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.

Confessions of a 40-something

Heartbroken after a failed business venture and a broken engagement, Nell Stevens returns to the UK after years in the US to try to restart her life. This is tricky, as she is sad and broke and all her friends are busy smug-marrieds with children. Nell’s greatest consolation is her landlord’s dog, which she minds for cheap rent while he is away. Then there is the unexpected friendship of 80-something Cricket, who she meets in her new role as an obituary writer. The title of the book doesn’t make a lot of sense, until you realise it is a more acceptable version of Nell’s podcast - Confessions of a 40-something Fuck Up - which aims to tell it like it is and slowly gathers momentum that adds to her personal and professional recovery. Elements of the plot are improbable, to put it politely, especially the conceit of a mortgage granted to a freelance writer to buy a London flat, but also the entertainment value and wild success of the podcast. This is a tale with its heart in the right place but it all adds up to little more than adult chick lit.

The Summer War, by Naomi Novik

Celia’s adored older brother Argent comes out and leaves the family when she is on the verge of puberty. Feeling abandoned, her hurt and fury triggers her incipient sorcery and she inadvertently curses him to live without love. As she grows up and bitterly regrets her action Celia forges a friendship with her overlooked middle brother, Roric, and they search for a way to reverse it. This involves unravelling the complex politics of their country of Prosper and its uneasy peace with the neighbouring Summer Lands, whose immortal fey inhabitants bring benefits and dangers in equal measure. Novik returns to the realm of legends and fairy tales for this coming-of-age novella that celebrates female ingenuity, caring relationships and forgiveness. Celia is a worthy companion to the heroines of Spinning Silver and Uprooted and it would be good to have another tale that potentially explores her progression as Sorcerer Queen.

The Sheep Detectives (2026), directed by Kyle Balda

George Hardy loves his sheep so much he names them all and reads them whodunnit tales every evening. When he dies suddenly they are determined to use all they have learned from their devoted shepherd to find out what happened, even if it means educating the local copper to do his job. Suspects include the local butcher, a neighbouring shepherd, an irascible innkeeper and George’s long lost daughter. A star-studded cast includes Hugh Jackman, Emma Thompson and Julia Louis-Dreyfus; they flock together to bring this shaggy tale to life, providing laughs all the way through. The life lessons and sentimentality towards the end are laid on a bit thick, but overall it’s a clever and entertaining film for all ages.

Limbo (2023), directed by Ivan Sen

A heavily tattooed man with a gun and a drug habit drives into an opal mining town in the middle of nowhere. It is a surprise to find he is a cop assigned to review a 20-year-old missing persons case, when a young Aboriginal girl disappeared, presumed murdered. Local distrust means he makes little headway at first, but his outsider persona and lack of agenda sees him strike some tentative connections. Simon Baker is great as the hard-bitten cop, while Rob Collins and Natasha Wanganeen provide able support as the siblings still living with the tragic consequences of their sister’s unknown fate. This is an uneven film with some odd directorial choices. It is shot in black and white, which adds to the bleak atmosphere of the outback town but little else and there are strange and unnecessary, heavy-handed religious notes throughout. Limbo is an apt name for the state of a family and a community dealing with an unexplained mystery, but a weird name for a town.

A Common Hour, by Sita Walker

Who would be a teacher? Set in a Queensland state high school, the action is packed into the lunch hour - broken into 15 minute segments that are divided into flashbacks of years and decades that delve into the background and motivation of the story’s many and varied characters. These include popular English teacher Paul ‘Bushy’ Bush, his senior students, fellow teachers and the school Head, Freedom Cook. The forest adjoining the school, where much of the lunchtime activity takes place, is almost a character itself. A student with an old grudge uses social media to trigger a crisis that will cause profound change in many lives, especially Bushy’s. Will students and teachers turn and pile on or rally around? Mental health, bullying, burnout, family violence, thwarted relationships, intergenerational trauma and young love – it’s all dealt with over that crowded hour. The time jumps can get a bit much, necessary as they are to uncover the truth of complex relationships. Despite its dark themes a vein of humour underpins this often difficult tale, boosted by a sense of quiet faith in the essential goodness of people and a hope that this can overcome the darkness.

