When They See Me - It’s Too Late ~ Gill Perdue

Some do the deed with many tears,

And some without a sigh:

For each man kills the thing he loves,

Yet each man does not die. 

Oscar Wilde

What makes a serial killer kill the thing he loves?  Oscar Wilde’s quote from The Ballad of Reading Gaol came to mind when reading Gill Perdue’s novel When They See Me, the second book in the Shaw and Darmody crime series. Is the obsession with his victim or the very act of killing itself? They hunt their prey, like a love object, only to destroy it. But why? This paradox is at the heart of Perdue’s novel as she reminds us, the prey they seek is a person, and their obsessive fantasies result in murder. She takes pains to humanise the killer’s quarry, refusing to allow her readers to lose sight of them as people, retaking the power that the killer tries to steal from them in his warped imagination. 

She also humanises the detectives in the story. Shaw and Darmody as not superwomen, they don’t have to be. Detective Laura Shaw has just had her second child, and has to navigate the feelings of anxiety, guilt, and exhaustion that most mothers deal with, in addition to juggling a demanding job. But what is different about Perdue’s observations, is that she doesn’t just glaze over this fact, she thoroughly investigates it and lays bare the gritty reality of motherhood. Leaking breasts, tops soaked in breast milk, post-postpartum sex, it is all there - fearlessly real. 

Our second narrator, Detective Niamh Darmody is still adjusting to living with her girlfriend, with all the newness and social manoeuvring that that entails. There is pressure to lose weight, conform to beauty standards and be more refined and elegant - a version of femininity that is ironically so appealing to this particular killer. When she speaks openly of getting her period, a colleague makes a complaint that she is being too intimate with him. But isn’t that the reality for many women? Why must there be silence around the female body and how it functions? This is a key when understanding the psychology of the book’s third narrator, the nameless killer, but if we are honest, in today’s world one does not need to be a psychopath to be repelled by the female body. 

The theme of misogyny is faced head on when Darmody confronts an assailant using her feminine physique having been forcibly silenced. Here, Perdue gives voice to the millions of women who just want to live, breathe, walk, and work in safety. The book is very much of our time and worth reading for this cathartic moment alone. What is so memorable about this scene, and in the book in general, is how the plot turns on the undeniable truth that women’s bodies are a source of power.  Lactation, menstruation, giving birth, menopause, are all processes that society tends to ignore. Perdue weaves this idea through her narrative asking her readers: isn’t time that we rethink how society views the female body and the lived female experience? 

This book, in no small way, is waving a fist at society saying, enough is enough! Women are not perpetual victims, we are powerful, and we can have it all. We have come a long way since the days of Jane Austen and Emily Brontë, when novels written about the lives of women only spoke in hushed tones of their heroines being ‘indisposed’ with a baby, or taken to their beds,‘suffering a headache.’ Perdue’s clear-eyed realism has no time for such niceties and even delights in the complex nature of the female body. It is wildly refreshing.

When They See Me is a gripping crime thriller, but it is also a study of societal misogyny, the innate power women possess, and the importance of supportive female relationships. I can’t wait to read the next novel in the series, The Night I Killed Him, which is out now in all good bookshops. 

Strange Sally Diamond - Liz Nugent

If ever there was a book that wanted to be a cartwheel, this is that book. One minute the reader is firmly planted on the ground, aware of their surroundings, the next, the world has flipped over and you are reaching for the sky, trying to make sense of who the protagonist is and whether we like her or not.  In Strange Sally Diamond, Liz Nugent likes to strange-ify the world of the text, to make the strangeness of the title, not only refer to Sally herself, but also to the plot line. We are never really sure what will happen next and where the story is going, which is a delightful thing in a thriller.

From the very first sentence, this book will grip you. The character of Sally, who is one of the book’s narrators, is one of a kind. We are never quite sure what she will do next. Her inability to know when she has crossed the line of acceptable human behaviour engages and unnerves us. Just when we feel that she has acclimatised to the rhythms of everyday life, she hits out against the world, and it is only as the story unfolds that we learn why. 

