Book reviews by writers or independent booksellers, with occasional special features. We choose our own recommendations: fiction, non-fiction, memoirs, poetry, nature writing. We hope you'll enjoy our selections and keep coming back for more. Follow us on Facebook, X (Writersreview1) and Bluesky (@writersreview.bsky.social). Our new venture, Writers Review Publishing, launched in April - see website link in sidebar and Q&As with the authors.
Monday, 27 April 2026
WRITERS REVIEW PUBLISHING marks its first birthday
Monday, 29 December 2025
BOOKS OF THE YEAR Part 3: chosen by our contributors
Here's the final part of our roundup and our chance to thank our reviewers for their generous contributions throughout the year. We couldn't do this without you! Thanks too to all our followers. We hope everyone's found something here - or maybe several titles - to add to your reading pile for 2026.
Sometimes picking up a proof copy can lead to a major reading experience. Such is the case with Solvej Balle’s On the Calculation of Volume. The story of how an antiquarian book dealer awakes continuously on the 18th November and how she attempts to adapt is told a day at a time. I'm now up to Volume 3 of a planned septology and I can’t stop recommending them.
Penny Dolan chooses A Voice in the Night by Simon Mason, the fourth in his excellent ‘DI Wilkins’ crime series: Two murders, set in a rather unlovely Oxford: the stabbing of a security guard and a mysterious death-by-drowning of a retired academic.
Though each Wilkins goes their own way in sorting out the mystery, they also face painful responsibilities in their own lives. A Voice in the Night, with its compelling heart, makes my Book of the Year 2025, though I must add that the three earlier DI Wilkins novels are worth reading first.
Mary Hoffman: My fiction-reading has involved a lot of re-reads. I discovered Elly Griffiths’ wonderful Ruth Galloway series of detective novels in June and have read all fifteen and am now re-reading them. The first is The Crossing Places and I heartily recommend them. The heroine is middle-aged, not slim and fashionable, but is a forensic archaeologist. Yet Ruth Galloway is not short of male admirers.
I’ve also been re-reading my way through my extensive Anne Tyler collection and am six books in so far. I got the latest Jackson Brodie novel by Kate Atkinson at Christmas last year – Murder at the Sign of the Rook (Doubleday), so of course I then had to re-read all the others. And I belong to a book group which also sometimes supplies titles I know already, including my own choice, The Leopard (Collins and Harvill Press) by Giuseppe Tommasi di Lampedusa, partly inspired by the recent Netflix series, which played fast and loose with the plot but was beautifully cast and filmed. It was first published in Italy in 1958 and the English translation two years later, both after the author’s death. I must have first read it in sixth form; anyway, I seem always to have known it and it remains one of my favourite books.
Other favourite re-reads of the years have been Hilary Mantel’s The Mirror and the Light, which I enjoyed much more second time round and Irène Nemirovsky’s Suite Française, which ditto. Our last book club title of the Year is Pip Williams’ The Dictionary of Lost Words and it is a corker. It may be hard to write a page-turner about a (fictional) girl helping to compile the OED, but Williams has done it. Happy reading!
Mark Davies has also chosen The Dictionary of Lost Words: Set largely in Oxford, the novel is structured to track the creation of the Oxford English Dictionary in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries through the life of the first-person character, Esme. As the daughter of one of the editors, Esme's awareness of the significance of words begins as a small child. As a adult, she is employed at the Dictionary, and determines to try to include 'lost' words of a more feminine derivation, having realised that the Dictionary was a male-dominated domain: the editors and compilers were men, the majority of cited sources were written by men, and most of the researchers were men. By retrieving otherwise ignored or mislaid words, and by talking to working class women, Esme collects the basis of her own small alternative 'Lost Words' dictionary. This feminist theme is interwoven with the simultaneous activities of the suffragette movement and the nursing of soldiers injured in the First World War, making the book both engaging, thought-provoking, and educational.Jane Dalton: My pick is The Glass Hotel by Emily St John Mandel. Ostensibly a warning of the devastation wreaked by ponzi schemes, this strange and haunting novel carries an undercurrent of a world in which women pay the price for men’s crimes and selfishness.
Chief among them is Vincent, who at school was straight-As pupil but whose talents go unrecognised. Without a career, she becomes a fake trophy wife to the "super-rich" Jonathan Alkaitis, while her half-brother Paul plagiarises her video work. He squanders his college education funded by his mother, whereas Vincent is haunted by the loss of her own beloved mother.
