In the Midst of Winter, by Isabel Allende

An unlikely friendship forms between three very different people in the depths of a New York winter. Exuberant Chilean writer Luisa Maraz has lived in the Brooklyn basement flat of her boss, stitched up academic Richard Bowmaster, for several months but he has resisted her friendly overtures. A minor bingle and a dreadful storm sees them holed up in the house with a young Guatemalan woman, Evelyn Ortega, who is undocumented and living in fear. As they share their stories and slowly build a connection the three embark on a road trip in the snow to try to secure Evelyn’s future. The somewhat ludicrous road trip is a vehicle for exposure of the two women’s traumatic pasts. Both have been refugees but Luisa received more support in her escape from 70s political violence than Evelyn’s 2008 flight from a country overrun by gang violence. This novel is set in 2016 and one can only shudder at their likely experiences now. Richard’s history of more emotional turbulence is rather tacked on later in the book. His character is less well-rounded and less credible than the two women, making the romance that develops towards the end of the tale even less likely.

We Live in Time (2024), directed by John Crowley

Almut and Tobias are a young couple facing a significant health challenge. Their love story is told over three timelines, flashing back to how they first met and got together, how they cemented their relationship and how they each deal very differently with an uncertain future. This is confusing at first as it is sometimes difficult to distinguish between the timelines, until some radical changes in Almut’s appearance make it unmistakeable. Florence Pugh shines as Almut and there is sufficient chemistry between her and Andrew Garfield to believe they are soulmates. Their story is tender and often funny, with the ending more subtle than it could have been, but somehow the emotional punch doesn’t quite land.

Heart the Lover, by Lily King

A nameless narrator recounts her last year of college, with its academic challenges, rising level of debt and complicated romances. This chapter of her life ends in heartbreak. Fast forward a couple of decades, now a successful writer, she is married with two young boys. Her university days’ lover resurfaces unexpectedly, stirring up complicated feelings, guilt and secrets. A nickname from those early days persists and her true name is not revealed until the very last paragraph. This possibly signals a long awaited reckoning with her past and an acceptance of the decisions that have led to the life she now lives. Starting with an awkward relationship and ending with a sad goodbye and a note of hope, this is an emotional tale of growth through choices made and paths not taken. Perhaps giving up a love that doesn’t quite fit allows space for one that fits better.

The General Hospital, by Anne Buist & Graeme Simsion

Trainee psychiatrist Hannah Wright is back on the wards of the general hospital in this third novel following her life and career in psychiatry at the Menzies Hospital in Melbourne. It follows the same path as the first two, presenting case studies of mental illness and its treatment alongside Hannah’s personal and professional life. This is again done with warmth and heart, clearly showing the difficulties of working in the health system, particularly in the ‘poor relation’ that is mental health. There are successes as well as challenges and joy amidst the tragedy, as Hannah treats new and recurring patients and navigates her own family and relationship issues. Anne Buist is a psychiatrist and the case studies ring true, as does the hospital politics and resource and funding issues. But the examination is far more than clinical, leaving a sense of cautious optimism about the level of care that is possible.

Phosphorescence, by Julia Baird

The strapline of this title is - On awe, wonder and things that sustain you when the world goes dark. The book reads as a philosophy-come-memoir and is all about building resilience. Baird blends research with case studies and anecdotes to argue the case for maintaining love, friendship, faith and connection to the natural world to endure and thrive in a difficult world. She writes with clarity and conviction, dipping into her childhood and adolescence, early career, experience of motherhood and bouts of severe illness to illustrate her points. It comes across as honest and giving, promoting the worth of positivity and determination in living a good life.

The Redline, by Adrian Hyland

Jesse Redpath is acting sergeant in the small country police station of Satellite when a colleague is killed in a traffic incident. But was it an accident or murder and if the latter then why? What follows is a melange of missing people, corruption, shady security officers, a feral child and murder. This is apparently the third outing for Jesse so one would expect her voice to be clearer. She doesn’t ring true as a character and her licence to operate as a lone wolf with little accountability within the police force seems highly unlikely. A large amount of exposition in the early part of the novel is tedious. The geography of the region is confusing, which is a problem as it is fundamental to the plot – it’s a country town on the urban fringe, described as remote but somehow within easy access of Melbourne. The first person style doesn’t lend itself well to the (many) times Jesse is in danger as it makes the stakes low – she is telling the tale so we know she gets through it.

Supergirl (2026), directed by Craig Gillespie

Accompanied by her wayward dog, Kara Zor-El (aka Supergirl) is ‘celebrating’ her 23rd birthday with a bender on red sun planets, where she has no powers and so feels somewhat normal. On one such planet she is drawn into helping Ruthye, a 13 year-old seeking revenge on the brigand who wiped out her family for fun. Kara’s origin story is told in flashbacks that provide relief from the arse-kicking action, which goes on just a little too long and fails to cover a few gaping plot holes. Milly Alcock is great as the prematurely world-weary Kara, ably supported by Eve Ridley as Ruthye, while the talents of Matthieu Schoenaerts are wasted as the chief villain. Jason Momoa has fun playing himself. The look of the film is derivative, especially of Marvel, as well as the Star Wars cantina, but there are some fun gags and the dog is adorable.