I will not spoil the surprise of the novel here, never fear, but I will say that there are times in the book when we enter into the minds of unlikeable characters. It is uncomfortable and disorientating for the reader, which mirrors how Sally feels most of the time. This is the real brilliance of the text: Nugent forces the reader to feel like Sally, to cartwheel through the pages, never quiet sure when the horizon will flip once again and we will be left standing on our hands, trying to make sense of an upside down reality.

Set in a small town in Ireland, the book introduces us to a diverse cast of characters that reflects modern Ireland.  Yet there is something dark and corrupt lying just below the surface, with broken family relationships, untold secrets and  troubling memories bubbling up from childhood. As such, this book is rooted firmly in the Irish literary tradition, not a million miles away from the writings of Brian Moore or Edna O’Brien, heartbreakingly familiar to anyone who lived through the 1980s and ‘90s in Ireland.  We just know that the truth will rise to the surface, clawing its way into the light, like Yeats’s  slouching beast, its time come round at last. 

The senes in Ireland are paralleled with similar scenes in New Zealand, but where vast, open landscape conceals secrets of its own, mysteries that lie close to the surface, if anyone should care to seek them out. 

Strange Sally Diamond is as much a story about the workings of the human psyche as it is the goings on in a country village. And as such, this book tries to explore that things that make one person need to dominate another. What makes one human being feel the need to take full possession of another human being, so that one becomes the toy, a plaything for the other? And what is it in the human character that refuses such a yoke? These are the larger themes at work in Liz Nugent’s powerful, unforgettable book.

  Expect a quick ride through Sally’s strange world, I finished it in two sittings. But when you turn the final page, and land at last on your own two feet, do not be surprised if  you find, in the end, that the world never feels quite the same again. 

Michelle Burrowes

Then She Was Gone - Lisa Jewell

Jewell presents us with the normality of living juxtaposed with the terror of a missing child. How can one go on to live a normal life when there is nothing left that is normal?  When fifteen year old Ellie goes missing, it takes its toll on her mother Laurel and father Paul’s relationship. For sister Hannah and brother Jake, life as they have known it has been irreparably changed forever. There is much that we recognise about family life, suburban living, the usual neurotic obsessions that can drive a family apart.  

It takes Laurel some time to learn to love her daughter Hannah, who she wished had died instead of Ellie. Hannah seems to know this and the loss of her sister is doubly hard, highlighting how imperfect she was, as well as little she was loved by her mother. 

Her son Jake finds a surrogate family with his new girlfriend with whom they are planning on having a family of their own. Each tries to find a way to cope. Like his son, Paul has met a new partner, complete with step children. He has stepped not a new life. Everyone seems to have moved on, except for Laurel. But that was before she met a man. 

Floyd Dunn, is the person who has the key to unlocking the prison that Laurel has made for herself: a prison of grief and pain. The reader is brought along with our protagonist as we move from doubt, to acceptance, as we want only good things for this woman who has suffered so much. And then, we discover, that Floyd’s life is just as complicated as her own and it emerges that Paul has the key to a lot more than the present. 

Like Laurel, we are sceptical of everyone. We are concerned for her at every step. We follow her as she plunges into a relationship with someone who may or not be the very man who has all the answers - the answers that will tear them apart.

For much of the book - the scenes written in the present - Jewell uses the present tense to create an immediacy that is gripping. It demands our attention and the pace of this book is part of its charm - you will complete it in a couple of sittings. It leaves the reader in a whirl, swept along by the short chapters, just as Laurel is swept along in the romance that will upend her life forever.  