The many different shifts in time, perspective and tenses - present and past, including Paul justifying his actions to a therapist in later years - make for a read that’s as unsettling as offensive messages written on a hotel window - a key plot point.At the end, I had to return to the start to better relish the nuances and detail of the rich narrative in context.
Jane Dalton is a journalist for the Independent. Her first novel is currently out on submission to publishers.
Leslie Wilson's choice is When I Was, by Miranda Miller. What struck me about this novel was the vulnerability of people trying to be adults, and somehow never managing it; the deeply insecure parents are imprisoned by their class and difficult background, trying to negotiate the world without enough tools to do so, at least not enough to fool other adults that they know what they're doing, and aren't we all like that at times? The four children are also struggling through their lives, particularly the youngest, an observant, sometimes truculent little girl who loves her parents in spite of their failings. The family relationships ring absolutely true.
There are passages of wonderful comedy, particularly the abortive excursion to
Brighton in a hire car, which turns out a disaster, particularly for the car.
There's also deep and devastating sadness.
Engaging, perceptive and compassionate, this is a novel that’s hard to put
down.
Leslie Wilson’s latest novel is The War’s Not Over Yet.
Jane Rogers chooses Juice by Tim Winton: I love Winton’s work but I’d read enough utterly depressing cli-fi dystopias to feel reluctant about starting this. Juice is set in a lawless, scorched, barren Australia 200 years in the future – how could it not be grim? But Winton is a compelling writer. His narrator spins his tale to save his own life, at the hands of a lone killer who holds him, and the child he is trying to protect, captive. There are layers and layers of suspense, not just about the narrator but about his mother, wife, and child, and about the violent climate justice organisation both he and his captor have worked for (the chief targets are heirs to Big Oil). Winton is brilliant at raising complex moral issues; blame, revenge, honesty, and love. The astonishing humanity of the story makes it much much more than the recital of bleakness I was fearing. And his introduction of honourable AI in the final third of the novel raises questions which continue to haunt me.Becky Jones: The book I loved most this year was The Wedding People by Alison Espach. It was the first book for a long time that hooked me on the very first page. Phoebe, a divorced academic, arrives at the Cornwall Inn to find she is the only guest who is not there for the elaborate week-long wedding of Lila and Gary. When the bride realises, she is furious – this depressed stranger could ruin her meticulously planned celebrations. As things pan out, however, Phoebe becomes important to her in ways neither of them could have imagined.
What I loved about this book was the writing – sometimes I find myself aware of the craft of writing which can sometimes detract from the enjoyment as a reader. But with this book, I could admire the writing whilst laughing and crying and being fully absorbed in the story. The premise was perfect – a week-long wedding in a hotel. It was a stage set for drama, full of surprises with wonderful, fully formed characters and sparkling, funny dialogue. But what I loved most was the way themes of loneliness, depression, grief and being different were treated with such humour. An uplifting read.
In The Colony, the inhabitants of a small island off the coast of Ireland are visited by an English artist and a French linguist, who battle one another for the soul of the island’s people and their language, to the bewilderment of the islanders themselves. In a microcosm of colonialism, their desires and actions have profound consequences. This is a beautifully written, engaging read with brilliant characterisation and dialogue, and so much between the lines.
Other excellent island-based novels I’ve read this year are: Little Great Island by Kate Woodworth; Wild Dark Shore by Charlotte McConaghy; Muckle Flugga by Michael Pedersen; Island by Jane Rogers. Maybe I’ve been drawn to island-set novels recently as my novel, After the Clearances, is largely set on the fictional island of Ynys Hudol, inspired by Bardsey off the north-west coast of Wales.
Alison Layland's latest publication is After the Clearances.
‘I need it’ marks the point when de Céspedes’ character steps beyond the role of compliant housewife and selfless mother and speaks for herself. The ‘forbidden notebook’ – her diary of domestic events – becomes a document of resistance: reports from a strange country.
Written five years after the fall of Italian fascism; 18 months after the publication of The Second Sex, Valeria Cossati walks towards our own time. She says, ‘This is what I saw; this is what I worked out.’
Secondly, Long Island by Colm Toibin. I loved Brooklyn, both film and book, so was keen to catch up with Eilis Lacey, Tony Fiorello and Jim Farrell. We’re now in the 1970s and all is not well. Toibin writes so well about the longings and disappointments of his characters and leaves us on a cliff edge. I eagerly await the third instalment.
