Wild Country, by Anne Bishop

This latest outing in the world of The Others focuses on the frontier town of Bennett, which was cleansed of its human population following the massacre of the local Wolfgard by the Humans First and Last movement. This is definitely not a stand-alone novel, as readers will need to comprehend that first sentence to get the most out of it. Wild Country both follows and runs alongside previous books in the series, introducing new characters such as the feisty police rookie Jana Paniccia to work with the known, such as town mayor and vampire Tolya Sanguinati. At one level the book is a fascinating examination of the delicate politics of human-Other relationships following the reclamation of Thaisia by its naturally dominant species. At another level it is a depiction of the plight of settlers in a Wild West frontier town. There is possibly a bit too much going on for there to be a truly satisfying story arc. Confusion about boundaries clouds Bishop’s usually razor sharp plot and narrative. It’s not the most engaging of The Others novels, which may signal the series has come to the end of its natural life.

My Father’s Shadow, by Jannali Jones

Kaya is suffering from PTSD after a violent incident involving her father. Her mother has taken her into hiding – at the family’s holiday house – and imposes strict rules of seclusion that leave Kaya isolated and lonely. Things start to change when she makes a friend – against the rules – in Eric and she starts to recover her memories of what actually happened to her and her father. This is a prime example of a book that needed at least one more draft and some serious editing before it was published. There are things to like about it; Kaya is an appealing heroine and the tension builds nicely as her returning memories gradually reveal the truth. But so many things just don’t add up, including details of Kaya’s age, her grandparents, and her psychiatrist. Serious questions should have been asked of the author by an editor to make the plot hang together and to flesh out important characters like Kaya’s mother.

Frozen 2 (2019), directed by Chris Buck & Jennifer Lee

We start with a flashback to Elsa and Anna’s childhood with a story their father told them and a song their mother sang to them. Back to the present and their home of Arendelle is under threat from the spirits of air, water, earth and fire. Elsa must follow a siren call only she can hear to right an old wrong, but Anna, Kristof, Sven and Olaf will not let her go alone. When you don’t know what to do just do the next right thing, trust and help your friends, don’t let bad things in the past wreck the future – the messages are strong and sweet. The animation is beautiful and the music is solid, but parents everywhere are probably grateful there is no outstanding song like Let it Go from the first Frozen film. The singing is sublime, especially Kristen Bell as Anna. It is never clear why the girls’ mother would not have told them of her mysterious origins, except as a driver of the rather thin plot. But there is a whole herd of singing reindeer, in support of the franchise's best character, Sven, so who could want more? Where Frozen was all about winter, Frozen 2 is painted in autumn tones, which begs the question – may we expect Frozen 3 and 4 to be summer and spring?

Bruny, by Heather Ross

Set in the not-too-distant future, the events of Bruny are all too believable. Astrid ‘Ace’ Coleman is a UN conflict resolution specialist based in New York. When a contentious bridge between the Tasmanian mainland and Bruny Island is blown up she is called in to facilitate a rapid rebuild, using foreign labour, in time for the upcoming state election. The fact that her twin brother is the state’s premier and her half sister is the opposition leader complicates her role and only slightly stretches credulity. Ross absolutely nails the complicated politics and economics of protest and activism and is eerily prescient on the topic of foreign interference in Australia’s governments. The tone is lively and amusing, which make the undertones of dark deeds all the more menacing. The characters and family relationships are satisfyingly complex; the romance is sweet, but perhaps introduces one layer too many; the climactic storm is terribly convenient. The last two chapters serve as an extended and unnecessary postscript—not all loose ends need to be tied up neatly with a bow. But they also serve as a warning against complacency, with the sense that the extreme actions depicted in the novel have only bought time until something even worse happens.

The Heavens, by Sandra Newman

Dystopian future, time travel, love story, this is a strange book that jumps between Elizabethan England and various iterations of the modern day. It comes mostly from the point of view of Ben, a young man in modern New York, which is odd as he is largely peripheral to the action. This centres on Kate, a young woman who literally does not live in the real world. They fall in love, but again their romance feels almost secondary to the ‘real’ story. Kate has recurring intense dreams of her life as Emilia, an Elizabethan courtesan, and a compulsion that she as Emilia must take some action to save the world. She begins to wake from her dreams to find her world has changed radically – different president, different customs, products and even parents. Her family, friends and Ben doubt her sanity and as the dream/delusion continues so does she. Seemingly flimsy Kate gradually becomes more of a sympathetic character as what is behind her dilemma becomes clearer. At the same time Ben becomes less sympathetic, even though his frustration is totally relatable. If the book has a message it is to live in the moment, because neither the future nor the past really matter.

Knives Out (2019), directed by Rian Johnson

Wealthy and successful crime novelist Harlan Thrombey dies after his eventful 85th birthday party. Was it suicide or murder and who among his extended family stands to gain from his death? Jamie Lee Curtis, Don Johnson, Toni Collette, Chris Evans and Daniel Craig are just the start of the stellar cast list for this stylish whodunit spoof. So what could go wrong? It starts slowly, with a few too many yeah, right moments of plot convenience. But momentum gradually builds as the twists and turns keep coming and the audience is kept guessing to the end. Craig’s southern gentleman accent as detective Benoit Blanc is ludicrous, but he just about gets away with it because of the send-up elements of the film. Chris Evans is good in the unusual role for him of the wayward grandson, while Ana de Armas impresses as the seemingly naïve and innocent nurse Marta. There are laughs as well as shocks, with some lovely visual humour in the accoutrements of the grand house and its gardens and a running joke about the family’s ignorance of Marta’s origins. It’s not as good as its cracked up to be, but Agatha Christie would probably approve.

A Universe of Sufficient Size, by Miriam Sved

This is a tale of two Eszters – the younger version a student in Hungary in 1938 and the other an old woman in Australia in 2007. The early narrative is riveting, the joy of a group of friends united in their passion for maths and their trepidation about the future in a world going mad. It sheds light on the little-known story of the Jews of Hungary although it doesn’t quite make clear the complicated relationship between Hungary and Austria, which put them at such risk. How did Eszter escape Hungary for the US? Who did she marry? Why did they move from the US to Australia? What happened to her friends? The suspense is well extended, leaving the reader wanting more as the story of young Eszter rolls out. The modern narrative seems inconsequential in comparison. This is probably because it is told from the points of view of Eszter’s daughter Illy and grandson Josh, whose travails are not especially interesting, while the focus on granddaughter Zoe’s sex life seems prurient. In both stories the details of the maths is mind boggling, occasionally to the point of mind numbing for the maths-challenged reader, but it can mostly be skimmed over without losing the gist. The process of Illy gradually discovering the truth of her mother’s past after the death of her father is often an annoying interruption of the story of Eszter’s youth. The personalities and relationships in the modern world don’t ring as true as those in 1938. When the stories finally come together, with a conveniently timed visitor from the past, an unexpected twist explains much about the modern day family relationships that was difficult to understand. In the end the truth sets everyone free.

Blinded by the Light (2019), directed by Gurinder Chadha

It is 1987, the last year of school for aspiring writer Javed and what a big year it is. He finds his writing voice, gets his first girlfriend, discovers the music of Bruce Springsteen and begins to break away from his traditional Pakistani family. Inspired by the true story of writer Sarfraz Mansoor, the film effectively captures the teenage angst and frustration of feeling trapped in a dead-end town—Luton, in Thatcher’s Britain. Unemployment is at an all-time high and racist National Front thugs roam the streets with impunity. Do you stand up for yourself? Do you fight back? Do you escape? Springsteen’s songs have all the answers. The film has something of a fairytale quality, minor characters border on caricatures and the musical sequences are a tad over the top. Viveik Kalra as Javed is all exaggerated facial expressions at the start, but he grows into the part and becomes more credible; his graduation speech at the end is moving and convincing. The Springsteen soundtrack matches the narrative well, although some songs play too long, rather hammering home the point. There are loads of familiar faces among the supporting cast, with Hayley Atwell as an encouraging teacher, Nell Williams as girlfriend Eliza and Dean-Charles Chapman as best friend Matt the standouts. It’s a feelgood film that is enjoyable if not quite up to the standard of Chadha’s earlier work, such as Bend it Like Beckham and Monsoon Wedding.

Last Christmas (2019), directed by Paul Feig

Selfish, feckless and estranged from her family, since recovering from a serious illness aspiring singer Kate seems to be perpetually living on the brink of disaster. That starts to change when she meets Tom, who shows her that helping others can make you happy. But is the elusive Tom really the solution to Kate’s troubles? Written by Emma Thompson, using the music of George Michael and Wham!, the story arc is very predictable but it is done well. Emilia Clarke sparkles in her elf outfit as Kate and Henry Golding charms in the slightly tricky role of Tom. The supporting cast makes the best of a script that teeters on the edge of sentimentality, but throws in enough dirty laughs to save it from total soppiness. It features Michelle Yeoh in an unusual role and Emma Thompson, who is hilarious as Kate’s Yugoslavian mother. The film makes a few gentle political points about xenophobia and exclusion of the other. It relies a little too heavily on too few songs, which adds to the predictability, but Clarke sings them very appealingly. It’s a nice touch to see a cameo appearance at the end by Andrew Ridgeley.

