Special feature: WRITERS REVIEW PUBLISHING!

 Introducing our first three books!

Exciting news - we are branching out into publishing! Our new venture launches on April 24th with titles by Judith Allnatt, Mary Hoffman and Linda Newbery, and more on the way. We will publish both new fiction and reissues of well-reviewed novels that deserve to reach new readers. 

At present we're publishing only fiction, but as we develop that may change to include non-fiction, memoirs or poetry, depending on what comes our way. 

Find out more on our website.

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The Poet's Wife by Judith Allnatt

It is 1841. Patty is married to John Clare: peasant poet, genius and madman.

Travelling home one day, Patty finds her husband sitting, footsore, at the side of the road, having absconded from a lunatic asylum over eighty miles away. She is devastated to discover that he has returned home not to find her, but to search for his childhood sweetheart, Mary Joyce, to whom he believes he is married.

Patty loves John deeply, but he seems lost to her. Plagued by jealousy, she seeks strength in memories: their whirlwind courtship, the poems John wrote for her, their shared affinity for the land. But as John descends further into delusion, hope seems to be fading. Will she ever be able to conquer her own anger and hurt, and reconcile with this man she now barely knows?

‘Affecting and beautifully written. Patty’s voice is at once homely and poetic, and her lyrical descriptions of the rhythms and customs of nineteenth century England – where it is unlucky to look at the moon through glass, and where a bundle of corn is left in the field at the end of every harvest, like an offering to the gods – are at the heart of the novel.’ The Times

‘This novel will leave you reaching for the nearest copy of John Clare’s powerful poems’ Daily Mail

'A subtle and sympathetic portrayal of losing a loved one to mental illness’ Times Literary Supplement  

‘A fascinating, compelling book, written with subtlety and a delicate touch, about the wife of John Clare, and the bewildering effects of her husband’s madness’ Clare Morrall  

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David - the Unauthorised Autobiography by Mary Hoffman

Michelangelo's statue, David, is famous around the world. Millions flock to Italy every year to admire the physical perfection of the young man captured within the marble. But the identity of the model has never been known . . . until now.

Acclaimed author Mary Hoffman imagines the story of Gabriele, a naive but incredibly handsome young man who is hired as Michelangelo's model, only to find himself drawn into a world of spies, political treachery, and murder. Set against the vibrant backdrop of Florence in its most turbulent times, this rich, colourful, thrilling tale gives life to one of the world's greatest masterpieces.

"An engrossing political murder-mystery." Amanda Craig, The Times

"This is a meaty, satisfying piece of work, astute and convincing, detailing Gabriele's burgeoning sexual and artistic nature." Nicolette Jones, The Sunday Times

"Mary Hoffman has written an elegant novel which is totally believable, witty, and hard to put down." Kathy Stevenson, Daily Mail

"David brings a sexy immediacy to the creation of a sculptural marvel . . .the book makes palpable the contemporary meaning of the statue of a giant-killer - a (literally) gigantic anti-aristocratic gesture." Suzi Feay, Financial Times

"It is a brilliant premise for a novel. . . . Full of carefully-researched detail, David is at once the tale of a fictional character, the story of a work of genius and an evocation of a particularly compelling moment in Italy's past." Linda Buckley-Archer, The Guardian

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The One True Thing by Linda Newbery

When the ground shifts, where is one true thing to be found?

Jane, in her twenties, is left parentless when her father dies suddenly; a second shock follows when his Will reveals the existence of a son no-one knew of. Now Wildings, the family home, must be sold. Spanning two generations, the novel tells the story of Bridget, Jane’s mother, trapped in an unhappy marriage on which her career depends, and of stone-carver Meg, who wants only independence but is enmeshed in conflicting loyalties and desires when Adam, a young artist, enters their lives, to devastating effect.

Now far from Wildings, Meg is bound by a promise to support Jane in her loss. Having thought of herself as an observer who saw everything, she’s forced to realise how much she failed to see – and the cost to those she loves.