Linda Sargent's choice is What you are looking for is in the Library by Michiko Aoyama, translated by Alison Watts: a Japanese bestseller and it’s easy to see why. The story unfolds as we follow the interlinking lives of five characters from a range of ages and backgrounds, but all are at some kind of turning point in their life. They arrive at a community centre/library and are directed to the librarian Sayuri Komachi, who has an uncanny, almost magical, gift for deep empathy and she directs them to seemingly unlikely books that turn out to be exactly what they need. All the while she makes tiny felt gifts and all five of the characters in this story are given one, which is also significant in their progress too. I especially liked Masao’s crab which ends up on his daughter’s bag and is a pathway to their greater connection too. It is a book about community, connection, listening and kindness. Perfect for these somewhat overwhelming times in the world and emphasising the necessary treasure provided by libraries and librarians. I loved it.
Jon Appleton chooses The Light of Day by Christopher Stephens and Louise Radnofsky, a compelling addition to the canon of queer British history.
Roger Butler was the first British man to publicly admit his homosexuality, lighting a touchpaper at a time (1960) when society condemned ‘inversion’, before sexual acts between consenting men were legalised. Christopher Stephens was a young Oxford student who became the older man’s friend and was gifted, upon Roger’s death, an episodic letter which revealed not only the unrequited longing Roger had for him (about which he knew) but the man’s extraordinary life as a private citizen turned activist during the early years of gay liberation. Extracts are interspersed with Christopher’s reflections on the friendship, on his own story, on the tricky matter of offering the right levels of affection and admiration to those we revere – not just in their lifetime but after they’ve died. It’s a compelling mix and part of the reason it’s my book of the year is that just a few streets away from where Christopher visited Roger in East Oxford, I made visits to my own friend and hero, writer Jan Mark, and since her death I have grappled with many of the questions Christopher confronts.
Jon Appleton is editor of the gab, which celebrates 20th century children’s literature: lettersfromrobin.com/the-gab
Slow Down and Be Here Now is a book that immediately needs to be introduced into children’s lives (maybe adults too). As are other titles in the Slow Down series. Written by Laura Brand and illustrated by Freya Hartas, it starts off with a simple tip - Be Here Now!
Each of the short 46 chapters is fascinating and some of my favourites are: Watch a Duck Coat its Feathers, See a Grasshopper Jump, Watch a Family of Hermit Crabs Move House. And if I get the time, I will do just that.
The book’s premise?
When it is almost impossible to find joy, feel peace or follow curiosity, there
are ways you can look after yourself, calm your body and mind, and being
immersed in nature is just one of them. All you need do to see them is slow down.
Venkatesh Swami is the proprietor, with Swati Roy, of Eureka! Bookstore in New Delhi.
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Monday, 22 December 2025
BOOKS OF THE YEAR part 2 - chosen by our contributors
Judith Allnatt recommends The Book of Fire by Christi Lefteri. In Greece, a family is left physically and emotionally scarred by a fire that destroys their home and a vast tract of beautiful forest. They are Irini, a bazouka player, Tasso, an artist, and Chara, a sweet child. The story switches between the present with the family struggling to recover and the past – their terrifying jump from a cliff into the sea to escape and the fire’s aftermath.
Alongside the family’s journey from despair to hope there are questions to answer about who is responsible for the disaster. Is it Mr Monk, the man who illegally started to clear land for his hotel development, the emergency services that were slow to respond, the government, or is climate change and therefore all of us? To what extent are each to blame?
This is a moving book and, as with Lefteri’s other novels The Beekeeper of Aleppo and Songbirds, it brought me near to tears. The author has a clear-sighted view of human destructiveness but also has great compassion.
Mary Hoffman: My Book of the Year is Helen Castor’s magnificent The Eagle and the Hart, an imaginative historical comparison of the two first cousins Richard II and Henry IV. Richard, with his effeminacy, love of luxury, preference for male “favourites” and refusal to name an heir, was unsuited to kingship in every way but he was the legitimate next in line to the throne, the remaining son of Edward (later known as the Black Prince). His grandfather, Edward III, and his older brother, another Edward, predeceased him, so Richard became king at the age of ten.
Henry, on the other hand, had every quality needed in a king. He was intelligent, brave, a champion jouster, happily wedded to his childhood sweetheart and the father of four lusty sons and two daughters before tragedy struck and his wife Mary died in her last childbed. But Henry was not the heir. The two men were born within months of each other, married close together and lost their wives only weeks apart.
Henry’s father was the great magnate John of Gaunt, the
richest man in England after the king, Edward III’s third son. They were both
mistrusted and overlooked by King Richard. Things came to a head when Richard
sent Henry, who had not been tried or convicted for any crime, into exile in
France. Gaunt died months later and Richard stole Henry’s great inheritance –
all titles and lands. It was a disaster waiting to happen.
