Dr Alice Violett

Blog tour: The Poppy Fields by Nikki Erlick

Wed, 01 Jul 2026 00:00:00 -0500

This post is part of a blog tour organised by Random Things Blog Tours. I received a free copy of the book in return for an honest review.

‘What if there were a cure for the broken-hearted?

‘Welcome to the Poppy Fields, where there’s hope for even the most battered hearts to heal.

‘Here, in a remote stretch of the California desert, lies an experimental and controversial treatment centre that allows those suffering from the heartache of loss to sleep through their pain… and keep on sleeping. After patients awaken from this prolonged state of slumber, they will finally be healed. But only if they’re willing to accept the potential shadowy side effects.

‘On a journey to this mystical destination are four very different strangers and one little dog: Ava, a book illustrator; Ray, a fireman; Sasha, an occupational therapist; Sky, a free spirit; and a friendly pup named PJ.

‘As they attempt to make their way from the Midwest all the way west to the Poppy Fields – where they hope to find Ellis, its brilliant, enigmatic founder – each of their past secrets and mysterious motivations threaten to derail their voyage.’

In The Poppy Fields, by Nikki Erlick, a tornado hits Kansas, prompting four strangers and a little dog to abandon their plans to travel to California by plane, and instead take a multi-day road trip to reach the destination that three of them happen to share: the titular Poppy Fields, a facility where – if you’re debilitated by grief and your application is approved – you can spend several weeks sleeping off your heartache and kickstart your recovery.

The treatment is currently free, thanks to generous philanthropic funding, but there’s still a catch: 25% of sleepers wake up with the side effect that they no longer feel anything at all towards the person they’ve lost. Not necessarily a huge problem if you’re mourning a broken relationship, but potentially disturbing if a well-loved relative or friend died.

While occupational therapist Sasha is headed for the Poppy Fields hoping to be treated for the tragic loss of her fiancé – having had her paper application rejected – children’s book illustrator Ava (accompanied by her handbag dog, PJ) and fireman Ray have other reasons for wanting to visit the facility, which emerge over the course of the trip. Eighteen-year-old Sky, meanwhile, just wants to see more of the world, and her lack of emotional baggage proves to be both refreshing and affirming for her fellow travellers.

I must admit, The Poppy Fields wasn’t quite what I expected! When I read the blurb, my mind latched on to the speculative element, and I was anticipating the treatment to have a shadowy backstory and harmful applications (think Opposite World, by Elizabeth Anne Martins) and/or unintended, society-level effects (as in Eve Smith’s novels, such as The Cure).

But the Poppy Fields’ founder, Ellis, genuinely wants to make a positive difference in the world; the aforementioned side effect is the only one, it’s well-documented, and sleepers are well aware (no pun intended) it’s a risk when they sign the dotted line; and while there are people and groups who oppose the treatment, most of the time they don’t give the executive team too much to worry about.

Instead, it’s a road trip story where a group of people get to know one another, share their secrets and wisdom as unplanned stopovers and detours strengthen their new bonds, and start to see the hint of a light at the end of the dark, lonely tunnels they’ve found themselves in. And it happened to be the book I needed at the time I read it, as I’m currently raw from a loss that’s upset me more than any other I’ve had to date. (Full disclosure: I wouldn’t be accepted for the Poppy Fields because a) I’m still able to function and find joy despite my grief, and b) I’m mourning a cat, rather than a human.)

The key messages of The Poppy Fields, therefore, felt especially pertinent to me at this time. These include: even though grief is a very personal experience, staying in community, rather than shutting yourself away, helps you heal (a message I also gleaned from Helen MacDonald’s H is for Hawk, which I read last week); you don’t stop missing someone, but you do usually adjust to your new reality and find reasons to keep moving forward eventually; and you wouldn’t want to lose all feeling for a loved one who’s died, because chances are their influence and support were integral to the person you’ve become, and it cuts you off from other people who are also grieving for them.

That said, I didn’t find myself opposed to the treatment the Poppy Fields offers. Its detractors argue that grieving is a normal part of life that you just have to put up with, and that the sleepers are being selfish by leaving their families and responsibilities for a couple of months to sleep.

To me, these opponents sound like the people who don’t believe in antidepressants because ‘everyone gets sad sometimes’, and don’t seem to understand how depression can stop you functioning and strip away your quality of life. If you can manage on your own, that’s great! But everyone should have access to whatever will make them feel better (provided it’s ethical, obviously), and you wouldn’t tell someone who’s in a coma recovering from a physical injury that they should be awake and fulfilling their duties.

Plus, those few weeks a sleeper’s away feel like a small price to pay for their family to get back more or less the “old them” for the foreseeable future, and hundreds of thousands (I did find that number a tad unrealistic, considering the facility has only been up and running for three years and Ellis reviews every application) of people have wanted to give the treatment a shot, with three quarters of those seeing a reduction in distress. Someone should absolutely work on reducing that side effect, though!