‘A beautifully complex tapestry of lives and relationships … a novel to immerse yourself in.’ Jane Rogers, author of Mr Wroe’s Virgins

‘Newbery writes wonderfully.’ Financial Times

Cover artwork and design by Owen Gent.

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See our Bookseller feature - Linda Newbery talks to Tom Tivnan about how Writers Review Publishing came about.

Guest review by Penny Dolan: SMALL BOMB AT DIMPERLEY by Lissa Evans

 

"A novel that cheers the heart. She writes with a wry sense of the comedy and tragedy of life ..."

Penny Dolan works as a children’s storyteller and writer. Her last novel for older children, A Boy Called Mouse, was nominated for the Young Quills Historical Fiction Award, and she is currently completing a companion book. She posts on The History Girls, on An Awfully Big Blog Adventure and can be found on Twitter @PennyDolan1.

Lissa Evans’ Small Bomb at Dimperley is a novel that cheers the heart. She writes with a wry sense of the comedy and tragedy of life, and with a sympathy for her characters, no matter how flawed they prove themselves to be.

I had loved her previous three novels, set between 1918 & 1945: Old Baggage, Crooked Heart and V for Victory. Written with a joyful sense of humour and an awareness of the absurd in life, it is clear that Evans is familiar with these decades. Her earlier historical novel, Their Finest Hour and a Half, is about a young female copy-writer drafted into the Ministry of Information to add a woman’s perspective, and was later made into a film.

This recent novel, Small Bomb at Dimperley, begins in 1945 and deals with a society used to war, to hardship and to bravely making the best (or the most) of it. Now that the Peace has been announced, people are faced by a different world. Do they look to the past, or the future?

The main focus, the fictional Dimperley House, is an almost symbolic place from the past: an Elizabethan manor house in the Buckinghamshire countryside. Past generations had adorned the exterior with architectural whims and stacked the inside with curiosities, including an unseen ghost in a passageway.

Dimperley withstood bombing by passing aircraft, the roughness of army requisitioning and practical neglect as a war-time mother-and-baby home. The house has survived the war, but how, under a new Labour government, will it survive the peace?

Evans fills her novel – and Dimperley - with a rich collection of characters. The imperious Dowager Lady Irene Vere-Thisset has remained in occupation, along with her brother Uncle Alaric, a reclusive archivist and Cedric, her brain-damaged middle son. Also resident is Lady Barbara, the Dowager’s bullied daughter-in-law, along with a few devoted and less devoted servants, an old horse in the stables and the Dowager’s yappy dogs. Adding to the air of irritation are Kitty and Priss, Barbara’s rebellious teenage daughters, appalled by Dimperly’s deprivations after the plenty of childhood years spent in California.

And then it happens: a telegram brings news from the Far East. Handsome Felix, the adored son and heir, was missing but is now definitely dead. Consequently, Valentine, the youngest son, who has served the war years as a lowly army Corporal, is summoned home to become, unwillingly, lord of the manor. He has to face what Felix’s death has brought: a large and long-avoided inheritance tax demand and a storm of financial troubles.

How will the awkward, injured Valentine, known at school as ‘Thicko’ Thisset, manage to deal with all the debts and responsibilities and paperwork? How can he make the money needed to deal with the crisis? Who should he marry for money – and should he? And of course, there are the complications of Felix’s personal legacy.

Dimperley is, at heart, an almost traditionally romantic novel: by chance, dull Uncle Alaric has employed a capable young woman, Mrs Zena Baxter, to assist him in writing his history of the house. For Zena, and her determined two-year-old daughter Allison, Dimperley is a magical place. Zena, who grew up in grim circumstances, is determined to help the house and grounds survive. The novel is as much Zena’s story as it is of the Vere-Thisset family; gently reminding the reader that history belongs to us all. Eventually, when all the alarms and subterfuges are over, the expected ending comes as a satisfying pleasure.