The Testaments, by Margaret Atwood

A much-hyped sequel to The Handmaid’s Tale, The Testaments takes a similar path, purporting to be witness accounts from the tyrannical regime of Gilead. This time the tale is told from three points of view, which enables Atwood to take a long view from the very beginning of Gilead to around 15 years after the time of June’s story. This is a very clever device that picks up on elements of the television series, which extended June’s story beyond the Handmaid’s Tale, without relying on the changes made. The three voices belong to Aunt Lydia, a founder of the regime; Agnes Jemima, daughter of a commander; and Daisy, a Canadian orphan. This allows examination of the history of Gilead and how it developed, its inner workings and contradictions and the fight against it, both inside and out. We see how victims become perpetrators as a means of survival and how there are many forms of rebellion and resistance. The accounts are gripping and shed a new light on Gilead, but the tale falters a little when the three strands are woven together. What should become a nice, strong plait of a story is let down by stray strands that stretch credulity in the same way as the TV series. Intricate plans leave a bit too much to chance; miraculous strokes of luck and coincidence save the day; and those in a position to ask obvious questions and uncover the truth remain quiet and/or ignorant. The postscript of an academic symposium makes for a clever and amusing conclusion to the chronicles of Gilead. It will be interesting to see what, if anything the TV series makes of it, given how thinly it has stretched the original material so far.

Too Much Lip, by Melissa Lucashenko

Riding into the piss-poor northern New South Wales town of Durrongo on a hot Harley, Kerry Salter plans to pay her respects to her dying pop and get out of Dodge asap. Grieving the break-up from her girlfriend, who is in gaol in Brisbane, Kerry has to navigate her tricky family while dealing with the town’s shonky mayor/real estate developer. Her religious mother Pretty Mary, alcoholic brother Ken and anorexic nephew Donny don’t make it easy, while an encounter with her high school crush Steve makes her question her sexuality. Melissa Lucashenko brings to life a family on the fringe of society and the law, making them real and comprehensible, funny and tragic. Culture and history informs the narrative but never bogs it down, rather illuminating the very real impact of generational trauma on the practical reality of modern life. The writing is very visual and it would be easy to see it made into a three or four-part TV series. Equally entertaining and informative, with a flawed heroine who is totally relatable, it is no wonder this novel has reaped awards.

The Farewell (2019), directed by Lulu Wang

Struggling writer Billi emigrated from China to the US with her parents when she was six years old. Her grandmother – Nai Nai - was left behind, but Billi remains as close to her as is possible from so far away with infrequent visits. When Nai Nai is diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer the family conspires to keep it from her, as is Chinese custom. They arrange a family wedding to allow everyone to say a covert farewell, but Billi struggles with the deception. The film starts by declaring it is based on a real lie. Written by director/producer Lola Wang, it provides an interesting meditation on cross-cultural differences and the divided loyalties of child migrants who struggle to retain their culture. It also paints a picture of how rapidly China has been changing as it develops economically. It has wry and funny moments, none more so than the laugh-out-loud twist at the very end of the film. But at times it is slow moving to the point of tedium, with far too many long lingering shots of faces expressing sadness as soaring strings play. Awkwafina does a great job as Billi and there is a fine, largely unknown, supporting cast – especially Shuzhen Zhao as Nai Nai. Special mention should be made of the Japanese actress who plays the bride and has hardly a word to say, as she speaks no Chinese. The dialogue is largely in Chinese with English subtitles, which are done very well. This is a thoughtful film, which could have been better; possibly the director is a little too close to the material.

Life Before, by Carmel Reilly

The story starts in July 1993 with a cop about to do a death knock after a fatal crash in the country town of Northam, in Victoria. It then leaps forward to Melbourne in 2013, where some cops notify a woman that her brother has been knocked off his bike in a hit and run. Back to March 1993 and the teen years of the woman, Loren, and her brother Scott from the point of view of their mother Pam. We keep jumping back and forth in time as the older Loren, or Lori – the author can’t seem to make up her mind – very gradually comes to terms with her past. It takes a very long time to discover who died and why Scott and Loren were estranged for 20 years, and along the way we are told the name of every street in Northam, how they’re laid out and who lives there. In fact there is far too much tedious description of everything, while the device of the past unrolling from Pam’s perspective preserves the mystery but prevents empathy for Loren. It’s difficult to understand why she still keeps the story from her husband once she decides to visit her brother in hospital. It doesn’t take a genius to know that putting the telling into the too hard basket will make it so much worse when the truth eventually comes out. While the scale of the tragedy in the past is a surprise much else is very predictable and the ending is a little too pat.

Daisy Jones and The Six, by Taylor Jenkins Bell

Written as though it is a real-life account of the rise and fall of a real-life band, this novel is frighteningly authentic. The level of detail is such, you want to get hold of the albums and listen to the songs. From a troubled background, Daisy Jones is a spoiled little rich girl, who just happens to be insanely talented. From a troubled but poor background, brothers Billy and Graham form The Six around Billy’s songwriting and performing genius. When they coincide musical magic is made, but this is the 70s so sex and drugs do tend to get in the way of rock and roll. Every member of the band and their significant hangers-on has their say on all aspects of the band’s development and demise – expressed in short answers to unseen questions. As the novel’s strapline says: Everyone was there. Everyone remembers it differently. So much is revealed by who does and doesn’t know what is going on as Daisy and Billy’s URST creates mayhem and the band falls apart. The novel’s structure works brilliantly until the end when the previously irrelevant identity of the author/interviewer is revealed, which undermines the credibility of the way some questions are answered. But it’s an enjoyable romp through 70s soft rock that could make a great mockumentary with a killer soundtrack.

Derry Girls season 2 (Netflix)

They’re back – with six glorious episodes even funnier than those in season one. This season perhaps has fewer sharp edges as Northern Ireland’s Troubles make way for the peace. The soundtrack is killer and must be especially evocative for those who grew up in the 90s. Forget The Hustle, the Bus Stop and the Madison, the wedding episode dance scene to Rock the Boat requires adult diapers to cope with the laughter. Just occasionally a couple of the performances threaten to tip over the edge into hysteria, particularly Nicola Coughlan’s Clare, but Saoirse Monica Jackson’s facial contortions as Erin are toned down a bit and honorary Derry Girl James has more to do. Most are note perfect, especially Siobhan McSweeney as world weary Sister Michael and a very low key Tommy Tiernan as Da Gerry. Hopefully they can all maintain the standard in the third season, which has been announced.

The Missing of Clairdelune, by Christelle Dabos

Book Two of The Mirror Visitor series begins a little clunkily, with insufficient recap of the first book for a seamless transition. There are so many characters in such a complex storyline and it has been translated from French; no wonder it’s easy to get lost. As the story moves on it gathers pace and excitement. Dabos has developed the happy knack of ending a chapter on a cliffhanger, making it difficult to put the book down. With echoes of Arabian Nights Ophelia is appointed vice-storyteller by Farouk, the all-powerful ruler and ancestral spirit of the ark of Pole. She is at loggerheads with her fiancé, Thorn, but she may need him to survive her precarious position at the court. It is impossible not to cheer for dogged underdog Ophelia and it is really not necessary for he to sustain quite so much physical damage. Dabos is great at world-building and depicting characters; where the book falls down is in how they interact. The central romance is just not credible and Ophelia’s family relationships are treated superficially. The latter is perhaps understandable when the tale already runs to more than 500 pages. It ends on yet another cliffhanger as a teaser for the next book, if you have the stamina.

Wormwood Mire, by Judith Rossell

In this sequel to Withering-by-Sea, Stella Montgomery has been banished by her formidable aunts to the crumbling gothic manor Wormwood Mire. Stella is out of her depth, away from the awful aunts but also away from the comfortable hotel on the coast, with maids and chef-cooked meals. She does have the company of her new-found cousins, aspiring engineer Strideforth and animal loving Hortense. There is also the botany-obsessed governess Miss Araminter, housekeeper Mrs Burdock and her grandson Jem. The house and its grounds are full of mystery, with exotic flora and fauna imported by an intrepid ancestor. And there is also the mystery of Stella’s connection to the house – she discovers that she lived there as a baby, but what happened to her mother and sister and who is her father? As Stella gains independence and builds a friendship with her cousins, she begins to find answers to some of her questions, while uncovering several more. The hardback version of this book is beautifully illustrated by the author, although the green print is a little hard on the eyes. The story is dark and satisfying, with a nice lead-in to what will undoubtedly be a suitable third instalment of Stella’s tale.

Downton Abbey (2019), directed by Michael Engler

It is 1927 and the King and Queen are to visit Downton Abbey as part of their Yorkshire tour. The household is naturally all of a tizzy, but the servants are most miffed to find the Royal household staff will supplant them. This is the last golden age of the great house and the film perfectly captures that sense of an end of an era and the dawn of change. The period details are sumptuous, from the ball gowns to the trolley cars and almost all the old familiar faces from the TV series are present. The rather lightweight plot is inconsequential as the important thing is to check in with favourite characters and be sure all is well. Everyone gets a happy ending, even footman turned-butler Thomas, to the point where it is laid on a little too thick. Maggie Smith’s Dowager Countess gets all the best lines and her barbed exchanges with Penelope Wilton’s Lady Merton create laugh-out-loud moments. Everyone looks like they’re having a lot of fun putting the Downton saga to bed in a most suitable fashion.

