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I’ll say from the get-go that Whistler is not going to be my #1 Ann Patchett novel of all time (I think Bel Canto might still have the title) but it is still really wonderful.

Daphne is a teacher in her 50s who, while walking The Met in New York with her husband, the older, retired doctor Jonathan, is followed by an older man. Upon confronting the man, they learn he is Eddie Triplett, who was Daphne’s stepfather for a year or two when she was a child and whom she has not seen since her mother ended the marriage. The divorce comes hot on the heels of a car accident that Eddie and Daphne had, and which Daphne believed was the catalyst for the separation. They were not a family who talked about these things; Abigail never explained why she kicked Eddie out and the girls were too young to ask. By the time they were old enough, they had a new stepfather and a new life, and Abigail wasn’t open to discussing it.

The book tells the story of their reunion and explores the why’s around the end of Eddie’s marriage to Abigail. It’s never controversial - simply an exploration of the relationship between a man and his step-daughters (Daphne has a younger sister, Leda, who is also delighted to reunite with Eddie but whose memories are more scant, given she was only seven when he exited their lives). It’s quickly clear that man and child were very fond of each other back then and that mutual love has not diminished over time; they quickly fall into the rhythm of each other’s lives and there is a delightful normality to it, despite the quite abnormal circumstances.

I think one of the reasons I especially enjoyed this story was that, as a teenager, after my parents’ separation and divorce, my mother was in a relationship with a man named Terry, who my little sister and I really loved. The relationship did not last (like Abigail, at my mother’s behest), but I was able to remain in intermittent contact with him over the years and felt terribly sad when he died a few years ago. So, I felt like I understood how Daphne and Eddie fell quickly into an easy rapport, because when we reconnected, Terry and I always did too.

Whistler is like many of Patchett’s novels, insofar as the story is not one which builds to a crescendo or plot twist. There is an ordinariness in Patchett’s writing - ordinary in the sense that the stories she tells are of characters who are plausible, relatable and pretty normal. The stories themselves are not the sort which feel like they would never happen, or that they couldn’t happen to regular people. There’s an everyday-ness in these stories, and there’s something tremendously comforting about that. There is nothing ordinary in Patchett’s ability to write stories that we connect so intimately. She’s a master of it, and I always know when I crack the spine of a Patchett book, I’m going to have a lot of feelings - but none more than joy. Even the sad ones - there’s just joy in reading an author like her.

Whistler is an objectively joyful book, just like reading Patchett’s work is objectively joyful (for me). I will of course recommend it to all, but that’s a legitimate recommendation - it’s terrific and worth your time.

My other reviews of Ann Patchett novels:

I’ve also read The Dutch House which was fantastic, too!

Set in suburban Virginia, USA in 1963, the main character, Margaret Ryan, unintentionally starts a book club with three neighbours, Charlotte, Viv and Bitsy. Unintentional because it was really an attempt to befriend her new neighbour Charlotte and a way to remove herself from the neighbourhood women’s coffee meet-up, which is best described as vapid - and Margaret knows it.

Over the course of the year, the relationships between the women grow and evolve, against the backdrop of a United States undergoing rapid social change - in the third year of the Kennedy Presidency, with Martin Luther King Jr leading the civil rights charge. The women call themselves ‘The Betty’s’ after Betty Friedan, author of their first book, the controversial bestseller The Feminine Mystique.

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What transpires is a year where each of the women grows and changes, in no small part due to the influence they have on each other. Some of that growth seems unexpected, but not unwelcome. The novel is very much a tribute to ‘sisterhood’ (which, in real life, I swing between relying upon wholeheartedly and being heartbroken by too regularly) and is particularly important in the context of the second wave feminist movement that was really starting to get going in the early 1960s. I felt that much of it was plausible, except perhaps some of the husbands of the women. One or two of them were a little more evolved than I believe likely in 1963. There is also an important interaction with an African-American woman later in the novel which I wanted to believe was as inclusive as it was written (and maybe there were instances where that storyline plays out as described) but which I think might not have been quite so progressive. Maybe I am just cynical?

All of this said - it wasn’t so far-fetched that it bothered me, because overall I really liked the novel. I arrived home with around 90 minutes left to play, and I couldn’t wait til the next day to be home and able to listen to it out loud while my partner was at work, to see how the stories wrapped up.

I cannot pretend that I couldn’t feel the parallels - loose, but there - with Sex and the City. Four women, a close friendship group with one woman in a different age group to the others, major life changes - there are similarities. But they’re not stark - the Troublesome Women are women in the suburbs for a start. I think if you enjoyed SATC in the 1990s-2000s, this might be a novel you’ll enjoy now (minus the fornication).

I really enjoyed The Book Club for Troublesome Women and I really liked some of the trouble they got into - as Congressman John Lewis called it, Good Trouble. A great weekend or beach read and way to escape - I’m recommending this one to you.

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My friend Dalene bought me this book recently, after I was describing my long relationship with a far-away island and its people. I have not read any of Hannah Kent’s fiction, so I had not been prompted to pick up this memoir, but I am glad that I did so, because it was truly lovely.

Hannah Kent, author of Burial Rites and Devotion, is an Australian author. This memoir is really in two main parts: first, her time as an exchange student in a town in Northern Iceland and the challenges she faced, and second, how that and subsequent trips inspired her novel Burial Rites, about Agnes Magnúsdóttir, the last woman executed in Iceland, in 1830. That novel brought Hannah much acclaim, several awards and the freedom to continue writing.

The story of Agnes is, indeed, a fascinating one, and Hannah’s descriptions of her research and the bibliography provided shows that there is much interest in it in Iceland.

For me, the part that resonated with me most about this memoir was the relationship Hannah built with the people she came to know in Iceland, and the land itself. She has continued those relationships with host families, school friends and workmates, more than two decades after she first lived there. She has returned many times and both she and they have become intricately invested in each others lives, and created a sense of family together.