Turns of Fate, by Anne Bishop

Junior detective Beth Fahey has joined a special unit of the police force tasked with investigating crimes linked to the supernatural. This involves liaising with the Isle of Wyrd, a place where the human world touches and interacts with an otherworld of the Arcana. The unit has a high turnover as dealing with the uncanny is not for everyone, but despite her inexperience Beth has an unusual affinity with Wyrd. This puts her at risk and she finds she needs to uncover secrets from her past to be able to make decisions about her future and perhaps change her fate. Words have power; intentions matter. This new world holds some similarities with Bishop’s Others series in its relationships between humans and other beings and the police force plays a similarly important role. But the Arcana are more related to myth and legend, with some recognisable figures and scenarios. Familiar themes are also present, in particular wealthy people who put themselves above the law and the battle with populist nativism and toxic masculinity that holds much resonance with today’s real world issues. With a few loose ends left to tantalise about what may come there is sure to be a sequel to explore more of this fascinating new culture. Can’t wait.

Murder in the Cathedral, by Kerry Greenwood

Phryne Fisher and her loyal companion, Dot, travel to Bendigo for the inauguration of her friend Lionel as Bishop. Unfortunately the grand occasion is marred by the untimely death of an unpopular deacon. Using planes and trains more than automobiles, Miss Fisher helps the police to solve the murder, also putting paid to a gold mining scam along the way. This tale benefits from a reduction in the roles of Phryne’s staff, henchmen and adopted children, who all play very minor parts in the action. The focus on fashion and food is always enjoyable, but several (largely unnecessary) coincidences and tangents divert from the story rather than add to it, particularly the array of people that turn up in Bendigo. The Chinese lesbian love subplot resolves a storyline from an earlier book that many readers would neither remember nor care about. But the Morris dancing is fun and this is a welcome return to form after a few duds and a great way to end the Phryne Fisher saga, as there will be no more with the untimely death of Kerry Greenwood.

The Eights, by Joanna Miller

In 1920 women are officially admitted to degree courses at Oxford for the first time, but with restrictions on their dress, behaviour and social lives that do not apply to male students. Four young women - Beatrice, Dora, Otto and Marianne - live in corridor eight of St Hugh’s College. They have little in common, apart from the post-war trauma that affects so many of their peers, but become firm friends and allies. The story of their first year at University, with all its trials, tribulations and triumphs, unfolds as they face discrimination, abuse and misogyny from many quarters. Miller clearly did a lot of research and many of the finer details the reader doesn’t need to know; the tactic of putting them in the mouth of geeky Beatrice doesn’t make it any less didactic. It’s a really interesting setting and the examination of difficult mother-daughter relationships adds depth, but some story elements are hard to swallow.

When You Burn Me, by Lorelei Johnson

Sienna is a light witch, raised by her aunt in a progressive coven after the death of her parents when she was a child. They were guardians of the light, brutally murdered by a vicious dark coven, the Order of Erris, seeking what they were guarding. So there is consternation in her coven when Sienna finds herself both under threat from the Order and entangled with a dark warlock. Can she trust him when he says he wants to help her against the Order, or does Damon have his own agenda? This independently published dark fantasy novel has a high quality look and feel. Unfortunately the contents don’t quite live up to it. While the characters are well drawn, the plot is unconvincing and the text is riddled with typos. It’s a pity more wasn’t spent on the editing and proofreading, rather than the paper quality and cover art. With the best will in the world to support independent local authors, the meh storyline does not inspire the impetus to read the further two books in the Enchanted Hearts series.

The Wedding People, by Alison Espach

After many failed rounds of IVF, a failed marriage and a dead cat, academic Phoebe has had enough of life and travels to a luxury hotel in Newport to end it on a high note. But Lila has booked out the entire hotel, apart from Phoebe’s room, for her six-day wedding extravaganza and she is not having a suicide wreck her big event. Against all odds the two women become friends, or at least trusted collaborators, both finding a new path that offers a hopeful future. Phoebe and Lila both take a similar journey of self-discovery, although with quite different outcomes. They get to know themselves and what they really want and how to go about getting it. It’s an interesting and often amusing examination of familial and friend relationships with a satisfying conclusion.

