Books & Publishing

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The Innocent Reader, Debra AdelaideThe Very Last List of Vivian Walker, Megan AlbanySeven Nights in a Rogue’s Bed, Anna Campbell
It’s Been a Pleasure, Noni Blake, Claire ChristianJane in Love, Rachel GivneyThe Drop-Off, Fiona Harris & Mike McLeish
Maggie is Going Nowhere, Rose HartleyThe Younger Wife, Sally HepworthThe Lady Risks it All, Stephanie Laurens
Man in Armour, Siobhan McKennaThe Gift of Life, Josephine MoonMeet Me at Lennons, Melanie Myers
Dead Heat, Bronwyn ParrySpring Clean for the Peach Queen, Sasha Wasley
Love and Other Battles
, Tess Woods
Burning Lies, Helene Young

Megan Albany
Hachette, February 2022

This quiet but compelling novel follows the very ordinary path of an ordinary woman completing the ordinary business of dying. However, it is in this ordinariness that the heart of the novel lies. Vivian Walker has always been a list-maker: she makes lists for herself, lists for her family and, importantly, lists for her husband Clint—which never seem to be completed. So when Viv learns she has terminal cancer and only a few months to live, she makes the last list of her life. But this isn’t a bucket list kind of story. There is something so beautifully relatable about Viv’s very practical final desires to cull her closet and paint her bedroom doors, rather than take extravagant trips or revisit old regrets. She is supported by memorable secondary characters who all have their own role to play in her life and on her path to death. Special mention needs to be made of the portrayal of Viv’s young son Ethan and the pain Viv feels in leaving him and the hopes she has for her future. The arc of her relationship with her husband is not dissimilar: Clint is a source of ongoing frustration but also of commitment and acceptance, which becomes clear as Viv’s life shrinks to its very core. Not a story of transformation or big revelations, The Very Last List of Vivian Walker is a small, touching story that provides insight into how even the most ordinary person can leave a lot of love behind.  


Sally Hepworth
Macmillan, November 2021

Readers won’t be shocked to learn that Sally Hepworth’s new novel The Younger Wife features a May–December romance between a younger woman and an older man, and the effects the relationship has on his family. The structure is well done, following the story from the points of view of three women: the younger soon-to-be-wife, Heather, lonely and looking for security; her fiance’s oldest daughter, Tully, living an upwardly mobile life but with a dangerous secret; and Rachael, the youngest daughter, a successful baker making wedding cakes and avoiding all romance of her own. Bypassing cliché, Hepworth’s narrative choices allow the reader to better understand the interloper and witness how a shared generation means that Heather, Rachael and Tully have much in common—and how the ensuing domestic noir mystery ties them even closer together. The Younger Wife is thoroughly engrossing, pulling the reader along at a breakneck pace and exposing each character’s flaws and challenges, secrets and strengths, and how these have affected their relationships. However, I was left deeply unsettled by Hepworth’s choices for the ending, particularly as it relates to contemporary politics, policing and the ways in which women are and are not believed. The structure, characters and plot of this novel were enough to create narrative tension, pace and an engrossing read; the final twist left me feeling sour and unsafe.   


Sasha Wasley
Pantera, April 2021

Sasha Wasley’s latest novel marries small-town fiction and Marie Kondo’s The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up in a gentle exploration of what really matters. After her boyfriend dies of an overdose at a party and scandalous photos are splashed across magazine covers throughout the country, Lottie returns to her hometown of Bonnievale. Her mother is ashamed of Lottie’s departure from her own beliefs, as well as the media coverage, so Lottie finds a home and eventual solace as the companion of the elderly mother of an old high-school classmate. The idea of tidying up and figuring out what is important in life moves the narrative forward, especially as Lottie’s ongoing and deliberate attempt at personal growth begins to affect those around her. Nuance is added through small-town politics, intergenerational conflicts about the role and definition of feminism, and secondary characters who either aid or inhibit Lottie as she embarks on her quest for self-discovery. The story is further matured by the ending, when Lottie must face the limitations of her effort at personal growth with the realisation that life is too complicated for a one-method-fits-all approach. Spring Clean for the Peach Queen is a soft, slow-paced read that feels like self-care in 2021, though may not appeal to those seeking a challenge. Readers who have enjoyed novels by Josephine Moon or Rachael Johns will find a similar reading experience here.