The Yield, by Tara June Winch

August returns to the country town where she grew up, Massacre Creek, for the funeral of her grandfather. We are told right from the start that August’s childhood was haunted, first by the delinquency of her parents and soon after by the disappearance of her sister. It is implied that negligence meant her sister’s disappearance was never properly investigated because she was Aboriginal and August has never got over it. August’s present, compelling narrative is punctuated by excerpts from her grandfather’s dictionary and also by excerpts from a letter from an early missionary to the region, dated 1915. Prior knowledge of the book made the jump between narrators more explicable, but this should not be necessary. It reads somewhat disjointedly until deep into the story, when the three strands come together in a way that finally makes sense. August’s reluctant return from overseas to the miserable town she had escaped is gradually turned around to a welcome home as she painfully comes to terms with her own tragic past, her family’s past and her people’s past. By the end the novel becomes an astonishingly clear and poignant expression of the plight of Australia’s indigenous people and how many feel about it. It should probably be added to the national curriculum and should definitely be required reading for politicians, policy makers and all those who just don’t get what all the fuss is about.

A United Kingdom (2016), directed by Amma Assante

Based on a true story of a romance between a middle class English girl and an African chief, A United Kingdom shines a light on the politics of post-colonial Britain. Ruth Williams met Oxford law graduate Seretse Khama in 1947 and fell hard for him, only to find he was the king of Bechuanaland – a UK protectorate in the shadow of apartheid South Africa. The couple met opposition to their marriage at every turn, from their families, from British authorities and in Seretse’s tribal homeland. They faced separation and years of exile, with Seretse forced to give up his royal heritage to retain his wife and family. Rosamund Pyke and David Oyelowu have the chemistry to make Ruth and Seretse’s relationship totally convincing and the film is beautifully shot. The couple overcame all obstacles to help Botswana to independence and prosperity and Assante does a good job of highlighting a little-known African success story.

Russian Doll (Netflix)

Nadia is celebrating her 36th birthday at her friend’s New York loft apartment. Leaving the party to search for her missing cat she is hit by a taxi and killed, only to find herself back at the party, living the same night over again. This keeps happening; only the timing and mode of her death are subject to change. As she starts to realise what is happening to her Nadia moves from denial to investigation, trying to figure out why and how she might stop it. Along the way she gets to know her friends better, meets some new ones – but will she ever find her cat? Meeting uptight Alan, who seems to be in the same predicament, changes the game as together they search for answers to ending the time loop they are caught in. With obvious parallels to Groundhog Day, Russian Doll is also analogous to an old school, platform video game – no surprise as Nadia is a game developer. Blackly funny, sometimes moving, Russian Doll is a tribute to friendship as much as anything. Natasha Lyonne teeters on the edge of over-the-top as Nadia, held back from the brink by a solid supporting cast and a mostly tight script.

The Flipside (2018), directed by Marion Pilawski

With her business in trouble and her mum at risk of eviction from her care home, Adelaide chef Ronnie is drowning in debt but she can’t seem to tell her very nice boyfriend about her woes. Former lover Henry, an egotistical actor, drops in on her life and seems to offer an escape from all that’s gone wrong, but Ronnie has been down that road before and he broke her heart. This is Emily Taheny’s film and her frazzled Ronnie carries it over a sometimes-limp script and unsubtle comedy. She has chemistry with an effectively low key Eddie Izzard as horrible Henry, which helps another wise unlikely pairing. Vanessa Guide and Luke McKenzie only just avoid tired stereotypes as their respective partners – French Sophie and terminal nice guy Jeff. Tina Bursill puts in a delightful small turn as Ronnie’s demented mum. This film has all the elements for success but its ultra lightweight treatment lets it down. It works best as a charming homage to Adelaide and surrounds, with suitably appealing shots of its many attractions.

Good Money, by JM Green

Stella Hardy is a burnt out social worker in Melbourne’s western suburbs. When the son of a client is murdered and her next-door neighbour disappears, Stella finds herself pulled into a murky world of high finance and low-life drug dealers. Along the way she has to deal with her dysfunctional family, consider a potential new lover with his own dark secrets and repair an old friendship with a cop who could be helpful. The setting is refreshing, but there is a lot of unnecessary detail of local streets, landmarks and directions. The action zips along, but the characters are curiously flat and the role of coincidence in the plot is hard to swallow. Some of the writing, particularly around the family relationships, is striking in its clarity and precision. There is a lot to like about the book, but there is too much reliance on action over credibility and Green tries a bit too hard for entertaining and quirky and it doesn’t quite come off.

City of Girls, by Elizabeth Gilbert

Writing a memoir for Angela, the daughter of a man once in her life, Vivian Morris looks back to herself at 19 and her arrival in 1940s New York. After bombing out of college Vivian’s straight-laced parents send her to her aunt Peg, who runs a seedy theatre. A talented seamstress, Vivian finds her niche creating theatrical costumes. She makes friends, discovers sex and alcohol and generally has a ball until it all comes crashing down when she makes a very bad mistake. Occasional reminders that this is all a story told to the mysterious Angela are deliberately inserted into the narrative at various points, although the answers she wants are a long time coming. Two-thirds of the book is devoted to the roaring 40s, Vivian’s awakening and maturing during the war years. There is little hint throughout this section of the answer to Angela’s question – who were you to my father? Nor indeed is it indicated who he is, despite Vivian’s promise to tell what he was to her. This makes the device of Angela as audience rather a long tease. Vivian fast-forwards through the next 20 years of her life and we finally learn the identity of Angela’s father towards the end of the book. It is not a total surprise, but the nature of their relationship is. Gilbert’s writing is clear, warm and engaging, her characters lively and appealing. The novel is ultimately a testament to friendship, celebrating all kinds of love and the benefits of finding your tribe and creating the family you need.

Late Night (2019), directed by Nisha Ganatra

Written by Mindy Kaling for Emma Thompson, Late Night is smart, witty and on point, if perhaps a tad heavy handed. Katherine Newbery is an award-winning comedian and late night TV host who has been at the top of her game for almost 30 years. Her show has become stale and she is under threat of losing her gig to a crass, younger, male comedian. Her very white, male writing team all come from a similar background, which helps to keep her work stale and repetitive. Enter greenhorn Molly (Kaling), the ‘diversity hire’ who brings a fresh approach and some hope of Katherine retaining her position. There are some interestingly complex plot points, such as Katherine’s ailing husband and a different take on the sexual politics of television, but conflicts are resolved a little too quickly and easily for credibility. A solid supporting cast includes John Lithgow as Katherine’s supportive husband and Hugh Dancy as a playboy comedian. The script is based on Kaling’s lived experience; it rings true and provides a truly valid commentary on equality of opportunity and the need for allies to be able to see what you can be. Although for a movie featuring a comedy writing team it could have been funnier. Emma Thompson makes the most of her role – just imagine if a female comedian ever did get the chance to be a late night TV host.

Finn Family Moomintroll, by Tove Jansson

Revisiting Moomin Valley after many years absence is a sheer pleasure. Written in the 1940s and 50s, the tales hold up just fine in the modern age, beautifully illustrated by the author and seamlessly translated. Set in a gorgeous natural world of spring and summer (because moomintrolls hibernate in winter), there are mountains to climb, rivers and seas to sail and forests to roam. Moomintroll and his friends enjoy feasts and treasures, exploration and adventures and meeting new and wonderful creatures. Their lives are not without fear or danger, but there is nothing that can’t be overcome by a practical approach to life and Moominmama’s cooking or Moominpapa’s homespun philosophy. Fun and kindness permeate the stories, which are a delight for children to read or listen to and for adults to read aloud.

The Priory of the Orange Tree, by Samantha Shannon

The size of this book is a daunting; a paperback of more than 800 pages is a brick to manoeuvre and just seems unnecessary. Could it not have been split into two? It is a sprawling tale of political machinations, magic and dragons in a world refreshingly lacking in racism and sexism, but riven with class division and religious intolerance. Shannon has clearly developed an extensive social, cultural and political history for her imagined world, which she uses to naturally inform the action. There are a myriad of characters in a multitude of places, which must have been quite a task to keep track of as an author – it’s a challenge for the reader. In the East aspiring dragonrider Tane jeopardises her future by helping a stranger. In the West, at the court of Queen Sabran, southerner Ead has a secret mission that puts her life at risk. The action switches rapidly between east and west for much of the tale, gradually revealing that both cultures face an existential threat that they must find a way to fight together. It takes long time to bring it all together. The writing has a lovely flow that verges on the poetic, but some of the invented words seem totally unnecessary and create an inconsistent tone. The central love story is unconvincing and superfluous to the plot. Sometimes you just don’t need a romance. Some of the characters could have been dispensed with sooner, to the benefit of the plot and cutting some of the many many, words. The book unfortunately becomes a slog, not for any flaw in execution but just because of its extreme length.