While I didn’t dislike any of the main characters, I could especially identify with Ava. She prefers a small life, where she’s firmly rooted in one place she knows really well and experiences the wider world through books, finds safety in invisibility, doesn’t crave fame or power, and is content with a steady, creative job she enjoys. There is a sadness at her core, but her lifestyle itself isn’t the cause of it, even if people do look down on her for not dreaming bigger or being able to drive. Unlike Ava, though, I don’t think I’d have given in to Sky imploring me to give driving a go! Way too scary for me.

The Poppy Fields may not have been the read I expected, but it was definitely one I needed.

Blog tour: Bad Influence by Will Carver

Mon, 15 Jun 2026 00:00:00 -0500

This post is part of a blog tour organised by Random Things Blog Tours. I received a free copy of the book in return for an honest review.

‘Alyssa wants to be seen. Less wants to be someone.

‘She takes two buses to class, posts pictures of her lunch, and pretends it’s all effortless. He hides his privilege beneath thrifted clothes and a sketchbook full of impossible designs.

‘Together, they are inseparable – two outsiders constructing a version of themselves the world might finally applaud.

‘Then Alyssa stumbles upon the hidden world of phrogging – living unnoticed inside other people’s homes. She and Less slip through Los Angeles’ glossy veneer: influencers, producers, pop stars, all so busy performing their perfect lives they don’t notice the shadows in their attics, the scratching in their walls.

‘An act of rebellion. A harmless thrill. A social experiment.

‘Until they choose the wrong house.

‘Until the influencer they idolise catches them in the act.

‘Until the cameras, already rolling, capture everything.

‘What begins as a reckless adventure becomes a nightmare of lies, power… and murder…’

In Bad Influence, by Will Carver, college students Less (Alessandro) – who dreams of being a milliner to the stars – and Alyssa – who just wants to be famous for something – discover “phrogging”, or spending time in other people’s homes without their knowledge. Together, they stay overnight in an activist influencer’s attic, sneak into a legendary music producer’s party, and hang out in a rock star’s house in the Hills.

When they target highly-strung fitness influencer Paige, though, it all goes very wrong, very quickly. Contrary to what she told her followers, Paige is at home for the weekend, and she over-reacts when she finds Alyssa and Less in her living room. What’s more, a pair of unscrupulous reality TV producers who recently rigged up Paige’s home for a show are already watching her without her knowledge, and absolutely lapping up the drama.

Every time I think Will Carver can’t possibly top his previous novel (in this case, Kill Them With Kindness) for unsubtlety, darkness, and stark observations, he proves me wrong. Bad Influence had me hooked with its sharp twists and turns, as well as the sometimes shockingly bad behaviour of its characters.

I don’t want to give anything away, but Alyssa and Less’ audacious actions as they turn into “phroggers” had me constantly on the edge of my seat, there are a couple of huge “wait, what?!” turning points, and there’s also some unreliable/highly evasive narration in the mix.

None of the characters are all-out loveable, but some are more forgiveable than others. Alyssa and Less may be fame-hungry and irresponsible, but I found I couldn’t be too harsh on them, because they’re young and likely to grow out of it/look back and cringe. Along with the influencers we spend time with (including Paige), they’re prone to navel-gazing and neatly making sense of their lives and selves using pop psychology, which can make them come across as irritatingly self-absorbed. Again, though, I couldn’t strongly judge them for it, as social media has kind of done that to me as well.

In contrast, Edie and Tammy, the TV producers who’ve set up cameras in Paige’s house and had her sign a contract that essentially gives them laissez-faire to ruin her life for the purposes of entertainment, are old enough to know better. The way they watch and comment on what they’re seeing shows they lost their human decency – if they ever had any in the first place – long ago.

There’s an argument to be made that this pair are clinging on to forms of media – linear TV, and “reality” shows where desperate wannabes are manipulated and edited into looking bad and being hated by viewers, with little-to-no aftercare – that are on the way out. You could say that, by filming, editing, and uploading their own videos, influencers have seized the means of production, and if they’re obsessed with projecting exactly the right image, it’s because they’ve seen what can happen when the public are persuaded to turn on a reality TV star, and they’re keen to avoid that.

Like Carver’s other novels, while set in the world-famous location of LA, Bad Influence feels curiously untethered from any real space or time. The celebrities, producers, and influencers are, by necessity, made-up (though Andy Warhol is a point of convergence between our world and what I’ve come to think of as the “Carver-verse”!), and there are fleeting references to characters and events from Carver’s other novels, which always pleases me. As the events of Kill Them With Kindness aren’t mentioned, and Alyssa and Less refer to themselves as Millennials (so won’t have been born later than 1996), I did situate it in around 2015 in my head, though.

Bad Influence is a fast-paced thriller packed with compelling characters and jaw-dropping moments.

Review: The Cellar Below the Cellar by Ivy Grimes

Mon, 08 Jun 2026 00:00:00 -0500

I received a free copy of this book from the publisher in return for an honest review.