Jewell also uses the past tense, when the narrator switches to Noelle, who narrates her story in the first person. This too is impactful - her speech patterns and quirky phrasing are so idiosyncratic, that she is chillingly believable as the psychopath that she is.  While the male characters play their part, it is the depiction of the the women in the story; Ellie, Laurel and Noelle, who hold the reader in their grip and never let us go until the final page. In fact, the ‘She’ of the title could refer to any if not all of the female protagonists who all disappear in their way during the course of the book.

Our desire to know the full story is what makes this book such a page-turner. We wonder if we ever find out what happened to Ellie, the girl who we care so deeply about from the very first page. The lost girl demands our attention and we long, we long, we long for her story to end well.

In ‘Then She Was Gone’, Jewell has written a book that discusses how life can go on, despite the unbearable happening. How can you continue to live your life knowing that your beautiful, ‘golden’ daughter has simply disappeared into thin air. Jewell considers this and ultimately comes to the conclusion that there is always space for love; for Laurel’s husband Paul, and his new wife, for her son and his partner, for her daughter and the mystery man in her life, and even, surprisingly so, for Laurel.  Amid all the hatred, the darkness, and the rage, there is love - love for Laurel’s missing daughter, for her other children, for her lover, but more than anything, love for herself. 

Wrong Place Wrong Time - Gillian McAllister

If you haven’t yet read Gillian McAllister’s book ‘Wrong Place Wrong Time’, then perhaps this is the wrong time for you to read this post. Finish the book and come back later. 

The premise of this novel is quite intriguing - it toys with time travel and asks, what event, in a chain of events, would you change to prevent someone you love from committing a murder.  It’s a worthy question and one that engages the reader from the start. It is a moral question too for even the smallest alteration could have major implications. But who wouldn’t go back in time, if only to eliminate regret?

Surely then it would be possible to chase perfection, to ensure that we become the best person, the best parent, and in this case, the best mother. McAllister presents us with a busy, working mum, and the three men in her life: her father, son and husband. On one level she is an everywoman, carrying those small guilts that we all recognise when we juggle career, family and relationships.

Ask yourself, if you could go back in time, what would you do differently?  Second time around, would you try to make it to your son’s 16th birthday?  Would you be there when your father died?  Would you notice if your husband had secrets? Yes, yes you would. These are all the glorious second chances that our protagonist Jen embraces during the course of this tightly plotted novel.  

Of course, McAllister masterfully manoeuvres the plot timeline, but it is the powerful emotional weight of the text that makes this book a winner for me.  There is one powerful scene in particular that I will never forget, when Jen spends an afternoon with her father, knowing that his life is about to end. In a book that is propelled backwards at breakneck speed, there is little time to pause, but in this scene, time stands still.  “They are standing in his dining room, In between his living room and kitchen.  The light outside is beautiful, illuminating a shaft of dust in front of his patio doors.’  McAllister minutely describes her father’s house - the furniture, the dark wood, the kettle bubbling on the stove.  She puts us right in the kitchen with her father and asks us, would you save him if you could?  Of course we would.  Isn’t it the ultimate wish - to have one more day with our departed loved ones? And this isn’t the only question that we are presented with.  The whole novel pulsates with huge questions and observations about familial relationships, such as when Jen’s father tells her, ‘You never want your child to feel like they were a burden.’ 

Light is also used to focus our attention in the pivotal scene with Todd and Jen at the cafe on his birthday, ‘The overhead lights, on some sort of sensor, begin to go off, leaving their bench spot lit in the middle, alone, like they’re in a play.’  This is where Todd tells his mother that he doesn’t blame her for being a busy mum.  This moment in key in the plot and in their relationship. He simply says, ‘You’re human … I wouldn’t have you any other way mother’, and with that the readers share a collective sigh.  It is alright. We are alright.  It is OK to shed the guilt.  It is a momentous moment, one which propels the plot forward and engages the reader, offering us forgiveness for imagined failings. In this book, McAllister fulfils our collective desire which makes this book, much more than a murder mystery

Unlike Kate Atkinson’s foray into time travel with her wonderful novel, Life After Life, McAllister doesn’t turn back time to change monumental moments in history, she journeys to right the wrongs in her family’s relationships, to heal any pain that she may have caused others, but more than anything, to heal the pain, doubts, and guilt within herself, and in turn within the reader.