The plot within Small Bomb at Dimperley stretches way beyond the manor gates, offering the reader a wide cast of characters: moneyed middle-classes, salesmen, shopkeepers and delivery drivers; women at home and church fetes, men in pubs and clubs, all the remains of the old class-bound society all struggling to seize a place in this new era.

I felt, as the story grew, that the author was gently honouring the many ordinary people who endured the war years on the home front: those who were ordered about, sometimes with ignorance, and forced to accept all manner of official regulations without being recognised in return. Now, in 1945, as the nation’s public life moves on, their quiet sufferings are ignored and invisible.

But not here, within Lissa Evan’s lovely book. I do recommend this novel: a perfect mix of nostalgia, poignancy, written with humour and for today’s audience. Although the ‘quiet’ might depend on how easily you laugh aloud.

Here is one of the many smaller moments, as Barbara takes the injured Valentine out in the car.

The whole road surface as far as the East Lodge was in a dreadful state and Valentine jammed his good hand against the roof to keep level, as they lurched between the potholes. His sister-in-law steered with immense concentration, her knuckles white, her gaze rigid.

‘When did you learn to drive?’

‘When the chauffeur left. It was just before Dunkirk, I think, and he told everyone he was joining the marines, and then it turned out he was driving a tea van around an airbase in Cheadle.’


Additional News. Doubleday have just published Lissa Evans’ ‘Picnic on Craggy Island: The Surreal Joys of Producing Father Ted’, a slim hardback based on her diary notes and memories as a producer on that famous comedy tv series. It would be interesting to read this alongside episodes of the Father Ted  TV series still available on Youtube or other platforms. Lissa Evans’s novels for children include Wed Wabbit and Wished.

Small Bomb at Dimperley is published by Doubleday

Lissa Evans' Old Baggage is reviewed here by Pippa Goodhart

More of Penny's choices:

Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus

The Secrets of Wishtide by Kate Saunders

Seven Miles of Steel Thistles by Katherine Langrish

Guest review by Cindy Jefferies: BUDDHA DA by Anne Donovan

 

"I was hooked. Before I’d read the first half a page I knew I was going to enjoy the ride."

First published in 2001 for children, Cindy Jefferies found success with her Fame School series with Usborne Books, obtaining 22 foreign rights deals. Latterly writing fiction for adults as Cynthia Jefferies, her first title The Outrageous Fortune of Abel Morgan was published in 2018, followed a year later by The Honourable Life of Thomas Chayne, set during the English Civil Wars, followed in 2019. Both titles are now available in paperback.

For some reason unclear to me I missed Anne Donovan’s first novel, Buddha Da, the first time around. It was published in 2003, but I didn’t come across it until I was recently away for a few days and found it in an Oxfam book shop.

I wonder if I did notice it when it was published but rejected it because it’s written in Glasgow vernacular? I enjoyed James Kelman’s How Late it is, How Late, but didn’t get on with Irving Welsh’s Trainspotting. Of course, reading the vernacular always demands a bit more effort from the reader. It’s difficult, now, to remember if it was the vernacular or the subject that put me off Trainspotting. Be that as it may, the premise of Buddha Da certainly appealed and I was happy to give it a go.

As a writer, where I find my reading is always of interest. Libraries and charity bookshops enable me to take a punt on half a dozen novels and to discover someone new to me that I love enough to seek out at full price in one of our wonderful independent bookshops. Anne Donovan is definitely now on my independent bookshop list.

So back to the vernacular. Some readers take exception to it. Done well, however, I rather enjoy it and in the case of Buddha Da it really lifted the novel to another level. Here’s the very beginning of the book.

“Ma Da’s a nutter. Radio rental. He’d dae anythin for a laugh so he wid; went doon the shops wi a perra knickers on his heid, tellt the wifie next door we’d won the lottery and were flittin tae Barbados, but that wis daft stuff compared tae whit he’s went and done noo.”