‘When a wild solar storm wipes out all electronics and traps Jane at her grandmother’s house in the woods, she is forced to start a new life off-grid as part of a small, isolated community.

‘However, there is something very strange about her new neighbors, and the longer she lives under the eerie glow of the auroras, the more she feels her grandmother may be hiding unsettling secrets.

‘To have any hope in her new world, Jane must find the courage to step into her power and claim her identity, but that would mean facing whatever hides in the cellar below the cellar – a place that seems to be waiting for her.’

In The Cellar Below the Cellar, by Ivy Grimes, 33-year-old librarian Jane happens to be staying over at her grandmother’s in the sticks when a solar storm takes out all modern conveniences, from phones and cars, to cookers and treated water.

Never one to lose her head, Jane’s formidable grandmother comes up with a plan to maximise what resources are still available by teaming up with their nearest neighbours – who nonetheless live pretty far away by urban standards.

Jane is less stoic: she misses her old way of life in the city, and resents having to clean and garden for Mr and Mrs Osprey, a demanding, snobby senior couple who live a couple of miles up the road. And that’s before things get seriously weird. Objects start behaving in strange ways, Jane learns the Ospreys aren’t as perfect as they make themselves out to be, and she becomes compelled to visit the sub-basement of the title – which she’s avoided all her life, and not without good reason.

The Cellar Below the Cellar is weird, random (how on Earth did the author come up with those particular ideas, let alone manage to combine them? I am envious!), and fun to read, while also packing some emotional punches.

I’m a sucker for creepy/illogical hidden spaces (I even dream about them pretty regularly), so I was immediately attracted to this book by its title! The additional cellar more than lives up to its promise: Jane’s never seen it, despite it being attached to a house she’s highly familiar with; it’s down a creaky staircase and a ladder behind a small hidden door; and you never quite know what you’ll find there.

The end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it elements of the plot are well thought through, with the author considering the far-reaching consequences of the solar storms, the varying reactions of the four households at the centre of the story, and what they need to do if they’re to survive. The visuals of the storms themselves, the characters’ journeys along the silent roads between their houses, and the suggestion that other people are still out there and communicating via CB radio are brilliantly eerie.

As a thirtysomething bookworm who comes across as a younger adult-under-construction, is useless in a crisis unless firmly directed, and finds interacting with children anxiety-inducing, Jane is a character after my own heart. Importantly, while it takes her a while to even entertain the idea of visiting the cellar below the cellar, once it becomes apparent she’s going to have to go down there, she does it scared, and doesn’t pretend that she isn’t.

While Jane’s grandmother comes across as tough – because someone needs to be – her actions speak of tenderness and care. Not only did she raise Jane following the death of Jane’s mother (her daughter), but she’s never pushed Jane to visit the cellar below the cellar, waiting for her to be ready – even though Jane is the obvious choice to assume responsibility for the sub-basement when she’s gone. She also takes in a little girl, Mary, from a neighbouring family who get sick after not taking her advice about filtering water. While Jane put me in mind of assorted T. Kingfisher main characters (though capability is something she grows into, rather than starts off with), her grandmother gave me a Granny Weatherwax vibe.

Humour is something else The Cellar Below the Cellar has in common with the books of T. Kingfisher and Terry Pratchett. Jane’s narrative voice is often highly entertaining, especially whenever she encounters Dan, a young pastor with the esoteric hobby of capturing particularly fiendish demons in jars. There’s also a lot of dark humour around the Ospreys’ big secret, preventing matters from getting a little too heavy.

The Cellar Below the Cellar is a quirky, enjoyable tale of self-realisation at the end of the world.

What I read in May 2026

Mon, 01 Jun 2026 00:00:00 -0500

May was actually pretty productive! I re-taught myself InDesign (which I last used in 2010!) to make something resembling a zine (more about that next time), and went to the second Writing with Images workshop, which not only helped me finish my story for Emotional Madness in June, but gave me an opportunity to play around and make bad art.

I had a lot of fun making this, but I can only apologise to Poppy.

On top of that, I read 12 books of varying lengths – a quarter of which had “bones” in the title, which was totally unplanned. (Not forgetting I also posted my review of The Bone Mother, by Suzy Aspley this month!)

Of Beasts and Bones, edited by Robin Knabel - 3.5*

The Third Rule of Time Travel, by Philip Fracassi - 4*

Thin Places in Hard Concrete, by Ray Newman - 5*

Space Dragons: Cosmic Survivors, by Veo Corva - 5*

Floating Hotel, by Grace Curtis - 4*

Under the Blazing Sun, by Jenny Lund Madsen, translated by Paul Russell Garrett - 3.5*

Nettle and Bone, by T. Kingfisher - 4.5*

The Wrong Son, by Neil Griffiths - 4.5*

Maggots, by Nina Allan - 4*

The Crawling Moon, edited by Dave Ring - 4*

The Cellar Below the Cellar, by Ivy Grimes - 4*

Silent Bones, by Val McDermid - 4*

Looking ahead…

My T. Kingfisher (and apparent ‘books with “bones” in the title’) journey will continue this month with A House with Good Bones.

