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kris_mccracken's reviews
2529 reviews
Forever, Interrupted by Taylor Jenkins Reid
2.0
Taylor Jenkins Reid's "Forever, Interrupted" sets out to explore profound themes of love, loss, and the fragility of life, but it falters in its execution, resulting in a narrative that feels emotionally barren. At the heart of the problem is the protagonist, Elsie, whose ceaseless self-absorption makes her difficult, if not impossible, to empathise with. Her endless lamentations come across as more petulant than poignant, and her lack of self-awareness is positively grating. Instead of evolving in the face of tragedy, Elsie remains ensnared in her own insular world, alienating those around her - most notably her best friend - through interactions that feel insensitive and selfish.
Ben, the male lead, fares no better. His relationship with Elsie feels as tenuous as a gossamer thread, utterly devoid of chemistry or depth. Their romance is meant to be a whirlwind of passion, but it comes across as forced, contrived and unconvincing, which left me rather cold and disinterested. It's hard to mourn a love that feels so insubstantial.
Admittedly, the novel does show some improvement in the second half. Elsie's burgeoning connection with Susan offers a glimmer of hope, as their bond feels more authentic and engaging than anything else in the novel. However, this late shift is not enough to salvage a book weighed down by its unconvincing characters and pervasive negativity.
Ultimately, "Forever, Interrupted" is hobbled by its inability to create compelling, relatable protagonists. With little emotional growth or insight from its leads, the novel's exploration of grief feels hollow, and it becomes increasingly difficult to invest in a story so bogged down by self-pity and superficial relationships.
⭐ ⭐
Ben, the male lead, fares no better. His relationship with Elsie feels as tenuous as a gossamer thread, utterly devoid of chemistry or depth. Their romance is meant to be a whirlwind of passion, but it comes across as forced, contrived and unconvincing, which left me rather cold and disinterested. It's hard to mourn a love that feels so insubstantial.
Admittedly, the novel does show some improvement in the second half. Elsie's burgeoning connection with Susan offers a glimmer of hope, as their bond feels more authentic and engaging than anything else in the novel. However, this late shift is not enough to salvage a book weighed down by its unconvincing characters and pervasive negativity.
Ultimately, "Forever, Interrupted" is hobbled by its inability to create compelling, relatable protagonists. With little emotional growth or insight from its leads, the novel's exploration of grief feels hollow, and it becomes increasingly difficult to invest in a story so bogged down by self-pity and superficial relationships.
⭐ ⭐
Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates
5.0
"Revolutionary Road" is a tour de force! A scathing dissection of the American Dream that exposes the rotting foundations beneath its gleaming exterior, Yates takes us into the bitter core of 1950s suburbia, peeling back the façade of matching mailboxes and cookie-cutter houses to reveal a world of quietly desperate souls and delusional aspirations. Here, the allure of the "dream" turns oppressive, trapping its believers in lives they never wanted and in identities they can hardly bear.
Frank and April Wheeler are luminous in their flawed grandeur, a pair of perpetual performers. Frank's loathing for "phonies" feels rich with irony, as he embodies every cliché he despises, wielding his disdain as a mask to hide his hollow mediocrity. Think Holden Caulfield, but grown up and marinating in his hypocrisy. Frank fancies himself above the middle-class masses, while April stands beside him as an equally conflicted figure, a woman shackled to the dream that should have set her free.
In their shared marriage of convenience and resentment, Yates crafts a brutal ballet of pretension and insecurity. These characters are bright, talented even, yet imprisoned by their fantasies and lies. They float above their neighbours with a smug sense of superiority, sneering at suburban conformity even as they're too paralysed to escape it. The marriage deteriorates into a harrowing theatre of cruelty, where casual barbs and bruising remarks are exchanged under the guise of sophistication. Their arguments are a masterfully constructed torture for the reader, in which each line is a scalpel, every glare another twist of the blade.