I was hooked. Before I’d read the first half a page I knew I was going to enjoy the ride.

Buddha Da is told by the three main characters. Anne Marie the daughter aged 12, Ma Liz, who works in the local doctor’s surgery and Da, Jimmy, a self employed painter and decorator. Their small family is like countless others, getting on well enough, working hard and enjoying a night out at the weekend. Never in a dozen lifetimes would it have occurred to Jimmy’s family or friends that he would set foot in the local Buddhist centre, but he does. It seems even less likely that he would go back time and again. He hasn’t even been to church for years. What’s going on with him?

This is a domestic novel that comes at one slantwise. There’s no wayward husband having an affair, no daughter getting into trouble; and yet, the family are thrown totally off balance. When Jimmy starts to give up some of the things that were an integral part of their lives, everything falls apart.

The story is funny, sad and sometimes thought provoking. Problems tend not to be solved, questions remain largely unanswered but I found it satisfying in an unexpected way, like much of life.

Buddha Da was Anne Donovan’s first novel, and was at the time shortlisted for the Orange Prize and the Whitbread Award. Taking note of those listings, perhaps you’ll enjoy it too.

Buddha Da is published by Canongate

More of Cindy's choices:

The Wolf Border by Sarah Hall

The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnim

Unsettled Ground by Claire Fuller

Guest review: Julia Jarman rediscovers Thomas Hardy, in FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD

"Looking back, I see that Thomas Hardy has been giving me life lessons and writing lessons for many years ... "

Julia Jarman, a regular contributor to Writers Review, has been writing children’s books for forty years, and still is. Recently, though, she turned her hand to ‘golden years’ women’s fiction and The Widows' Wine Club was the happy result, followed by Widows on the Wine Path and Windows Waive the Rules; she is currently at work on the fourth title.

My off-on relationship with Thomas Hardy has lasted a long time. I was underwhelmed by Under the Greenwood Tree when I read it at school, and by The Trumpet Major, though I liked that, or rather the eponymous hero, a bit more. Miss Lemmon was keen on Hardy, and even keener on Jane Austen, but I didn’t like Jane either. My early-teenage self scorned Pride and Prejudice as trivial and much preferred an author called Frank G Slaughter who wrote hospital romances, with handsome surgeons wielding knives, and from whom I learned about full frontal lobotomies. (Which led to my appreciation of the joke, if joke it is, that I would rather have a full bottle in front of me than a full frontal lobotomy. Thank you, Frank.)

I came to adore Tess of the d’Urbervilles and Jude the Obscure. They both appealed to my more mature teenage self who was outraged by injustice and loved a good cry. This lasted into my twenties and Tess and Jude are still on my bookshelf – or so I thought till I checked. They weren’t, but Under the Greenwood Tree, The Trumpet Major – filched from school! - The Woodlanders and Far From the Madding Crowd were. I began to question my memory and when I thumbed the pages of The Trumpet Major and saw that the name of the hero was John Loveday I started to think that Thomas Hardy had had a bigger influence on me than I have given him credit for, and that I liked him a lot more than I remembered. I have used the name Loveday for one of my own male heroes!

I do know I’ve changed a lot over the years. Somewhere along the line I joined the mass of humanity who cannot bear too much reality, and prefer to laugh rather than cry. I do not need to be reminded of all the injustice in the world, is my excuse. I want to escape from it in the pages of a book. Call me shallow if you like, but though I prefer realism to fantasy, I like a bit of uplift with it, and Hardy doesn’t deliver.

Was I unduly influenced by the critic, F R Leavis, popular in my youth, who declared Hardy second-rate? He didn’t include him in the select group of writers he thought to be in ‘the great tradition’ of the British novel, thinking the hand of Fate too heavy in his melodramatic plots. I share the view that the more satisfying novels have plot arising from character, and I remembered the hand of destiny being much too evident in Hardy. Maybe that’s why I felt justified not-reading him and we lost touch.