I meant to read Men at Arms, by Terry Pratchett, last month, but that didn’t end up happening, so I will try to get to it this month!

I’m on the blog tour for The Poppy Fields, by Nikki Erlick, which looks really good. Another book I’m looking forward to reading is E. Saxey’s short story collection, Lost in the Archives, which I (virtually) picked up after particularly enjoying their contribution to The Crawling Moon.

Blog tour: The Wrong Son by Neil Griffiths

Thu, 28 May 2026 00:00:00 -0500

This post is part of a blog tour organised by Random Things Blog Tours. I received a free copy of the book in return for an honest review.

‘In 1963, a young husband loses his pregnant wife and eighteen-month-old son in a car accident. Six months later, he meets a woman who abandons her own husband and child for him – a man who seems to her everything she has ever wanted.

‘Within two years, a boy is born into this family of grief and guilt: into a house already filled with ghosts, where neither parent can see him clearly through what each has lost. His mother demands perfection. His father, meanwhile, decides early on that this child exists only because the first one died – and cannot forgive him for it.

‘Moulded by his mother, rejected by his father, he is given no space in which to become himself. Throughout his life, no matter how much he tries to invent himself, he is driven by the fear that nothing real exists underneath.

‘Fifty years on, after his parents’ deaths, that fear begins to unmoor him. He turns to the work of psychoanalysts who were pioneers of early childhood psychology around the time he was born. Drawing on the insights of D.W. Winnicott and Jacques Lacan, The Wrong Son traces a life shaped not only by loss and violence, but by psychic damage that may never fully be shaken off.’

In The Wrong Son, writer and publisher Neil Griffiths presents his life story, including the tragic circumstances that shaped the atmosphere he grew up in, which has continued to affect him mentally and emotionally.

In 1963, Griffiths’ police officer father lost his first wife and toddler son in a terrible car accident. In keeping with the time, it wasn’t long before he remarried, but when Griffiths was born, his father couldn’t bring himself to love him – because this second son wouldn’t exist without the death of the first, and he would always compare the younger child to the older, rendered perfect by his untimely death. What’s more, Griffiths’ mother had left a husband and young daughter – whom she wasn’t allowed to see as a result – to devote herself to his charismatic father.

Knowing nothing of his parents’ histories until he was 12, Griffiths was treated coldly and sometimes violently by his father, while his mother was primarily concerned with keeping him quiet and well-behaved as part of her constant drive to manage his father’s moods.

Outside of the house, Griffiths cultivated a bullish, reckless persona, rebelling against everything his parents wanted him to be. However, he actually felt adrift, and like he didn’t really know who he was. His relationship with his father deteriorated even further as he grew older and became less willing or able to hide this other side of himself.

While Griffiths eventually matured and built a stable life with a family of his own, the death of his father when he was in his early 50s forced him to reckon afresh with the feeling of emptiness he’d always carried within.

The Wrong Son is one of the most thoughtful, and thought-provoking autobiographies I’ve read – and I’ve read a lot of them (yes, I am going to refer to my PhD research a bit in this post!).

I went in with my usual awareness that any memoir is just one person’s truth, based on their most significant memories – the recalling and interpretations of which change over time, but nonetheless show what the author finds important and attaches meaning to – and necessarily includes scenes they’ve imagined, because they took place before they were born.

That said, Griffiths describes such scenes so vividly, you almost forget he wasn’t actually there. He doesn’t gloss over or dismiss other people’s highly contrasting experiences of his father, or his own faults or bad behaviour, especially during his turbulent teens and 20s, which I found admirable. He’s also strikingly magnanimous about his parents wanting, and having a child of their own, as that was just what youngish people in new marriages did at that time, and nobody expected any different.

As with the events that precipitated his birth, Griffiths reconstructs scenes from his childhood with such skill, I could absolutely picture them in my head. At the same time, his writing is remarkably unembellished, and this stark style actually increases the impact of the stories he’s telling, as his father’s harsh words and actions demonstrably don’t need extra dressing or picking-over to shock you.

In a similar vein, rather than gratuitously itemising every wrong his parents committed against him, Griffiths presents a series of key incidents between more quotidian (but nonetheless really interesting) passages about school life and how he spent time with his friends growing up. This, along with the dark humour woven throughout, means this book is far from a “misery memoir” – I certainly found it a lot more entertaining than I was expecting!

What’s also interesting is how Griffiths has sought to understand and explain his experiences with references to thinkers such as D.W. Winnicott and Jacques Lacan, as well as society’s expectations of men and women, and attitudes towards grief, mental health, and divorce around the time he was born in the 1960s. (I’d have also thrown John Bowlby’s attachment theory into the mix!)