2040 (2019), directed by Damon Gameau

Fearing for the future of the world his four-year-old daughter will inherit, Gameau set out to investigate solutions to our current environmental problems that are based on existing technology. He travels to Bangladesh, Sweden and North America, as well as Australia, to interview children about the kind of future they want and to examine projects that could make this possible. With clever use of visual effects, Gameau imagines what the world could become by 2040 if innovative programs were widely adopted in the areas of energy, transport and agriculture. He also touches on the obstacles to achieving such a future. The tone is positive and optimistic, demonstrating the many economic, social and environmental benefits of taking action. The clearest, simplest explanation of global warming is alone enough to make this film mandatory viewing for all politicians, but particularly those in denial of climate change. It offers hope amid all the dire prognostications for the world.

Blood Kin, by Ceridwen Dovey

A coup in an unnamed country has led to regime change. The deposed president is said to be guilty of terrible and brutal crimes. This kind of sweeping political change has been seen many times in many parts of the world, but what is the impact on the people who live through it and the families of those who don’t live through it? Dovey names none of her characters; there is the President, his barber, his chef, his portraitist, his barber’s brother’s fiancé, his chef’s daughter, his portraitist’s wife; the commander and various guards. All are described as such throughout – defined by their relationship to power. It turns out they are all closely linked, their lives intertwined. The book is divided into two main parts – first the men demonstrate the immediate consequences of the coup. Then the women in their lives provide a different perspective on their relationships and on the damage they have suffered because of them. A short third part goes back to the men for the unpleasant and depressing conclusion. The nation is not named either; it could be somewhere in Africa, somewhere in South America. It could be anywhere. This slim volume is not an easy read, as it precisely details how power corrupts no matter which douchebag is in charge. It is toxic masculinity writ large and it’s always the women who bear the brunt.

Making Friends with Alice Dyson, by Poppy Nwosu

Alice Dyson is a nerd with no social life who spends most of her time studying. She lives to please her distant parents, at least until the end of this final year at school. After that she has big plans that diverge significantly from theirs for her and will not please them. Two things disrupt Alice’s intentions for a studious final year. The first is her one friend May, who craves social success and drags Alice along in her wake. The second is dark and brooding bad boy Teddy Taualai, who is constantly in her face. As the year rolls on Alice steps out of her comfort zone in many ways, but ultimately remains true to herself. Nwosu’s book is sweet and funny, if not entirely credible. The relationships and actions seem more like those of kids aged 13-14, rather than 17-18, so the main characters don’t feel quite real. But their different setting in the northern suburbs of Adelaide and the understated multicultural crowd are delightful.

Pride (2014), directed by Matthew Warchus

It’s 1984 in Margaret Thatcher’s Britain. Miners are on a long-term strike all over the country and the authorities are cracking down with brutality. While grateful that the attention has been turned away from their community, a group of gays and lesbians in London decides to help out by raising funds for striking miners and their families. What follows is a sad, funny and moving tale of solidarity, acceptance and love as Lesbians and Gays for the Miners forge a bond with a South Wales mining community. A really strong ensemble cast includes the star power of Bill Nighy, Imelda Staunton and Dominic West in relatively minor roles. The likes of Faye Marsay, Paddy Considine, George MacKay and Andrew Scott, plus the shining talent of Ben Schnetzer as charismatic activist Mark Ashton add much value. The film is based on real people and a true story and has a killer 80s soundtrack. A second viewing does nothing to diminish the impact of a story that lingers.

Star Crossed, by Minnie Darke

Nick Jordan and Justine Carmichael were childhood besties until Nick’s family moved away from their country town. A reunion as awkward teens saw them kiss and part ways again, until they once more cross paths many years later in the almost fairy tale city of Alexandria Park. Aspiring journalist Justine has been slogging it out as a copygirl on a prestigious magazine for several years, on the promise that she is next in line. She is smart, cynical and rational to a fault. Aspiring actor Nick is guided by his horoscope, so it is too tempting for Justine to tweak her magazine’s stars to try to influence Nick in her direction. Unfortunately Nick’s interpretation of his stars doesn’t quite align with Justine’s intentions. The horoscope metaphors seem heavy handed to begin with, but they click into place as the story progresses, with little vignettes of random characters affected by Justine’s manipulation of one particular star sign. The vast array of characters affected almost becomes confusing, trying to keep track of who is who, but they all serve a purpose in small and large ways – even the dog! Darke cleverly brings all the threads together to create a satisfying end that does justify the means.

The Ink Stain, by Meg & Tom Keneally

Fresh from their exploits in Van Diemen’s Land, clerk Hugh Monsarrat and his housekeeper Hannah Mulrooney have no time to settle in at home in Parramatta. Instead the pair of former convicts is whisked down the river to Sydney to investigate the murder of a rabble-rousing newspaper editor. In this endeavour Governor Darling’s right-hand man Edward Duchamp and his entitled sister, Henrietta, thwart them at every turn. The new regime is more authoritarian and less progressive than those earlier, with a belief that all convicts are beyond redemption. This puts both Monsarrat and Mrs Mulrooney at risk in many ways as they navigate the complex politics of Sydney society. At the same time both are yearning; Monsarrat for his missing love and Hannah for her long lost son. This fourth instalment of the story set in 1820s Australia is probably the most entertaining, shining a light on the workings of the Governor’s mansion, the clergy and the press in the fledgling penal colony. Mrs Mulrooney has grown in confidence with the financial security of compensation from her previous adventure. This is somewhat overdone, as Monsarrat is made to look submissive to a ridiculous extent. But their relationships with others in the colony’s hierarchy are fascinating. As usual their next adventure is flagged at the end – off out west to hunt a serial killer and possibly find time for their own personal quests as well. Should be fun.

Red Joan (2019), directed by Trevor Nunn

In the year 2000 a woman in her 80s is arrested in London and charged with passing classified information to the Russians. As Special Branch police question her, Joan Stanley flashes back to her Cambridge studies in 1938 and her experiences during and after World War II. Based on the true story of Melita Norwood, Joan is portrayed as neither a communist nor a traitor but as a scientist and an idealist who wanted peace. Judi Dench eschews all makeup and is a convincing old lady, bewildered by her arrest for, as she tells her barrister son, “I’ve done nothing wrong.” Sophie Cookson is suitably wide-eyed as the younger Joan, seduced by charismatic communists Sonia and Leo. The very good-looking supporting cast includes Stephen Campbell Moore, Tom Hughes and Ben Miles in a solid film that is sometimes a little slow, but is always interesting.

Gravity is the Thing, by Jaclyn Moriarty

Thirty-something Abigail has been receiving random chapters of self-help book in the mail for the last 20 years. Her younger brother Robert has been missing for around the same amount of time. They were very close and Abi has lived almost a half-life ever since, despite a short marriage and having a child on her own. An all expenses paid retreat on a Tasmanian island offers the final truth of The Guidebook. A select few, including Abi, are given that truth and the chance to take it further in workshops back home in Sydney. This leads to friendships, possible romance and eventually to the answers Abi has been seeking about her brother. The book has an odd structure. Some chapters are very short – a few paragraphs or even a few words - for no discernible reason. The story of the missing brother and how this affected the family is poignant and well told. The present day story of flight school is absurd and it’s easy to run out of patience with Abigail’s arrested development. Many aspects do not hang together and the final chapters, which project into the future and are written in future tense, are dull and annoying. The novel leaves one pressing question - how many Moriarty sisters are there and how long will they be cashing in on Liane’s great success? The answer to both questions is seemingly endless.

The Way of All Flesh, by Ambrose Parry

There are a lot of good things about this book – a gripping murder mystery, interesting characters and an intriguing setting in the medical community in 1847 Edinburgh. But it is let down by its ponderous prose, clunky dialogue and extreme exposition. It is evident that a lot of research was done, but we really don’t need to know every detail of the development of photography or the chemical composition of ether and chloroform, especially as it does little to advance the story. At the same time there are some anachronistic notes, which slightly jar – was quite enough research done on some of the more prosaic details? If it had been, the characters would be more credible. Discovering that Ambrose Parry is actually a collaboration between a well known novelist and his scientist wife goes a long way towards explaining why this book was published, seemingly without editorial intervention to improve its many flaws.

All Is True (2019), directed by Kenneth Branagh

The story of William Shakespeare’s retirement, after his Globe Theatre burned down in London, starts off ponderously slowly. Some very dodgy camera work, with weird angles and out of focus shots, adds to the difficulty of getting in to the film. Fortunately every aspect improves as the film goes on. Ben Elton’s warm, sad and witty script helps the actors to shine, seamlessly weaving Shakespeare’s words into the tale. The beauty of the outdoor setting and the wonderful recreation of 17th century Stratford work their own magic. Kenneth Branagh does a good job of portraying Shakespeare, with little of the self-indulgence often displayed in his performances. Judi Dench is excellent as always, but she is too old for the part of Anne. The bard’s wife was older than him, but not old enough to have been his mother. Likewise Ian McKellen as the Earl of Southampton. The trouble lives of Shakespeare’s daughters, credibly played by Lydia Wilson and Kathryn Wilder, add a truly interesting note to the story of the famed bard.