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This was something I had for a very long time myself, in a place where the land is much different to that of Iceland, but is no less beautiful. My connection to that particular island came from a young age and grew each time I returned. It became a place of sanctuary and comfort, where I felt, despite being as far as geographically possible from the land I was born and raised on, like was home. This was something I physically felt in my heart and throughout me, every time I went back there. The title of this book, Always Home, Always Homesick rang particularly true to me - regardless of whether I was in Australia (the big island) or on PEI (the little island), I always felt like I was both at home, and homesick for the other. There is no doubt, too, that the relationships I formed there became sympatric with family and belonging, as Hannah’s did. While for me that connection has changed in more recent times, the connection remains intrinsically part of who I am, and I think part of the best of me. So when Hannah writes about the history of Iceland, its landscape and the imprint of the place on her - I understand it.

As a non-Aboriginal Australian, I have often wondered if my feelings of connection to Prince Edward Island and Hannah’s to Iceland, is not dissimilar to their connection to country and the lands we now call Australia. If so, although I will never fully comprehend it, I feel like I can appreciate their fight for sovereignty a little more deeply as a result.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this memoir. It has certainly given me pause to look at Hannah Kent’s fiction and see if I might like to read it, and I was fascinated (although barely surprised) by Agnes’ story and treatment. I am thrilled that Hannah’s novel was broadly embraced, particularly in Iceland, given her deep connection to the place. This is one to put on your reading list.

Australian writer Grace Rouvray recently launched her debut memoir, titled ‘Is It Too Early To Bitch’. The book details (sometimes in quite graphoc detail!) her friendship with Katie Lees, who she met on their first day of university and with whom she spent 13 years as the closest of friends.

The friendship never ends, but instead comes to a tragic halt when, during the Covid-19 pandemic, Katie suffered an extremely rare reaction to the vaccine and died, several days later.

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The two women traverse Sydney together, studying a performing arts course, writing and performing comedy shows together and generally living like so many 20-somethings do - booze, blokes, bad jobs galore, plus plenty of fun times. Both women become extended parts of each other, and each other’s families, even when, as such close friendships inevitably do, they evolve and change, and some fault lines appear.

It was just prior to Katie’s unexpected death that one of those fault lines became more evident, but couldn’t be played out because of her death. Grace considers whether, had Katie lived, there would have been a shift in the relationship or a change unlike any before it. In some ways, I think Grace felt some guilt because of that divergence beginning to emerge. She shouldn’t. There’s no tellling how that would have happened, and as we grow up and mature, some friendships do change, even when we wish otherwise.

I think for Grace and Katie, they were also reaching a changing time in life generally - settling down, considering marriage and families, seeking greater stability. Those things are generally not at the forefront of our minds during our university years or the years thereafter, but eventually, for most, the party lifestyle wears thin and we realise we want experiences of greater substance than a bottle of Johnny Walker and a pack of Marlborough’s - despite the memories those (or other) acquaintances may have brought us. As I read the book, I did wonder if this friendship was one based too heavily on pubs and parties. Yes, many of us create deep friendships at pubs and parties, and some of the best conversations you’ll have in life often happen in those circumstances! However there is a limit to that, I think. Eventually, all the drunk deep and meaningfuls, the gossip and oversharing, the ‘fuck it’ attitude… eventually there needs to be more. Maybe it was simply reaching a point for Grace and Katie where the love was there, the connection would remain but their paths were simply pointing in different directions. It’s awfully sad, but it happens, and it is usually a sign that at least one party is growing up.

I was attracted to this book because I have had several close female friendships in my life, some of which continue and some of which, for various reasons, have ended. The grief you feel at the end of a major friendship is a unique one, often misunderstood or not understood at all. That saying about people entering your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime comes to mind: I can think of some women who I thought were absolutely going to be lifetime friendships (and who I still miss deeply), only for the seasons to be long but, ultimately, finite. It’s a different type of grief to most others, I’ve found.

More pertinently to Grace and Katie, and like so many, I have also had close friends die.

Sometimes I’ve had foreknowledge of what was coming and sometimes without warning at all. All too recently, I’ve experienced that kind of loss, and it is profound. That kind of grief is also particularly complex, because, like Grace writes in her book, being a ‘friend’ when someone dies is not the same grief as that of a partner, a parent, a sibling or a child. I would never suggest they are the same. Friendships also vary on levels of closeness, so one person’s grief as a friend is likely going to be very different to another friend of the person.

However, when you are truly a person’s best friend, and known to all and sundry as such, there’s a layer to it that is hard to place, because of the unique nature of a true BFF. Most of us are lucky to have someone as a best friend for even part of our lives, much less until death-do-you-part. You wonder if you are ‘important enough’ to sit with the family when the person who died is your ‘ride or die’ in life. Or do you reduce yourself to less than you were, so as not to offend or cause confusion? Do you have the same right to grieve deeply or for as long about the loss as those more closely connected?

This was, to me, the most interesting and thought provoking element of Grace’s memoir, and in some ways I wish she had fleshed it out more than she did. I suspect she was unable to do so, because Katie’s family included her in every aspect of their grief, including her being one of the ten people allowed to attend the funeral in person (this was during Sydney’s Covid lockdowns of 2021). I don’t think there would ever have been a moment when the Lees family considered Grace as imposing or overplaying her place in Katie’s life. For that, for Grace’s sake, I am so relieved. Not being able to say farewell would have been crushing.

However, it also meant the question posed on the back cover of whether Grace deserved to grieve as much as Katie’s family was left wonting. It is a subject worth exploration and consideration, but it maybe didn’t get the opportunity here.

Is It Too Early To Bitch? was an emotional read but well worth the time spent. It felt, to me, like a very real representation of young women at that party/youthful stage of life and reminded me somewhat of my best friend at the same time in my own life. I think it makes a solid contribution to the memoir space.

