role. This is an unflinching look at a woman’s choice of an abortion – brave and unusual in a Hollywood film. Why don’t smart writer/directors like Robespierre get more work? Probably because they are female. Hopefully times are a changing.

Wilder Country, by Mark Smith

The post-apocalyptic collapse of society has seen wilders consolidating into vicious gangs in this sequel to The Road to Winter. Finn, Kas and Willow have survived a harsh winter and must now turn their minds to protecting themselves from the likely return of the wilders to wreak vengeance. They also need to fulfil their somewhat unrealistic deathbed promise to rescue Kas’s niece from her wilder father. Along the way they need to liberate Willow’s family from slavery to a wilder gang and find out what happened to Finn’s friend Ray, whose house has been torched by wilders. The grimly realistic tone is countered by the stirrings of young love between reclusive Finn and damaged Kas. Unfortunately it all gets a bit silly as Finn battles between his morals and his survival instincts and the teens miraculously get through every challenge without major loss.