Till recently.

Fortunately my friend, Celia Rees, re-introduced us, and reminded me, even before the Loveday discovery, that he has never been as far away as I thought. It came about when Celia read my work in progress, The Widows’ Wine and Book Club, fourth in my Widows series, and, referring to a certain incident, she said, ‘That’s straight out of Thomas Hardy, Far From the Madding Crowd to be precise.’

OMG! I had to re-read it on Kindle – I was away from home - to see if I had committed a dastardly act of plagiarism or a commendable act of post-modern intertextuality. Re-read it, note, though at that moment I couldn’t remember ever reading it. In my own defence my first read was over fifty years ago. When I got home I found my copy, a 1968 Pan edition with a photo of Julie Christie as Bathsheba Everdene, on the cover. Inside, on the first page, was Gabriel Oak with whom I instantly fell in love, or re-fell, like the twenty-something me who first read it, and I kept reading. It was nothing like I remembered – or didn’t remember – but I must have absorbed it and I hope learned a thing or two.

What a story!

Hardy plunges straight in. No long preamble. We meet the hero and then the heroine – he’s watching her sitting on top of an overloaded cart - and the story starts to unfold. He writes vividly. He shows us that in small country places, far from the madding crowds, passions fly high in ‘ordinary’ people, that ordinary people are extraordinary. The descriptions of the Dorset countryside are done with more economy than I misremembered, enhancing the story not overwhelming it. I saw no sign of the heavy hand of Fate. Everything arises from character in this novel, and he creates brilliant characters. Bathsheba is a wonderfully realistic heroine, passionate, impulsive, vain, competent, and in a crucial incident, that incident, she is careless of another person’s feelings and so heedless of the consequences, that I expected tragedy, which there is for some. Gabriel Oak is a convincing thoroughly decent man, a thoroughly human man with faults and virtues, who rises to heroism. Farmer Boldwood is another thoroughly decent man, tragically lacking in insight, and Sergeant Troy is an all too believable s***, an attractive s*** to some, but not me.

Sorry, but spoiler alert. Stop reading now if you don’t want to know. I’ll write it tiny to help you, but it isn’t a tragedy, there’s a happy ending, a happy ending from Hardy. I loved it and highly recommend! Looking back, I see that Thomas Hardy has been giving me life lessons and writing lessons for many years. So kiss me, Hardy! Thank you!

Far from the Madding Crowd is published by Vintage Classics.

Guest review by Graeme Fife: THE ETYMOLOGICON - A Circular Stroll through the Hidden Connections of the English Language, by Mark Forsyth

 

 "a fascinating study, replete with stories of how a word came to be ... essential pursuit of any writer interested in nuance and the flex of the material which is our stock in trade."

Graeme Fife is a regular reviewer here. He has written many plays, stories, features and talks for radio, stage plays and articles for newspapers and magazines, and is a regular contributor to BBC Radio 4's From Our Own Correspondent. He's the author of a string of books - children's stories, biography, works of history and fiction. His novel of the French Revolution, No Common Assassin, tells the story of Charlotte Corday. His new novel, Memory's Ransom, a compelling wartime story, is published by Conrad Press. 

The word etymology itself makes a bold claim from the outset: etumos which is Greek for ‘true’ so that the word etymology points us to the origin of the word, the roots it has struck deep in the tilth of the language before it arrived full grown. Not only is this a fascinating study, replete with stories of how a word came to be but, in my view, cicerone to an essential pursuit of any writer interested in nuance and the flex of the material which is our stock in trade.