Note: I listened to this aurdiobook in January 2026.

You know who Cynthia Erivo is, right? The star of the two Wicked films and a Broadway veteran who can sing the pants off any person or sedentary object. Try this if you aren’t sure.

This 2025 quasi-memoir, written and read by the author, was a wonderful listen. Erivo details aspects of her career when she was subjected to closed doors because of her colour and sexuality, but intersperses these stories with examples of her resilience, self-belief and determination to maximise her obvious talent. Erivo’s upbringing wasn’t easy (although she would concede herself that she enjoyed some privileges others in her situation did not - often provided by her fierce and strong mother).

It’s a relatively short book but emphasises her belief that people like her (particularly women) are often labelled ‘too much’. Erivo pushes back on this - this is where the book becomes more self-help, complete with questions it asks of the reader. There’s a participatory element to this book, if you want it, with Erivo the teacher.

The book is certainly one that prompts you to think and to consider the lessons being offered. I liked that and recommended it to a friend for this reason. However, I think I’d also have liked something more memoir-like and more substantial. Erivo is a force and her career has been a picture of hard work leading to phenomenal success, so she has a lot to offer in the memoir space. I enjoyed this, but if Erivo writes more (and I hope she does), I’d love her to dig into her life and the events that shaped her more.

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This review would be incomplete if it did not acknowledge the plagiarism story that arose after the publication of Simply More in late 2025. Specifically, a chapter which many people believe Erivo (or, possibly, a ghostwriter that may have been assisting her) plagiarised directly from a speech by her Wicked co-star, Ariana Grande. There’s no denying that, if you compare the transcripts, it’s a direct lift of Grande’s words, and that wasn’t acknowledged in Erivo’s book. This was later noted by the publisher and future reprints will correct the ‘oversight’. It does, however, raise questions of how much Erivo actually wrote and, although Grande is said not to be worried by the issue, it raises questions of authenticity of an artist who’s vulnerablity, authenticity and power has been a trademark. It’s a shame, because it sours a book I loved listening to.

Notwithstanding the above, if you could use a little pep talk, or a little love, this is a book you might enjoy. Erivo’s story is a unique one and worthy of attention. And it may just give you a nugget of wisdom you need to get through to tomorrow and beyond.

The Correspondent was written by Virginia Evans and published in 2025. The story is told through a series of letters sent to and from Sybil Van Antwerp, a retired lawyer and divorced mother of three children, two who lived to adulthood. Sybil has a lifelong letter-writing practice, both to people she knows and authors she admires, including Joan Didion and Ann Patchett.

The story unfolds over a decade (Sybil is 73 when we meet her), and as Sybil’s eyesight begins to fail, the letters to and from her take on a more self-reflectory tone, as she explores the truimphs and tragedies of her life and the impact it has had on her and others.

I listened to this as an audiobook while on a long drive, and the characters are all voiced by different artists, which made for excellent listening and engagement. It is, indeed, Sybil’s voice that takes centre stage, but the contributions and information garnered through her correspondence creates a rich, multilayered story that is both funny and warm, as well as genuinely devastating. For me, what struck me most was the likelihood that there are absolutely people like Sybil in the world. She felt very realistic and flawed, as we humans always are. Her relationships with others reminded me of some of my own, and her responses to the various events being written about felt like reactions people of her age and lived experience often have. I liked this - Sybil and her correspondents are just like so many of us.

I regularly saw this novel come up on lists and had read the synopsis, believing it wouldn’t be one I’d enjoy. Epistolary stories (those told through letters without direct dialogue) are ones I have previously found confusing. However, listening to it made a huge difference, as I was easily able to distinguish who the author of the letter was and recall their part of their story with Sybil. That said, I cannot recommend The Correspondent enough, whether you choose to read it or listen to it. The story itself is fantastic, and it was great to listen to a story where the central character was a woman, over 65 and still engaged with life in a way that felt authentic.

This was a debut novel for Virginia Evans and she has set a high standard, should she continue to publish. The Correspondent is well worth your time.

What better way to start a new year than spend some time reading Ann Patchett?

State of Wonder was published in 2011 and is the story of a researcher, Dr Marina Singh, who travels to the Amazon after the death of her colleague, Dr Anders Eckman, who had travelled there to report on the progress of a deliberately uncontactable doctor undertaking research funded by the pharaceutical company Singh and her colleague work for.

It’s difficult to say a lot about the plot because I don’t want to spoil it, but what Dr Singh finds on her arrival in Brazil and upon finding the reclusive Dr Swenson. The story takes what I felt was an unexpected turn, though completely plausible in the research world, if unlikely.

As with the other Patchett books I have read so far, the development of character is central to her writing and State of Wonder is no different, although I’d argue that this book has equally as much focus on the plotting itself, more than some of her later novels I have enjoyed. In this instance, the balance is great and, as Patchett is wont to do, she leaves some questions open and the character progression is not tied neatly in a bow. That’s not to say there are storylines left incomplete. They’re just left in a place where there is of course more, we just don’t get to follow it up.

I am a huge fan of Patchett since reading Tom Lake back in 2023 and I deliberately spread out reading my copies of her books for the first time, because I fear the day there will be nothing left of hers to read. Patchett has become on of my all time favourite authors, and State of Wonder is another excellent contribution to fiction, even if it is not her best of all time.

This one has more of what I would call adventure in it than a Patchett novel normally would - I think that’s why people like it. It’s different to her other outings while remaining true to her style of writing and story telling.

State of Wonder was a terrific first read of the year.

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Certainly in Australia but indeed around the world, you’d probably have to have lived in a cave, under a rock without coming out, to have not heard about the triple murder trial in Victoria, Australia, dubbed The Mushroom Murders.

The case revolved around the poisoning of four people, three of whom died, by the daughter in law of one couple after separating from their son. She invited them to a lunch where she lied to them about having cancer, and served them beef Wellington that was laced with death cap mushrooms.

