The Flat Share, by Beth O’Leary

Colourful book editor Tiffy’s on-again off-again relationship is almost definitely over and she is broke and imminently homeless. Reserved shift worker Leon is in desperate need of money to deal with a family issue. This odd couple agrees to share Leon’s one-bedroom London flat, Tiffy taking residence for nights and weekends, while Leon is at work or at his girlfriend’s place. Following his girlfriend’s rules it’s never the twain shall meet, so they communicate by post-it notes and gradually get to know each other. This modern take on an epistolary novel works pretty well as we and they learn more about Tiffy and Leon’s flaws and foibles. It ends pretty much as expected, but it’s a fun ride to get there; along the way exploring the effects of emotional abuse and the British justice system.

Just Like You, by Nick Hornby

Lucy is an English teacher and a 42-year-old, white, middle class mother of two in the process of divorcing her addict husband. Joseph is a 22-year-old, black, working class aspiring DJ who lives with his mum. Hornby charts their unlikely romance in North London against the backdrop of the Brexit vote. The two forge a relationship that transcends barriers of age, race, class and education in an increasingly divided society. Hornby’s trademark humour makes this an entertaining tale, despite the topical political references feeling somewhat shoehorned into the story. The central relationship stretches credulity from the start and more so as it continues beyond the obvious. Perhaps the intention was to provide a note of hope in dark times. Given the subsequent pandemic it falls a little short.

Maggie’s going Nowhere, by Rose Hartley

Maggie Cotton embodies every cliché of the entitled millennial. At 29, she is in the 10th year of her three-year degree and she sponges off her long-suffering mother and inadequate boyfriend. She thinks she’s smarter, cooler and knows better than everyone else. Her saving grace is her best friend Jen, who is about to marry a total creep despite Maggie’s best efforts. Her mother cuts her off, her boyfriend dumps her and her Uni kicks her out, so resourceful Maggie moves into a caravan and starts volunteering for a charity to claim Centrelink benefits. What could possibly go wrong? Well, plenty of course and finding out just how low Maggie can go and how she lifts herself back up again is an entertaining read. Despite her awful behaviour to family and friends Maggie does have a good heart and talents beyond blow jobs, when she puts her mind to it. You can’t help liking her, event though you she needs a kick up the arse. Hartley paints a realistic and colourful picture of true friendship, family dysfunction and the minefield of modern relationships in a way that is smart and funny. Quality chick lit.

Star Crossed, by Minnie Darke

Nick Jordan and Justine Carmichael were childhood besties until Nick’s family moved away from their country town. A reunion as awkward teens saw them kiss and part ways again, until they once more cross paths many years later in the almost fairy tale city of Alexandria Park. Aspiring journalist Justine has been slogging it out as a copygirl on a prestigious magazine for several years, on the promise that she is next in line. She is smart, cynical and rational to a fault. Aspiring actor Nick is guided by his horoscope, so it is too tempting for Justine to tweak her magazine’s stars to try to influence Nick in her direction. Unfortunately Nick’s interpretation of his stars doesn’t quite align with Justine’s intentions. The horoscope metaphors seem heavy handed to begin with, but they click into place as the story progresses, with little vignettes of random characters affected by Justine’s manipulation of one particular star sign. The vast array of characters affected almost becomes confusing, trying to keep track of who is who, but they all serve a purpose in small and large ways – even the dog! Darke cleverly brings all the threads together to create a satisfying end that does justify the means.

Nine Perfect Strangers, by Liane Moriarty

Nine people who are not actually perfect strangers, as two are married and three are a family, travel to Tranquillum health and wellness resort for a 10-day retreat. With so many characters it takes a long time to introduce them all and then it’s easy to lose track of them and their various traumas. Most turn out to be quite interesting – all dealing with various life crises and looking for change. The least credible character is Masha, the resort director, who is determined to effect permanent change for her guests and implements unusual methods to achieve it. The tone is very uneven; Moriarty can’t seem to decide whether she is a champion of the wellness industry or a snide critic of it and wavers wildly between the two positions throughout. About half way through the retreat turns from a wellness journey to a medical and psychological experiment and the book jumps the shark. All credibility is shot as the story just turns silly. Moriarty canvasses a lot of issues through her multitude of characters but the sheer breadth means there is little depth in a lightweight tale that only pretends to a balance of humour and darkness. The nine miraculously manage to achieve their goals for change, if not in quite the way they expected, but nobody, least of all the reader, learns anything of use along the way.

The Book Ninja, by Ali Berg & Michelle Kalus

Failed writer Frankie (short for Frankston, the train line on which she was conceived), works in a bookshop owned by her best friend Cat. Her love life is as much of a disaster as her career so she decides to take action and starts leaving copies of her favourite novels on trains, with a message to potential dates near the end. This flawed plan is as fraught as it sounds but miraculously results in a series of dates, which she uses to regain her mojo by writing a blog about it. At the same time she starts to fall for a man who walks in to the bookshop, but has really terrible taste in books. This is a very Melbourne book, firmly located in the hip inner suburbs and loaded with literary allusions, which sometimes become a bit too much – yeah we get it, you read a lot. All the characters are larger than life to the point of caricature, especially Frankie’s mother, Putu, and her potential boyfriend, Sunny Day (yes really). It all seems good fun – a light and easy read that will move fast to its inevitable chick lit conclusion. Unfortunately it starts to drag about half way through and takes way too long to get there, with far too much self-flagellation along the way.

The Break, by Marian Keyes

Amy is a busy 40-something with a business, three children and a lot on her plate. Following the deaths of his father and his friend, her husband Hugh has been sunk in a depression he can’t break free of. Hugh decides he needs a break from their life and their marriage; he will leave behind all responsibilities and go travelling in Asia for six months. But he’ll definitely be back. There is nothing Amy can do to dissuade him and she is left to deal with everything, torn between rage and heartbreak as she tries to stay afloat. But Hugh’s selfish decision means Amy is also on a break, with the opportunity to explore what she wants in life too. Keyes trademark wry funny style has the reader firmly in Amy’s corner, even while questioning some of her choices. The predictable conclusion is inevitable but a bit annoying, with the story very much about the journey rather than the destination.

The Fifth Letter, by Nicola Moriarty

Fluid, vivid writing moves this story along at a cracking pace, but no element of the plot is credible, starting with the set-up of the story being told to a priest in the confessional. As with so many books in recent years it needed a damned good edit, which would have picked up and fixed the incoherent timeline and may have sent it back for a rewrite to flesh out the thin characters. But the almighty dollar rules and presumably the publishers thought such a basic investment was unnecessary as the book would sell on name alone, never mind the quality. Heavily manufactured twists and turns do little to disguise who done what and by the end you barely care because it’s all so stupid.