Fascinating, for example … not a word which appears in Forsyth. However, a story there. Think of the rabbit mesmerised by the ferret, the cobra frozen into immobility by the mongoose, the owl in the road caught helpless in the headlights of a car – I witnessed that one time on a country road in Norfolk and had to drive round the bird which had no power to move, it seemed. The Latin fascinari means ‘cast the evil eye on, bewitch …’

I was, initially, cautious: Forsyth’s disquisition on biscuit troubled me, in that he speaks of it as bi-cuit; the word bis does, indeed, derive from Greek bi but is, in fact French and what they call out at a concert, for example, to ask for a repeat - not encore, which is our stolen word. Bis means twice so that biscuit is fully Gallic and means 'twice cooked'. As a result, bicuit doesn't properly mean anything. Let's not get into why the Americans call their scone a biscuit. On aqua vitae (p 107) that is a misreading of the original which was aqua vitis 'water of the vine'.

However, these are mere quibbles though it does no harm to query detail because that is a writer’s business.

One word which does not appear here gives insight into the wider importance of the study of word origins: lucubration is made of two Latin words lux - light - and laborare – to work. The light was formerly provided by an oil lamp which only the more wealthy could afford to use at a time when for most people the day ended with nightfall and began at dawn. Pliny the naturalist was famous for working constantly, even in the litter as he was carried around by his slaves. Thus lucubration – working or studying hard – derives from a particular social circumstance, luckily no longer troubling to us. I think, thereto, of the later time when candles supplied the artificial light and the expressions arising: ‘the game is not worth the candle…burning the candle at both ends’ and I do not need to explain them, I hope.

Forsyth gives us some old friends, familiar from our own delving. ‘Grog’ whence ‘groggy’ one of a number of expressions which come out of our long maritime tradition. Pipe down, taken aback, by the board, leeway, long shot, tide over, bitter end, knowing the ropes, the devil to pay, splice the main brace, cut and run, in the doldrums spring to mind. And with what cheery delight Forsyth explodes the nonsense of the so-called origin of some acronyms: Store High In Transit as an instruction for stowing baggage on a boat; Wily Oriental Gentleman for those of a different coloured skin from thos using the term. He skips past POSH discrediting it, though without explanation, the usual source relating to women avoiding a tan during the ocean passage to India. Such obviously fanciful confections have that brass on the tongue taste of urban myth alternative facts, and ignorance.

Why do we speak of scooping the pool … taking a crap or talking it … talking turkey … eating a frankfurter, a hot dog?

I was recently taken aback by the pontification of a so-called expert in matters cultural who said that the Greeks had no word for blue. Colours can indeed be difficult to pin down in the ancient language; however, the lexicon supplies the answer here and it’s important because such a patently erroneous statement needs to be challenged. In writing to refute I refrained from saying pipe down.

The Greek word for blue is kuanos and there are several references in the Iliad and Odyssey, of enamel adornment on a shield or the folds of a garment - not definitive, of course. However, elsewhere Greek authors use it of a cornflower, lapis lazuli and blue carbonate which pins the colour. Add to this the fact that the word cyanide, which is blue, comes directly from the Greek. Moreover, the blue sea is sometimes referred to as cyan.

I leave you to discover the story Forsyth tells behind why we boot up a computer, but it’s intriguing for sure.

And some delicious touches: On WE Henley who wrote Invictus Forsyth comments ‘And not much else…thank God.’ Amen to that.

The Etymologicon is published by Icon Books.

Guest review by Alison Layland: SARN HELEN, a Journey through Wales, Past, Present and Future, by Tom Bullough

"What a journey he takes us on! Far more than a travelogue, far more than nature writing, far more than a social history of Wales, this is a cry from the heart." 

Photograph by Trina Layland

Alison Layland is the author of two psychological thrillers: Someone Else’s Conflict, a compelling narrative of storytelling and the aftermath of war, and Riverflow, a story of family secrets and community tensions against a background of flooding and environmental protest. She also writes short stories and flash fiction; she won the short story competition at the National Eisteddfod in 2002, and her story Quirky Robbers is featured in the Honno crime anthology, Cast A Long Shadow. Her new novel, After the Clearances, a climate fiction novel set in 2050 Wales, will be published by Honno in July 2025.