As I was reading, my mind kept pinging with recognition of discoveries and conclusions from my own work: chiefly that so much of whether you have a “happy” childhood hinges on how your parents came to have children (did they truly want them, or were they just following expectations? Had they lost previous pregnancies/children?), their attitudes towards children (as Griffiths mentions, his father especially was out-of-step with contemporary childrearing fashions, retaining the old authoritarian, “seen but not heard” attitude), and the atmosphere in the home.

While, unlike the main people whose life stories I studied for my thesis, Griffiths was not an only child, the more positive childhood experiences of his younger sister – whom their father may have found easier to love on account of her gender – demonstrate how siblings may share parents and a home, but not necessarily an environment. Nor did having a sibling help Griffiths feel less psychically alone, as the two of them had their own lives and interests; for a period in their teens, he admits, there was even some violence in their relationship.

All this rationalisation can only get us so far, though: Griffiths suffered for decades and didn’t really start to heal until his 50s, when his father died and he finally found the right kind of therapist. The main feeling I came away with (that Griffiths shares, even if he could forgive his parents for having him at all) was outrage at the baggage his parents put onto a helpless, innocent baby without stopping to consider how it might damage him.

There’s so much on social media today about “doing the work” to “break the cycle” (i.e. consciously committing not to repeat your parents’ mistakes and/or pass on inherited trauma to the next generation), yet it wasn’t so long ago that most people simply didn’t think about how their particular issues might affect any children they had. Saying that, though, Griffiths discusses his worries that he’d be a bad parent when his own children were born in the early 2000s because he didn’t have a mental model of a good father to aspire to, as well as sometimes catching himself acting like his father and trying to correct his course – so he was already doing those things, but without the terminology that’s emerged in more recent years.

The Wrong Son is a striking, thoughtful, and self-aware memoir.

Blog tour: Under the Blazing Sun by Jenny Lund Madsen, translated by Paul Russell Garrett

Mon, 18 May 2026 00:00:00 -0500

This post is part of a blog tour organised by Random Things Blog Tours. I received a free copy of the book in return for an honest review.

‘Hannah is miserable. Her love life is in ruins, her contract demands a sequel to her bestselling crime debut – and she’s out of ideas. After a mortifying TV interview, her agent ships her off to a sun-drenched Sicilian villa with a simple order: finish the book. No distractions. No excuses.

‘But inspiration doesn’t strike – murder does.

‘When a night out ends in murder, Hannah finds herself at the centre of a murder investigation… again. The police want her out of the way, and the only person who seems to believe her is a young but charming Italian police officer. That is, until she doesn’t.

‘Soon Hannah is chasing suspects, fleeing crime scenes, and doing whatever it takes to avoid becoming the next victim. She came to write a crime novel. Now she’s trapped inside one.’

In Under the Blazing Sun, by Jenny Lund Madsen – the follow-up to Thirty Days of Darkness – irascible Danish author Hannah Krause-Bendix is again sent to an island by her editor/publicist Bastian to focus on producing a crowd-pleasing crime novel. This time, she’s staying in an isolated villa in Sicily, and is more interested in wine, food, and sunning herself by the pool than doing any writing.

However, it doesn’t take long for things to go very awry. Hannah spends her second night in Sicily at the fortress-like home of Hans and Greta Tauson, a wealthy Swedish couple who have taken her under their wing. In the morning, she discovers Greta bludgeoned to death on the kitchen floor, with Hans nowhere to be found. Having been at the scene of the crime, Hannah comes under police scrutiny, as do the Tausons’ young maid, Lucette, and, of course, the absent Hans.

But Hannah doesn’t think either of them are the murderer, and resents being a person of interest herself. This leads her to conduct her own investigation, helped by friends old and new – despite receiving a threatening letter, and her suspicion that someone dangerous is keeping tabs on her.

I found Under the Blazing Sun a fun, deceptively simple read. With its unlikely events, extremely lucky breaks, Mafia shenanigans, and unsubtle, cinematic climax, you’ll want to check your disbelief at the door, trust the author, and enjoy the journey.

Despite finding love with sort-of girlfriend Margrét, main character Hannah remains entertainingly grouchy, blunt and irrepressible. While I’d find her challenging to spend time with in reality, it’s fascinating to watch her make snap judgements of everyone she encounters, and display stunning audacity and recklessness in her (sometimes ingenious) methods of cracking the case.

Her mean-spirited observations (many of which, surprisingly, she just about manages to keeps to herself) can be very funny, and I could relate to her failure to sit down and write something, even when she had time and space ringfenced for her to do just that. Sometimes, the perfect conditions are just too perfect.

Hannah’s fellow crime writer and “frenemy” Jørn Jensen makes a welcome reappearance to help her with the case. As in the previous book, their repartee is really comical, especially because Jørn is so cartoonishly up himself, he takes any vitriol Hannah directs at him in good humour. While Hannah is motivated to solve the murder because she wants to clear her name and get justice for a woman she knew, however briefly, Jørn primarily wants to have an adventure and act like one of the heroes in his books.