I have largely stayed clear of the books/documentary/media coverage of the incident, predominantly because it was crystal clear to me that the perpetrator of the murders, a woman and mother a couple of years older than me, was guilty and I am not someone who likes to devote energy to evil. However it was impossible not to know about the case.

This book is a different approach to true crime and by three authors who have significant experience in writing books like these, all of whom are amongst the best in the genre. When I picked the book up at Readings Emporium, I was suprised to find it wasn’t like other books.

The Mushroom Trials is a book largely consisting of transcripts between the three writers, recorded at various junctures of the trial that they were either travelling to Morwell (in country Victoria) for or watching online in the media room at the Supreme Court of Victoria in Melbourne. I believe the initial intent was to create a podcast. There are certainly some additional writing in this book, to give the conversations context, and the book is presented as the conversations occurred - that is, as they were listening to evidence and watching the key players in real time, not knowing what evidence was to come and what was not being presented to the court. I found this fascinating as a writing style - because although I don’t believe any of the three authors genuinely thought there was a possibility of innocence in this case, they were discussing the evidence and the case in real time, rather than retrospectively. It meant that they often came back to previous discussions and thoughts about the case progress and recognise how evidence was being linked together by the Prosecution or question why the defence took the course of action it did.

This results in a relatively quick read: I read The Mushroom Trials in one afternoon/evening (on New Year’s Eve!). It means that there is a lot of speculating and positing by the writers, as they discuss the why of what Erin Patterson did. I am certain that by the end, they have no greater understanding of the woman as a person than before they started, but their attempts to try to intellectually understand her choices were very interesting. All three women writers are highly intelligent and engaged, and Krasnostein’s background as a lawyer offered insight where the other two sought to understand some of the legal decisions being made.

I thought the women treated the trial and the participants with respect and empathy, gave enough detail to understand the social aspects of what surrounded the trial (such as the intense international and local media interest, as well as the true-crime enthusiasts who wanted to watch the trial action) and to get some insight into the people, without making it a reporting exercise. This book casts no real judgment of Patterson, and really they don’t need to. The only opinions that mattered during that trial were those of the jurors, who found her guilty of three counts of murder and one of attempted murder.

Did reading the book make me more empathetic to the woman now in jail for the rest of her life? No. While I could certainly understand her frustration with the difficulties in her marriage and dealing with the approach of the family to it (they are a devout Baptist family who largely stayed out of the weeds on the marriage breakdown), I could not illicit any sympathy for her. She was independently wealthy. She had a home of her own and children she loved. There was absolutely no need to even try to make these people ill and no doubt in my mind that she had a reasonable belief that the mushrooms she served could or would kill her guests. My thoughts are that she was anticipating her ex-husband to also attend (he pulled out the day prior) and to cover the fact she had attempted to poison him previously (evidence that could not be admitted in the trial) and believed if they all got sick, it would be harder to convince people her actions were deliberate.

I confess, when it was revealed that while she was allegedly quite sick the day after the lunch herself but that she drove her son two hours round trip for a flying lesson, I thought that seemed odd. Most people with the violent gastric reactions she was reporting would not be getting in the car for a long drive. When I read that she did so wearing white pants, I knew: she was absolutely full of crap, even if not as literally as she was suggesting. It was an “Elle Woods” moment for me - no middle aged woman with diarrhea drives in white pants on a two-hour round trip.

This may or may not be everyone’s cup of tea but I really enjoyed it and learned enough that I don’t feel like I need to read or watch anything further. I loved the conversational nature of the book and hearing from an observer’s view as the trial went on, rather than a retrospective edit. I believe there is an audiobook version as well which the three writers narrate, which would be a fantastic way to consume this one as well.

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The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches by Sangu Mandanna has come up on a lot of lists I have seen about great witchy novels as a favourite, so prior to Christmas I bought a copy and settled in.

The story is of Mika Moon, a young English witch who has grown up essentially alone and isolated from other witches, at the behest of her adopter, Primrose. As an adult, Mika meets other witches occasionally, under Primrose’s watchful eye, at a meeting of witches called anything but that.

Mika finds a job at an isolated property after being headhunted by a gentleman named Ian on the internet. Mika makes “fake witch” videos and Ian believes she has something to teach three young women in his charge, who are witches. At this property, also lives Ian’s partner Ken, Jamie the librarian and cook Lucie - Nowhere House owned by the absent archeologist and witch, Lillian.

The story progresses from there and starts out really well….until it kind of moves into being a romance novel. I won’t say more because it would reveal the plot but it goes in a direction - one scene particularly - which was unnecessary and took this from being a fun book to one which I would describe as just alright.

The novel is described often as “cozy” and that is probably a good description - it’s one to curl up in a chair to read, without having to entend yourself intellectually in any way. The characters are loveable, even when they aren’t, and the story line sweet, if a little very predictable. This is not a novel you’ll read and say “I did not see that coming!”

You absolutely will, and that’s OK.

Do I think it’s amongst the best witchy novels I have read? Ah, no. It’s a little romancy and predictable for that, but am I glad I read it? Sure. It was an easy to read novel at a busy time of year, a fun escape from the realities of the Christmas season that approached and the atrocities of the world. Sometimes, that’s just what one needs to engage with.

If easy, romantic, cozy witch vibes are for you, you’ll like this. If you like novels with a tad more substance, maybe don’t worry about this one.

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If you are of a certain age, Cameron Crowe needs no introduction. By that, I mean you probably need to have been born before or during the 1970’s. If you fit that category, you’ll know Crowe’s work: cover articles in Rolling Stone on bands like the Allman Brothers and the Eagles. Films he wrote, like Fast Times at Ridgemont High (starring the burgeoning star Sean Penn) and Jerry Maguire. And the autobiographical film of his life as a prodigious kid in Southern California, Almost Famous, for which he won an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay.