Historical storytelling at its best.
Mary Hoffman's latest publication is David: the Unauthorised Autobiography.
From Cathy Cassidy: This is Happiness by Niall Williams had me hooked from the first sentence. Fiction disguised as memoir, it's light on plot but brimful of heart, humanity, grief and love, a kind of time machine taking you back to 1950s rural Ireland. Both place and character are drawn perfectly, and the prose is clean, clever and beautiful in its simplicity. The novel charts the unlikely friendship between seventeen year old Noe, fresh from the seminary, and sixty-something Christy, who has been tasked with siting the poles that will connect the village of Faha to the National Grid. The novel unfolds slowly, but along with the details of village life come shards of pure beauty and insights into love, life and loss. I've read a LOT of books this year, but none have moved me as much as this one. I absolutely loved it.Cathy Cassidy is the author of the Chocolate Box Girls series and other children’s books.
Pippa Goodhart chooses The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley: this novel is a breath of fresh air. Far from perfect, but full of energy, ideas and beautiful writing, it’s rich and original, and I’ll certainly read it again.
Kaliane Bradley is a Penguin book editor who found herself shut-in alone and bored during Covid lockdowns. She watched a television programme about the HMS Erebus polar expedition, and semi fell in love with naval officer Graham Gore (look online for his photo!) who died, but it isn’t known quite how. She found other enthusiasts online, and began writing a bit of time travel fantasy for their entertainment. To her surprise, that then grew into this, her first novel, The Ministry of Time.
It's written in the first person by disaffected female civil servant, brought into The Ministry of Time to become a ‘handler’ for an ‘expat’ brought from the past to be studied. Thus, gorgeous but of his time Graham Gore comes to live in her flat, bemused by washing machines, Spotify, doing your own cooking, feminism, computers, but gallantly trying to assimilate. Also brought from the past at moments when they died alone, and therefore history won’t be disturbed by their removal from it, come characters from 1645, 1665, 1793, and 1916, from whores to soldiers. Friendships and tensions arise, sometimes very funny, often poignant.
What to do with this situation she has created? The story becomes a tangle of sci-fi, rom-com, study of race and empire, and it doesn’t all convincingly resolve. But, no matter. The ride has been thought-provoking and fun!
Pippa Goodhart's latest publication is You Choose Bedtime, illustrated by Nick Sharratt.
Sarah LeFanu chooses Binocular Vision: New and Selected Stories by Edith Pearlman: My friend Hannah sent me this wonderful short story collection for my birthday in the summer. I had never heard of Edith Pearlman, although she has been writing short stories for 40 years and has won numerous awards in the USA. She’s nowhere near as famous as the writers to whom she is most often compared, Alice Munro and John Updike. Each of Pearlman’s sentences provides pleasure. She has a broader scope than Munro, and is more subtle and compassionate than Updike. The stories range widely in place (New England, old Russia, Central America, the remote mountains of Hungary), in character and voice, and in subject-matter. They are utterly serious, shot through with humour, and quietly surprising. Now I am slowly re-reading them, savouring their rich complexity. When I looked her up, I found she had died in early 2023. I shall track down her earlier collections.
He could of course be partying; celebrating the arrival of the new year; doing what ordinary people do. But no: he's a twitcher. And so we follow Dooley's adventures as he travels and ticks his way through the country: its swamps and sewage works (yes, you read that right); its heat and dust. Seasickness plays its part as well as flat tyres in the desert. A book written by a man aware of his own eccentricities. And no girlfriend.
The Greek idea of three Furies, known, euphemistically, as Eumenides ‘kindly ones’ (an interesting paradox in itself) underpins this vital study of a dark corner of the human psyche. Greek myth emerged from an extraordinarily acute sensibility which, in its turn gave birth to the tragedies of Aeschylus, Euripides and Sophocles, the work that forms the very foundation of our own drama. Full review coming in 2026.
The title story begins: the women came with flowers, each one a different shade of red. Later, the priest stares at the line of her scalp where the shining red hair is parted.
At the wedding feast there is humour, and threat. After the best man urinates, he turns before his cock is put away. It is a huge cock and he has difficulty getting it back into the rented trousers.
Walk the Blue Fields is the bittersweet story of a man whose love got away. The spare writing is full of sadness, yet after the visit to the mysterious Chinaman, the priest thinks after all that, The spring has come, dry and promising.