Murder on North Terrace, by Lainie Anderson

It is September 1917 and a member of the Board of Governors has been found murdered in the art gallery on Adelaide’s North Terrace. This sequel to The Death of Dora Black sees Woman Police Constable Kate Cocks’s offsider Ethel Bromley seconded to use her society contacts to help investigate the murder. Left overstretched and under resourced, Miss Cox struggles to keep the women and children of Adelaide safe, with the added worry of a rapist leaving a young girl for dead in the parklands. In the wearying fourth year of the war there are both demobbed and newly recruited soldiers to deal with as well. Lainie Anderson’s chops as an historian provides a fascinating window into Adelaide in the 1910s alongside a cracking mystery with engaging, if flawed, heroines.

The Devil Wears Prada 2 (2026), directed by David Frankel

At the top of her game in journalism, Andy Sachs nevertheless finds herself in need of a job and back at Runway Magazine to rescue its reputation after a fast fashion scandal. Twenty years after the original, all the major players have reunited for this sharply funny sequel that softens the focus on fashion to depict the dire state of publishing. It also makes some digs at tech bros and media magnates along the way. Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway, Emily Blunt and Stanley Tucci clearly have fun with it, with Streep and Tucci looking not a day older than in the first outing while Hathaway and Blunt certainly don’t show two decades – that’s Hollywood. The star-studded cast includes innumerable celebrity cameos, including speaking roles for Donatella Versace and Lady Gaga. There is some interesting casting in smaller roles, including Lucy Liu as a white knight, Kenneth Branagh as Mr Miranda, Justin Theroux as a tech bro and Patrick Brammall, allowed to be Australian without explanation, as a love interest. The film attempts to show that no-one is a total villain or hero, as every human is flawed, but it is difficult to accept the blind loyalty commanded by Miranda Priestly when she is so awful most of the time. Her softer side doesn’t quite ring true, making her looking like a better option only because the alternative monsters are even worse. A case of better the devil you know?

Powerless, by Lauren Roberts

Paedyn Gray is a homeless orphan, surviving the slums of Ilya by thieving and hiding her great secret – a lack of an elite ability that is essential to be allowed to live in this country. Ordinaries have been declared diseased and are banished or killed, so Paedyn’s late father trained her powers of observation to pose as a psychic. When she saves the life of the King’s enforcer, Prince Kai, Paedyn is forced to compete in the five-yearly Elite trials, pitting her ‘psychic’ skills against those with super strength, super speed, and powers of illusion, kinesis and transformation. The secret sauce to great SF and fantasy is building a believable world, which then allows the reader to suspend disbelief about events that happen within it. The low quality ketchup underlying Powerless, combined with pedestrian writing, makes this poor man’s Hunger Games an increasingly tedious read. It’s full of explicit and gratuitous violence, with a ludicrously chaste love triangle. Powerless indeed.

Three Juliets, by Minnie Darke

In 1964, aged 16, Claudie Miller was forced to give up her baby for adoption. Sixteen years later the successful designer of children’s clothes receives a diagnosis and begins the search for her lost child. She narrows it down to three candidates – Roisin, Bindi and Miranda – but can Claudie identify her daughter before it’s too late? The tale is told from the perspective of Claudie, in Sydney, in the 1960s and 80s and from that of the three young women - in Adelaide, Brisbane and Sydney - in the 80s, 90s and 2000s. It clearly traces the changing attitudes to adoption and single motherhood over the decades, depicting the horrors of forced adoption and how legal reforms eventually enabled birth families to trace each other. Mothers, both natural and adoptive, get a fairly bad rap in this story – they are depicted as selfish, possessive, controlling or neglectful more than loving, although sometimes that too. It’s complicated and to some extent, realistic. The fashion is fun and an essentially sad story gets an ending that is as happy as is possible.