Or you can be like me, and know him because of the film Singles, with its association to Crowe’s friends and my favourite band, Pearl Jam.

The Uncool is Crowe’s first memoir about his life and career, and it’s a cracker. I am absolutely sure there’s another couple of memoirs in Crowe, should he choose to write them. At 15, he was writing for Rolling Stone magazine and hanging out with the biggest stars in rock music in the 1970’s.

The book has stories about some seriously weighty musical legends. David Bowie, the Eagles, the Allman Brothers, Fleetwood Mac, Joni Mitchell - just to name a few. The best thing about all the name dropping? It doesn’t feel like name dropping. Crowe tells these stories in a straightforward, unassuming manner - neither lionising many of these legends nor himself, but letting the stories and their characters speak for themselves.

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There’s little in it that would send shock and awe through readers; quell surprise, rock stars do a lot of drugs. Crowe tells these behind the scenes stories without giving away secrets, and for that reason the memoir doesn’t feel like a cash-in on a decades long career nor a betrayal of trust or friendships.

The hero of The Uncool and of Crowe himself is, inevitably, his mother, Alice. A mighty, steadfast woman who took some convincing that her son’s rock’n’roll lifestyle was a legitimate choice (as opposed to her choice for him - law school). It’s clear Crowe was his mother’s biggest fan, even in her worst moments. Those came in relation to her relationships with Crowe’s sisters, Cindy (who became estranged from her mother and, for many years, her brother) and Cathy, who died by suicide aged 17.

Despite this, Alice is Cameron’s greatest cheerleader and was likely the reason that Almost Famous: The Musical made it to the stage for a successful run, such was Crowe’s fear that it would fail where the film had not.

As a fan of 90’s grunge, I was a touch sad that Crowe’s relationship with bands like Pearl Jam and Soundgarden were not touched on in The Uncool, but I am hopeful that there might be more to come from Crowe in the memoir space, as I am sure he would have recollections of those times that fans globally would appreciate.

I really liked the straight story telling of Crowe’s writing in The Uncool. It never feels like a bragging session, nor does he ponder the enormity of his career and the success he found at such a young age. Careers like Crowe’s simply don’t happen these days like they did fifty years ago, and we are poorer for it. I hope there’s more to come from Crowe. We need great story tellers now more than ever.

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Continuing with my witch-inspired reading of recent months is The Stone Witch of Florence by Anna Rasche. Rasche is a historian and gemologist, which inspired her story of Ginevra, a woman in 14th century Italy who returns to Florence after banishment, to assist in the investigation of several relics from Catholic churches in the Florence area.

What I liked about this is the location. Italy hasn’t been the setting for any of the witch stories I have read, so I was interested to see how that influenced the story. I wondered if the strong Catholicism of Italy would feature in the story and it did, which brings a fascinating clashing of cultures - withcraft and the old orders of Roman Catholic belief. I think they are perhaps not as different as many would like to believe, but of course at the heart of it is the murder of witches (predominantly women) by those of faith, out of fear mainly. And let’s name that fear: they were afraid of losing their grip on power and the riches that came with that power.

What I also liked was the heavy leaning into stones and gems as a part of witchcraft, which issomething we continue to see modern witches utilise. Whether I believe in the power of stones and gems is not the point; I find it fascinating to read about and consider. If there are people who take comfort in their use, that’s great for them!

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One of the things I enjoyed about The Stone Witch of Florence was the friendship between Ginevra and Lucia. It is not all smooth sailing and I liked that there was no pretence that women who are friends do not argue or have frustrations with one another. Of course we do, yet many of us remain dear friends and reliable ones.

The downside of this book was what I considered the predicatability of the storyline itself. It seemed clear fairly early into Ginevra’s investigation what was occuring and why. I also guessed reasonably early who the “villian” was, and not too far further in, the story almost explicitly tells us. When the reveal finally comes upon the reader, it’s such a let down - I’d really hoped there would be a twist, but it didn’t come. There were other elements of the story, too, which seemed to simply be included for the sake of it and which did not add anything to the finality of the story.

The writing itself is good and I liked the protaganist. Ginevra is a compelling woman and her desperation to solve the case of the missing relics is understsandable. The characters are well developed. But the story itself lacked punch and that made the finishing of The Stone Witch of Florence a little bit of a let down, despite the promise.

None of this is to say this is not a good novel - if witch stories are your jam, then this one is a good read that you’ll enjoy, even if it doesn’t land on your list of all time favourites.

This is the second book by author Genevieve Gornichec, and it is rather good! The story centres around three young girls - Gunnhild, and sisters Oddny and Signy. After a seeress refuses to tell them their fortune, beyond it being bound together for the three, they make a blood oath to each other. Shortly thereafter, however, Gunnhild runs away with the seeress to learn the ways of witchcraft.

The timeline is Norway in around the 10th century, a time where witchcraft was not necessarily seen as a bad thing, and women stepped into their power in this way. It remined me of The Witches of Vardø, which I read a while back (and also loved).

The girls are reunited years later when raiders go to the farm of Signy and Oddny’s family and Signy is kidnapped. Gunnhild and Oddny pair up to find Signy before it is too late, along the way working alongside unlikely types of friends and foes. The story features the strength of female friendships, overcoming trauma and cruelty, acceptance of those first thought to be enemies and, of course, witchcraft.

The story is told through predominantly Gunnhild and Oddny (alternating chapters) and I thought the writing was great - I was often thinking about this story when doing other things and I was awake until 1:30am this morning finishing it - I needed to see what happened and wouldn’t sleep until I knew!

Regular readers know I’ve been on a witchy bent this year and this addition to the list of withcy books has been a good one! The Weaver and The Witch Queen was one I picked up based on the title (I am a weaver for fun!) and I am so glad I grabbed it. I loved the imagery conjured through the descriptions of the land and of the activities of the three young women, particularly Gunnhild as she develops her witchcraft skills and uses her powers (to varying degrees of success).