In Claire Keegan’s writing, there is so much more than meets the eye. Ireland struggles with its dark past. (Here I want to mention So Late in the Day, a shattering novella about Cathal’s inherited misogyny, which destroys his own happiness.
Hilary Mantel said that Keegan writes with a certain stony-eyed realism about human experience. Yes. And she doesn’t write enough stories for me.
And finally: Julia Jarman's choice is The Glory Cloak by Patricia O’Brien. The glory cloak of the title fixes this novel in my memory, sparking others of people, places and actions, some of which I’d rather forget. The novel is an alternative biography of Louisa M Alcott, written from the point of view of a fictitious character, Susan Gray, who gets closer to her than even her sisters did, joining her in the Union Hospital in Washington DC where, during the American Civil War, Louisa nursed soldiers and fell in love. It’s a story of passionate love and passionate self-denial – and it rings true, because of the writer’s skill and meticulous historical research.
The glory cloak itself was real. Luxurious, made of red and green silk, it was confined to the dressing-up box in the Quakerish Alcott household. But Louisa’s mother once placed it round her shoulders to inspire her ‘to do great things’.
Monday, 5 May 2025
Q&A: Celia Rees interviews Mary Hoffman about DAVID: THE UNAUTHORISED AUTOBIOGRAPHY
Mary: It’s a tricky one. The original edition was published as YA, as you say, but reviewed in the UK press and on radio as an adult novel. My usual co-edition partners in Europe found it a bit too “adult” for their YA lists and I’m not convinced it was then seen by the adult editors and rights people in those publishing houses. We’ll never know. So I thought it should be re-issued with a better cover as as an adult novel. I made only minor changes to the text. I was told at the Bologna Book Fair this year that YA fiction is mainly read by 18-25-year-olds now anyway. So I think it may be that recent category “New Adult."
Celia: You have achieved remarkable success in a long writing career that has seen 90 books published for ages ranging from pre-school to Adult. What would your advice be to someone just starting out?
Mary: It’s 125 now! My first book was published 50 years ago, amazingly. But the publishing scene is so different now I don’t think my experiences would be relevant to someone just starting out. My advice based on what is going on now would be:
• Read widely. There was never a half-decent writer who wasn’t a voracious reader.
• Don’t give up the day job. The average annual earnings for a writer in the UK are £7K and that average is reached by including top sellers.
• Don’t write unless you must.
• Be professional, not a hobbyist, even when it is not your paid job.
• Be prepared to write many drafts.
• Try to get an agent; you will be more likely to be published if you have one.
Celia: You have an unusually wide range from picture books to adult novels. Do you have a favourite age to write for and what is your favourite genre?
Mary: What I like best is when the idea comes bringing its right length and format with it. I know now when an idea is going to be a picture book or a longer work of fiction but that took a while. My role model is the marvellous late New Zealand writer Margaret Mahy, who wrote from picture books to YA - all of the highest quality. I usually have more than one book on the go simultaneously, but whichever one I’m working on at the time is my favourite book and genre.
Celia: Your love of Italy shines through much of your YA and adult fiction. My favourites are your Stravaganza series, set in different Renaissance cities. Would you be tempted to write more of these novels, set in other cities?
Mary: I had outlines for a further six cities, characters and plots, but the publisher didn’t want more than the original six. Each book took nine months to a year to research and write and I needed a publisher’s advance to live on while I wrote them so self-publishing wasn’t an option.
Celia: Your love of Renaissance Florence and your ability to capture the life of the city are most evident in David. What made you want to write about the creation of one of the world’s most famous statues by one of the world’s most renowned artists? Did you ever feel in any way daunted by the task that you had set yourself?
Mary: Two things. I wanted to re-create the feeling of what it was like to see an iconic work of art for the first time. The Mona Lisa features in the book too, while it is being painted! And secondly, we have masses of information about the statue: the contract for it, the minutes of the committee meeting about where it should be placed, how it was moved from Michelangelo’s workshop to the Piazza della Signoria etc. But nothing at all abut the model, not even if there was one. That’s what I like best, when writing historical fiction, lots of facts to draw on but a great big gap where you can create the story.
Celia: Lastly, the inevitable question; would you care to share with us what you are working on now?
Mary: I don’t want to jinx it by revealing too much but I am about two chapters and an epilogue away from the end of the first draft of a historical novel for adults, set in the 14th century. Not Italy this time but England. I am obsessed with the Plantagenets and it is the first in a proposed trilogy. But it is uncommissioned, even though a senior Churchman believes in it so completely he has offered to host the (entirely notional) launch in his building in a certain Cathedral close! We shall see.
