Category: Books

Thirteen Guests (1936): J. Jefferson Farjeon

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★★★

John Foss, a young man in a state of distraction, gets his foot caught while leaving the train at the country station of Flensham. Badly injured, he providentially finds himself sharing a platform with the beautiful Mrs Leveridge, who is on her way to a house party at the nearby Bragley Court. She takes John along with her, so that he can receive the attention of a doctor and rest in comfort, correctly judging that their host Lord Aveling won’t mind stretching his hospitality to another guest. But, as John is warmly greeted and installed on a couch, he realises that his presence means there will be thirteen guests at this weekend’s party. And, as the other guests trickle in, John finds himself watching to see who will be the thirteenth to pass through the doorway. He swiftly sees that all is not well at Bragley. Secrets and dislike ripple beneath the polite surface and there are strange alliances and tensions between unexpected groups of guests. And he is right to be uneasy, for by the end of the weekend three people will be dead…

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Will Storr vs. the Supernatural (2013): Will Storr

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★★★

One Man’s Search for the Truth about Ghosts

What’s your take on ghosts? Believer, undecided or sceptic? I lean towards the sceptic point of view, although I know very sensible people who believe they’ve seen ghosts. I don’t discount the possibility of there being some kind of scientific explanation, like those suggested at one point in this book, but in the cold light of day I can’t admit to ever having seen anything abnormal myself. That’s despite the fact I am the most over-imaginative, jumpiest and wimpiest of creatures – I spent much of Stranger Things Season 3 hiding behind a cushion – and that I spent a large part of my teenage years hanging around in an ancient graveyard after dark (I was a bell-ringer; practise nights were obligatory). But I don’t have all the answers and that’s why I bought this book when it was on offer. It does indeed prove to be an intriguing journey, which explores various aspects of the paranormal and – more fascinating still – brings you into the company of (forgive me) some very odd people and profoundly weird events. Whether you’re convert or cynic, you might end up leaving the light on…

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Conversations with Friends (2017): Sally Rooney

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★★★★

Sally Rooney’s debut novel was a phenomenon. It got people talking, tapping into the zeitgeist in a way that catapulted it onto bestseller tables and lists. Now it’s on the verge of being turned into a BBC series. Somehow I’ve managed to avoid reading it until now; not a conscious choice, I hasten to add, but simply the accident of having too many books and not enough time. It was worth the wait, though I must confess that my primary emotion on finishing it was relief that I am no longer of Frances’s and Bobbi’s generation. How exhausting it all seems in retrospect: the relentless posturing; the confusion of sarcasm with chic; the vulnerability of not yet knowing who you are; and the conviction that identity can only be discovered by taking on the world alone, anew, afresh. And how perfectly Rooney writes about that awkward age of self-definition, following two robustly vivid protagonists through a heady, sun-drenched summer. A delightful, very modern comedy of manners; but comedy in its darkest, most ironic hue.

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Bats in the Belfry (1937): E.C.R. Lorac

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★★★½

On a cold March evening, a group of friends amuse themselves with a morbid intellectual game. They compete to come up with the best way to dispose of an unwanted corpse. This all seems like a cheerfully shocking, daring kind of game in a chic drawing room near Regent’s Park, but within a few days it all starts to feel horribly prophetic. First, one of the party goes missing. Then a gruesome discovery raises the likelihood of murder, and the remaining members of the group find themselves under the unwelcome scrutiny of Inspector MacDonald of Scotland Yard. Under the bright beam of his eye, fissures and rivalries emerge, and he swiftly realises that there’s more to this particular case than meets the eye. A classic old-school murder mystery, first published in 1937, this is jolly engaging stuff with a powerful sense of place. London, from Regent’s Park to Notting Hill and the Strand, is just as central a character as any of our suspects. But now to the key question. Is Bruce Attleton really dead? And, if so, who killed him? And why?

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Liar’s Candle (2018): August Thomas

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★★½

I said just a few days ago that thrillers aren’t really my comfort zone. So you can imagine I was rather amused when, after discussing The Binding, my book club decided to go for something completely different: this fast-paced CIA thriller set in Turkey. It’s a breathless modern tale of terrorism, murky ambitions, double-dealing and innocence maligned, and it’s certainly very readable: I got through it in a couple of days. But it is weakened considerably by its complete implausibility, which I shall detail with relish in just a moment. Let’s set the scene. Naive US intern Penny Kessler has been working at the American Embassy in Ankara, Turkey, for just three weeks when she wakes up in the Ankara state hospital with a piercing headache and vague memories of an explosion. She is one of the few survivors of a terrorist bomb that detonated at the American Embassy’s Fourth of July party, killing swathes of people. Penny has also become the poster girl for the tragedy, thanks to a photo of her, dazed and blood-drenched, pulling an American flag from the rubble. Suddenly everyone is very interested in her. But are they really just interested in her welfare? Or is there something more sinister going on? Before Penny knows it, she’s on the run – and there’s no one she can trust.