Like Thirty Days of Darkness, Under the Blazing Sun can get very meta, as its (however reluctant) crime writer characters can’t help but ask themselves ‘what would I do if I was in a crime novel?’ While the supremely confident Jørn learns the hard way that acting like the characters he’s written doesn’t play out so well in “real life”, Hannah acknowledges that if she read in a book about some of the situations she ends up in, or actions she takes (one of which she even copies from one of Jørn’s books!), she’d dismiss them as too unrealistic, clichéd, illogical, or unworkable – but reality can be stranger than fiction.

I must admit, my brain is a little fried from thinking about this: by explicitly recognising its far-fetchedness, has the author essentially given herself carte-blanche to write an OTT – but therefore especially propulsive – novel? Does that matter, if it results in an entertaining read? I’ve been known to abandon crime novels when something so unrealistic happened that I simply couldn’t push through it, but because I’m aware this author pokes fun at the genre and its tropes, I simply assume any unlikely development is deliberately daft, and keep going (the good writing that makes me care about the characters and want to know whodunit helps too, of course!).

Under the Blazing Sun is a fun self-referential crime novel.

Blog tour: Of Beasts and Bones, edited by Robin Knabel

Wed, 06 May 2026 00:00:00 -0500

This post is part of a blog tour organised by ZooLoo’s Book Tours. I received a free copy of the book in return for an honest review.

‘Creatures. Grotesqueries. Aliens. Cryptids. Ghosts. These are just a few of the anomalies we’ve unearthed.

‘Join us as we pursue monstrosities, unwittingly stumble upon unspeakable horrors, and bring terrifying abominations to life.

‘They’re all waiting for you – the monsters from your nightmares, the noises you ignored as a child, the shadows hiding atrocities you can’t fathom.

‘They’re all there – creeping in the darkness, waiting to be discovered.

‘Allow us to lure you in. Let us captivate and tantalise you with the unknown.

‘But beware, you might not be ready for what you find. Or what finds you.’

Of Beasts and Bones, edited by Robin Knabel, is more or less what it says on the tin: every story has at least one beast of some size and degree of visibility, from our planet or beyond, and bones also feature a fair bit.

With a whopping 43 stories, this is probably an anthology to dip in and out of as the mood takes you, and the pieces and themes that stood out to me might not even overlap with those of another reader!

Some of the stories have such an element of surprise, I wanted to applaud their authors. In Snug, by J. L. Royce, alien organisms picked up by a spacecraft unexpectedly find optimal conditions to interact with a pair of oblivious astronauts; in Local Guide, by Clint Collins, the shallow-seeming receptionist at a hotel hosting a cryptid festival reveals hidden depths; and in A Little Outside the Norm, by Daniel Fox, an unusual find affects an Edwardian palaeontologist in strange ways, with a brilliantly telling closing line.

Without giving too much away, these selections also relate to another of my standout themes: transformation. Other examples that particularly stayed with me were Hutam’s Lament, by Camellia Paul, and I Am Not Alone, by Alex Goldberg. The latter especially chilled me, as a sentient magnetic field takes over people’s minds – I’m a sucker for spooky stories involving mysterious transmissions!

On the flipside, I was captivated by a couple of stories where, rather than being changed themselves, characters find themselves transported to different – and dangerous – settings. This is exemplified by The Collector, by Corinne Pollard, and Swept Downstream, by David Jón Fuller.

In Fuller’s story, the unsuspecting protagonist encounters ants of abnormal size and intelligence, bringing me to my final standout theme: rogue bugs. Colony, by Sarah Chamberlain, also features ants, but these ones arrive from space, learn to (or already can) mimic spiders and wasps – and are hungry.

Meanwhile, another of my favourite stories from this collection, You Were Never Here, by Rachel Delaney Craft, stars bristle worms who have gorged themselves to outlandish sizes, and aren’t about to turn down extra helpings. While the nuclear accident that sets up this story isn’t directly responsible for the worms’ growth, it nonetheless tapped into a current interest of mine!

Of Beasts and Bones is a kaleidoscopic horror collection that’s full of surprises.

Blog tour: The Bone Mother by Suzy Aspley

Tue, 05 May 2026 00:00:00 -0500

This post is part of a blog tour organised by Random Things Blog Tours. I received a free copy of the book in return for an honest review.

‘Rituals.

‘Secrets

‘A killer who will protect them at any cost…

‘Martha Strangeways has settled into a quiet life in Strathbran, after the horrific events that traumatised the village a year earlier. But all this is turned upside down when her friend at Glasgow CID, DI Derek Summers, calls on her to help with a disturbing case: a human ear, with an unusual Celtic earring, has been found next to a railway line in the Highlands.

‘And when the body of a young woman wearing matching jewellery turns up at a landmark church shortly after, the mystery deepens. Why has she been laid out in a ritualistic fashion? Does her trek along the little-known Cailleach Way have anything to do with her death? And who is running the Facebook group where she posted details of her journey to the shrine of the Bone Mother goddess?