When not writing, she is an environmental and social campaigner, who enjoys walking, crafting, growing and foraging around her home on the beautiful coast of Anglesey. More on Alison's website.

Until recently, serious consideration of the climate and nature crises was relatively rare in books aimed at a general readership. How wonderful, then, to see the trend changing as this passionate book was chosen as the overall winner of the Welsh Book of the Year 2024.

The titular Sarn Helen – Helen’s Causeway, a Roman road running the length of Wales from Neath in the south to Llandudno and the Great Orme in the north – is the thread that binds Tom Bullough’s insightful observations together. The author began his long-distance walk, which he undertook in sections over the period of almost a year, in 2020, following the first Covid lockdown – potent timing, since this zoonotic pandemic was yet another consequence of the damage people are doing, and have done, to the natural world. The precise route of Sarn Helen has been lost in places, but with a blend of detective work and guesswork, he managed to follow to its end. Like the conquering Romans who built the road, it has been superseded and overlaid by centuries of development – a fitting portent for the direction in which our modern society is heading.

And what a journey he takes us on! Far more than a travelogue, far more than nature writing, far more than a social history of Wales, this is a cry from the heart. The writing is immersive and each chapter is preceded by a wonderful illustration by renowned artist, Jackie Morris, who also provides the cover. Yet even here, there is a dark undercurrent, for we are told in the introduction that each of the fifteen beautiful species – birds, mammals, insects and plants – are among the 17% of species threatened with imminent national extinction. This sets the tone, for while describing the landscapes he walks through, their people and wildlife, in all their glory and diversity, Tom Bullough never lets us forget the threats they are facing, or the damage that has been done – from over-grazed uplands to the all-pervasive noise pollution of aeroplanes and other vehicles.

It’s often hard to strike the right balance when writing about the climate – too much doom and gloom and readers either despair or are driven to feel there’s nothing they can do so why bother? Too much optimism and it’s easy to give the impression that all’s well with the world. Sarn Helen strikes just the right balance. The author’s passion for the Welsh landscape and people, its wildlife, mythology and history, shines through, celebrating what is all around us, but never shying away from the what we have lost and still stand to lose, as well as the desperate need for change. Although the nature writing, conveyed with a vivid attention to detail, is beautiful, the book shows that, as in the wider world, the problems facing Wales are not all directly related to the climate and nature. He explores Wales’s social and industrial history in some depth, even looking back to mythological times and chronicling a fascination with the Celtic saints, whose world was much closer to nature and more respectful of the ecosystems around us than our own.

For some chapters, and sections of his walk, he is joined by poet and novelist Chris Meredith, with whom he discusses the industrial history of the Valleys and the impact of the post-industrial legacy on both landscape and people, and by writer and fellow activist Jay Griffiths, whose observations add companionable touches of spark and humour. Throughout, from the industrial to the agricultural, people are the key. Miners or farmers, saints or Roman conquerors, people are placed in the context of their landscape. Climate breakdown and nature depletion not only impact the natural world, but the people who live there – and it is the people who hold the key to the solutions.

These moments of companionship are full of relatable debate, humour and fascinating dialogue. The other interludes, however, are a stark clarion call: the travelogue is punctuated by interviews with experts – a climate scientist, an ecologist, a coastal scientist and a geographer – which add scientific context but also a terrifying intensity. Although they set out the problems facing Wales, and the wider world, clearly and objectively, the interviewees’ despair at the lack of action to halt climate change and nature depletion is pervasive and their emotions all the more hard-hitting coming from professionals in their respective fields.

A similar authenticity is added by the author’s own campaigning. While protesting with Extinction Rebellion in September 2020, he was arrested, and his journey along Sarn Helen is interrupted in April 2021 by a court hearing. The text of his speech to the court is deeply personal and moving – the more poignant today as environmental protesters are now banned by law from presenting such defences.

