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. 

The Compound ~ by Aisling Rawle

In a world where truth is being undermined daily—where facts and “alternative facts” are presented side by side - this text explores the limitations of truth.

In the compound, ten men and ten women play a game of survival under the watchful gaze of cameras, which broadcast their every move 24 hours a day. In such a situation, the audience can only guess what is real and what is contrived. Certain behaviours are rewarded; others are not. The competitors themselves face a similar dilemma: can anyone be trusted? The age-old adage “All’s fair in love and war” applies here - can we decry unkind, immoral acts when the rewards are so great?

This is one of the questions that author Aisling Rawle's book The Compound poses. It asks us what is truth and what is a lie, and can we ever know the difference?

The text goes further, as the parallels between this fictional world and our own become increasingly clear. There is little difference between the brinkmanship of a boardroom or a playground and the cutthroat acts of the compound residents. Who sides with whom at a union meeting or family court, or who sits next to whom in a staffroom or cafeteria openly declares a kind of fealty or loyalty. A simple act of where you sit in a meeting is always political. Just watch your colleagues at the next gathering. Decisions are made, calculations drawn. This is how humans build relationships and form communities. There are always those who are excluded - and those who choose not to play these games, preferring solitude and their own company. And this choice is equally political.  If everything is transactional, can we ever truly trust another person's motives? And if we recognise their motives, is there a sort of truth in that? In The Compound we are privy to Lily's thoughts as she narrates the story. Yet, her personality gradually changes, and at times we are shocked by her actions. The enjoyment she felt killing the ducks, the cruel destruction of Tom's record player, and her easy parting with Sam and Jacintha surpries us. Her greed for status, acceptance and wealth is unrelenting, despite the fire, and the mounting rubbish heaps; her obsession almost kills her. She continues to surprise us until the very end, leaving us questioning who Lily really is. 

In the world of this text, the residents of the compound must consider and reconsider every action before they act. The effect is exhausting, and some choose to leave the house rather than remain. It is a brutal world when any act of intimacy, kindness, or generosity must be viewed with suspicion. Even the attachment between lovers is questioned as potentially transactional. But isn’t that the same in the real world? You need only read Jane Austen to see that. Even the great Elizabeth Bennet must admit to falling for Darcy when first seeing his sizeable grounds at Pemberly!

In fact, this book lays bare the selfish root of human behaviour. Why else would we do the things we do?

You might argue that no, people do act out of love in the book, but The Compound seems to suggest that love cannot be trusted - even maternal love. Lily's relationship with her mother is evidence of that. Lily's feelings for Clarice, Jacintha, Ryan, and Sam, also come into doubt, suggesting that love only lasts as long as it is of benefit. This is quite a refreshing idea in a novel, where love is usually seen as a cure-all. Popular culture has long been sold on the “happily ever after” ending. This idea fits with the dystopian nature of the text. Here, truth itself is doubtful - just as trust, beauty, and love are. The book forces us to consider whether the same is true in our society, in our relationships. It also asks the question: if this is so, then what holds society together?

You don’t need to be part of a religious cult, the masons, or any secret society to flourish - but we instinctively understand the value of seeking out our “tribe” if we want to be successful or happy. Even that, the book suggests, is transactional. I’ll clean the kitchen if you mend the window. I’ll cook the meal if you take out the bins.

You might read this book simply to find out who becomes the last remaining resident in the compound - and as a game show, it certainly holds our interest. But for me, the most compelling aspect of the book is what it reveals about the society we live in the real world, our world. This book will not change your life, but it may start you thinking about where truth lies, and the limitations it holds.

Still Life ~ Sarah Winman

Because, in Italy - as on holiday - anything can happen.

Sarah Winman’s novel may initially draw you in with nostalgic echoes of the 1985 film A Room with a View, starring Helena Bonham-Carter, Maggie Smith, and Judi Dench. But while the Italian backdrop is undeniably enchanting, it’s the characters that will steal your heart.

Imagine Only Fools and Horses transported to Florence, and you're getting close. Winman gives us a cast of unforgettable characters - funny, and forgiving. Each one arrives with their own baggage and backstory, all of them searching for something: a home, a purpose, a sense of belonging. The warmth and bonhomie that radiate from every page make the novel irresistibly uplifting, even when the characters are at their lowest.