‘As Martha tries to unpick the threads, she finds herself entwined with a ghost from her own past, and in conflict with the owner of a project that threatens to destroy the goddess’s sacred land.

‘With Halloween approaching, and someone determined to protect the goddess at all costs, can Martha and Summers catch the killer before they strike again – and this time much closer to home…?’

The Bone Mother, by Suzy Aspley, picks up seven months on from the events of Crow Moon. Journalist Martha Strangeways is doing as well as she can be, considering her harrowing experiences in recent years, and is working freelance for the Glasgow Evening Standard, who send her to report on the gruesome find of a severed ear by a railway line.

Martha’s tenacious nature, and an “I’ll scratch your back, if you scratch mine” deal with her friend DI Derek Summers, leads her to dig further into the story, especially after the rest of the body is discovered posed in a churchyard.

The victim, Emma, was wearing a distinctive pair of earrings representing the titular Bone Mother – a legendary, fearsome Highlands winter witch. Martha finds out that Emma was part of a Facebook group of young women who are being encouraged to individually walk the obscure “Cailleach Way” to some ancient standing stones that pay tribute to the Bone Mother, in protest against a new hydroelectric scheme that threatens to flood the shrine.

It also transpires that the group’s mysterious leader sent the unusual jewellery not only to Emma, but to others embarking on the pilgrimage – might they be in danger, too? A personal connection additionally emerges, as Emma was put up by Martha’s friend Orla for a few nights as she prepared to set out.

I found The Bone Mother to be real page-turner. If you’re into crime novels with a Gothic, supernatural flavour, this author is really starting to make a name for herself. The legend of the Bone Mother, the standing stones and their dedicated keeper who takes them inside for the winter, the abandoned cottage that was home to previous keepers… all catnip for me!

At the same time, there’s plenty of action that anchors the story in the real, fairly recent past (2019). As well as the use of Facebook to mobilise young women like Emma, who are looking for meaning and a bit of a challenge, there’s the divisive sustainable energy project, which may decrease dependence on fossil fuels, but will also alter the landscape and make a CEO even richer.

And then there’s Martha’s pregnant friend Orla, who’s convinced someone’s watching and messing with her – and when her sort-of partner can’t find her, technologies such as her internet-connected doorbell and smartwatch give him a bit of a steer. Also, who knew a forensics expert could specialise in jewellery? It makes sense when you think about it, but even so, I was fascinated by Dr Brigid Russell’s work.

Martha continues to be a character I enjoy following as she carries out her investigations, even if I did want to yell ‘nooooo!’ at her each time she charged into an encounter that had little chance of going smoothly (though she wouldn’t be doing her job – and there wouldn’t be much of a story – otherwise!).

As with Crow Moon, the teenage characters in this book feel particularly authentic. I was especially impressed by Sophie: the daughter of the CEO of the hydroelectric company, who’s determined to demonstrate her opposition to her father’s plans by completing her own walk to the standing stones.

Despite her privilege, Sophie comes across as a caring, thoughtful character who’s far from a spoilt brat, and like most teenagers, she’s naïve in some ways but mature in others. When she gets caught up in an extreme situation, she keeps her head and proves her capability in a way that’s really moving to see.

The Bone Mother is an atmospheric, unsettling Gothic thriller that had me on the edge of my seat.

What I read in April 2026

Fri, 01 May 2026 00:00:00 -0500

Another nine-book month. Music and magic kept coming up as themes, which was a happy little accident rather than anything intentional.

Writing-wise, I was actually fairly productive, for a change! I mean, I had to get something down for Emotional Madness in June, and what I came up with still needs a little work, but I’m not worried about it. I also went to the first of three Writing with Images workshops at the University of Essex, which gave me a “way in” to a piece of non-fiction I’ve been needing to start.

The Map of Lost Places, edited by Sheree Renée Thomas and Lesley Conner - 3.5*

Midnight in Chernobyl, by Adam Higginbotham - 4.5*

The Ossians, by Doug Johnstone - 4.5*

Them Girls, by Eva Verde - looking forward to meeting the author at The Writers Room next month! 4.5*

The Night Ship, by Jess Kidd - thought I’d finally get to one of the oldest unread books on my eReader. 4*

Daisy Jones and the Six, by Taylor Jenkins Reid - another book I’d been sitting on for a while. 4*

Somewhere Beyond the Sea, by TJ Klune - 4.5*

The Bone Mother, by Suzy Aspley - 4*

Hemlock and Silver, by T. Kingfisher. The first book I’ve read of hers and it was so spooky and so delightful, I’m in love. 5*

Looking ahead…

Well, now I feel the need to devour T. Kingfisher’s entire back catalogue. Starting with Nettle and Bone for no other reason than that it was 99p.

Speaking of offers… I’ve recently come into possession of all the books I was missing from the City Watch strand of Discworld, so I should probably get cracking on that. Hence, Men at Arms is another book I hope to read this month.