Claire Christian
Text, October 2020

Claire Christian’s first adult novel is billed as a contemporary romantic comedy and while there is a delicious romance plot, the true love story is between the eponymous protagonist and herself. At the beginning of It’s Been a Pleasure, Noni Blake our main character is in her mid-30s, single after the end of a long-term relationship, in a job she no longer finds fulfilling, and restless with a sense that time is running out. Supported by her gorgeous best friend Lindell, Noni decides to take a break from her life with the hope of starting over. There’s something almost fairytale-like about this story, a quest that begins with a ‘fuck-it’ list and ends with the protagonist finding her place in the world—older, wiser and rewarded for her efforts with self-confidence, a sense of purpose and stronger relationships. If the pacing of the novel sometimes drags, the messy charm of the main character and the infectious optimism that fuels the narrative more than make for it. It’s Been a Pleasure, Noni Blake is the fun, wise, progressive chick-lit story to get us through 2020.


Siobhan McKenna
Fourth Estate, August 2020

Man in Armour is a slice-of-life novel about Charles, a successful cog in the machine of the financial sector who has climbed his way up the corporate ladder to an enormous office, a hefty salary and tables at exclusive restaurants. Over the two-day timeline of the narrative, we learn about Charles’ childhood, his relationships past and present, and his innate aversion to risk when it comes to his career—and the soul-destroying jealousy he feels for those who do take risks. In the novel’s marketing copy, author Siobhan McKenna is referred to as the ‘ultimate business insider’, capable of writing this story with absolute verisimilitude, and she succeeds: the detailed setting of the finance world—the highs and lows, cutthroat practices and relentless pace—is vividly rendered and completely integrated into the internal conflict of the main character. Man in Armour is very readable, however it falls down when its motivations are considered: it’s unclear what McKenna hopes to achieve, what she is trying to say and why we should care. The story covers Charles’ breakdown, from both exhaustion and unaddressed childhood trauma, but he remains an unsympathetic character living an incredibly privileged life. As such, the novel’s faintly happy ending feels less like a triumph and more like the maintenance of a fundamentally unjust status quo.


Fiona Harris & Mike McLeish
Echo, May 2020

The Drop-Off is a cheerful depiction of parenting culture, told through the alternating points-of-view of three parents and set in a middle-class primary school in the Eastern suburbs of Melbourne. Those who live in this area (including this reviewer) will recognise many of the secondary characters sketched out on the page, as well as the core concerns of the main characters. This is not a conflict-heavy book; indeed, the main conflict is almost silly in its lack of depth, and the final twist revolves only around whether a main character will make the same foolish mistake again. There is a shoe-horned attempt throughout to build a darker narrative, perhaps to adhere to current trends or in order to deepen the tension, but it’s unnecessary and incongruous to the overarching tone of the novel. The pleasure of reading this book is that there is no real conflict, that these characters live a relatively fortunate existence—their minor concerns around getting older and still not having it all figured out might result in some personal angst and probably a wine-heavy night or three but ultimately pose no real danger in the broader context of their lives. The Drop-Off is a slice-of-life depiction of upwardly mobile eastern Melbourne; pick this up if you enjoy gentle, if somewhat uncritical, satire.


Rachel Givney
Michael Joseph, February 2020

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Jane Austen re-imaginings are an uneven offering. Some are brilliant; some less so. The fundamental challenges of this niche, however, remain constant: that the stories themselves remain relevant to a contemporary audience, and that the language, pace, and writing style of the early 1800s do not. Rachel Givney is the latest writer to step into Jane’s inimitable shoes, and while it is refreshing to read a novel that builds from Persuasion (rather than the ubiquitous Pride and Prejudice) her debut novel Jane in Love relies too heavily on the mannered language of Austen’s novel and not heavily enough on its core emotion and humour. Jane herself is a character who, through some machinations, finds herself in contemporary London. The conflict then becomes whether Jane will return to the past to write the novels that make her famous or stay in the present with a potential lover. There is something perverse about this decision: Jane having to be sad in order to be creatively brilliant leans a bit too heavily on the notion that art only comes from pain (and extending that thought, that artists deserve to suffer). Coupled with extended sequences of Jane reacting to modern conveniences (escalators, for example), in the end this Austen reimagining takes too long to find its heart.


Rose Hartley
Michael Joseph, January 2020

The eponymous character in Rose Hartley’s debut is introduced in the blurb as thoroughly relatable and a counterpart to Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag. While the comparison feels true on the surface—both characters not just eschew, but actively renounce any kind of responsibility under the guise of ‘not being boring’—Fleabag presents a more complicated, nuanced view of a character navigating trauma, while our titular character Maggie is just … immature. This bleeds into the first claim—that of relatability—and it is here that I respectfully disagree. There are few women who find themselves as privileged as Maggie and thus few who would be able to wallow in as many problems of their own making. That’s not to say that she’s not compelling, and the narrative choice shows strength here. First person is notoriously hard to do well, but Hartley succeeds in engaging the reader where a third-person narration may have created enough distance for the reader to judge Maggie, rather than empathise with her. There should only be surface satisfaction in the tale of a woman-child landing on her feet through very little work and with very little emotional growth, but the writing is dynamic and the tone is spot-on. Hartley never shies from Maggie’s faults, and while the book is undemanding, Maggie’s story is undeniably enjoyable.