Into the Woods, by Anna Krien

Published almost 10 years ago, it is instructive and depressing to realise how little has changed in the battle for Tasmania’s native forests. Krien’s style is personal documentary, in the manner of Helen Garner, with objectivity secondary to the experience. She interviews loggers, forestry officials, townsfolk, politicians, conservationists and activists, to get the picture from all sides of the debate, but she spends most time and energy embedded with the activists. Sympathies definitely lean towards the conservation side, with the revealed venality and violence of its opposition quite shocking. It is interesting that many of the leading protestors have gone on to become major figures in groups like the Wilderness Society, continuing their fight in a more mainstream manner and, one could argue, reaping some benefit from the cause. The war continues in different forms and the more things change the more they stay the same. It seems likely that an update of the book to the present day would find no improvement in any aspect of the situation.

Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, by Gail Honeyman

Isolated, socially awkward, approaching 30, Eleanor Oliphant seems initially to be a figure of derision with few redeeming features. Through her own words, thoughts and actions, she is gradually revealed to be scarred both physically and psychologically. Something truly horrific happened to Eleanor as a child, the details of which come out very deliberately as we get to know her. It stunted her emotional growth, making it almost impossible to leave the past behind, let alone think about a future. Slowly, things begin to change for Eleanor when she sets her sights on a potential soul mate and incidentally makes a friend, almost despite herself. The book covers some deep and painful issues – PTSD; childhood trauma; the appalling lack of the child welfare system to address more than the most basic physical needs; and crippling loneliness. But it is also funny, quirky and insightful, with a strong and sweet message about the prime importance of kindness. The book is not perfect. Eleanor’s relationship with her mother is a little hard to believe and the speed of her recovery through counselling is a stretch. Her almost total lack of familiarity with popular culture is amusing but not quite credible. Nevertheless it is warm and appealing and it is unsurprising that Reece Witherspoon has optioned it for a film.

The Aftermath (2019), directed by James Kent

Hamburg 1945 - Rachel Morgan arrives to join her husband, a senior officer in the army of occupation, five months after the end of the war. Firebombing has devastated the city and the hungry local people are still searching the rubble for their dead and missing. The British army has requisitioned a grand house, with staff, for the Morgans, owned by architect Stefan Luber. Morgan has compassion and empathy for the German people that he seemingly cannot extend to his stricken wife. He allows Luber and his daughter Freda to remain in their house, confined to the attic, rather than evicting them to a labour camp. Rachel had hoped to reconnect with her husband in a more private setting, not surrounded by resentful Germans. What follows is a complex story of grief, loss and new beginnings, set in the snowy Bavarian landscape. Keira Knightly and Alexander Skarsgard make credible lovers, while Australian Jason Clarke is very good as the repressed British army officer. This is a thoughtful and interesting film that is marred by several groanworthily convenient plot improbabilities and logistical glitches towards the end.

Unsheltered, by Barbara Kingsolver

The Vineland district of New Jersey was founded in the nineteenth century as a supposedly utopian community by a benevolent dictator. Unsheltered parallels the stories of present day journalist Willa Knox and 1870s teacher Thatcher Greenwood, who share far more than a crumbling, poorly built house they cannot afford to fix. Insecure employment and burdensome dependent in-laws are the hallmarks of both their lives. Willa also has troublesome adult children, while Thatcher battles for scientific truth in guiding the hearts and minds of his students. In 1870 the politics are local and personal, whereas in the modern day they are national and general, but the results are the same. Again there are strong parallels with the wilful ignorance of science leading to destruction and blind faith in a demagogue who is only interested in his own gain. Thatcher finds solace in his scholarly neighbour Mary Treat – a satisfying friendship based on mutual respect and shared interests, in contrast to his marriage, which started with physical attraction but had no substance. Echoes of Dr Lydgate in Middlemarch are confirmed by mention of George Eliot in the acknowledgements. Willa has a good and loving marriage, also based on physical attraction but built into a strong partnership over the years. These relationships sustain them in their troubles. The last few words of each chapter become the title of the next, a neat trick that forges a link between the two eras stronger than the address they share. Both stories have people trying to do the right thing by their families and working around a system stacked against them and they come together at the end with some signs of hope.

The Fragments by Toni Jordan

Ostensibly a literary mystery, the real mystery for the first half of the book is what the two strands of the story have to do with each other. The action switches between 1986 Brisbane, with loner bookseller Caddy, and 1930s US, with farm girl turned factory girl Rachel. Caddy attends an exhibition on much-lauded first time author Inga Karlson, who died in a fire in 1939, along with her publisher and all of the newly printed copies of her second book. Only a few fragments survived and they have been used to build the legend of the mysterious Inga. At the exhibition Caddy meets an old lady who sets her on an investigation of what really happened to her favourite author. The novel eventually becomes a tale of two love stories - between Caddy and disillusioned academic Jamie; and between Rachel and eccentric writer Inga. But it takes so long to get to these relationships that too little time is invested in them and they get somewhat lost in the rush to solution of the mystery. The essential characters and their interactions are nicely done, engaging the reader and enlisting our interest and sympathy. But there is an awful lot that doesn’t add up, making it difficult to suspend disbelief about many aspects. Would Inga really have been that famous around the world for so long, based on one book? Would Rachel really have cut all contact with her family? The shocking twist at the end is actually quite predictable, which makes it a bit of a letdown.

The Avengers Endgame (2019), directed by Anthony Russo & Joe Russo

Grief and regret are not the usual hallmarks of a superhero action adventure movie, so Endgame is something of a surprise. There is only one extended battle scene; instead lots of quiet reflection, so it’s not really one for the kids. Starting immediately where Infinity War finishes, the world is in chaos and the surviving Avengers unite to try to reclaim the Infinity stones from Thanos. Five years later, each of them is handling their failure in their own way. Tony Stark has retreated to family life; Black Widow has taken charge; Thor has immersed himself in alcohol; and Hawkeye has turned vigilante. The return of Antman from the quantum realm sparks new hope and the Avengers get busy trying to turn back time. With many callbacks to previous movies, Endgame is clever and funny, packing a lot in to its bladder-challenging three-hour running time. It is probably best not to think too hard about the time travel implications, or it will do your head in. The ending is satisfying, if bittersweet as all comes full circle.

She Be Damned, by MJ Tjia

An earlier and grittier version of Kerry Greenwood’s Phryne Fisher, set in 1860s London, Heloise Chancey has raised herself up from street prostitute to courtesan. She does a bit of acting and a bit of detecting on the side, but her primary function is to be beautiful and fashion forward. Heloise is hired to find a young woman who has run away from her disapproving family, but her search becomes an investigation of a serial killer of prostitutes in Waterloo. The novel is written in the first person present tense, which takes away much of the required tension when our intrepid heroine blunders into trouble – you already know she will get out of it. The insertion of asides by Heloise’s Eurasian maid are interesting in themselves but not germaine to the main story. They end up contributing to the background information on Heloise, but a huge chunk is left out, presumably to be continued in future tales of this not terribly competent Victorian lady detective.

Time’s Convert, by Deborah Harkness

The runaway success of the author’s All Souls trilogy has made her unable to resist returning to that elaborately constructed world. This is great news for fans if she has another story to tell; unfortunately this novel appears to be a case of great characters in search of a story. It is fun to see how Diana and Matthew are coping as their Bright Born twins develop their magical powers as toddlers. It is interesting to discover Marcus’s first life in revolutionary America and his difficult vampire childhood and adolescence in the French Revolution. And it is fascinating to be taken through the stages of vampire rebirth with Phoebe’s transition in preparation for her marriage to Marcus. But the novel lacks an overall narrative drive equal to the search for the Book of Life in the first three books. Most attention is paid to Marcus and while his story is interesting it lacks a certain tension because we know he comes out ok in the end. Some anomalous details are irritating – Phoebe’s fuzzy memory is said to be common and will prevent her returning to her profession, but this vampire characteristic has apparently been no impediment to Matthew, Marcus and Miriam becoming doctors and researchers. The peripheral role of witches and daemons in this vampire story may indicate there are more novels to come that will focus on these aspects of the world. If so it is to be hoped that they constitute more than filling in the back stories left over from the trilogy.

The Chaperone (2019), directed by Michael Engler

Aged 16 in 1922, future silent movie star Louise Brooks travelled from her home in the mid-west to New York to join a prestigious dance school. This movie is the story of the middle-aged woman who chaperoned this journey, Norma Carlisle. Norma undertakes the task as a break from her marriage and to research her origins as an orphan in New York. Small flashbacks gradually reveal the trouble in her marriage and her time in the big city resolves some issues for her and allows her to make some changes. Young Louise Brooks is almost peripheral to the main story, but Norma both helps and learns from her charge in a way that enables her to assist again when Louise hits trouble 20 years later. Elizabeth McGovern is charming as Norma and Hayley Lu Richardson is radiant as the young Louise, although slightly less convincing as the older version. The fingerprints of Downton Abbey writer Julian Fellowes are all over this film, which has marvellous costume and production design.