Actions speak louder than words – or do they? In the case of Sarn Helen, Tom Bullough’s beautifully crafted words are as potent as many actions, in that they will hopefully inspire anyone who reads them, firstly, to love and value the world around them, and then to do all they can to try and put a stop to the damage that modern society is causing.

Sarn Helen by Tom Bullough, with illustrations by Jackie Morris, is published by Granta, 2023

Alison Layland's Riverflow is reviewed here by Linda Newbery.

A VOICE IN THE NIGHT by Simon Mason, reviewed by Adèle Geras

" ... a nuanced rivalry which veers from irritation to anger to wonderfully complicated friendship which neither man would actually describe as such, but which is nevertheless real and touching."

Adèle Geras has written many books for children and young adults and seven novels for adults, the latest of which (under the pseudonym Hope Adams) is Dangerous Women, published by Michael Joseph. She lives in Cambridge.

For anyone who does not know him, Simon Mason is, as well as a wonderful writer, a friend of this blog. He was our special guest recently and we are fans of his work.

On one level, Mason might be said to write quite a traditional sort of crime story. His Wilkins and Wilkins series (I'm calling them that. I haven't seen them described so in newspapers) contains two cops, contrasted in many ways, solving crimes in a particular area. There are the accustomed wisecracks, of course, but in addition this pair share both a surname and initials. They started work on the same day but the differences between them couldn't be greater. Of course, these lead to much comedy along the way but also create a nuanced rivalry which veers from irritation to anger to wonderfully complicated friendship which neither man would actually describe as such, but which is nevertheless real and touching. On the cover of A Voice in the Night, Mick Herron calls them "crime fiction's most entertaining double act in decades" and he's right.

Ray Wilkins is very handsome, Black, sharply dressed and a graduate. Ryan Wilkins is skinny as a rake, wears dreadful clothes (a lime green puffa jacket features in this book) and comes from a decaying estate. His father was abusive. His late wife died of a drug overdose. He's no beauty but has a fine line in repartee and huge charm, at least for me. He's what would definitely be called "poor white trash" in the USA. But he has a superb instinct for people, and can deal with them in a way most other policemen cannot. He lives with his sister, Jade, who works at the Co-op. Most importantly of all, he's father to little Ryan who is easily the most wonderful toddler I can remember in recent fiction. The relationship between father and son is what lifts these novels up out of the general run of crime books. It's movingly described and often provides another dimension to whatever is going on in the police action.

This novel is the fourth in the series. I am a believer in starting series with Book 1, but it's not strictly necessary. What you miss starting with Book 4 is the history: what's gone on between Ryan and his son, between Ryan and Ray, between Ryan and his police chiefs, between the police and a nice assortment of low-life living and committing crime around Oxford. My advice: you ought to buy all four books at once ...

This one is terrific. The body of a linguistics professor is found still dressed in his pyjamas, dripping wet and lying on the lawn in front of a hotel. There's also been a security guard stabbed to death during an armed robbery. On top of all that, there's a new female officer in charge of things at the station and charged with clearing up these matters. DCS Wainwright is much more than she at first appears, and very interesting.

Meanwhile, back home, Jade and little Ryan are threatened by a gang whom Ryan has met before. Michael, the chief young yobbo, is superbly described. Even villains in Mason's book are portrayed in a three-dimensional way.

Just over half way through the book, something happens that was like a sledgehammer to the heart. I'm not saying another word. But be assured, in the end we reach a solution. Mason even manages to pull off that wonderful trick of a surprise as the last thing we read ... a rare event in fiction. I hope lots of people get to know Ray and Ryan before the inevitable TV adaptation, because (and I am not sure why I've left this till the end) one of the glories of these novels is the way they're written. Oxford and the countryside around it come subtly to life and every sentence is elegant and perfectly judged. Mason's prose is not show-offish or mannered but simply elegant and suited in every way to the story he's telling.

A Voice in the Night is published by riverrun.

Simon Mason's feature for our 8th birthday last July: on the crime fiction of Peter Temple.