There is never a wrong time to read a good book, and in Wrong Place Wrong Time McAllister travels back in time to remind us all that how we use our time right now is all that matters.

If I Tell ~ Gill Perdue

I finished this gripping thriller in two sittings, the first was on an overnight stint in an overcrowded A&E room. So often with this book, fact and fiction merged for me, beginning when two policemen arrived at the hospital with a man in handcuffs, seeking medical assistance.  For those of you who don't know, this is not unlike the scenario at the start of Perdue's first novel in the Shaw and Darmody series, 'If I Tell'. The second and final sitting was late last night and I awoke this morning wondering how the main characters, Laura, Jenny and Niamh were doing - a telltale sign that a book has gotten under my skin, and this one certainly did. 

However, the most striking thing for me about this book was how acquainted I am with where the book is set. The story takes place in Dublin, yes, but it is based close to where I live and work, so at times it felt as if the text was not a piece of imaginary work but an article from a local newspaper. I think, if anything, this amplified the plot's chilling effect on me as a reader. Knowing so well the streets where some of the darkest events happen in the book, I found myself texting my teenage daughter to cut her evening walk short and keep to the main roads.

But that is probably the same for so many people who have read this novel, and that is the point: location doesn’t actually matter - violence against women and children can happen anywhere, anytime.  There's a normalcy to it that this book rails against at its very core. Enough is enough, Perdue shouts to the sky, the reader, the world.  Like one protagonist says to the other: 'We both have to tell our stories - so that it stops happening'. 

This in a vital way, is what Perdue is doing by writing this book - it is the titular concern after all - 'If I Tell Worse Will Happen'.  I wasn't expecting how outspoken and defiant Laura would be as she reflects on the injustice shown to all those who are subject to unspeakable violence. Yet in her book, Perdue is braver than most because she writes the unspeakable, and her gaze is steadfast and fixed. She insists that we do not look away. She cleverly takes us through the ordeal that her characters face because she has woven a story around them that is genuine, compelling, and that we can relate to, with characters that are warm, familiar, and that we are totally invested in.  So when they finally open-up and tell their stories, we feel compelled to listen, regardless of how unsettling and disturbing those words are to hear. With passionate words reminiscent of Bronte’s Jane Eyre, Perdue decries the injustice of the justice system, and demands change. 

Bronte gave us one defiant voice in her book where Perdue gives us three: Laura, Niamh and Jenny.  A triptych of female narrators, all speaking in the first-person present-tense, creates three-fold tension and a powerful sense of immediacy. The technique allows us to get inside the heads of three very important female characters, and while there are male characters in the text, we only view them at a distance. I think the impact of this on the reader is that we gain a very strong understanding of the female experience in the world of the novel, which reflects the book's theme and is crucial to its success. That being said, there are lots of interesting male characters here too and each of the women have positive experiences with men.  Niamh's father is very kind and accepting of her.  Laura's husband is forever patient and understanding, and Jenny's father, and boyfriend Luke, are both very tender and sensitive to her needs. Perhaps this is something that Persue will devlop in her second novel in the Shaw and Darmody series, called 'When They See Me', which is out now.

'If I Tell' is great company if you are ever stuck in A&E, or anywhere indeed, and need a gripping read to whisk you away to another reality, even if and especially perhaps, it happens to be set on your doorstep!  It may be all the more thrilling for that.