A Shot in the Dark, by Lynne Truss

In 1950s Brighton self-important and not very bright Inspector Steine keeps crime rates low by ignoring it. His exasperated offsider Sergeant Brunswick would like to do some proper police work, but is continually stymied by his boss and consoles himself with their charlady’s cakes. This cosy world is turned upside down by the arrival Constable Twitten, who is too clever for his own good and immediately starts to not only detect crime, but also solve it. A criminal mastermind operating under their very noses and getting away with murder, robbery and extortion constantly thwarts all three degrees of bumbling police officers. This is a deeply stupid book, seemingly intended to be wryly funny with many nods and winks to the reader. It’s about as subtle as a music hall variety act, skewering the theatre, journalism and the police force in a totally unoriginal manner and demonstrating an obsession with Graham Greene’s Brighton Rock that gets beyond tedious. The ludicrous storyline and conclusion elicits eye rolls rather than laughter. The novel’s strapline bills it as a Constable Twitten Mystery, seeming to indicate there will be more. This would be pity as there are already more than enough mediocre books in print.

A Winter’s Promise, by Christelle Dabos

Following the Rupture the world has been reduced to around two-dozen scattered arks, connected only by airship travel. Each ark has an immortal founder and has developed according to the personality of this spirit and the genetic talents of its people. Ophelia lives on the peaceful and egalitarian ark of Anima, ruled by a Matriarchy of Doyennes. She runs a museum and her talents include reading the history of objects and the ability to travel via mirror. Quiet, scruffy and clumsy, Ophelia is an unlikely candidate for a diplomatic marriage with a man from the remote and icy ark of Pole. We never do discover why the alliance is so vital that she must be forced into it or why the Doyennes sabotage her chances of success by providing no information or support. It can be difficult to criticise novels in translation because you don’t know if any problems with the story are from the original writing or are a fault in translation. This tale has been a bestseller in France, which is no guarantee of quality, but may tend to point to issues with the translation. There is a problem with some of the tenses, which may be technically correct but don’t read well in English, with excessive use of passive voice. The book plunges straight in to the plot with minimal exposition, which demonstrates refreshing respect for the intelligence of the audience. The quiet and unobtrusive heroine flies under the radar most of the time but nevertheless flies. Lesser characters tend to caricature and the baffling behaviour of Ophelia’s fiancé Thorn is not satisfactorily resolved. This is possibly because the novel is the first of a planned quartet and we will discover if he is hero or villain in later books.

Sometimes Always Never (2018), directed by Carl Hunter

Despite some laugh-out-loud moments this is not a comedy, but a rather sad exploration of father-son relationships and the nature of grief and regret. Bill Nighy employs a slightly dodgy northern accent as Alan, a man searching for his son who walked out on a family game of scrabble and never came back. It only gradually becomes apparent that this must have happened a long time ago, as Alan’s other son now has a teenage son of his own. The timeline seems to be deliberately confusing, as although the use of smartphones places the film firmly in the present, the clothes, décor and even cars evoke a past era. Sam Riley as the second son is excellent; Jenny Agutter is beautiful as a temporary love interest; and Alexei Sayle provides a quirky cameo. A laboured metaphor of the prodigal son and the one left behind is tedious in its repetition and there is some truly terrible camera work, with weird angles and close-ups, wide sweeps and many shots out of focus. This is probably meant to be arty but is just annoying. A seemingly gently feel-good ending contains a baffling final image, which is an odd, unsettling way to finish the film – posing questions that didn’t need to be asked.

The Lost Girls, by Jennifer Spence

Empty nester Stella suddenly finds herself 20 years back in time, in 1997, and involved with the life of herself and her family at that time, when she was in her 40s with two teenage kids. To explain her presence in their lives she adopts the persona of her aunt Linda, who went missing as a young woman. She hopes to influence the choices of her daughter Claire, who is 12 at this time and whom Stella knows will die at the age of 16. Can she, should she alter the past and therefore the future and what will be the consequences if she does? Stella tries hard not to let on about her advanced knowledge of technology and future events, except for telling the truth to her mother – the real Linda’s older sister. In fact her very presence in the past is altering the present as well as the future and her memories of it are changing as it happens. The time conundrum gets convoluted and starts to do your head in after a while, especially when the point of view suddenly changes from that of Stella from the future to Stella in 1997 and then back again. It is cleverly done, although the story of what happened to the real Linda doesn’t quite mesh with the main tale of Stella’s influence – past and present – on her kids, Claire and Julian. Memory and regret, care and responsibility, sadness and acceptance haunt this book, but Stella remains somehow a remote figure who keeps a distance between thought and feeling.

The Rosie Result, by Graeme Simsion

Rounding out his story from The Rosie Project and The Rosie Effect, socially awkward Professor Don Tillman has come into his own and could now be regarded as succeeding at life. After 12 years in New York his wife Rosie has landed her dream medical research job back in Melbourne and it’s time for her career to take priority over Don’s. Unfortunately the change is a bit much for their son Hudson, who seems to be following very much in his father’s footsteps. So Don initiates the Hudson Project to help his son gain essential life skills and learn to fit in with ‘neuro typicals’. Along the way the family encounters some challenges including anti-vaxxers; societal labelling; and how schools deal with diversity and bullying. Everyone learns and grows, including the reader, but it’s a course of study that is a lot of fun for all involved.

After Life (Netflix)

It would be easy to dismiss this latest six-episode offering from Ricky Gervais as a middle-aged man using his grief over the death of his wife as an excuse to behave like an arsehole. Indeed some critics have. But it seems likely they did not watch beyond the first episode, which does point that way. All that is keeping Tony going after Lisa’s death from breast cancer is his obligation to their dog. He continues to walk through motions of doing his job, as a journalist covering pointless stories on a community paper; visits his Dad in a care facility; and sees a useless psychiatrist in an attempt to address his deep depression. He resorts to drugs and alcohol while watching videos of and from his dead wife and is several times brought back from the brink of suicide by his dog. Dark, clever, funny and sad, After Life expresses some bleak themes, but ultimately offers hope of a way through. A few scenes are quietly devastating, but they contrast with a gradual move towards a lighter time for Tony as he sheds some of his self-absorption. What gets him there is the quiet support of his colleagues and some new friends; a random array of supportive women – among them a nurse, a widow and a sex worker - who demonstrate that a little kindness goes a long way. Penelope Wilton, Ashley Jenson, Roisin Connaughty and Kerry Godliman add depth and strength to a solid supporting cast. The final episode is a tad preachy in a departure from the more nuanced approach of those earlier, but all in all After Life is a worthy successor to Derek.

Into the Fire, by Sonia Orchard

Heavily pregnant with her first child, Lara visits her friend Crow and his three kids in the country. His wife and her best friend since Uni, Alice, died in a house fire a year ago. Lara goes back over their friendship in her mind, recalling how they met at University, and how their friendship changed when Alice met Crow. It is somewhat dismaying that all relationships in this book – familial, romantic and platonic – are dysfunctional and damaging. For someone who studied psychology and frequently references it, Lara seems totally unable to apply any of that knowledge to gain understanding of herself, or her family and friends. Similarly she calls herself a feminist and judges her friend for seemingly abandoning feminist principles, while demonstrating little awareness of how her own behaviour falls short. Firmly set in Melbourne, with frequent geographical references, it’s jarring to get a sudden mention of a racecourse in Sydney and the occasional clearly made up town, in what appears to be an editing fail. None of the characters are sympathetic in what is ultimately a bleak read. The big reveal at the end only reinforces the depths of Lara’s self-delusion, with no indication of how she is likely to proceed with the information and the possible insight she has gained. The only certainty is the likelihood of the damage and dysfunction continuing to another damaged generation.

A Discovery of Witches (Sky Vision)

It begins with absence and desire. It begins with blood and fear. It begins with… a discovery of witches. Author Deborah Harkness was involved in the production of this series based on her trilogy, which is probably why it is quite a faithful adaptation. American academic Dr Diana Bishop, who specialises in the history of science, is in Oxford to research old texts on alchemy. Traumatised by the death of her parents when she was a child, Diana denies her heritage as a witch and tries to ignore her powers. She finds an old book that may explain the origins of the three magical species and finds herself the target of large numbers of witches, daemons and vampires, including charismatic ancient vampire Matthew Clairmont. This is the start of an epic love story and a search for The Book Of Life, with plenty of violence, politics and magic to spice it up. Teresa Palmer and Matthew Goode are well cast as the leads and most of the support cast is great, only Alex Kingston as Diana’s Aunt Sarah and Lindsay Duncan as Matthew’s mother Isabeau not quite filling the bill. The former’s American accent just doesn’t cut it and the latter is too old for the part. The array of characters and locations may prove confusing for those who have not read the books and it is not really made clear what daemons are and how they are different from vampires and witches. But like the novels the series builds momentum with each episode to become just as addictive. Roll on series two.