I’m also planning to make inroads into Philip Fracassi’s ouevre, and The Third Rule of Time Travel particularly appeals to me because, well, time travel.

A new Ray Newman short story collection is always a good time, so I’m hoping to read Thin Places in Hard Concrete sooner rather than later.

Blog tour: Them Girls by Eva Verde

Thu, 16 Apr 2026 00:00:00 -0500

This post is part of a blog tour organised by Random Things Blog Tours. I received a free copy of the book in return for an honest review.

‘Two sisters, a lifetime of secrets, and the chance to set the record straight…

‘Meet Goldie and Vee: sisters, dreamers, grafters. In their forties, both appear to have it all…

‘Until Goldie finds the courage to leave Benedict. Once upon a time their faux marriage worked, but when the magnetic Wolfie comes on the scene, her world of pretending falls apart.

‘Vee’s neat world is spiralling, too. Since her ex-husband Jamie started dating Julia – her cruel school bully – Vee’s long-buried insecurities are out of control. She needs to get away, and fast.

‘So when Goldie suggests a holiday in France, Vee leaps at the idea. A curiously well-timed invitation – just as speculations around Goldie’s brilliantly brief pop career back in the 90s are beginning to resurface.

‘Escaping’s one thing, but nothing stays secret forever, and as Vee and Goldie’s unresolved pasts make surprise returns, the stories them girls once told themselves begin to look very different…’

Them Girls, by Eva Verde, catches middle-aged London/Essex sisters Goldie and Valeria (Vee) at a pivotal point in both their lives.

One-time pop star Goldie has spent the past 15 years or so as a kept woman in a sham marriage with upper-class Benedict (Ben). This arrangement suits both sides until – on the same night – Goldie is unexpectedly reunited with attactive former classmate Wolfgang (Wolfie), and realises she can’t ignore Ben’s unpleasant side any longer.

Meanwhile, a high-profile court case against a notorious male singer has brought to light other stories of abuse at Goldie’s former record label, forcing her to reckon with her own experiences as a 16-year-old wannabe, and threatening to pull her back into the limelight.

Freelance publishing researcher and copyeditor Vee’s marriage has also come to an end, but in very different circumstances. She and Jamie split amicably, and are even still living in the same house until they can sell it without negative equity. This works – until Jamie starts dating Julia, who bullied Vee so badly in school, she had a breakdown and was sectioned.

Vee is thrown by Julia’s reappearance, which brings up painful memories and leads her to reflect on how she’s always played it safe and hidden her light as a result of Julia’s cruelties. What’s more, she doesn’t believe for a second that Julia’s changed. Can the positive feedback and potential love interest Vee’s found at her new writing group take her down a more positive road?

Them Girls was a joy to read! The author’s lively, witty style brings the characters and scenes to vivid, sparkling life, making me feel carried along by the various threads of the story. While I loved both sisters and found it really satisfying to watch them emerge from their respective ruts and start to bloom over the course of the book, Vee especially won my heart.

I could relate so hard to her remembering and feeling long-ago hurts as if they just happened yesterday; keeping her head down because, in her experience, drawing attention to herself has negative consequences; being a keen documentarian of her own life; and benefitting from being part of a writing group. And hey, if she can belatedly find success with her writing, maybe there’s hope for me as well.

Writing about fictional pop artists and record labels can be hit-and-miss, but Goldie’s story of whirlwind fame in the early 90s, and the way the renewed interest in her played out, all felt very authentic. I also appreciated the use of song names as chapter titles! Goldie’s experiences of being exploited by a much older manager-boyfriend, being made to sign NDAs, and being cast out of the fold when she called people out on their behaviour are (sadly) very topical right now.

Of course, Them Girls also features one of my favourite themes: sibling relationships. While the book sees Goldie and Vee grow close again after a period of atrophy, we learn that they were very close as children, as there were only nine months between them, and they quickly learned to rely on one another as their single mother never wanted them. Their interactions as adults are often entertaining and tell us a lot about their characters, and it’s also interesting to see how they’re still thrown when other people’s parents are kind to them.

This brings us to a couple of other important themes that run through the book: race and class. Goldie, for example, has a lot more time for her posh husband Ben’s parents than she does for him, but even so, she’s aware that they categorise her as “different” and “exotic”, and that she helps them appear modern and open-minded. Also, having grown up poor, she’s understandably terrified of being left with nothing after leaving Ben.

Vee’s former bully Julia, meanwhile, comes from a privileged background, and racism was very much an element of her abuse towards Vee. Julia is fascinating in a love-to-hate-her way: she doesn’t have an honest or empathetic bone in her body, and you can’t wait to see her downfall.

While Goldie and Vee are central to the story, now and again there’s a chapter written from the point of view of one of the secondary characters such as Julia, demonstrating the author’s skill with different voices, as well as showing how other characters perceive the sisters, whether they love or feel threatened by them.

Them Girls is an entertaining, gratifying, and timely novel that sparkles.