Michelle Burrowes

A God In Ruins ~ by Kate Atkinson

I don't know about you, but I couldn't wait for this book to be published.  Kate Atkinson is fast becoming one of my favourite contemporary writers.  Her stories dip into different genres, but at the heart of them all, lie wonderfully drawn characters who we come to really care about.  Having read Atkinson's previous novel, 'Life After Life', the forerunner of  this book, it was with some trepidation that I began 'A God in Ruins'.  The main reason for this was that things didn't always work out well for Teddy, whom I adored, in the last book and I was fearful of more of the same this time round. I didn't think that I could bear that.  However, despite the worrisome title,  'A God in Ruins', is far less bleak for Teddy.  He gets through the war and fulfils his dream of marrying Nancy, the girl next door.  His life 'afterwards' is quite normal.  

Viola, his daughter and only child, is a disappointment; she seems to have been born angry.  It is unclear why such a loved and wanted child could be so unhappy, but perhaps this is one of the questions that Atkinson addresses in the novel.  Were the whole 'love and peace' generation, who came of age in the swinging sixties, all reacting to the violence and hatred of the years before their births?  Did they imbibe all of that angst?  Did they bear the psychological marks of trauma because of what their parents had done during WWII?  Was this some kind of trans-generational bad karma?  Either way, it seems to take a generations for all the anger to work its way out of the blood line, and it isn't until Teddy's grandchildren come along, that he begins to feel the familial love that he always hoped for and indeed expected.

Bertie and Sunny, are both sensible enough to appreciate Teddy for what he is, a kind, decent human being, who cares about nature and loves his fellow man.  Viola, the choleric daughter, can see nothing but her own pain, and is happy to destroy the lives of everyone around her if it means she has even a moment of happiness, which she never does.

Once again, Atkinson covers a wide period in history, the British during The Second World War, presenting us with amazing facts and figures about the time; giving us a history lesson in fact, not that we ever really notice. Her narrative is focused firmly on the lives of the small group of characters whom we come to know intimately.  Some are taken directly from the previous novel, such as Ursula and Sylvia Todd, for example, but it is not necessary to have read the companion book to appreciate this one, though of course, reading 'Life After Life' beforehand is highly recommended.  (See my earlier post.)

I cannot speak much about the ending of this novel - as with most of Atkinson's novels, her endings are full of unexpected twists and surprises, but I will say that with this novel, Atkinson has surpassed herself.  I found myself in a daze, one minute laughing, the next crying, as I stumbled over the last half a dozen pages or so.  What a roller coaster ride this novel has been. 

While reading the book, I was reminded, very often of the television show, 'Only Fools and Horses', in particular a character called Uncle Albert, who would often chime out the phrase, 'I fought a war for you , you know!' to which canned laughter was the regular response, along with rolling eyes and mocking jibes  from Del Boy and Rodney.  What this book does, is zoom in on the uncle Alberts of England, and consider that generation, who are now passing out of existence.  I never liked how those TV comedians treated Uncle Albert, nor the similar late 1970s punk ethos that sang/spoke a similar mantra.  I always have believed that the soldiers of WWII (and WWI for that matter) suffered enough on the battlefield.  The generation who lived through the Second World War really did strike out against fascism and saved the future for millions of us.  

What Atkinson cleverly does here is tell the story of the countless millions of people who were never born, because their WOULD-BE fathers and mothers died in the war.  So, if Teddy had died, as he had died in one of Ursula's lives in 'Life After Life', then Sunny, Bertie and even the file Viola would never have been born.  Their whole stories would never have been.  But Atkinson, DOES write Teddy's story.  She breaths life into him, from childhood to old age and what a wonderfully warm, vital man he is.  

I adored this character, his tenderness, his love of larks and bluebells, his bravery and sense of doing right.   Some of the time you feel, is this what he fought the war for?  Is this all he gets in life, a thankless, bitter child; a cold, sometimes distant, wife?  But life is unfair: ordinary life is messy and cruel, and old age is the cruellest of all.  And anyway, surely it is better to have survived the war, even if the 'afterwards', that Teddy and Nancy so often spoke of,  turned out to be less than ideal?  Surely it is better to suffer 'the slings and arrows' of this mortal life, than have it ripped away from you in the burning cockpit of a Halifax over the English Channel?  

