The Cruel Stars, by John Birmingham

Humanity has taken itself far beyond evolution in the far future, where a neural network links most people; sophisticated AI knows all; and gene modification incorporating animal traits is as common as tattoos, The rich can achieve immortality by downloading into a new body when theirs wears out and mega corporations with their own royal dynasties rule the galaxy. Generations ago some humans rebelled against the excessive interference with nature. They lost the Great War but formed their own Human Republic in exile, allowing only ‘pure’ humans to live. Now the Republic is back, using their own technology against their enemies and aiming to ‘liberate’ the few pure humans who remain among them. It will be up to a diverse bunch of individuals to fight for their version of humanity against the invading ‘space Nazis’ known as the Sturm. It takes a while for Birmingham to introduce the disparate people who will form the Resistance and it gets a bit confusing keeping track of so many characters and storylines. Eventually it becomes clear that there are five main resistors to lead the charge as their stories converge. Birmingham never paints in black and white. The society our heroes are defending has many flaws and although the Sturm’s methods and ideology make them the clear villains, they do perhaps have a point. The first of a purported trilogy, the story is fast paced and entertaining. Roll on number two.

Wild Citrus Gin, 5Nines Distillery

Very citrusy indeed, it was odd to find this Adelaide Hills boutique gin paired with ginger beer; a Moscow Mule is all very well, but it’s not a G&T. It actually was a good combo but, as officially recommended on the label, Mediterranean-style tonic is better. As promoted this gin is simply delicious on its own over ice, but take care on the pour because it packs a punch. The sweetness of the citrus, especially the mandarin, dominates the spices and teeters on the verge of overwhelming a drier palate, but this would make a refreshing summer drink with plenty of ice. Do add the mint leaves as advised by the makers.

Euphoria, by Lily King

In the 1930s wunderkind American anthropologist Nell Stone braves the wilds of Papua New Guinea with her less talented Australian husband Fen. They join up with English counterpart Andrew Bankson, who has been alone in the field for too long and needs their company as much as they need his guidance. The behaviour in the developing love triangle is brilliantly compared and contrasted with the anthropological study of the ‘primitive’ cultures the trio is immersed in. Anthropology was a developing science and the three western researchers bring very different perspectives and methodologies to their work. Gentle Bankson’s approach is academic; dominant Fen is almost his opposite in every way; Nell focuses on women and children. They unite their strengths to create great work, but their strengths are also their weaknesses and bring about their downfall. The novel poses the question: are western values, mores and actions so very different or more sophisticated than those they study? The answer seems to be that passion, jealousy, possessiveness and violence, both tribal and domestic, are universal traits; it only how they are viewed and described that is different. Inspired by the early life of Margaret Meade, Lily King’s story is multifaceted and engrossing, beautiful and tragic.

Woman on the Edge of Time, by Marge Biercy

Ostensibly utopian feminist sci fi, this 1970s novel is actually a searing expose of mental health care, particularly for women and marginalised people. Connie is a 30something Latina in New York whose hard life shows on her face. Her first husband was murdered; the second abandoned her and their daughter. Violence and abuse have undermined the few opportunities she has had to improve her lot and she has winds up in a mental institution, subjected to brutal treatment. When she somehow makes contact with a person from the future Connie is treated with respect and care for almost the first time in her life. Her visits to the future are her escape and her education, where she gains some sense of agency. She is shown a vision of what the future could be, for better or for worse, depending on the choices made in the present – and the issues are as relevant in 2020 as they were in 1976. This is a hard read on many levels. The proposed utopian future is less than perfect but has a lot to recommend it. Particularly interesting are the prescient approaches to gender and to the environment; areas where there have been improvements since the 70s, although there’s still a very long way to go.

The Constant Rabbit, by Jasper Fforde

An anthropomorphising Event fifty-odd years ago has given several species human characteristics, with more than a million enhanced rabbits now living in Britain. A radical right-wing government is constantly eroding rabbit rights and demonising the species, generating hate and rabid anti-rabbit policies. Peter Knox is a spotter with the Rabbit Compliance Taskforce. He is a kind of everyman who is not on board with the fascists, but does little to resist them or to be an ally to the oppressed. When an old University acquaintance re-enters his life, Peter is forced to open his eyes to the reality of the work he does and the society he benefits from. He finds he must choose a side and decide once and for all whether or not to be a good human. This absurdist tale often goes well beyond farce, but also hammers home multiple points about prejudice, ’othering’ and exclusion – all wrapped up in the form of toxic humanity. Another Event conveniently winds up the story, but it is almost anti-climactic and feels like something of a cop out.

Words on Bathroom Walls (2020), directed by Thor Freudenthal

Adam is in his final year of high school and aiming to attend catering college and become a chef. Cooking has been the only thing that calms his increasingly troubled mind, but he’s fighting a losing battle and winds up with a diagnosis of schizophrenia. A new drug trial and a new school offer a final chance at ‘normality’, but the side affects stop him cooking so he faces an impossible choice. This film is an extraordinary achievement in portraying the reality of schizophrenia and dealing with mental illness. It is credible, funny and heartbreaking. The interesting technique of Adam addressing the camera as his psychiatrist, whom the audience never sees, allows a great deal of exposition and for the most part works well. The embodiment of the voices in Adam’s head gives true insight into the conflicting chaos he deals with. Charlie Plummer is astoundingly good as Adam, evoking a young James Spader or Paul Dano. The solid supporting cast includes Molly Parker as Adam’s loving and supporting mother, Taylor Russell as his confident prospective girlfriend and Andy Garcia in a surprising cameo as a helpful priest. This is a brave film, tackling a challenging subject in a sensitive manner that can only assist wider understanding. The only quibble is a slightly saccharine ending that is out of sync with the bulk of the film, but it would have been very hard to create a genuine ending that wasn’t a complete downer. The Chainsmokers’ soundtrack is a good fit.

Utopia Avenue, by David Mitchell

The story of an unlikely fledgling rock group in the late 60s, this is an extraordinarily detailed tale of rise and fall, with promising careers cut short by tragedy. Aspiring manager Levon brings together impoverished working class bassist Dave, ethereal guitar virtuoso Jasper, jazzy northern drummer Griff and folky keyboard player Elf. Each chapter is named for one of the band’s songs and is mostly told from the point of view of the writer of the song, which means Griff and Levon get less airtime than the three songwriters. The characters are interesting and the way their lives inform the songs is depicted well, although providing full song lyrics is unnecessary excess. The band has lots of encounters with other performers and artists inhabiting swinging London – Pink Floyd, Steve Winwood, David Bowie, Francis Bacon, John Lennon, Brian Jones. Was it really such a small scene that they all ran into each other? Maybe, but it doesn’t read as believable, particularly Bowie. Mitchell allows himself more onanistic touches, referencing his previous novels and introducing a bizarre element of magical realism that links to one in particular. There is a lot of exposition, declamation and clunky dialogue used to set the scene and explain context. The result is a sprawling, self-indulgent mess of a novel that could have used a good edit.