Yates writes with a surgical elegance. His prose is precise and incisive, mercilessly exposing each character's psychological flaws. There's a particular genius in how he examines Frank and April's lofty dreams, only to dismantle them piece by piece. Their superior airs, and their studied disdain for the ordinary, these qualities only make their downfall feel both inevitable and deeply tragic. They are the architects of their misery, neither victims of circumstance nor capable of stepping off the self-destructive path they've carved.
Ultimately, "Revolutionary Road" stands as a searing critique of the false promises that defined the 1950s, as well as a damning look at the people who think themselves "too special" for their fate. It's wickedly funny, heartbreakingly sad, and alarmingly relatable. This book isn't just about two lives unravelling—it's about the high cost of buying into the American Dream and the emptiness that follows when it inevitably falls short.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
Frank and April Wheeler are luminous in their flawed grandeur, a pair of perpetual performers. Frank's loathing for "phonies" feels rich with irony, as he embodies every cliché he despises, wielding his disdain as a mask to hide his hollow mediocrity. Think Holden Caulfield, but grown up and marinating in his hypocrisy. Frank fancies himself above the middle-class masses, while April stands beside him as an equally conflicted figure, a woman shackled to the dream that should have set her free.
In their shared marriage of convenience and resentment, Yates crafts a brutal ballet of pretension and insecurity. These characters are bright, talented even, yet imprisoned by their fantasies and lies. They float above their neighbours with a smug sense of superiority, sneering at suburban conformity even as they're too paralysed to escape it. The marriage deteriorates into a harrowing theatre of cruelty, where casual barbs and bruising remarks are exchanged under the guise of sophistication. Their arguments are a masterfully constructed torture for the reader, in which each line is a scalpel, every glare another twist of the blade.
Yates writes with a surgical elegance. His prose is precise and incisive, mercilessly exposing each character's psychological flaws. There's a particular genius in how he examines Frank and April's lofty dreams, only to dismantle them piece by piece. Their superior airs, and their studied disdain for the ordinary, these qualities only make their downfall feel both inevitable and deeply tragic. They are the architects of their misery, neither victims of circumstance nor capable of stepping off the self-destructive path they've carved.
Ultimately, "Revolutionary Road" stands as a searing critique of the false promises that defined the 1950s, as well as a damning look at the people who think themselves "too special" for their fate. It's wickedly funny, heartbreakingly sad, and alarmingly relatable. This book isn't just about two lives unravelling—it's about the high cost of buying into the American Dream and the emptiness that follows when it inevitably falls short.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
Orbital by Samantha Harvey
2.0
Samantha Harvey's "Orbital" operates in the liminal space between poetry and prose, unspooling in a haze of words rather than any linear story. The linguistic artistry is in the foreground, and there are passages here that pulse with beauty. However, for those accustomed to even a skeletal narrative structure, this book might feel like a challenging void rather than an immersive journey.
With Earth as its protagonist, for such a slim book, "Orbital" unravels as an expansive meditation on our planet's appearance from the heavens. It's a deeply thoughtful premise, even somewhat awe-inspiring in scope. Yet, for all its philosophical musings, there's an emotional austerity here that I couldn't shake. I was left orbiting the text without ever truly landing on something that resonated.
For mine, the novel's brevity is its saving grace. Whether it was due to my current state of mind or the book's particular demands, I found myself pressing on not out of desire but obligation. Harvey's cast is glimpsed through fragments of background and earthbound connections and never transcends their initial impressions. They feel flat, defined more by their roots than any personal nuance. While the cyclical rhythm of Harvey's prose might have been intended to evoke a certain celestial motion (the hint is in the title), it ultimately feels like a recursive loop, producing a sensation of déjà vu that verges on wearisome.
For all its occasional literary splendour, "Orbital" left me wanting. It's an oddly distant novel, beautiful yet strangely barren as if I were gazing at Earth from afar and unable to fully grasp its warmth.
With Earth as its protagonist, for such a slim book, "Orbital" unravels as an expansive meditation on our planet's appearance from the heavens. It's a deeply thoughtful premise, even somewhat awe-inspiring in scope. Yet, for all its philosophical musings, there's an emotional austerity here that I couldn't shake. I was left orbiting the text without ever truly landing on something that resonated.