The description of the treatment or mistreatment, of the old is very moving.  The slow, relentless undermining of power and the rise of the next generation is heartbreaking to read, and we feel it more keenly because we are reminded of Teddy's brave, fearless youth through the use of repeated flashbacks to Teddy's war.  This narrative technique keeps the youthful version of Teddy always in our mind's eye and it is even more poignant to see the old and the young Teddy side by side, chapter by chapter, in this way.  

Atkinson's narrative technique is also worth mentioning.  She is a weaver - and the tapestry that she creates is rich and bold, vibrant and intricate.  The picture created is at once familiar, a patchwork of familial relationships, tugging and pulling all the time, yet each one vital to the overall story.  Teddy, Nancy, Ursula, Bertie, Viola and Sunny, all coexist together, each has a story that needs to be told.  There would be no Teddy were it not for Ursula, no Viola if there were no Teddy and so on.  This patchwork the Atkinson creates resembles the very fabric of England; its people and their sacrifice during the war.  In this way, the impact of the war stretches through the generations, over time, touching us even now, and must never be forgotten.

I couldn't wait for this book to be published and now that I've spent the last week living within its pages, I feel like going back and reading it all over again.  I strongly advise you to do the same.

By Michelle Burrowes

The Dinner ~ by Herman Koch

One might be forgiven for thinking that this book is merely about food and dining out.  While Dutch author, Herman Koch's novel, 'The Dinner', does spend a lot of time considering those arts, the book is primarily about families; what keeps them together and what rips them apart.  The title refers to a seemingly innocuous meal in a restaurant attended by two brothers, Paul and Serge Lohman and their respective wives, Clare and Babette.  However, as the plot unravels, we discover that they are meeting to discuss a problem with their sons.  The teenage cousins have broken the law and bit by bit the true horror of their behaviour is revealed to the reader.  Yet, the really disturbing thing is how the parents react to their sons' behaviour; how they cover up for the boys and defend their actions.

As such, this is a book about deception.  Almost every character, we discover, is not as we expected them to be.  It is most unsettling for the reader, but deeply compelling.  We dread what may be coming, but we cannot help but be enthralled.  After all, the situation is something we can all relate to: family loyalty.

Kock seems to be considering how we can never really know someone, even those with  whom we have the closest bonds.  Even the narrator, Paul, is questionable.  We think we can trust him, but even he is capable of shocking the reader with his opinions and behaviour.  It is unsettling, and is meant to be.  It emphasises the author's fascination with trust and supports his idea that you can never be certain about other people; everyone is capable of deception.

The novel begins with the mundane details involved when going out to dinner.  Paul helps his wife choose what to wear, is careful to order the right food from the menu and not to arrive too early.  Just when we think it was a bad decision to start reading the book, the truth behind the meal comes to light.  It is tantalising.   From there, the plot continues to get more and more involved, until you feel as much a part of the story as the parents who face the extraordinary dilemma before them.
Koch is also contemplating how blood is thicker than water.  This idea is most apparent when we consider the character of adopted boy Beau, whose position in the hierarchy of the family is different from blood relatives.  Although the adopted parents claim to love this African boy every bit as much as their own children, when push comes to shove, in an extreme situation, wouldn't the security of their birth child take precedence over the adopted child?

This is just one of the many questions prompted by this book.  In a way, the novel is actually about society and takes a probing look at the justice system, our morals and social bias.  Vagrants, sufferers of mental illness, paedophiles, cancer patients, politicians, mothers, fathers and sons all come under the microscope of this writer.  Is one life more valuable than another?  Isn't it the duty of a parent to protect their child?  Where should a parents duty lie when to do the right thing means relinquishing one's duty to one's child?  As the author takes the characters through these questions, the reader is forced to put themselves in the shoes of the offenders and their parents and made to consider:  what would I do in such a situation.

