The Listeners, by Maggie Stiefvater

The Avallon Hotel in the mountains of Virginia is a luxury spa resort that caters to every whim of the rich and infamous. Protégé of its owners, the Guilfoyle family, June Hudson has been the General Manager for 10 years, devoting her entire life to keeping the magical waters sweet and the hotel in balance. When the attack on Pearl Harbor draws the US into the war, the Avallon is commandeered to house enemy diplomats prior to their deportation. June is stretched to her limit, dealing with the FBI, the Feds, her unwelcome guests and the staff, many of whom she is losing to the draft. Can she keep it all together until the hotel is rid of its enemy aliens and will life ever return to what passes as normal at the Avallon? War changes everything, including June, and she finds herself questioning her priorities and her future. This is a strange tale, based on true events but with a magical twist and a very engaging heroine.

Where the Crawdads Sing, by Delia Owens

Miss Catherine Danielle Clark is Kya to her family and friends and ‘the Marsh Girl’ to the people of the small community near her shack in the marshlands of North Carolina. Her story begins in 1951 and tells of her lonely and neglected childhood, living in poverty and violence, abandoned by her family and ostracised by the community. It periodically leaps forward to 1969, where authorities are investigating the mysterious death of local golden boy Chase Andrews. With a few helping hands Kya raises and educates herself, eventually finding a level of success and security. But the naïve ‘wild child’ remains an outsider and an object of suspicion. Owens skilfully evokes the beauty of the marshes and the joy and sustenance Kya gains from the natural world. Her lyrical and lush descriptions sometimes tip over into florid and overblown and the story conveys a sense of unreality as elements of it require substantial suspension of disbelief. Kya is both alien and sympathetic, her damage, vulnerability and resilience elevating her tale above a kitchen sink drama. The ending is perhaps wrapped up a little too neatly in the far future; the shock twist not really much of a shock.

Girl Woman Other, by Bernadine Evaristo

It is interesting that this book was joint winner of the Booker Prize with Margaret Atwood’s sequel to the Handmaid’s Tale. While both champion women they could not be more different in tone, structure and style. There is no plot, but a jerky series of narratives from multiple points of view. The vast majority of these are of black women and girls. Some know each other, many are related, some paths cross briefly. They are mothers and daughters, grandmothers and godmothers, sisters and aunts. Several jump back in time to the 50s and 60s when many Caribbean immigrants arrived in the UK. The disjointed structure features minimal punctuation, with sentences ending midway and restarting on the next line, but never with a full stop. It’s not apparent what purpose this serves – perhaps to parallel the disjointed and dysfunctional nature of many lives? The novel starts and finishes with Amma, a lesbian scriptwriter coming into her own in her 50s. In between it moves around a plethora of friends, acquaintances, allies, adversaries and ancestors. It stays mostly in south London, occasionally venturing to the north of England and to the Caribbean. These are women with lives, loves, hates, jobs, careers, children, who have experienced sexual assault and discrimination. They encompass all shapes, sizes and shades. An epilogue provides a twist that reinforces the theme while simultaneously explaining an anomaly in the cast of characters.

Writers and Lovers, by Lily King

Casey is an aspiring writer, crippled by student debt and grieving the sudden death of her beloved mother. She has been working on a novel for six years and at 31 is facing the question of how long she can maintain her commitment to the creative life. She also faces a choice between two very different romantic possibilities, which kind of echoes her economic dilemma. Will she take the path of risk or stability? Of heart, head or gut? Will past mistakes and experiences influence her decision? This deceptively simple tale of a young woman at a crossroads is easy to read and hard to put down. Casey is a fully realised, complex and endearing protagonist, with admirable principles, debilitating anxiety, a damaging family history and great supportive friends. King makes some gently interesting points along the way about the differences in the treatment and expectations of male and female writers. She also highlights the casual everyday sexism and harassment endured by women, especially in hospitality. This is an absorbing and satisfying read that prompts investigation of the author’s other work.