Debra Adelaide
Picador, October 2019

Debra Adelaide’s biblio-memoir is more of a collection of essays than a cohesive story of a literary life, and reading it as such can help mitigate some of the internal inconsistencies throughout the narrative. Adelaide’s extensive experience in the writing and publishing industry is evident and her argumentation frequently displays nuanced understanding of contemporary publishing concerns. However, the generalisation of her own experience often strays from that of the realities for emerging publishing professionals and overlooks the many precarities about the current publishing ecosystem. The first section of the book is the most enjoyable: lifelong readers will find themselves sinking in to the shared experience of reading everything and anything that comes to hand, and the magic of immersion into fictional worlds. The middle sections feel casually cruel as Adelaide undermines her own experience as a reader for pleasure by dismissing those writers and genres most often read for pleasure (Dan Brown, Tom Clancy and Fifty Shades of Grey are all name-checked specifically), and the inclusion of anecdotes about bad writing from students adds little except a vague sense of punching down. The section on Adelaide’s friend Pat and her love of dogs in books brings some personality to the narrative, and the final chapter—written in second person—provides a lovely invitation to the reader to consider their own biblio-life. Overall, The Innocent Reader is an indulgent but uneven read.


Melanie Myers
UQP, September 2019

In her debut novel, Melanie Myers delves into an under-explored area of Brisbane history: the influx of US soldiers during World War II and how their presence affected the social conventions of the time. The titular Lennon’s refers to a popular social club, and the story alternates between World War II and a contemporary timeline. Hinging the two is Olivia, the main character, who in the contemporary timeline is writing a doctorate on a playwright who features in the World War II timeline. As a conceit, this link is not wholly successful, the play and playwright not crucial enough to the plot to provide the anchor necessary with dual timelines. This lack of focus is an overarching problem within the novel: while the depiction of Brisbane during World War II and the emphasis on women’s experiences on the home front is well realised and engaging, the contemporary timeline feels aimless in comparison. The best parts of Meet Me at Lennon’s are set in the past, involving the women’s stories. I wonder if this novel would have been more successful as a work of historical fiction, rather than attempting to capitalise on the current popularity of dual timeline narratives.


Tess Woods
HarperCollins, July 2019

Tess Woods’ latest novel follows the lives of three generations of women: Jess is a flower child who falls for a soldier under the shadow of the Vietnam war; Jamie is their daughter, a woman who craves the stability and respectability missing from her childhood; and CJ is Jamie’s daughter, a teenager on the brink of womanhood who feels torn between her grandmother’s free spirit and her mother’s security. Developing three well-rounded main characters (two of which feature in dual timelines) would be a challenge for any author, but Woods manages to create fully dimensional characters, each facing private and public struggles. Some of the plot elements lack nuance (CJ’s descent into self-harm, for example, is particularly oversimplified), but these underdeveloped areas are balanced by the rich emotional landscapes constructed between the women as they navigate their relationships and responsibilities to themselves and each other. The plot twist in the final pages suggests a lack of confidence in the ability of the narrative to hold interest—or perhaps a too-tight adherence to the expected in dual-timeline women’s commercial fiction—but feels unnecessary in a novel that is already compulsively readable.


Josephine Moon
Michael Joseph, April 2019

In her latest novel, Josephine Moon poses the question, ‘How much of the original donor travels with their donated organs?’ The story follows Gabby, the recent recipient of a heart transplant, who is trying to move on with her life after the operation. However, Gabby’s life is interrupted by a stranger who is convinced that the heart once belonged to her husband. For storytellers seeking emotional catalysts, this concept isn’t original. However, treading a well-trod path is not, in and of itself, an issue—it just presents the challenge of finding a new way to create an emotional arc. Unfortunately, The Gift of Life does not succeed in breathing new life into a tired plot point. The story leans into sentimentality and glosses over areas of grit—and also of potential nuance. Moon introduces several areas of friction, even outside of the fundamental—and often spiritual—interrogation of organ donation, but they are under-explored and unexploited, creating little opportunity for reader engagement. The neat, complete epilogue also creates missed opportunities for reflection. Readers who have enjoyed Moon’s previous books will surely be disappointed with the lack of emotional resonance, but those seeking an unchallenging read for an afternoon will appreciate the easiness of the writing and the contemporary representation of family.