For mine, the novel's brevity is its saving grace. Whether it was due to my current state of mind or the book's particular demands, I found myself pressing on not out of desire but obligation. Harvey's cast is glimpsed through fragments of background and earthbound connections and never transcends their initial impressions. They feel flat, defined more by their roots than any personal nuance. While the cyclical rhythm of Harvey's prose might have been intended to evoke a certain celestial motion (the hint is in the title), it ultimately feels like a recursive loop, producing a sensation of déjà vu that verges on wearisome.
For all its occasional literary splendour, "Orbital" left me wanting. It's an oddly distant novel, beautiful yet strangely barren as if I were gazing at Earth from afar and unable to fully grasp its warmth.
The Diggers Rest Hotel by Geoffrey McGeachin
3.0
Geoffrey McGeachin's "The Diggers Rest Hotel" is a historical crime novel that serves its purpose well enough but doesn't exactly light up the literary firmament. Set in late 1940s Albury/ Wodonga, it captures the era with a keen sense of atmosphere, even if the storytelling occasionally leans on convention.
The book introduces Charlie Berlin, a war-damaged ex-bomber pilot turned policeman, investigating a series of armed robberies. Charlie is an astute and reflective protagonist, though he's not breaking new ground for the genre. His internal monologue offers perceptive commentary on the post-war world, and his struggles with PTSD add layers, but the trope of the haunted veteran has been done to death (and better) elsewhere.
The supporting cast is a smorgasbord of archetypes seemingly plucked from the checklist of contemporary historical fiction. There's the fiercely independent woman bristling against patriarchy, the neurodiverse character providing a touch of left-field insight and the queer character whose narrative function feels half-hearted at best. Of course, this being Australian fiction, we also have the sagacious Aboriginal character, forced to keep his brilliance under wraps in a world hostile to his existence. While these figures reflect important and often neglected histories, their inclusion en masse feels both predictable and a tad contrived, particularly in a town this size.
McGeachin clearly did his homework; the period details - from jittery post-war tensions to the scent of rationed tobacco - are immersive. This meticulousness gives the book a sturdy framework, but it sometimes feels as though the research is doing the heavy lifting where the prose or plotting might otherwise shine. The dialogue, while functional, lacks the snap and bite of great crime fiction, and the mystery's resolution is more serviceable than surprising.
The novel does effectively explore the ripples of war trauma, not just for individuals but entire communities. Charlie's efforts to fit back into a world that has fundamentally shifted ring true - the dangers of his stoicism and the risk of even if the narrative takes a leisurely pace in unpacking these themes.
In the end, "The Diggers Rest Hotel" is a competent piece of genre fiction: easy enough to read, historically resonant, but unlikely to be remembered as transformative. It transcends the standard police procedural by offering a thoughtful examination of its hero's vulnerabilities, though it never quite finds the spark to elevate it beyond the middle ground.
⭐ ⭐ 1/2
The book introduces Charlie Berlin, a war-damaged ex-bomber pilot turned policeman, investigating a series of armed robberies. Charlie is an astute and reflective protagonist, though he's not breaking new ground for the genre. His internal monologue offers perceptive commentary on the post-war world, and his struggles with PTSD add layers, but the trope of the haunted veteran has been done to death (and better) elsewhere.
The supporting cast is a smorgasbord of archetypes seemingly plucked from the checklist of contemporary historical fiction. There's the fiercely independent woman bristling against patriarchy, the neurodiverse character providing a touch of left-field insight and the queer character whose narrative function feels half-hearted at best. Of course, this being Australian fiction, we also have the sagacious Aboriginal character, forced to keep his brilliance under wraps in a world hostile to his existence. While these figures reflect important and often neglected histories, their inclusion en masse feels both predictable and a tad contrived, particularly in a town this size.