Conversations With Friends, by Sally Rooney

Irish student Frances is a talented poet and her best friend and former girlfriend Bobbi helps out with her spoken word performances. The pair attracts the attention of 30-something writer Melissa, who draws them in to her social circle with her actor husband Nick. Poor little rich girl Bobbi has a crush on the glamorous Melissa, while damaged Frances develops an altogether more real and dangerous relationship with Nick. A problematic timeline should have been picked up in editing – Nick is 32, but appeared on a TV program in 1992 at the age of 10, so what year are we in now? The technology available would suggest the current era so that doesn’t compute. The story essentially belongs to Frances, who becomes more sympathetic as it goes along, but is ultimately revealed to be stuck and self-destructive – pretty sad at 21. The central love story is twisted and self-indulgent with nothing learned from the toxic relationships that are set to continue, to everyone’s detriment.

He Said She Said, by Erin Kelly

Recent Uni grads Laura and Kit witness a violent incident between Jamie and Beth at an eclipse festival in 1999. The fallout affects all of them for the next 16 years as Kit and Laura forge a life together while chasing Kit’s passion for eclipses. The story is told from the differing viewpoints of the couple, moving back and forth in time. Was Beth really the victim she appears to be? Should Laura have befriended her? Is Jamie wrongly accused or a violent psychopath? Is Kit overprotective and why has he not fulfilled the promise of a brilliant career? What secrets have Laura and Kit been keeping from each other about the past and how will this affect their future? A sense of creeping dread pervades the narrative as these questions and more are asked and eventually answered, with the full truth rather different from what could be imagined. Laura and Kit are fully realised characters, who evoke both sympathy and frustration. Beth is a rather annoying puzzle that is satisfactorily solved in the end, while Jamie remains a little two-dimensional on the periphery. A clever structure following the phases of a total eclipse builds suspense right through to a realistic and convincing conclusion, except for the last few paragraphs, which are unnecessary and unbelievably stupid. This lets down what is otherwise a gripping tale.

Abide With Me, by Elizabeth Strout

This profoundly sad tale wallows in its own poetic religiosity, despite making strong points about the hypocrisy of many people who call themselves Christians. Strout once again evokes small town New England, this time in the repressed and 1950s, where double standards, small minds and shrivelled hearts rule. Compassion, kindness and empathy are hard to find in this community, juxtaposed against the saintly Minister who thinks of everyone else first but is almost oblivious to his small daughter’s suffering. It is difficult to understand why the one kindly character, Carol, took so long to step in and offer help to the damaged five-year-old Katherine; the only explanation is plot convenience. While Tyler having a mini-breakdown and coming to himself after a long period of grief is believable, the effect of that breakdown on his congregation is not. Their miraculous transformation into supportive and loving humans fails to redeem their earlier behaviour – the two extremes are hard to swallow.

The Husband’s Secret, by Liane Moriarty

A crime kept secret is accidentally uncovered many years later by the wife of the perpetrator. Should she preserve the horrifying truth to protect her family, or expose it to see justice done? And how does she now relate to this stranger who is her husband. It’s all set in and around the community of a small Catholic primary school in the cosy Sydney suburbs, but religion and morality seem to play no part in anyone’s decisions. There is no Catholic guilt, no confession or penance – just one element that undermines the credibility of this deeply unpleasant story. A strong element of victim blaming taints the narrative. If the girl had made the right choice the boy wouldn’t have snapped and killed her in a moment of madness. The violent reaction to rejection was a one-off apparently and he was a model citizen, husband and father for the next twenty-odd years, so there’s that. Keeping the secret leads to serious injury to one of his children and he knows that’s his fault, so somehow justice has been served. A short epilogue explores sliding doors and what ifs with a conclusion that we just never know what will happen or why, so there’s no point stressing about it, leaving a nasty taste.