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The Remedy (2005): Michelle Lovric

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★★★★

Venetian convents are famous above all things for their laxity, with sweets and cakes; visitors; fine fashions; and beautiful music. But the headstrong young woman we meet at the start of The Remedy isn’t interested in the things that come in to the convent, so much as in how to get out. She has been confined within the walls of S. Zaccaria by her noble parents, quite unfairly of course, after allegedly bringing shame on the family. Since good behaviour hasn’t made an ounce of difference to her prospects, bad behaviour might just be her ticket back out into the world. After all, everyone knows that discerning gentlemen can make donations to certain convents in exchange for the company of nuns. Such arrangements take place at S. Zaccaria and our narrator is confident that her well-bred beauty will find her a lover who’ll whisk her away. Alas! When her plans are betrayed, leaving her ruined and furious, our narrator’s prospects seem darker than ever. But then the state’s spymasters make her an offer she can’t refuse: to have her crimes wiped clean in return for service as one of their agents. A pitch-perfect tale of double-dealing, murder, sex, and opera in 18th-century Venice and London, written in sumptuous prose, this deeply satisfying period romp never quite lets you forget the grit under its fingernails.

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The Family Tooth (2015): Ellis Avery

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In this trio of very short but moving memoirs, the American author Ellis Avery revisits three key moments in her life. Each involves an uncomfortably close encounter with mortality, and a form of grieving, whether that’s for a person she once knew and loved, or a part of her life that is over. The quirky title is taken from the tooth, mounted as a pendant, that Avery finds among her late mother’s jewellery in the first part of this memoir-sequence. It becomes a symbol of the strange remnants that we leave behind us, a mere fragment of the life its unknown owner once lived. The two later memoirs show us Avery dealing with her own mortality, as she confronts a cancer diagnosis. When I first read the three bite-sized books, almost exactly a year ago on 20 February 2019, I found them engaging, pragmatic and compassionate explorations of the way we deal with grief. Little did I realise at the time that Avery had died only five days before I read them. Having read them again, knowing that, her courage and honesty – coupled with a refreshing lack of sentimentality – is all the more striking.

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The Company (2008): K.J. Parker

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★★★½

Gosh, it’s been far too long since I’ve read a K.J. Parker novel. How I’ve missed him. Reading his books can feel slightly like reading Georgette Heyer; not, I hasten to add, because they’re Regency romances (heaven forfend!), but because his stories are all rather similar. It doesn’t matter, though, because you know you’re getting into something well-crafted and entertaining, in supremely competent hands. In The Company, Parker introduces us to the former members of A Company’s line-breaker division: crack troops, sent ahead of the infantry to punch a route through the enemy’s front line of pikemen. The line-breakers became legendary: a band of men from the minor town of Faralia, who weren’t expected to last past the first battle, but who worked together to become – apparently – indestructible. Once, they were heroes. But now the war is over and most of them have moved on, taking up the threads of their old lives. When their charismatic leader Kunessin comes home with money in his pocket and a crazy dream on his mind, the rest of the company must decide whether to follow him once again. After all, if they can trust anyone in the world, they can trust each other. Right?

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Blood Orange (2019): Harriet Tyce

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★★★

On the surface, Alison seems to have the perfect life: a successful career as a London barrister; a beloved daughter; and a kind, low-key husband who doesn’t mind picking up the slack. But scratch this veneer of prosperity and a very different picture emerges. Alison drinks too much. The pressures of work mean that she simply can’t be present in her daughter’s life. She’s let down her husband Carl one too many times and their marriage is on the brink of collapse. Oh, and she’s having a disastrous, humiliating affair with her solicitor Patrick. When Alison lands her first murder case, she believes that this vindicates her obsessive focus on work at the expense of her family – but her joy is short-lived. Someone begins sending her threatening text messages. Someone knows what she’s been doing. And someone is closing in on her.

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Bel Canto (2001): Ann Patchett

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★★★½

It’s meant to be the perfect party. The vice-president of an unnamed South American country throws a lavish birthday gala in honour of Mr Hosokawa, a powerful Japanese businessman. The only difficulty has been getting Mr Hosokawa to attend his own party, since it takes a great deal to winkle him out of his quiet life in Japan. But the vice-president has hit upon the perfect enticement. Mr Hosokawa’s love of opera is legendary, as is his enthusiasm for Roxanne Coss, the world’s leading soprano. Somehow, the vice-president has pulled off the impossible: he has convinced Roxanne Coss to perform for just one night at this party, thereby giving Mr Hosokawa an inducement he can’t ignore. And everything has turned out perfectly. The silver has been polished, the guests – the great and good of the diplomatic world – are assembled, and Roxanne Coss has performed her astonishing recital. For one shimmering moment, everything is as it should be. And then the party is rudely interrupted by a group of terrorists with a grudge against the government: in one second, the guests become hostages. Ann Patchett’s novel follows what happens next. It is a hugely celebrated book – enjoying a level of popular acclaim that, perhaps, leads one to have unjustly high expectations.

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