McGeachin clearly did his homework; the period details - from jittery post-war tensions to the scent of rationed tobacco - are immersive. This meticulousness gives the book a sturdy framework, but it sometimes feels as though the research is doing the heavy lifting where the prose or plotting might otherwise shine. The dialogue, while functional, lacks the snap and bite of great crime fiction, and the mystery's resolution is more serviceable than surprising.
The novel does effectively explore the ripples of war trauma, not just for individuals but entire communities. Charlie's efforts to fit back into a world that has fundamentally shifted ring true - the dangers of his stoicism and the risk of even if the narrative takes a leisurely pace in unpacking these themes.
In the end, "The Diggers Rest Hotel" is a competent piece of genre fiction: easy enough to read, historically resonant, but unlikely to be remembered as transformative. It transcends the standard police procedural by offering a thoughtful examination of its hero's vulnerabilities, though it never quite finds the spark to elevate it beyond the middle ground.
⭐ ⭐ 1/2
The Accidental Tourist by Anne Tyler
4.0
Anne Tyler’s "The Accidental Tourist" is a quietly remarkable novel, offering a tender yet incisive exploration of grief, connection, and the odd resilience of the human spirit. Tyler has a knack transforming the seemingly banal into something luminous, and this talent is on full display as she invites readers to find wonder in the unremarkable corners of life.
Centring on Macon Leary, a man of deliberate habits and calcified routines (we'd likely classify him as nuerodiverse these days), whose life has been upended by the tragic death of his son and the subsequent collapse of his marriage. Tyler traces Macon’s journey with a meticulousness that never feels overworked, uncovering truths in the minutiae of his rigid, comfort-seeking existence. The gradual reckoning of his pain through cautious steps towards change are rendered with a deeply authentic sensitivity.
Much of the novel’s charm comes from Tyler’s cast of oddball characters. Macon himself is a fascinating study in self-protection and its discontents, but it’s Muriel, the scrappy, unconventional dog trainer who disrupts his ordered world, who steals the show. Delightful and exasperating in equal measure, Muriel is a whirlwind of life and colour. That said, there’s a faintly spectral quality to her presence. I’m not entirely sure I ever quite believed in her as a flesh-and-blood person, though perhaps that’s the point. She functions as a catalyst, forcing Macon to confront the messiness he’s spent a lifetime avoiding.
Tyler beautifully captures the bittersweet interplay of joy and sorrow. She doesn’t shy away from the rawness of grief, yet there are plenty of laughs (and hope) in the cracks. The Leary family, with their collective eccentricities and peculiar codes of conduct, is by turns maddening and endearing.
The books is a thoughtful meditation on the ways we rebuild ourselves after loss and how the connections we make, however unlikely, can help light the way that strikes a great balance of wit, insight, and emotional resonance. It falls just shy of full marks for me, not because it falters in its storytelling but because it feels, at times, too genteel, too restrained. Still, this is a great read.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
Centring on Macon Leary, a man of deliberate habits and calcified routines (we'd likely classify him as nuerodiverse these days), whose life has been upended by the tragic death of his son and the subsequent collapse of his marriage. Tyler traces Macon’s journey with a meticulousness that never feels overworked, uncovering truths in the minutiae of his rigid, comfort-seeking existence. The gradual reckoning of his pain through cautious steps towards change are rendered with a deeply authentic sensitivity.
Much of the novel’s charm comes from Tyler’s cast of oddball characters. Macon himself is a fascinating study in self-protection and its discontents, but it’s Muriel, the scrappy, unconventional dog trainer who disrupts his ordered world, who steals the show. Delightful and exasperating in equal measure, Muriel is a whirlwind of life and colour. That said, there’s a faintly spectral quality to her presence. I’m not entirely sure I ever quite believed in her as a flesh-and-blood person, though perhaps that’s the point. She functions as a catalyst, forcing Macon to confront the messiness he’s spent a lifetime avoiding.