Jean Harley Was Here, by Heather Taylor Johnson

A tragic accident on her way to work leaves Jean Harley in a coma. Apparently based on a real story, Johnson uses poetic language in her examination of the effect of Jean’s illness and death on friends, family and random others. It is refreshing to read a book set in Adelaide, although this does allow locals to nitpick on any incorrect details. The story is told from multiple points of view, which is interesting to a point. The perspective of the man driving the vehicle that hit Jean is fascinating in the aftermath of the accident, but has little impact 11 months later. There is a curious lack of the voice of her closest friends until years later, while inclusion of the perspective of the dog is ludicrous. The story meanders in the second half and seems to be running out of steam as the years drift by, except for the thread following Jean’s husband and son. Fortunately Johnson draws the threads together nicely, in a way that explains some of the earlier digressions, to form a satisfying conclusion.

Three Wishes, by Liane Moriarty

It can be problematic looking up the back catalogue of an author at the height of their success – expectations are almost certain to be unrealistically high. Three Wishes was Moriarty’s first published novel and inevitably fails to measure up to Big Little Lies. The bones of success are there and it’s clear that she was always good at depicting relationships, which ring very true, but a rather meandering storyline lacks direction. The story revolves around triplets – uptight perfectionist Lyn, brash rule-breaker Cat and daffy dreamer Gemma. To some extent all three are playing out their assigned roles and are trapped by them, especially Gemma and Lyn, who have secrets they keep from everyone. Short vignettes that give an outside view of the triplets over the years by independent observers punctuate the narrative. This intrusion of other viewpoints doesn’t quite work; it is often unnecessary, and sometimes creepy. It is a strength that Moriarty’s characters are less than perfect, making them more identifiable, but in Three Wishes the flaws are possibly taken a bit too far. While all three sisters engender huge sympathy they are not very likeable, especially Cat.

The Terranauts, by TC Boyle

A privately funded science experiment plans for teams of eight ‘terranauts’ to spend two years in a glass domed Ecosphere, living self-sufficiently as if colonising another planet. The second group of terranauts is determined to weather any crises and surpass group one, who repeatedly broke the sacred seal of the airlock to obtain outside help. The story is told from three different perspectives, two insiders and one jealous outsider. A slow start is not helped by some confusion as to who is who, with a plethora of interchangeable names and nicknames for no discernable reason. The timeframe is also unclear at first – later it is said to be the late 20th century, which belatedly explains the lack of technology. It gradually builds to a more compelling narrative as the tensions and triumphs of eight people living under glass – and the media spotlight - are explored. It holds echoes of the worst kind of reality TV – exploitation under the guise of environmentalism – Survivor meets Big Brother, only no-one gets voted off. The most interesting character, if the least likeable, is outsider Linda – who is both best friend and betrayer with a high degree of self-delusion. In one moment of clarity she describes the program as a cult, which is the only logical explanation for what these fanatics sign up for and allow themselves to be subjected to. Apparently based on a similar real-life experiment, it is possible that truth is stranger than fiction, but the ludicrous closing chapters collapse all suspension of disbelief and it’s just good to be done with these stupid people.

Goodwood, by Holly Throsby

Two people go missing from a small country town a week apart. The disappearances of 18 year-old Rosie and salt of the earth butcher Bart unravel the fabric of Goodwood and ugly truths begin to surface. Told from the point of view of 17-year-old Jean and set in 1992, the tone is quirky and light despite the dark material. The novel has a strong sense of place and a reasonably strong sense of time. The characters of the town are brought to life, although there are possibly rather too many minor ones, who have little impact on the main tale, to keep track of. The story loses credibility when it increasingly switches to action Jean didn’t personally witness. Throsby clearly couldn’t find a way to provide necessary crucial plot detail without losing Jean’s voice and it damages the structure of the novel – either use first person or don’t, but be clear about it. The story of Jean’s emerging sexuality is an interesting counterpoint to the mystery, but its climax makes for an odd conclusion to a sad tale.