There is a lot to like about The Weaver and the Witch Queen. One to look for and enjoy!

Nova Scotian native Lesley Crewe’s books are well known in Canada, but they are new to me. When I read the back cover description, I thought this seemed like a sweet read that took in part of the Maritimes, to which I am especially partial (although my heart belongs to Prince Edward Island!). A quick search tells me that this is a beloved book in Canada, so it came home with me.

The Spoon Stealer is the story of Emmeline, a young woman living in rural Nova Scotia with her four older brothers and her parents on a farm. From the outset, Emmeline is a heavy-set girl, and she is teased about this, called lazy and generally disdained by her mother particularly. She is, however, close to one of her brothers, Teddy, and he acts as her protector and friend when she has precious else.

When World War 1 starts, Teddy and John enlist and go to Europe. Her mother never recovers from their eventual loss, and Emmeline travels alone to Europe, against her family’s wishes, while Teddyis listed as injured. It is years before she returns and, when she does, she is not greeted especially warmly. The family has descended into a toxic disfunction - more so than ever - but after 10 years of caring for her mother and brother, she leaves again, and is, she believes never forgiven.

Later in life, 70-something Emmeline writes a memoir and joins the local library memoir writing class, led by the nasty Joyce Pruitt. Through the class, she reads aspects of her memoir to a largely enraptured class, and continues reading to a select group when the class disbands. Reading her story, Emmeline recognises that her story in Nova Scotia is not complete, so when a letter arrives to say her eldest brother has left the family farm to her, she determines to go home. Her dog, Vera, travels with her and the conversations between Emmeline and Vera are the very best parts of this novel.

I won’t spoil what happens to Emmeline on her return to Nova Scotia and what awaits her. It is both hilarious and tragic. This book with break your heart, make you laugh out loud and remind you that (almost) everyone can achieve redemption, with “just a spoonful of kindness”. What results is a truly beautiful novel that I did not want to end, and I will not soon forget.

An acquaintance told me which Lesley Crewe book I should read next - it’s called Nosy Parker and I now have a copy! However, it will take a sensational writing effort by Crewe to top The Spoon Stealer for me. I am excited to be going to an author talk with Lesley Crewe in a couple of weeks time, about her new book, too!

Despite the sometimes heavy topics (suicide, mental illness, war), this is a book that is warm like fresh bread from the oven - you cannot wait to see what happens next and you know it’ll be wonderful. The Spoon Stealer is one of the best I’ve read this year.

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I had recently seen (on Substack) a lot of recommendations of I Who Have Never Known Men by Bengian author Jacqueline Harpman, and when I saw it last week at Bookmark in Charlottetown, I thought it was something outside of my usual interest. However, my curiousity was piqued, so I took it to the counter.

Emma, who works at the store, happened to be serving me and we got chatting. As you can see by the sticker, she highly recommended it.

I discovered later that this book has had a bit of attention on #BookTok. That worried me - sorry BookTok folk, but usually when something goes viral there, I don’t end up enjoying it (to be fair, I often have a negative response to winners of major literary awards too…)

I Who Have Never Known Men was published in 1995 and is considered a science fiction novel (like I said - WAY out of my normal choice!) but I would say that’s not exactly right. Yes, it is dystopian, but it remains deeply human as well and I guess I consider science fiction to be less human and more imagination driven. That’s just me. I don’t know if its the world we are living in, in 2025, but I certainly did not find the storyline so surreal that I couldn’t imagine it occurring. Unlikely, yes, but not impossible.

The story is a group of 40 women who are imprisoned in an underground cage. There was an “event” which is not described, but it would seem that it was a catastrophic environmental and political disaster, which has left much of where they inhabit empty. Narrated by the youngest of the women, she is referred to as “the child” by the older women and has no name, despite all the other women having one. They are caged up for several years.

This would be my only complaint about the women - they do not take the time or care, even after they are freed, to give the child a name and, thus, an identity of her own.

One day, a siren sounds and the guards evacuate. Keys were dropped closely enough that the women can unlock the cage and escape. There is no sign of the guards and they leave without taking anything with them. The women navigate their way out of the bunker to find a desolate, empty plain - they’re not even sure they remain on earth.

Of course, they must be on earth because they have oxygen and, eventually, trees and grasslands to build a community within. The bunkers - many scattered across the lands they explore, are powered. So although they don’t appear to work it out, the reader knows they remain somewhere on the earth.

I Who Have Never Known Men is, essentially, a story of survival, female strength and resilience, and a thought provoking contemplation of a planet that has been essentially levelled and devoid of humanity. It looks at how the women maintain theirs, and their sanity, and live lives that are different to those prior to the “event” but are complete in a new context. It considers matriarchy, and how power and wisdom is passed from woman to woman, generation to generation. And, it is a story of love, despite the women probably not considering the bond they share one of love. It is that, in a miriad of ways.

This book does not have chapters, so it’s often difficult to find a spot to stop reading. There are some natural plot points though, so I’d say trust your instinct, if you need to, say, sleep or work!

About a quarter of the way in, I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep reading I Who Have Never Known Men, but I am so glad I did, because it was a fantastic book. It won’t be for everyone, but I think readers with feminist ideals and a concern for the future of our planet will really get something from this novel. I am also grateful that I stepped out of my usual comfort zone to read this - I have to remind myself to do that more regularly.

I began listening to the audiobook on the drive home the next day, and I was enjoying the story but needed music for the drive, so on Tuesday I went to my local bookstore and got a hardcopy. I’ve been engrossed ever since.

The story is about three sisters: Bella, Agnes and Juniper - the Eastwood sisters. The three sister are separated years earlier and there is tension between them as to the reasons why. However, they are drawn together in the late 19th century after Juniper leaves the family farm after a fire (that kills their father) in New Salem, which is a new town in Massachusetts after the original town of Salem was burned to the ground after the witchcraft trials.