Tyler beautifully captures the bittersweet interplay of joy and sorrow. She doesn’t shy away from the rawness of grief, yet there are plenty of laughs (and hope) in the cracks. The Leary family, with their collective eccentricities and peculiar codes of conduct, is by turns maddening and endearing.
The books is a thoughtful meditation on the ways we rebuild ourselves after loss and how the connections we make, however unlikely, can help light the way that strikes a great balance of wit, insight, and emotional resonance. It falls just shy of full marks for me, not because it falters in its storytelling but because it feels, at times, too genteel, too restrained. Still, this is a great read.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
The 392 by Ashley Hickson-Lovence
3.0
Ashley Hickson-Lovence's "The 392" is a debut that offers a snapshot of London life through the lens of a single bus ride. Taking place over just 36 minutes, the novel unfolds as a diverse cast of passengers wrestle with their own thoughts and judgements while unknowingly bound together by an ominous undercurrent.
The multi-perspective narrative allows the author to deftly slip into the inner lives of his characters, revealing their prejudices, hopes, and vulnerabilities in brief fragments. The technique fosters empathy even for those who act or think in ways that make you squirm (although a couple remain quite vile individuals). This is no small feat and points to the author's promise as a chronicler of human complexity.
Where the book stumbles is in its tonal balance. There's a thinly veiled caricature of Boris Johnson as a grime and drill enthusiast, which - while perhaps amusing in a separate context - feels absurdly misplaced here. I found it undercut the gravity of the novel's broader themes, like race, class and the psychological toll of austerity. These are weighty, pressing issues, and Hickson-Lovence handles them with sensitivity elsewhere, making the Boris interlude puerile and jarring.
The book is undeniably London-centric, Brexit-tinged, and shaped by the pervasive anxieties of immigration, Islamophobia and the rise of populist politics. Hickson-Lovence captures the pulse of the city with a sharp ear for vernacular and an eye for the unspoken tensions that hum through public spaces with a restless energy that mirrors the fleeting nature of the ride itself, though this occasionally leads to an uneven pace.
The narrative tension builds steadily, as the passengers' focus shifts to a bearded Muslim passenger at the front of the bus, but the eventual payoff feels muted. The real danger lurking in the background - a metaphorical and literal commentary on societal divide - doesn't quite land.
For all its flaws, "The 392" is an engaging and thought-provoking debut. Hickson-Lovence's voice feels vital, and his ability to render the inner workings of his characters with such immediacy bodes well for his future work. I'll certainly be keeping an eye out for what he does next.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐
The multi-perspective narrative allows the author to deftly slip into the inner lives of his characters, revealing their prejudices, hopes, and vulnerabilities in brief fragments. The technique fosters empathy even for those who act or think in ways that make you squirm (although a couple remain quite vile individuals). This is no small feat and points to the author's promise as a chronicler of human complexity.
Where the book stumbles is in its tonal balance. There's a thinly veiled caricature of Boris Johnson as a grime and drill enthusiast, which - while perhaps amusing in a separate context - feels absurdly misplaced here. I found it undercut the gravity of the novel's broader themes, like race, class and the psychological toll of austerity. These are weighty, pressing issues, and Hickson-Lovence handles them with sensitivity elsewhere, making the Boris interlude puerile and jarring.
The book is undeniably London-centric, Brexit-tinged, and shaped by the pervasive anxieties of immigration, Islamophobia and the rise of populist politics. Hickson-Lovence captures the pulse of the city with a sharp ear for vernacular and an eye for the unspoken tensions that hum through public spaces with a restless energy that mirrors the fleeting nature of the ride itself, though this occasionally leads to an uneven pace.
The narrative tension builds steadily, as the passengers' focus shifts to a bearded Muslim passenger at the front of the bus, but the eventual payoff feels muted. The real danger lurking in the background - a metaphorical and literal commentary on societal divide - doesn't quite land.