Wundersmith – The Calling of Morrigan Crow, by Jessica Townsend

Morrigan Crow has turned 12 and it is time to begin her training at the Wundrous Society, along with her eight fellow students selected to join the elite of the elite. Students have their own special knack to be honed and trained by the Society to be useful to it and to the magical city of Nevermoor. Morrigan’s knack is to be a Wundersmith; there is only one other and he is evil and dangerous, so many Society members, including her peers, view Morrigan with suspicion and trepidation. Starting her training is awesome and nerve wracking enough, but Society members have been disappearing and Morrigan’s patron Jasper is too busy dealing with that mystery to be of much help to her. In this second book of the series Townsend seamlessly blends the new school trope with the magical mystery of fantastical Nevermoor, exploring themes of belonging and finding your tribe; fear of the other; and people living both up and down to expectations. It is clever, dark and funny, with Morrigan Crow proving a worthy successor to Harry Potter in the YA fantasy stakes.

Lethal White, by Robert Galbraith

The events of this latest novel of private investigator Cormoran Strike and his partner Robin take place a year after the last one. But there is a preamble that follows on directly after the previous novel, which explains the fraught nature of their personal and professional relationship. Set against the backdrop of the London Olympics, Strike’s latest investigation is kicked off by an encounter with a young man who has serious mental health issues. A parallel investigation reveals that Billy's story intersects with political intrigue, blackmail and privilege. As in the previous books the geography of London is almost a character in itself and the there is such an interesting take on modern life in the UK, with its class divisions and historically entrenched attitudes. Lethal White is a tome of more than 600 pages, but nevertheless is an easy read. It helps that sidekick Robin is not brutalised – at least not physically as she was in the first three instalments. The ending is a bit of a letdown, swamped in unlikely exposition and the obligatory threat to Robin’s life, which is a pity after a long, well-constructed lead-up.

Captain Marvel (2019), directed by Anna Boden & Ryan Fleck

There is a lot to like about the first female-led superhero movie in the Marvel franchise. Brie Larsen is warm and witty, strong and vulnerable in the title role. The supporting cast, including Samuel L Jackson, Jude Law, Ben Mendelsohn and Annette Bening, is uniformly good. It has a killer 90s soundtrack, some clever misdirection about who are heroes and who are villains and a very funny cat. Yet somehow the sum is less than the total of its parts. It’s difficult to identify exactly what doesn’t work. There is an over reliance on CGI from early on and a ton of exposition. Some clunky dialogue and laboured hit and miss humour takes you out of the film rather than sweeping you away with the magic of it. But there is a nice exploration of female friendship and a strong girl power theme that is satisfying to anyone sick of the Hollywood macho ballfest. And we do find out how Fury lost his eye. So overall it’s an ok lead-in to Avengers: Endgame – coming real soon to a cinema near you.

Songwoman, by Ilke Tampke

This sequel to Daughter of Albion Tampke continues the story of journeywoman Ailia, now acknowledged Kendra to the tribes of ancient Britain. Ailia emerges from a long period of mourning to join the campaign of war chief Caradog against the Roman invasion of Albion. She was mourning the loss of her tribe to Roman slaughter and the loss of her love, Taleisin, to the cruel games of the Mothers she represents as the Kendra. So she is keen to learn and develop her skills and aid Caradog in his quest to unite the remaining tribes against their common enemy. Ailia once again struggles to maintain credibility among her fellow druid class, who are resentful of her growing power and influence and she didn’t bargain on falling in love with the war chief. Based on historical accounts of the Roman invasion of Britain, Tampke does a great job of using a solid and credible base as the jumping off point for an inspiring heroine in a cracking adventure. Wracked with self-doubt, Ailia manages to rise above her many challenges to influence her people and maintain their essential connection to the land. Credulity is stretched a touch with her journey to Rome, but the strong evocation of her spiritual link to the mountains and forests of Albion permeates the entire tale.

On the Basis of Sex (2018), directed by Mimi Leder

This would have been a difficult story to bring to life because so much of it depends on dry legal arguments. The filmmakers over compensate for this by overemphasising the emotional aspects of the Ginsberg story. Felicity Jones is very good in the title role of Ruth Bader Ginsberg. Armie Hammer is impossibly handsome as her husband Marty, which adds to his rather too good to be true persona. To do justice to Bader Ginsburg’s story would really need a mini series, rather than a film, because there is just too much to cram into two hours. The film focuses on two main time periods – the late 1950s when she is at law school and the early 1970s when she breaks out of academia and starts her fight for gender equality under the law. It is an important story, worth telling, especially as Ginsberg’s time on the Supreme Court must be drawing to a close. Her remarkable achievements should be celebrated and, more importantly, preserved as conservative forces seek to erode them. This movie does a so-so job of this, but is at least a good starting point to finding out about her.

Holding, by Graham Norton

A body is found on a farm outside a small Irish town and generations’ old secrets are unearthed with it. The premise is strong, the characters mildly interesting, but the writing is pedestrian and banal, with acres of exposition weighing it down and sloppy research detracting from the historical elements. Each plot twist is telegraphed well ahead so there are few surprises as it is all totally predictable. An unlikely love triangle replicating one from the past is possibly meant to be darkly funny, but just induces eye rolls. Quirkiness just isn’t enough. In short, stick to the comedy chat show hosting Graham.

Sing Street (2016), directed by John Carney

For 1980s music tragics there is much to love about this film. Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet, The Cure, The Jam and Ah-Ha are all dominant influences on the nascent career of Conor Lalor. Struggling at a new school, he starts a band to impress a girl so she can appear in the music videos. The original songs develop beautifully along with the main character, gaining strength and depth as he does. The relationship between the misfit boys in the band, especially songwriters Conor and Eamon, is nicely developed in an understated way. But Conor’s muse, enigmatic wild child Raphina, remains a fantasy figure for most of the film – we don’t even learn her name until more than half way through. This is all about the boys. Ferdia Walsh-Peelo (!) is charming as Conor. Lucy Boynton does well in the difficult role of Raphina, but she looks too old for the part. Maria Doyle Kennedy and Aiden Gillen add a touch of star power as Conor’s parents. Darker subversive elements are lightly touched on – child abuse in the home and by Catholic Brothers; bullying; domestic violence and family breakdown. These elements underpin rather than define the story, which is largely amusing, touching and nostalgic without being sentimental. It is a pity then that the ending is pure trash, requiring total suspension of disbelief in a bridge and a boat too far.

The Second Cure, by Margaret Morgan

Cats have become an endangered species and the virus causing their demise has crossed over to humans, causing a variety of effects that divide the population. The disease affects the brain, causing some people to lose their faith, some their inhibitions, some develop synaesthesia and increased creativity. Sydney scientist Charlie Zinn is a leading researcher into the causes and a potential cure, but not everyone sees the need for a cure including her partner Richard. Charlie’s sister-in-law Brigid is a Brisbane journalist trying to dig the dirt on charismatic evangelical politician Jack Effenberg, prospective premier. The science gets a bit eye-glazing in places, but it is cleverly inserted into the narrative and adds to its authenticity. It’s the politics that lets the story down because it lacks the detail given the science and so lacks credibility. Effenberg is a modern day Bjelke-Petersen, which may be possible in Queensland, but the lack of response to his antics from Canberra and the other states defies belief. A fast–paced thriller with well-drawn characters, the book unfortunately jumps the shark about half way through when suspension of disbelief can no longer be maintained. It is nevertheless an entertaining tale of a very different kind of dystopian future.

The Favourite (2018), directed by Yorgos Lanthimos

Funny, sad and moving, based on real events and making good use of the salty language and behaviour of the times, The Favourite is thoroughly entertaining until the ending, which is bizarre and mystifying. Old, ill and under the thumb of her oldest and closest friend, Lady Sarah, Queen Anne is a pitiable figure, often pathetic but occasionally demonstrating that she remembers who is ultimately in charge. The relationships are complex – there is no doubt that Sarah loves the Queen, but she takes her power for granted and abuses it. Lady Sarah’s distant cousin Abigail is young and desperate after falling on hard times; her duplicity and grab for power are understandable, her rapid descent to cruelty somewhat less so. The political intrigue and power struggles of the court are intertwined with the personal power games of the Queen’s favourites and are often depicted as absurd and extreme. The three leads – Olivia Colman, Rachel Weisz and Emma Stone - are amazing and deserve their awards nominations. Nicholas Hoult is delicious as the leader of the opposition. It is refreshing to see the men as peripheral to the main action, although still presented as fully drawn characters. The look and feel of the film is rich and sumptuous, with really interesting use of colour and music. The make-up is also outstanding, accurately reflecting the times when male presentation was far more full-on than female. It is a pity about the strange finale to what is otherwise an absorbing, witty, surprising and moving film.

Colette (2018), directed by Wash Westmoreland

Naïve country girl Gabrielle Sidonie Colette has been brought up to be a free spirit by tolerant and loving parents. This captivates a much older man, worldly and sophisticated Willy, who runs a literary ‘factory’ in Paris. He commissions young unknown writers and publishes under his name, reaping the spoils of their success and rarely paying them on time as his extravagant habits always exceed his income. His young wife blossoms in bohemian turn-of-the century Paris and willingly joins his factory to support their lifestyle. But young girls grow up and as Colette finds her voice she comes to resent Willy’s betrayals, manipulation and exploitation. Keira Knightly is very good in the title role, while Dominic West complements her well as Willy, in what is a pretty familiar character for him. The story demonstrates that fluid sexuality and gender roles are not a recent phenomenon, with Denise Gough convincing in the role of Missy, Colette’s transgender lover. In a nice finishing touch, photographs at the end illustrate how Colette’s life played out as a bestselling author and the most successful female French novelist.