While the story’s themes are universal—identity, reinvention, love—it is the geography of Italy, and Florence in particular, that makes it all possible. Removed from their usual setting—mostly London—the characters find the freedom to remake their lives. Like travelers on an extended holiday, they are forced to shed what no longer serves them and carry only what’s essential.

Ulysses, the central figure, begins as a soldier and ends as a Florentine property owner. With him are a makeshift family: a wise child (Alys), a grandfatherly figure (Cress), and a startlingly human parrot (Claude). Together, they form the nucleus of a growing, unconventional family. Over time, others join—Pete, the soulful musician; Des, the flamboyant benefactor; Col, the irascible uncle; Evelyn, the sage grandmother; and Peg, the beautiful and flawed woman everyone seems to love.

But this isn’t a story of fixed roles. There is no designated mother, father, or child. Care and nurture pass fluidly from one character to another. Ulysses sometimes mothers Alys, Cress nurtures Ulysses, even the gruff Col surprises with tenderness. This fluidity makes the novel feel strikingly modern, despite its 20th-century timeline—spanning from Evelyn’s youth in 1901 to the 1980s.

Major historical events—World War II, the moon landings, England’s 1966 World Cup victory—anchor the narrative in a tangible reality. And yet, the story’s magic lies in its willingness to stretch plausibility: an almost-human parrot, windfall inheritances, properties donated like secondhand clothing . These fantastical elements allow the characters to remain, in a sense, on holiday—free of financial constraint, open to possibility.

Because, in Italy - as on holiday - anything can happen.

Could chance meetings change lives forever? Could lost lovers reunite after decades and pick up exactly where they left off? Could the forgotten, the unloved, and the aged find themselves cherished once more? Winman says yes. On holiday, all things are possible.

Of all the characters, Peg left me cold. In my imagination, she was part Jayne Mansfield, part EastEnders barmaid. For all the love and attention she received—largely because of her beauty—I found her undeserving. Even the formidable Evelyn, at 86, had a crush on her. For me, the male relationships held far more emotional resonance. They were warm, funny and supportive. And it’s because of them that I loved this book as much as I did.  
Michelle Burrowes

A Snow Garden - Rachel Joyce

There is something about Christmas that makes me reach for short stories, why is that? And if there is a promise of magic, all the better. This year one collection that I loved was ‘A Snow Garden’ by Rachel Joyce. She presents us with seven scenarios, with people whose lives are imploding. The characters are struggling, yet there is always hope that everything will work out fine.  As with her previous books that I have reviewed, the characters in these short stories are very normal - quietly so, and that is just what makes them so special. She gives us mothers and fathers trying to hold it together just long enough to give their children a ‘normal’ Christmas when things are anything but. No one is fooled though. The pain that these characters are living with is blinding, like a shiny object, stuffed in a box that no one ever sees, but once it is taken out into the sunlight, it dazzles. Between the pages of this book we meet a whole array of characters, battling to survive the season of peace and joy: Binny, the mother coming to terms with an infidelity; Alan and Alice, married for decades, warring it out as the try to assemble a racing bike for their son on Christmas Eve; an unexpected birth at the airport; a single dad who promises his sons snow for Christmas; a pop star’s homing-coming; a father and son dealing with regrets. And then a beautiful moment from world of Harold and Maureen Fry, that almost broke me. These are the cast of characters who people this heartwarming, gem of a book.

We are told in the introduction to the book, that they have one thing in common - they were all cast-off and rejects from other novels and radio plays that the author, for one reason or another, cut from her published works.  In a way, this book is a second chance for these characters - their opportunity to prove to the world that their stories were worth reading.  We delight to see these broken, forgotten creations finally get their moment in the sun. This fact alone, fills the reader full of hope.  

And then, to add a double layer of spine-tingling pathos, Joyce gathers bundles of joy within each story, and wraps them up for us like a gift.  Tiny, impossible, yet possible plot lines, connections and insights, fill us with delight in what can only be described as a hefty, seasonal helping of Christmas spirit. Yet there is a bittersweet aftertaste with every mouthful - this is real life after all!