Most people of my age have retired but the “r” word is banned in our house. Remember what I advised about needing to write? It's who I am. I can’t imagine a day when I’m not writing, editing, proofreading, publicising or talking about books - oh yes, and reading them.
David: the Unauthorised Autobiography is published by Writers Review Publishing.
Monday, 24 March 2025
Special feature: WRITERS REVIEW PUBLISHING!
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 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
*
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
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.
Monday, 10 February 2020
Guest review by Mary Hoffman: A GENTLEMAN IN MOSCOW by Amor Towles
In 2016, this second novel by a New York “investment professional” was released by Penguin Random House in hardback. It is one of those books that is a word of mouth success and has now sold around two million copies since publication. Although well-reviewed at the time and a Waterstones Book of the Month for two months, as well as being bought for a TV series with Kenneth Branagh, it remained a bit of a connoisseur’s choice.
I’d heard good things about it and even given it to an acquaintance without having read it myself and then it was one of my book group’s choices last year. When it arrived, it looked a bit disappointing, even though garlanded with enthusiastic review quotes. It has a dull black, white and grey cover, with an old gent looking out over a balcony, enlivened only by the gold-embossed title. The back-cover blurb doesn’t entice either.
But let none of this put you off; this book is a real treat.
Alexander Ilyich Rostov is an aristocrat who came back to Moscow after the Revolution and has lived in the Hotel Metropol for four years when he is invited to an interview with the Emergency Committee of the People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs. No-one at the hotel expects him to return from this “interview,” which is in fact a trial; the likelihood is that he will be shot.
But he is saved by a “revolutionary” poem which has his name on it and is returned to the Metropol, where he is sentenced to live under house arrest for the rest of his days. But not in his former luxurious suite. His furniture and belongings – such as will fit – are taken up to servants’ quarters in the attic, where he has one poky room.
But Rostov is a man of infinite resource and sagacity and makes one little room an everywhere.
Time passes and he ages and over the years makes indestructible friendships with members of staff, an American diplomat, a doomed prince, a famous actress and even the Chief Administrator of the security special branch at the Kremlin (leading after hundreds of pages to one of the funniest lines in the book).
For life at the Metropol is full of visitors and guests from all over the world; it is the very essence of cosmopolitanism, even during the most restrictive years of the new régime. But the most influential presences in Rostov’s new life are two little girls: first Nina, the nine-year-old daughter of a Ukrainian bureaucrat, who opens up the secrets of the hotel to the Count and gives him a passkey that opens all doors. Then, much later, her daughter Sofia, whom she leaves in his care and to whom he becomes a surrogate father.
No detail is wasted in this highly-wrought novel, with its meticulously constructed architecture. There is no set-up without its payoff, though you might have to wait many pages and passing years for it.
Rostov becomes head waiter at the hotel’s premier restaurant and his relationship with the chef and the maitre d’ – the “triumvirate” – underpins his life, as a man in reduced circumstances who is always nevertheless a gentleman. And among his many personal resources, he has a stack of gold coins hidden in his desk, which comes in handy when he is plotting something.
As he does, magnificently, in the long finale, which builds to a pitch, as Rostov takes advantage of Sofia’s playing the piano in a concert in Paris, utilising all his contacts, to give her – and himself – a new life.
I have just read Amor Towles’ first novel, Rules of Civility, which couldn’t be more different. It is set in New York in the late ‘30s and early ‘40s and the protagonist is a young woman. The only thing that links them is that perhaps they both deal with how people should behave in difficult situations, even though in the first book they don’t always manage to live up to their own standards.
In A Gentleman in Moscow, Towles pulls off that difficult trick of creating a genuinely good person, who is never dull. Whether shooting a fellow aristocrat who has cheated on his sister or not shooting an inferior who has tried to make his life a misery for years, Rostov abides inimitably by his own “rules of civility.” He might throw himself off the hotel’s roof or sit up there eating honey from the handyman’s bees.
He might observe a trio of escaped geese on a floor of the hotel or play invented word games over dinner with Sofia or make love to a beautiful woman. He might identify a mystery ingredient in a dish created by the chef or steal a passport from a hotel guest. Whatever he does, it is the essence of cool; only Nina and Sofia ever dumbfound him.
Amor Towles’ sensibility is as subtle and fine as Count Rostov’s palate. Whatever he writes next, I will read it.















