Shell, by Kristina Olsson

The rather beautiful cover in tones of peach shows a smudgy image of the Opera House, viewed from the sea with gulls swooping around it. There have been some rave reviews of this book, but it turns out that sometimes you can judge a book by its cover. Sydney in 1965; the Opera House is under construction and its architect is courting controversy; Vietnam is heating up and the Federal Government has introduce conscription, with protests growing. Pearl Keogh is a journalist, hauled up by her bootstraps from struggle street – yada yada yada. Despite the clichés she is quite a fascinating character. Her career has been sidelined by her politics (communist); she is racked by guilt about her younger brothers who ran away from an orphanage after the death of their mother. Her drip-fed backstory is interesting; her current motivation and decisions are interesting. It is a pity her story ends abruptly, with no sense of what she will do next. Axel Lindquist is a Swedish glassworker obsessed with Jorn Utzon, whom he has never met despite working on his opus dei. He becomes a borderline stalker as he attempts to get into his hero’s mind. They are an unlikely couple, brought together for the device of the story and for no other discernable reason. The writing style is changeable and frustrating. Past events are referred to in an allusive and elusive manner, which sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. An example of where it works is with the reasons Pearl’s brothers ran away. It is clear abuse was involved without any need to detail it. An example of where it doesn’t is with Axel’s glasswork; there is no sense of what he is actually creating – and therefore why he is on the project at all – until the very end. This contributes to his lack of substance as a character. Some of the language is overblown, with passages that could be considered poetic, but often read like strings of words on a page with little meaning. Similarly, there are several lists of Sydney harbourside suburbs for no clear reason other than as a tribute to the city.

Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool (2017), directed by Paul McGuigan

When fading movie star Gloria Grahame was appearing on the stage in 1970s London she took up with aspiring actor Peter Turner. Based on Turner’s memoir, the story offers a delightful reversal of the usual trope of older man and ingénue. Presumably intended as a vehicle for Annette Bening, she turns in her usual accomplished performance but is more than matched by Jamie Bell as the young lover. Bening perfectly captures the fading glamour of a former Hollywood femme fatale, while Bell is totally convincing as the down to earth lad who is enchanted with her. Funny, sad and moving, the film is a small sweet pleasure for its sincere tale and appealing performances.

The Year of the Farmer, by Rosalie Ham

Drought has put everyone under pressure in country New South Wales, not least struggling sheep farmer Mitch. His crops are failing, his debt is crippling, his old Dad’s health is failing and he is married to a complete bitch. Life offers hope and complication when his lost love Neralie returns to town to run the pub, but then there are the latest machinations of the Water Authority to deal with. They want to cut allocations, raise rates, impose the use of expensive and possibly useless technology and generally make life even harder. A blackly comic take on the state of water usage and abusage in regional Australia, recent events in the Murray-Darling Basin almost make this novel read more like an academic text. Ham has clearly done her research and there are sections where she overdoes the didacticism, but on the whole the story is entertaining and rings very true. Everyone gets a say and a serve – farmers, irrigators, water traders, riparians and ferals – but sympathies are well and truly with the farmers while the villains are corrupt bureaucrats and expedient politicians.

Nine Perfect Strangers, by Liane Moriarty

Nine people who are not actually perfect strangers, as two are married and three are a family, travel to Tranquillum health and wellness resort for a 10-day retreat. With so many characters it takes a long time to introduce them all and then it’s easy to lose track of them and their various traumas. Most turn out to be quite interesting – all dealing with various life crises and looking for change. The least credible character is Masha, the resort director, who is determined to effect permanent change for her guests and implements unusual methods to achieve it. The tone is very uneven; Moriarty can’t seem to decide whether she is a champion of the wellness industry or a snide critic of it and wavers wildly between the two positions throughout. About half way through the retreat turns from a wellness journey to a medical and psychological experiment and the book jumps the shark. All credibility is shot as the story just turns silly. Moriarty canvasses a lot of issues through her multitude of characters but the sheer breadth means there is little depth in a lightweight tale that only pretends to a balance of humour and darkness. The nine miraculously manage to achieve their goals for change, if not in quite the way they expected, but nobody, least of all the reader, learns anything of use along the way.

Good Behaviour (TNT)

Michelle Dockery demonstrates her versatility with her portrayal of Letty, an addict and ex con whose life inadvertently gets tangled with that of a hitman. Hot sex and shocking violence are the hallmarks of the first few episodes but the series develops into a complex family drama as Letty and Javier build a relationship, almost despite themselves. Introduced first to her dysfunctional family and then to his, we start to understand how they came to be the damaged individuals they are. The big question is whether they can overcome their pasts and do they have a future? Based on a series of books, the characters have depth and breadth, with touches of subtlety and unexpected humour. They are aided by an interesting supporting cast plus killer theme music and soundtrack. Dockery does a bit of a Tatiana Maslany turn, creating multiple characters with wigs and accents as Letty runs her elaborate cons. There is a second series, so the question of a future will likely be answered. One can only hope it is as good as the first; sometimes it is better not to know what happens next.

The Lost Man, by Jane Harper

A man dies in mysterious circumstances on an outback property in south west Queensland. It looks like suicide but the dead man’s older brother Nathan isn’t so sure. A bad decision 10 years ago completely estranged Nathan from his community, making his isolation extreme. Not exactly close to his family, he was the one considered ‘at risk’ by the local nurse and cop, rather than his brother Cam. Tension steadily builds as Nathan uncovers secrets and lies while investigating Cam’s death. Was it actually murder? Was Cam really the nice guy the community thought he was? Should some secrets stay buried? Can Nathan overcome the past and give himself some hope for the future? As in Harper’s first two books, the landscape is almost a character itself. It is intrinsic to events and the way people respond to them and Harper evokes it brilliantly and viscerally. The novel’s dark and topical themes include the extended damage of generational family violence; toxic masculinity and the politics of consent; and the isolation and disadvantage experienced in regional areas. A tenuous link to Harper’s first book The Dry is not really necessary. A brief Agatha Christie moment, where Nathan seems to think everyone done it, teeters on the brink of farce, but Harper brings it back from the edge to a conclusion everyone can live with.

The Spotted Dog, by Kerry Greenwood

Who wouldn’t want to live in Insula, a delightful apartment building in Melbourne’s CBD with a roof garden and an array of intriguing inhabitants? Intrepid baker and sometime detective Corinna Chapman wouldn’t move anywhere else despite, or perhaps because of, the mysteries it seems to attract. This seventh Corinna tale involves a former soldier suffering PTSD whose dog has been napped; several strange break-ins at Insula; and the possible involvement in both of violent Armenian or Azeri criminal gangs. Throw in a wronged and damaged lass in a wheelchair, a young religious fanatic and a troop of actors and there is plenty to occupy Corinna and her lover Daniel. The usual ingredients of delicious food, generous gin & tonics and a plethora of cats add value to the twists and turns of the story. Good fun fare.

Wanderlust (Netflix)

After 20-odd years of marriage Alan and Joy’s sex life has gone stale to the point of non-existence. She is a therapist recovering from a serious cycling accident; he is a high school English teacher; they have three kids in their late teens to early 20s. They love each other and want to stay married, but Joy’s radical suggestion for spicing things up could put everything at risk - their marriage, their family, their careers. Meanwhile their older daughter starts seeing one of Joy’s patients; their younger daughter is falling for a neighbour; and their son finds himself in love with his best friend. Despite a strong ensemble cast the show is clearly a vehicle for Toni Collette. She is good, although her wandering accent is a distraction. The most insightful episode is entirely devoted to a therapy session between Joy and her mentor Angela, played by Sophie Okonedo. Steven Mackintosh engenders sympathy at first as the conflicted Alan, but his entitlement gets a bit irritating; he wants to have his cake and eat it and them blame his wife for everything that goes wrong. Joy and Alan find that too much honesty is not necessarily the best policy. By the end of the six episodes, their kids are forging ahead with their lives while they have come full circle in an interesting idea that ultimately doesn’t seem to go anywhere.

Transcription, by Kate Atkinson

Knocked down by a car in 1981, Juliet Armstrong flashes back to her post-war life at the BBC in 1950 and her wartime experiences with MI5 in 1940. A seemingly naïve 18-year-old secretary, Juliet learns to lie and deceive with the best of them while transcribing recordings of fifth columnist meetings of Nazi sympathisers. It is only in 1950 that she finds out the extent of the manipulations and machinations that continue to haunt her and will affect the rest of her life. It seems that once involved with the security services there is no exit. There are spies within spies and secrets within secrets, all gradually uncovered as Juliet loses her innocence on many fronts. Her career consists of long stretches of mundanity punctuated by brief spells of extreme action and the book follows suit, with extended passages of dull transcription, which call into question the point of it all. In the end all is revealed but one question remains – was it really an accident?