You will recognise yourself in these stories, the people from your past, and those who surround you everyday. People who make bad decisions, silly mistakes and show poor judgement on every page - but that is the thing that makes them human, endearing, and unforgettable. It is the juxtaposition of the normal, with the magical that makes this book so special. It is a perfect Christmas collection of short stories and will be one I return to again and again, not just at Christmas, but whenever I need to be reminded that we are all in this together, and that stories are waiting around every corner.  And, dare I say, magic too.

 

Normal Rules Don’t Apply - Kate Atkinson

 

Let me begin with a confession - I am a huge Atkinson fan and so am totally biased. Still - I think you will adore this book, like I do.

Kate Atkinson’s latest book is a collection of short stories entitled ‘Normal Rules Don’t Apply’, more riddle than narrative - a clue lies in the title. Atkinson gifts us with a book that we can choose to read as a disparate collection of stories, or not. I have chosen the latter, knowing as I do how Atkinson likes to surprise and delight her readers. In her novel, Life After Life, she took us on a merry dance, breaking the norms of narrative writing until the story was perfected. She continues in a similar vein here, but takes the experiment to the next level.  

The twelve stories in the collection are linked in numerous ways; firstly through setting.  The book begins and ends on Grassholm Farm, close to the Green Dragon pub, which in turn is connected to the fictional Green Acres television serial. What a lovely touch to create a collection of characters whose one point of connection is the local pub! On a symbolic level, Green Acres represents a fictional reality, in contrast to the many alternative realities that are presented in this text - after all, one fake reality is just as valid as the next!

Another connection is the way Atkinson plays with the rules of storytelling, creating a reality where unexpected things happen. For example, one main character dies close to the start of the story, but that doesn’t stop her first person narration! Another character is a talking horse. (He is so compelling that Atkinson uses him in two different stories) as well as a talking dog!  Another story involves a character from the fairytale that someone is reading popping into the world of the story and ringing the doorbell.

It seems that in the world of this book, anything is possible. The rules of narrative do not apply, or at least Atkinson is bending them as far as possible and is testing us as readers.  How far can she try our incredulity?  A woman giving birth to kittens?  Why not! She has done it before, in her excellent book. “Not the End of the World’, and she makes passing reference to the same idea here too. This time she presents us with an Immaculate Conception, which is brought about after an intense school inspection.  Did I mention that this book will have you laughing out loud?  It may be dark, and it may poke fun at humanity, but it is very droll, in a very Kate Atkinsonian sort of way. 

The titles of the twelve stories are also connected: a title in one story is a catchphrase in another, ‘What if!’And characters too have a habit of wandering into different stories - Franklyn, Mable and Father Matthew turn up repeatedly. A similar repeated motif is the reference to the scent of violets, which peppers the entire text, and even becomes the name of a character if you take the trouble to notice. And of course there are the repeated references to that unique sound “Ting’ that means so much in the book - be it a church bell, a text alert or doorbell.  Like the quiet ping of a light switch going on.  

In almost every story there is a loyal dog, remaining steadfast by its owner’s side.  From Meg, the old man’s dog in the first story, to Kerry, named for Mr Kingshott’s  mistress, Holdfast and Nosewise, Aoife’s royal hounds, along with countless other dog foxes and witches’ cats, this is a book filled with four-legged companions.  Perhaps Atkinson is saying that in another reality this book is actually THEIR story, and we humans are merely sidekicks. I would not be surprised!

Atkinson accounts for all of this craziness in ‘Gene-sis’, where she introduces Kitty, an office worker, ‘With a secret librarian soul’, who works in advertising. It is she who is charge of the world, she who flicks the switch each time things get out of hand, to reboot the universe so to speak.So all our recent bad weather, the forest fires, the mud slides, the disappearing species - all Kitty’s fault. It is trickier than you might think, but there is something comforting in the idea that Kitty is doing her best to get it right. There is always a next time after all!

For those who take the time to look, there is much to observe in Kate Atkinson’s latest book. She has cleverly laid out riddles and connections for us to discover, but even without them, this is a book to enjoy. I am sure this will be a book to return to again and again to seek new motifs which may have alluded me this time round - I am certain there must be many.  ‘Normal Rules Don’t Apply’ apparently.  You have been justly warned. This is a book for fans and for those who have not yet fallen under Atkinson's spell, and that includes you too!