For all its flaws, "The 392" is an engaging and thought-provoking debut. Hickson-Lovence's voice feels vital, and his ability to render the inner workings of his characters with such immediacy bodes well for his future work. I'll certainly be keeping an eye out for what he does next.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐
Here One Moment by Liane Moriarty
4.0
Liane Moriarty's "Here One Moment" is a bold and mesmerising exploration of life's unpredictability, an audacious literary cocktail that is as intellectually textured as it is emotionally resonant. It's a novel that deserves far more recognition than Moriarty often receives from the literary establishment. While her books are bestsellers, they frequently evade the gravitas bestowed on "serious" authors, and it's high time that changed. "Here One Moment" proves she's not only a master of her craft but also an artist of considerable philosophical depth.
She brings together a sprawling cast of characters, each with rich, layered inner worlds that draw you in and make you think. These aren't just vehicles for the plot but fully realised people who stay with you long after the book is closed. Moriarty's emotional intelligence and sly humour thread through every interaction, and even fleeting appearances by minor characters leave a lasting impression.
Moriarty handles the polyphonic narrative with remarkable finesse. Naturally, some threads shine brighter than others, but the overall effect is magnetic. Her exploration of human agency - how characters teeter between fate and free will - is both ambitious and deeply human. It’s a tangled map of raw, instinctive reactions to prediction, from attempts to wrest control to reluctant acceptance of the inevitable.
The book's enigmatic protagonist is revealed not through what Moriarty adds but through what she strips away. By dismantling the labels and assumptions imposed on her, she transforms "The Death Lady" into an unforgettable figure.
The novel dances with big metaphysical questions - determinism versus agency, chance versus intention - while rooting them in painfully personal stories. Probability theory sneaks into the prose, its mathematical elegance amplifying the novel’s existential undertones.
The structural intricacy, featuring layered timelines and interconnected arcs, reflects Moriarty’s grasp of human complexity. If there’s a flaw, it’s that not all storylines grip with the same force. A few subplots feel undercooked, like they’re waiting for their moment that never quite comes. Still, these are minor quibbles in a work that’s as audacious as it is thought-provoking.
"Here One Moment" isn’t just a good story, it’s a masterclass in weaving narrative complexity with profound philosophical depth. Moriarty doesn’t just write; she provokes, challenges, and ultimately, leaves you reeling. An exquisite, mesmerising piece of literary art.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
She brings together a sprawling cast of characters, each with rich, layered inner worlds that draw you in and make you think. These aren't just vehicles for the plot but fully realised people who stay with you long after the book is closed. Moriarty's emotional intelligence and sly humour thread through every interaction, and even fleeting appearances by minor characters leave a lasting impression.
Moriarty handles the polyphonic narrative with remarkable finesse. Naturally, some threads shine brighter than others, but the overall effect is magnetic. Her exploration of human agency - how characters teeter between fate and free will - is both ambitious and deeply human. It’s a tangled map of raw, instinctive reactions to prediction, from attempts to wrest control to reluctant acceptance of the inevitable.
The book's enigmatic protagonist is revealed not through what Moriarty adds but through what she strips away. By dismantling the labels and assumptions imposed on her, she transforms "The Death Lady" into an unforgettable figure.
The novel dances with big metaphysical questions - determinism versus agency, chance versus intention - while rooting them in painfully personal stories. Probability theory sneaks into the prose, its mathematical elegance amplifying the novel’s existential undertones.
The structural intricacy, featuring layered timelines and interconnected arcs, reflects Moriarty’s grasp of human complexity. If there’s a flaw, it’s that not all storylines grip with the same force. A few subplots feel undercooked, like they’re waiting for their moment that never quite comes. Still, these are minor quibbles in a work that’s as audacious as it is thought-provoking.
"Here One Moment" isn’t just a good story, it’s a masterclass in weaving narrative complexity with profound philosophical depth. Moriarty doesn’t just write; she provokes, challenges, and ultimately, leaves you reeling. An exquisite, mesmerising piece of literary art.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
The Safekeep by Yael van der Wouden
4.0
Yael van der Wouden’s “The Safekeep” is an exquisite debut that masterfully balances precision with an unsentimental exploration of deeply human themes. This is a novel that dissects displacement, loneliness, and the indelible scars of war with both grace and an uncompromising eye for detail.