There is also the question of genetics and how children inherit so much from their parents.  Koch makes you wonder; if we could predict that our children would be born with a tendency to break the law, would we choose to terminate them in advance?  We are also forced to recognise that the behaviour of children is often directly related to the manner in which they were brought up and the example that their parents showed them.  Here we can see a direct correlation between Paul's violent tendency and his son's.

Time and time again Paul showed his son bad example, how people could be physically threatened  into submission.  As always, the parents are to blame, not only because they neglected to teach their children  right from wrong, but that they were genetically poorly programmed from conception.  This nature-nurture debate is at that heart of sociology and Koch cleverly forces us to consider these huge themes while keeping us on the edge of our seats.

Of course, I got it wrong.  This is not a simple book about a meal in a restaurant, but a book about society and the limits of decent behaviour when faced with the destruction of familial happiness and security.
By Michelle Burrowes

At Sea ~ Laurie Graham

Is this the new Agatha Christie without the body in the library?  No, it certainly is not. Yet, this book will keep you guessing and longing for high tea in the afternoon.
'At Sea', by Laurie Graham, is a novel about appearances, set on-board a cruise ship where people can easily adopt a new identity and live out their fantasies for a few weeks at least, before returning to normality on shore.
The story is narrated by the long-nosed, long-suffering Lady Enid Finch, who plays the neglected wife of Professor Bernard Finch, the ship's history lecturer (glorified guide) whose snobbery and egotism make him easily the most detested man on-board.  He is completely absorbed with his own image and status, sulking over his below-par accommodation and his having been denied a seat at the captain's dinner table.  In fact, he is so obsessed with appearing superior to all the other passengers, that it soon becomes clear that he is not who he claims to be.  When he is confronted by a fellow passenger and  boyhood friend, Enid soon realises that the man she married is not who he claimed to be, but is in fact Mr Willy Fink, a barely educated American from dubious parentage.  And what an appropriate name for the camelion-like Bernard, Fink sounding so much like fake.

But Bernard (or Willy) is not the only character who is not as they seem.  Lady Enid, we are told is actually not entitled to her title either, owing to second marriage and new heir.  To learn such untruths about our beloved narrator is quite unsettling and in keeping with the ever-shifting terrain of a stormy sea.  As the plot unfolds, more twists are revealed until we finally realise that nothing in this book is what it appears to be.  Interesting, it is only the loud Americans, so hated by Bernard for their being so 'American' in the first place, that are unchanging and steadfast.  They are what they appear to be.  Perhaps Graham is commenting on British society and how, like the effervescent Mrs Bucket, so much energy is spent in keeping up appearances, that life becomes nothing but boring show.  

Yet the theme of appearances goes still deeper in this text, infiltrating the very tone of the book.  For the first chapter or two I thought the book was set in the early part of the twentieth century and I kept expecting Miss Marple or Poirot to pop out from behind a cabin door.  How shocking then to hear a character refer to their mobile phone, or a reference to the year 2002!  Graham clearly sets out to make the book 'appear' to be set in pre-war Europe, but again is playing with our preconceptions, just like Bernard and Enid do.  In this way, the book harps back to an era long gone, when sea travel was a necessity, not a choice, which, in a way, all sea cruises do.

The book further reminds me of Agatha Christie because it contains a mystery, revolving around not the 'appearance', but the dis-appearance of an important character.  I cannot elaborate further for fear of spoiling the book, but the fact remains that the author has created a book which operates on may different levels.  Perhaps it is because of this interlacing of plot and style that I did not become very attached to any of the ship's passengers.  The all seemed a little shallow by the end and even Enid showed herself to be as unknowable as the rest.  Of course it is wonderfully enjoyable to see her abandon her grey wolly cardy for an electric blue dress, but she left me a little cold somehow.
Still, this is a very witty, enjoyable book that will keep you entertained to the end and rushing to read a little Agatha Christie and boil kettles, for some unknown reason.

By Michelle Burrowes