The Teacher’s Secret, by Suzanne Leal

More a series of vignettes than an actual story, in its first half The Teacher’s Secret brings to mind a Robert Altmann film; a plethora of characters whose lives intersect without connecting. While they eventually all come together at the end, to put on a show – what else? The extended disconnected vignettes can be annoying – 100 pages into the book new characters are still being introduced. Some are not particularly interesting, adding little to the narrative. The asylum-seeker element seems shoehorned into the plot. Character development overall is uneven, building sympathy for some with a long back story while giving others short shrift. It is clear who the villain is – little insight is given into the motivations of the acting principal, who is a cardboard cut-out rather than a credible character. The geography of the novel is confused – ostensibly it is set in a small country town that is magically a $25 cab ride from an international airport. Everyone knows each other, but no-one seems to know what happened to Terry. The tension is built well around the main story of an old-school teacher put in the wrong by modern bureaucracy. He is wonderfully caring with the kids, but does he cross the line? His story is very sad and all-too believable, but it gets a little lost among the multitude of voices and points of view. It could have done with less breadth and more depth.

The Sidekicks, by Will Kostakis

Three private schoolboys - Ryan, Harley and Miles - have little in common but their mutual friend, Isaac, who has just died. Nevertheless they pull together to process their loss, move on and grow up. The story is told in three parts, from the perspective of each of the boys – the swimmer, the rebel and the nerd. It’s an interesting approach, which works quite well as a picture of Isaac is gradually built up and the reader gets a different perspective of each of the three from the perspective of the other two. Unfortunately none of the three protagonists is quite credible; the cardboard stereotypes of jock, rebel and nerd never quite get fleshed out into real people. This is particularly the case for Miles, the nerd, and as his version is the final segment of the story this is a major problem. Harley, the rebel, is the most successful and his relationship with Isaac’s grieving mother is poignant, containing a ring of truth that the book as a whole lacks.

The Girl on the Train, by Paula Hawkins

Voyeurism, infidelity and sociopathic behaviour are the hallmarks of the latest ‘must-read’ thriller, which keeps the reader guessing most of the way through as to who is the real villain. The story is told from the perspectives of three different women, whose lives intertwine in unexpected ways. The primary voice is that of Rachel, a deeply troubled woman who is dubbed by the police “an unreliable witness” and so she proves to be. The red herrings are at times a little clumsy. Rachel’s continuing self-destructive behaviour is exasperating. None of the characters is really likeable, although the women do engender some sympathy. The action zips along and former journalist Hawkins’ crisp style is easy to read, but despite the victims finding way to fight back, the overt misogynistic violence that pervades the book leaves a nasty taste.

First Person Shooter, by Cameron Raynes

Bikies, bullying, drugs and dysfunction – all are just as rife in a small regional town as in the city, but with fewer resources devoted to dealing with such problems and fewer places to hide from them. Fifteen-year-old Jayden lost his mum when he was three and his dad is recovering from a serious car accident. He stutters badly and is addicted to the video game Call of Duty. At school he is a weirdo, but not a loner as he has found his tribe, and then there is Shannon – his neighbour and best friend, who could be more. Shannon has her own demons. Her dad died before she was born and her mum is nearing the end of a prison sentence for shooting dead her violent stepfather. Both kids enjoy target practice with their rifles, but avoid shooting live targets, even pest animals like foxes. Raynes evokes an all-too believable country town with issues. The tension builds as the day of Shannon’s mum’s release approaches and the small town and its surrounding farming families brace for repercussions. Jayden’s limits are tested as he learns to rise above his disability and break free of others’ expectations of him.

Harnessing Peacocks, by Mary Wesley

With her first novel published at the age of 70, Mary Wesley had plenty of time to hone her sharply observed brand of social comedy. Probably best known for the wartime shenanigans of The Camomile Lawn, in Harnessing Peacocks Wesley jumps forward in time to create equally quirky and engaging characters, gently skewering the snobbery of the ‘right sort’ of people while celebrating a slice of English life that always fascinates. Resilient single mother Hebe has escaped the stifling hypocrisy of the ‘right sort’ and supports her small family by making the most of her talents in the kitchen and the bedroom. But is she courting hypocrisy herself by using her earnings to send her son to the kind of school that will gain him admission to the society she has turned her back on? Brutally honest about sex, money and marriage and about people’s motivations around all of them, Harnessing Peacocks is also a warm and funny tale of taking love where you find it and creating a satisfactory family to replace one that is not.