Anna Campbell
HarperCollins, October 2012

Seven Nights in a Rogue’s Bed kicks off a new series by Anna Campbell, who has signed with a new publisher, Grand Central Publishing, though she remains with HarperCollins in Australia. It seems that new beginnings agree with her. Declared a bastard and pushed to the fringes of society, Jonas takes his revenge as best he can. However, when he attempts to ruin his cousin with a wager to spend a week with his cousin’s wife Roberta, Jonas is stymied by an adversary he didn’t expect—Roberta’s sister. Sidonie is willing to sacrifice everything by taking her sister’s place, and after a few days in her presence, Jonas begins to feel his desire for revenge replaced by his desire for something real. Campbell has made her name in ‘Regency noir’: dark, edgy, risky historical romance. This novel is more conventional than some of her previous books, but feels stronger for it. While some authors toy with darkness, Campbell is able to exploit it, even if her plot doesn’t delve as deeply as it could have. This novel’s strength lies in the inner life of its two protagonists. For the bulk of the novel there is just the two of them, but readers will not be bored. Instead, the rich emotional landscape provides ample interest, and demonstrates that, while happy endings are almost always assured, it is truly the journey that counts.


Stephanie Laurens
HarperCollins, October 2012

Stephanie Laurens’ readers will be familiar with Lord Julian, or Roscoe, the hero of her latest Regency-set romance. However, they will be disappointed with the result: the novel is marred by trite situations, an unfulfilling denouement and a story that never lifts off the page. Roscoe has given up his charmed life to protect his family, which has also meant giving up any hope of a family of his own. He is now London’s ‘gambling king’ and is wealthier than anyone can guess. Miranda lives around the corner with her aunt, who enforces the rules of propriety and respectability. When Miranda’s brother goes missing, she knows that only the most dangerous man in London can help. Though Roscoe appears ruthless, he is in fact selfless and generous. He is the perfect hero, which leaves him, plot-wise, a little dull. Miranda is more interesting. However, she falls into the common trap of being ‘keenly intelligent’ while throwing herself into stupid situations from which she has to be rescued. The attraction feels real enough, but the ensuing road trip fails to capitalise on that initial spark. Finally, while Laurens is to be commended for acknowledging the societal statuses of the time (often ignored in historical romances in favour of ‘true love’), the ending is left unpleasantly ambiguous in terms of the hero and heroine’s future together. For newcomers to Stephanie Laurens I would recommend her ‘Bar Cynster’ novels instead.


Helene Young
Michael Joseph, July 2012

Helene Young is the recent winner of the Australian Romance Readers Association Favourite Romantic Suspense Award for her second novel Shattered SkyBurning Lies is her third book and her first with her new publisher. After Kait Scott’s husband starts a devastating fire that claims both his own life and her father’s, Kait moves her family to far north Queensland to rebuild their lives. However, her husband’s crime hasn’t died with him. An arsonist is stalking the family across the Atherton Tablelands and it looks like Kait’s destruction is his ultimate goal. Everyone is a suspect, and Kait’s new neighbour Ryan appears more suspicious than most. While the characters still take to the skies (Young is a pilot and her characters often work in the aviation industry), Burning Lies is much more earth-bound than the author’s previous novels, but no less suspenseful for this setting. Young taps into the primal fear of fire that many Australians share, using it as a catalyst to bring her characters’ simmering issues to boil. Despite the dramatic circumstances surrounding their developing relationship, Kait and Ryan’s characters are both very grounded, and the uplifting ending is solid and believable. While this novel doesn’t have the same depth as Bronwyn Parry’s recent Dead Heat, one thing is very clear: it’s becoming a readers’ market for strong Australia-set romantic suspense novels.


Bronwyn Parry
Hachette, April 2012

Bronwyn Parry proves once again that crime is not just the provenance of cityscapes in her genuinely chilling third romantic suspense novel. Dead Heat tells the story of a wounded ranger looking for space and peace in the bush, and a place to start over. Instead, she finds a burgeoning drug cartel, with all the inherent violence this implies. Leading the investigation of the cartel is a former undercover cop, damaged and with a few demons of his own. Fans of Parry’s previous novels will notice a darker tone to Dead Heat, a willingness on Parry’s part to push deeper into the crime aspect and the most sinister side of humanity. New readers should enjoy the extra layer of suspense that the growing emotional connection between the main characters provides. Dead Heat is a well-crafted novel that makes excellent use of its wild setting—and a plot so successfully suspenseful that I stopped reading it before bed!