The Truants, by Kate Weinberg

Jess Walker has chosen an obscure regional university over Oxford to study English Literature because of a particular professor.
A classic middle child, Jess quickly finds her tribe: instant best friend Georgie, boyfriend Nick and charismatic journalist Alec, as well as Dr Lorna Clay.
They help her break out of her conventional middle-class mores, let loose and have some fun.
But this is not enough for Jess, who wants what she can’t have – except maybe she can.
Fuzzy plot points and timelines detract from the story. Just what is a South African journalist doing hanging around an obscure English university? And just how long is an Easter vacation that it can accommodate conception, abortion, autopsy and funeral, plus a trip to Italy.
The story begins with a prologue that indicates an idyll gone very wrong (dear reader). The first half unfolds as a coming-of-age narrative and suddenly becomes an almost gothic mystery that is literally an incredible mess.
Jess makes some seriously bad choices, which makes it difficult to sympathise with her when they bring her undone.
In the end there are more questions than answers about Lorna and her motivations in a strangely unsatisfying tale.

Signature Gin, 23rd St Distillery

It’s been such a thrill to see more boutique gins popping up in the non-specialist liquor outlets, although sometimes the price can be eye-popping due to the excessive federal excise.
This one is from the South Australian Riverland town of Renmark and it’s another warm little number, with notes of mandarin and lime.
This can finish a little sweet on the palate, so choice of tonic is key if mixing.
It is available in neat little 200ml tasters, as well as the standard 700ml bottles, which is the perfect way to check it out.
It has been a revelation to a lover of the London dry style – heavy on the juniper – learning to appreciate the more delicate and subtle botanical flavours created by local distilleries.
Keep an eye out for special offers to try some of these lovely gins and form a new habit.

The Mirror and the Light, by Hilary Mantel

It has been a while since the second novel of this Thomas Cromwell trilogy was published and it takes a bit of effort to get back into to Mantel’s unusual style.
It can be difficult sometimes to work out who is speaking, compounded by extended passages of Cromwell’s thoughts, memories and even dreams.
It begins immediately after Bring Out the Bodies finishes, in the aftermath of Anne Boleyn’s execution and the instant marriage of King Henry VIII to Jane Seymour.
The almost 900 pages of dense, 16th century politics is surprisingly easy to read once you get into the rhythm of it.
Cromwell is a fascinating character. Was he an avaricious schemer and social climber? A religious and social reformer? A power-hungry manipulator? Possibly all of the above.
Revenge appears to have been his great motivator; he was a loyal friend; a great mentor to young men; kind to children and a collector of enemies.
Mantel transports readers into the heart and mind of the 16th century’s most astute politician, until he wasn’t.
Class was to be Cromwell’s downfall; even those who greatly benefitted from his policies resented his extraordinary social mobility and worked actively to undermine him.
The second half of the book flags a little, with rather too many lingering memories that add little to the illumination of Cromwell’s character or the steps that lead to his downfall. This may be because they unnecessarily elongate the path to the inevitable.
Mantel paints a picture of Cromwell as a true renaissance man, ahead of his time in many ways that became his undoing. As such he elicits sympathy, despite his many faults, not least for surviving and thriving for 10 years in the service of a most capricious king.

A Capitol Death, by Lindsey Davis

The Emperor Domitian is getting a grand triumph through the streets of Rome and it had better go smoothly or heads will literally roll.
In the lead up to festivities the transport coordinator falls from a cliff on the Capitol Hill. Did he jump or was he pushed? It’s up to intrepid informer Flavia Albia to find out.
There are a few too many coincidences in this mystery and Albia seems slower on the uptake than usual, with the reader ahead of her in making the connections on several occasions.
Perhaps she has taken on too many cases in too short a time, as this is around the third murder she has tackled since her wedding a scant two months previously.
The glimpses into her domestic life and the cameo from her well-beloved parents are the most entertaining elements of the story.
This is a pity as it means it falls short of Davis’s usual high standard tales of ancient Rome. This one has way too many descriptions of navigating the city’s hills, streets and landmarks, rather than its industries and underbelly.
The colourful characters just about save the book from the shortcomings of its plot. It is possible that Flavia Albia has run her course, although hopefully not as there is at least one more book in the series.

After Life (Netflix) Season 2

Grief-stricken Tony is slowly getting himself together in this second series of Ricky Gervais’s tragi-comedy.
He is not ready to move on from his lovely wife and will not even contemplate the first steps of doing so, much to the frustration of Emma - who could be more than his father’s carer.
But he is able to look beyond his sadness enough to actually help out other people and demonstrate what Lisa saw in him.
He shows support and kindness to friends and colleagues who have helped him, offering hope of better times.
Many of the supporting characters are fleshed out a little more, allowed to have agency beyond Tony, which adds greatly to both breadth and depth. And the cast is just great.
There are some self-indulgent aspects to the series, enabling an unnecessary gross-out factor that adds little to the story. The prime example is the disgusting psychiatrist, whose toxic masculinity serves no purpose.
This aside the series is once again sad, funny, moving and hopeful.

Wolfe Island, by Lucy Treloar

The author’s first novel, Salt Creek, was a moving and frustrating look at Australia’s dystopian past. This one takes a leap forward to a dystopian near future in the US, where climate and other refugees are demonised and persecuted.
Artist Kitty Hawke has an almost mystical connection to the island she lives on, the last of generations of her family. Her attachment has cost her a marriage and a good relationship with her children and she is the last inhabitant, all others having fled to the mainland as their houses succumbed to the sea.
Her satisfying if solitary life is disrupted when her estranged granddaughter turns up with some friends, who clearly have secrets and troubles that could threaten everyone’s future.
Kitty is drawn back into a family of sorts, which ironically takes her off her beloved island.
But with love comes loss and Kitty becomes a vagabond, adrift in a dangerous land, searching for what is truly home.
Treloar employs poetic and evocative language that never goes OTT into the realms of pretension in the telling of her tale.
The scenario is all too believable and Kitty’s painful reengagement with the world and her family is moving and emotional.