The protagonist, Isabel, initially presents as uptight and aloof, a character seemingly difficult to like, but this is the brilliance of van der Wouden’s craft. At first, I found her aloofness grating, but as the story unfolded, I began to see echoes of my own struggle with vulnerability. As the story progresses, Isabel and Eva, is a highlight: charged, raw, and utterly mesmerising. The moment where they initially physicall touch is steeped in queer desire and unspoken need, feels intensely alive, vibrating with a kind of emotional electricity that is rarely so deftly portrayed.
One of the novel’s most striking aspects is its ability to grapple with themes often clumsily handled by lesser writers. The Holocaust's legacy is woven into the story with nuance, revealing how ordinary lives were enmeshed in the machinery of atrocity. Some may quibble with the use of Eva's journal to do this, but I found it convincing and affecting.
Alongside this, the book quietly examines revenge and redemption, sibling dynamics, and the complex inheritance of trauma, all while maintaining a thriller-like momentum that keeps the pages turning.
Where Isabel is at the centre, the supporting cast - Louis, Hendrick, Eva and their absent mothers - is equally compelling and each gradually unfurls into richly textured personalities. The house (and its garden), also at the centre of the story, is a character in itself.
At its heart, “The Safekeep” is about connections that interrupt isolation, awaken dormant needs, and disrupt the inertia of survival. This is an intensely atmospheric work and, if there is a criticism, it’s that the pacing occasionally falters, particularly early on. The nonlinear is occassionally jarring, though this fragmentation ultimately mirrors the characters’ fractured realities.
This an impressive debut, one that is both intellectually and emotionally compelling.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
The protagonist, Isabel, initially presents as uptight and aloof, a character seemingly difficult to like, but this is the brilliance of van der Wouden’s craft. At first, I found her aloofness grating, but as the story unfolded, I began to see echoes of my own struggle with vulnerability. As the story progresses, Isabel and Eva, is a highlight: charged, raw, and utterly mesmerising. The moment where they initially physicall touch is steeped in queer desire and unspoken need, feels intensely alive, vibrating with a kind of emotional electricity that is rarely so deftly portrayed.
One of the novel’s most striking aspects is its ability to grapple with themes often clumsily handled by lesser writers. The Holocaust's legacy is woven into the story with nuance, revealing how ordinary lives were enmeshed in the machinery of atrocity. Some may quibble with the use of Eva's journal to do this, but I found it convincing and affecting.
Alongside this, the book quietly examines revenge and redemption, sibling dynamics, and the complex inheritance of trauma, all while maintaining a thriller-like momentum that keeps the pages turning.
Where Isabel is at the centre, the supporting cast - Louis, Hendrick, Eva and their absent mothers - is equally compelling and each gradually unfurls into richly textured personalities. The house (and its garden), also at the centre of the story, is a character in itself.
At its heart, “The Safekeep” is about connections that interrupt isolation, awaken dormant needs, and disrupt the inertia of survival. This is an intensely atmospheric work and, if there is a criticism, it’s that the pacing occasionally falters, particularly early on. The nonlinear is occassionally jarring, though this fragmentation ultimately mirrors the characters’ fractured realities.
This an impressive debut, one that is both intellectually and emotionally compelling.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
Signal Loss by Garry Disher
4.0
If you’re a fan of straightforward police procedurals with an edge, “Signal Loss” by Garry Disher delivers the goods. Gritty, fast-paced, and filled with suspense, it manages to weave tension with moments of levity, proving that crime fiction doesn’t have to take itself too seriously. I found myself thoroughly engrossed and frequently chuckling, thanks to its sharp, often delightfully macabre humour.
Having long enjoyed the Hal Challis series, I was thrilled to see familiar faces and continued character development. Hal Challis remains a refreshingly intelligent, responsible, and reliable protagonist. His principles shine not just in his professional role but in his personal life as well, which feels increasingly rare in this genre. His evolving relationship with Ellen Destry adds a layer of warmth and realism, making him all the more compelling.
