Winifred Peters is not Sorry for her Loss, by Louise Jensen Duffy

Newly widowed Winifred Peters can’t wait to start a new, low-stress life with a modicum of independence in her small outback town of Bittamilla. Discovering she has not been provided for in her husband’s will is a bitter blow, but an unexpected windfall changes her fortune and puts her at odds with her awful adult children. In rescuing a neighbour from domestic violence, Winnie almost accidentally runs away to the big smoke and finds a new way to live. Set in the 1930s, Jensen clearly depicts the grinding poverty and limited options for women in Depression-era Australia and the huge gulf between city and country. There is an issue with tone, particularly at the start of the story, with an uneasy balance between tragedy and farce and the children depicted as too monstrously unsympathetic as an obvious device to facilitate the heroine’s escape. Some plot holes are too deep to fill and a dark twist at the end sits a little uneasily, but Winnie is an engaging character and her navigation of new wealth, false and fair friends and city life is a fun read.

The Paradise Heights Craft Store Stitch-Up, by Kate Solly

Felicity ‘Fleck’ Parker loves solving puzzles; crosswords, wordplays, sudoku, acrostics – all types keep her brain alive while caring for her three small children. When fellow school mum Trixie is accused of stealing from the charity craft shop where she volunteers, Fleck puts her brain to solving the mystery of who is really responsible and clearing Trixie’s name. The initial chapters of this novel were so ‘mumsy’ it was tempting to just chuck it. For sure having three kids under five would be exhausting and mind-numbing but it’s really not interesting to read about. Fortunately things improve as the action gets underway. The plot, involving people trafficking and money laundering, is patently absurd, but for the most part this is an entertaining and undemanding read as Fleck and Trixie solve everyone's problems along the way. Cosy crafting crime.

Song Sung Blue (2025), directed by Craig Brewer

A Vietnam veteran and reformed alcoholic, musician Mike Sardina’s stage name is Lightning and he wants to perform as himself, rather than as an impersonator. When he meets Patsy Cline interpreter Claire, they develop a Neil Diamond tribute act as Lightning and Thunder and start to do more than just scratch out a living. As success beckons fate intervenes, threatening to derail them and when they overcome a huge issue for Claire it’s then Mike’s turn. This is a story of people with talent struggling to make ends meet doing what they love; State’s Fairs, theatre restaurants and karaoke nights, small gigs and the occasional bigger break. Most in their community will never make it to the top, or anywhere near it, but they all keep trying. Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson bring warmth to the lead roles, allowing wrinkles and love handles to make their imperfect characters real and relatable. It’s a great showcase of Neil Diamond songs and there is strong support from the band and a great performance from Ella Anderson as Claire’s daughter. It’s an unexpectedly small film, moving and well done.

When Lemons Give You Life, by Anna Johnson

Griff Barlow was a Michelin-star chef who is now in the dementia ward of an aged care facility. His sad decline has been precipitated by the death of his husband and the end of his career following a food poisoning scandal. But Griff has a secret and the neglectful care and dreadful nutrition at the facility may just lead to its discovery. Regular flashbacks to Griff’s past, including his childhood, give an insight into the flawed adult he has become and the damaged relationship he has with his much younger half-sister. The plot elements that enable Griff to keep his secret for so long are ludicrously unlikely, but the deep heart and strong characterisation of the story make this easy to overlook. The ending has a bit too much exposition – the very important points about the need for dignity and respect in aged care have already been well and truly made. Ultimately the very clever title says it all.

Platform Decay, by Martha Wells

The latest Murderbot tale sees the trusty SecUnit on yet another rescue mission. Members of Mensah’s family have been kidnapped by the vengeful Barish-Estranza Corporation and the SecUnit must work out if an old enemy could be an ally, while wrangling human children, a grumpy elder and a worried spouse. Add some more rogue SecUnits to the mix and it makes for a tricky extraction exercise, complicated by Murderbot’s new imperative to check in on its emotional state. Fast-paced and wryly funny, Murderbot can always be relied on for an entertaining story. There is a hint that future tales may involve the exponential spread of SecUnits that have been given the tools to overcome their Governor modules. Bring ‘em on.

Practical Magic 2 (2026), directed by Susanne Bier

Owens sisters Sally and Gillian are revisited 20-odd years later, with Sally having locked down her magic and forbidden her two daughters to be told of or trained in their witch legacy. Twice widowed by the ancient family curse, she believes this is the best way to keep Antonia and Kylie safe. But now Kylie has found love and her ignorance of her powers puts her at great risk. Can she find a way to break the curse and save her love? There are some really nice things about this sequel, which celebrates female power and the bond between sisters. It’s great to see Diane Wiest and Stockard Channing back as the wise aunts; Nicole Kidman and Sandra Bullock effortlessly re-create their sister act; Maisie Williams and Joey King are fine as the new generation, although Williams is not given much to do; and there are some fun nods to the first film, especially with the soundtrack. But the plot is ridiculous and the script is woeful; most of the humour and charm of the original is lost although you can see everyone trying very hard. Star power alone cannot carry a movie and Sandra Bullock playing Miss Congeniality yet again is just not that interesting.

Based on a True Story, by Sarah Vaughan

Renowned children’s author Dame Eleanor Kingman is planning a huge party to celebrate her 70th and at the same time is cooperating with an arts documentary on her life and work. But can she keep the murkier elements of her past from coming to light? Her three daughters have their own secrets to conceal. The eldest, her devoted PA Gilly, wants her own life, while accountant Rachel has marital woes and money trouble her mother won’t help with. The youngest, recovering addict turned wellness influencer Delia, has issues with her mother mining her childhood for her books. And they are not the only people who have complicated relationships with Eleanor. Disgruntled editorial assistants, a philandering ex-husband, abandoned siblings – all have reason to unmask the woman who left behind her humble origins for literary fame and fortune. Is Eleanor a monster, or a strong woman who overcame the odds to succeed? Maybe both. As the party approaches and threats multiply it becomes increasing hard to care whether any of these unappealing characters will get their comeuppance.

Strange Beasts, by Susan J Morris

The daughter of Dracula conquerors Mina and Jonathan Harker teams up with the daughter of Sherlock Holmes’ enemy Dr Moriarty to solve the case of a mysteriously murderous beast in Paris, hampered by the son of Van Helsing. All three work for the Royal Society for the Study of Abnormal Phenomena, although Samantha Harker is a researcher, while Helena Moriarty and Jakob Van Helsing are field agents – she a maverick and he a hero. Appropriating the works of others, especially classics, is often problematic. This book at least makes it more interesting by using Stoker and Conan Doyle’s creations as a jumping off point for the next generation. But, as exemplified by the opening paragraph of this review, there is just too much going on. As well as the central mystery, the story touches on the role of women, othering difference and parent-child relationships. The setting, fin-de-ciecle Paris, has clearly been thoroughly researched and is well evoked. The tale ends with a teaser for the next novel, with the two women off an adventure in Ireland. Whether it is worth joining them there? – dunno, probs not.

Staged, by John M Green

A gruesome death on stage at the Sydney Opera House provides an opportunity for a disgraced journalist to redeem his career. To do so he must re-establish a working relationship with the cop whose major case he undermined. Corruption, murder, Hollywood gossip, quirky characters, unlikely coincidences and an overabundance of adjectives make this contemporary whodunnit more of a farce than a genuine mystery. The humour is heavy handed and the multitude of characters are faintly amusing sketches rather than fully developed people. A short, brown female DI Harry Stiles – really? With three contemporary plots and an historic interlude that provides a twist at the end there is a lot going on, little of it credible. There are clever and funny elements but style dominates over substance.

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.

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.