They find themselves working together to support the burgeoning women’s sufferage movement, and using their collective power when trouble finds them. Trouble is, of course, a man who is running for Mayor of New Salem and who ascribes to a religiously conservative approach to witches; that is, he wants them to burn.

It’s hard to talk much further about the plot of this novel for fear of creating spoilers, but there are themes through it that include lesbianism, witchcraft, abortion, murder and more.

The writing is excellent - it took me five days to read but the novel is also over 500 pages long, and I regularly had to stop because I wanted to look up something or just think it all through - there is a lot happening in New Salem!

Despite the fact I have read a few witchy novels recently (and loved them), I would not have classed myself as a reader of fantasy. That’s the reading snob coming through and she needs to check herself, because although fantasy is not my usual jam, books that tackle witchcradft (particularly in partnership with feminism) are some of my new favourites. So hi, it’s me - the woman who likes a little bit of fantasy after all!

I will be forever grateful to the server in that cafe because The Once and Future Witches was absolutely awesome. On Storygraph, I rarely give a book 5 stars but this one got 5 stars easily - there was nothing about it I would change or improve. The pace, the characters, the storyline…it’s all fantastic.

If you have enjoyed books like Weyward, The Second Sight of Zachary Cloudsley or you like anything to do with witches, I cannot recommend this one highly enough.

I am officially entering my witchy era, and I cannot wait to see what’s brewing next.

Weyward is by Australian novellist Emilia Hart, and tells the story of three women - Altha, Violet and Kate, who through challenges both unique and common to them, find themselves reaching to the strength they have within. Altha lives in the 17th Century, Violet during the period of World War II, and Kate in more modern day.

The book explores topics such as friendship, family, feminism and independence. Arguably, all three women are impacted by these and more.

Of course, witchcraft is really not such a mystery. So much of what happens in our lives is entirely predicatable and our connections to the earth - through animals, plants and minerals - are of greater strength than any we really possess alone. It was (and remains) more often women who are deeply connected to these crafts, and history tells us that empowered, smart women are seen as a threat to the power of men. And so they burned and hung women, in the name of God, but primarily out of fear.

Frankly, I am very comfortable with men fearing women.

Weyward is wonderfully written - it’s a page turner for sure, and although it took me a week to read, that was more because it was a busy week. I carried the book everywhere and took each opportunity to sneak in a couple of pages, when I could. I also got chatting with a lovely young server at a cafe, who asked what I was reading. It turned out she enjoys these types of novels too, and we each made recommendations to the other about similar stories. (I started listening to her recommendation on the long drive home, yesterday, and it is indeed a cracking story!)

There are certainly challenging topics in Weyward, including sexual assault, domestic violence, abortion and murder. Readers should be aware of those and tread carefully, if those are distressing to you to read about.

I cannot recommend Weyward enough, even if witchcraft is not your usual fare. Once upon a time, I would not have thought it mine, either.

Have you read Weyward? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Also, any recommendations you might have are most welcome!

Until I joined Substack and started following writers, I did not know who Emma Gannon was. However, I quickly came to like her newsletter, The Hyphen, and I picked up her new novel, Table For One, recently.

Table For One tells the story of Willow and jumps through times in her life - current through to back to her childhood. The flashbacks provide context for the relationships in her life and how she finds herself, at 35, back living with her Aunt Carla.

It explores Willow’s relationships - with her friends and her long term boyfriend, Dom. And it takes a look at how much of ourselves we give up or minimise in order to fit in, whether that be with people, into workplaces or into society.

Willow’s story also take place against a burgeoning friendship with online influencer, Nas Chopra, who from all angles is vouching for and living her best single life, encouraging women to release themselves from the shackles of unfulfilling relationships and men who need mothers, not partners.

With this novel, I did what I try hard not to do - fall into the buzz created online around books and authors. I mainly avoid this because, usually, my thoughts are wildly different from the masses (hello, The Goldfinch amongst others). However, I do like Emma’s Substack so I bit the bullet and I am glad I did.

This was a two day read for me and it wasn’t a hard one. Table For One is well written and well executed, even if it is not going to change lives. That’s perfectly OK - most books don’t, nor should they. For the most part, the characters are well developed (although something about Penny didn’t quite click for me) and the ones we are supposed to dislike, we do.

I quite liked Table For One and maybe the timing was serendipitous, because last weekend, I watched the final episode of And Just Like That… and Carrie’s narration finished on the line “The woman realised she wasn’t alone: she was on her own” which (a) I thought was a great line (and one I’ve been thinking about a lot over the past week) and (b) seemed a perfect summation for Willow, too.

Table For One is a great weekend or beach read and a great outing by Emma Gannon. I hope you like it too.

Real Ones is the latest novel of Canadian Metis author katherena vermette, whose wonderful Strangers trilogy has been one of my favourites in recent years. While not part of the trilogy, this new book is connected through the characters in it. With now four novels connected to the Stranger family, reading this feels comfortable, like visiting with people you know.

The story revolves around June and Lyn, who are Métis on their paternal side and white-Mennonite on their maternal side. Their mother, Renee, has had a patchy life and relationships with her daughters after the end of her relationship with their father. Renee is exposed as an artist for claiming Indigeneity, having received awards and grants, and there is a predicatable uproar. June and Lyn have their own, complex feelings about their mother’s actions, based on their shared and indivdual histories with her, and the impact of her choices (and subsequent exposure) on them, as women with legitimate Indigenous heritage.

False cultural claims pervade the globe - we are not immune to it here in Australia. As an artist, I think deeply and often on the differences between inspiration from cultures outside mine and cultural appropriation. However, I do not believe that one must be a member of a culture or community to write or make art connected to that community. It must be done carefully, respectfully and with strong intellectual analysis and understanding of the space being taken up. I am 100% certain that brighter minds than mine can speak more eloquently and wisely about this than I ever could.