Pam Murphy also deserves a nod. Her growth as a character is a joy to witness, showcasing a nuanced progression that avoids clichés. She’s tough, flawed, and deeply human, which makes her one of the standouts in the series. The banter between the ensemble cast is a highlight, offering a good dose of irony and some laugh-out-loud moments that break up the grittiness without undercutting the tension.
“Signal Loss” nails the balance between procedural precision and human drama. The plot twists and turns with admirable elegance, never feeling forced or derivative. Disher’s prose is lean but evocative, peppered with just enough detail to paint a vivid picture without bogging down the pace. While the novel doesn’t reinvent the genre, it doesn’t need to. It’s compelling, masterfully crafted, and downright entertaining.
In short, this is a must-read for crime fiction enthusiasts. Fans of Garry Disher’s work, in particular, will feel right at home.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
Having long enjoyed the Hal Challis series, I was thrilled to see familiar faces and continued character development. Hal Challis remains a refreshingly intelligent, responsible, and reliable protagonist. His principles shine not just in his professional role but in his personal life as well, which feels increasingly rare in this genre. His evolving relationship with Ellen Destry adds a layer of warmth and realism, making him all the more compelling.
Pam Murphy also deserves a nod. Her growth as a character is a joy to witness, showcasing a nuanced progression that avoids clichés. She’s tough, flawed, and deeply human, which makes her one of the standouts in the series. The banter between the ensemble cast is a highlight, offering a good dose of irony and some laugh-out-loud moments that break up the grittiness without undercutting the tension.
“Signal Loss” nails the balance between procedural precision and human drama. The plot twists and turns with admirable elegance, never feeling forced or derivative. Disher’s prose is lean but evocative, peppered with just enough detail to paint a vivid picture without bogging down the pace. While the novel doesn’t reinvent the genre, it doesn’t need to. It’s compelling, masterfully crafted, and downright entertaining.
In short, this is a must-read for crime fiction enthusiasts. Fans of Garry Disher’s work, in particular, will feel right at home.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
The Other Side of Beautiful by Kim Lock
3.0
“The Other Side of Beautiful” by Kim Lock is a lovely little road trip book that balances the journey within as it does about the kilometres covered on the road. Lock deftly captures the oppressive nature of anxiety, portraying it with a depth and nuance that makes it feel tangible and relatable. There’s something particularly resonant in Lock's depiction of Mercey's struggle to find her footing in a chaotic world, which will ring true for anyone who occassionally feels paralysed by fear or self-doubt
This story is a blend of typical road trip adventure with a sweet romance and a journey of self-discovery. In a gentle way, Lock does a great job in reminding the reader of the importance of opening yourself up to new experiences and rediscovering the beauty in life’s uncertainties.
While the book leans a little heavily on its feel-good elements at times, perhaps at the expense of some emotional depth, it’s still a heartwarming read. With engaging characters, a vivid setting and a breezy narrative flow, the easy charm makes it hard to put down.
With a touch of whimsy and plenty of heart, “The Other Side of Beautiful” is an enjoyable read that’ll leave you feeling hopeful and inspired. A solid 3.5 stars, it’s a story that lingers just enough to make you appreciate its quiet wisdom.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ 1/2
This story is a blend of typical road trip adventure with a sweet romance and a journey of self-discovery. In a gentle way, Lock does a great job in reminding the reader of the importance of opening yourself up to new experiences and rediscovering the beauty in life’s uncertainties.
While the book leans a little heavily on its feel-good elements at times, perhaps at the expense of some emotional depth, it’s still a heartwarming read. With engaging characters, a vivid setting and a breezy narrative flow, the easy charm makes it hard to put down.
With a touch of whimsy and plenty of heart, “The Other Side of Beautiful” is an enjoyable read that’ll leave you feeling hopeful and inspired. A solid 3.5 stars, it’s a story that lingers just enough to make you appreciate its quiet wisdom.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ 1/2