What fascinated me about Real Ones was the emotional journey both sisters take, in relation to their mother’s actions. I am quite sure that in the same position, I would not have been as forgiving or understanding of Renee, in the circumstances, as June and Lyn are. They recognise her trauma and attempt to understand how she came to be where she is, without excusing but with empathy. It’s questionable as to whether Renee deserves this grace from her daughters, particularly as the story unfolds.

The most powerful message in Real Ones is the grace of these two women, in the face of what must feel like a constant assault of cultural denial. Like Indigenous people across the globe, there is constant pressure to assimilate, to forgive, to excuse those who have sought to destroy their cultures. These systemic, institutional pressures are everywhere - even the university that June works at expects free, emotional labour of her, due to her heritage. It’s an issue that is pervasive and needs to be actively worked against.

This is where I fan girl. I first read The Strangers by katherena vermette in December 2022 and since then, I have become a huge fan. In May 2023, katherena was in Australia for the Brisbane Writer’s Festival and I got to meet her, which was a big thrill for me. I suspect that trip impacted vermette when writing this book - characters travelling to and working in Brisbane and Aotearoa (New Zealand)! So when I saw that this novel had been released in Canada, I ordered it (I have not been able to locate it in Australia) and, as expected, I loved it. I think I’d read anything this talented woman writes, but truly her ability to tell stories that emanate from her culture in such honest, beautiful ways…I really just love it. These stories are not easy reads. There is trauma and harm contained within them. But they centre women - the Stranger women - as they are, imperfect and all, and show their immense courage and dignity. These are stories that must be told and must be heard.

Real Ones is another absolute gem from katherene vermette.

(Links to my previous reviews of vermette’s novels are below)

My previous reviews of the Stranger series can be read here:

Why? No real reason - I was (and remain) an Anne girl, but it occured to me recently that it was much overdue that I read something else by Lucy Maud (I did read Kilmeny of the Orchard as a child and would love to find a copy to read again - a task for when I get home to the Island next month).

I discovered that Emily Byrd Starr’s story is not starkly different to Anne’s. Emily is orphaned around the age of 10 and is adopted by her maternal aunts, people she did not know. She finds herself living with adults and making the kinds of mistakes young girls of those times made - like Anne, Emily engages in activities which are not always seen as lady-like (such as writing stories).

Emily struck me as a sweet young lady, raised to think for herself and encouraged in her imagination by her father before his death. She struggles with the restraints her more conservative Aunt Elizabeth place on her, but quickly wins the hearts of her other Aunt, Laura and their cousin Jimmy.

Emily also befriends another local young girl, Ilse, who is being raised by her father, the local doctor. He is known as a wonderful doctor but indifferent father - somehow disconnecting from the daughter of his long-gone wife. Emily and Ilse have a fascinating relationship - Ilse struggles with proper social skills due to her father’s lack of attention, and she shows her love of her friend Emily by constantly picking fights with her. Emily quickly understands that the fights are not genuine, but Ilse’s way of communicating her feelings.

I really enjoyed my venture back into long ago PEI and the world created by L. M. Montgomery. However, there is one glaring matter which cannot be dismissed.

Setting aside this element of the book, this was a lovely novel to read (even if it’s about 40 years after I could have read it initially!). Montgomery is an enchanting writer, and the way she captures her beloved Prince Edward Island, is something I feel deeply connected to, too.

I look forward to what comes next for the delightful Emily Byrd Starr.

I was recently, at 47 years of age, diagnosed with ADHD. The diagnosis has not really come as a surprise - I think I have known this about myself for a couple of years, as I have become more aware of how ADHD presents in women, and especially those of us who are middle aged. However, when it became apparent to me that this wasn’t just an idea but an actual diagnosis, I did what I realise is now very typical behaviour for those of us with it: we research the shit out of it.

For me though, I was not especially keen on getting my information from Tik Tok or the internet. I am still a lawyer, and I like information that is researched, verifiable and from a reliable source. I also wanted to read specifically about how ADHD presents in women and, ideally, I wanted something based in Australia. So I was thrilled to come across The Year I Met My Brain by journalist Matilda Boseley.

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Boseley is a lot younger than me, and was diagnosed in her early 20s. That is a big difference in our experience, and on that front I sometimes found this book difficult to relate to. But I also know that no two neurodiverse people are the same, so there will be no perfect book.

This, then, became a bloody good option as the next best thing.

I tagged a bunch of pages in this book and I wrote a lot of notes too. Sometimes, Boseley relayed a story that could easily have been taken from my own life, sometimes frighteningly so! That’s what I liked about this book - despite the generational difference, there was stuff that she wrote about that were straight out of my life story, and that felt reassuring.

I really liked too, that Boseley interviewed experts on ADHD, as well as provided the perspective of those closest to her - her mother, her partner and friends. That gave this book a personal touch and one which non-ADHD people can read and, likely, relate to, too.

I am definitely having my husband read this as a starting point, as we begin navigating what impact this diagnosis will have for me, and for us. I would like to think that impact will be minimal but - let’s be honest here - not much of what I ever do is minimal. After all, I am writing this review from a hot pink velvet couch.

I think that if you are an adult with a new diagnosis here in Australia, this book is a great starting point. It certainly started some conversations in my mind and between my husband and I. It gave me insight into elements of my diagnosis I had not yet turned my mind to, and I feel less pressure not to ‘figure it all out right now’. I recognise that this is going to take time to understand. There is going to be some grieving and some reflection. There’s going to be some adjustments.

However, I am kind of excited and relieved to finally have a little more clarity about why I am like I am, and this book has definitely helped me understand a few things about myself already. In a world that sometimes feels flooded with information about ADHD in adults, this book was (for me) an orderly, digestable place to start. I definitely recommend it.

You can also listen to this book - if you have Spotify Premium, it is included in your subscription. I combined reading and listening to this and I found that useful. You might too.