Alexandra finds out on her birthday that her best friend has been having an affair with her fiancé.  Never mind.  She works at dating agency for psychopaths, the kind of thing that is a niche job, but could be an even bigger one due to company expansion.  Can she get the job, find true love and escape a dark past?  

If the book sounds original, you’d be surprised.  It’s nothing new.  It’s what I would call a gearshifter, where the genre changes in the course of the narrative.  There have been books in more recent years that have done it. And here, it alternates between being a fluffy romantic book (dates, breakups and cupcakes) with a dark romance (a murder where someone proves their love by literally giving someone their heart).  

Sadly, the jarring shift in tone doesn’t fit.  It’s not romantic enough, the darkness overwhelms the fluff.  The concept of romance/serial killing has been done much better in another book earlier this year.  The author of which is listed on the book’s blurb.   I’ll leave you to discover which one.  This is published by Orion on 17th July and I thank them for a preview copy.  #matchmakingforpsyschopaths.  

 Getting Away by Kate Sawyer:

It was a blog post that sent me to Kate Sawyer’s first novel The Stranding.  It made me cry and then she did it again with her second This Family.  Her third is the lives, loves, tragedies and ceremony of a family over almost a century, viewed through the prism of holidays. And yes it made me cry.  Again.  

In other hands, this could be dismissed as pile of romantic fluff.  But as she is a writer that has shown progression with every novel, so let’s not even go there.  This a beach of a novel that has the carefree style of a Summer read, but tread carefully - you might step on some glass.  

If you’ve read her previous work, you’ll know she’s fantastic with structure - The Standing flashed back and forward to pre/post apocalyptic times, This Family had what looked like a prefect family with tragedy holding them together, pushing them forward.  This has the family moving through history, with events breadcrumbed, reinterpreted, hinted at.  She’s excellent at characters, even the worst ones in this book.  

Underlying it though is a novelist who is hopeful about humanity.  And at a time in history when we need reassurance that human decency and happiness will win out, that is to be celebrated.  It’s published by Zaffre on July 3rd and I thank them for a preview copy.  #gettingaway.

Human Rites by Juno Dawson:

I’ve been looking forward to this book since last year.  Queen B felt like a sidestep (Anne Boleyn as the first witch) and at just under 200 pages, it felt more of snack.  Human Rites is the banquet you need, a dark Summer read for a dark Summer’s day.  

If you’ve not read the first two, do that first.  Those of us that have, can enjoy the climax hinted it in the end of the last book: Satan rises and only our band of witches can stop it.  And, yes the writing seems a little bit peaky at times (every chapter has a cliffhanger) and there are several branches of the fourth wall.  Like most final fantasy books, there is McGuffins, retcon and it literally sets every character down for rest.  

But that doesn’t stop the fantastic sugary rush of a book that is thrilling, horrifying, funny and most importantly of all - LGBTQ friendly. It is a fantasy book that respects ALL witches and warlocks. Dawson has created something that is of pure delight, rather than something that stands for a franchise (she who shall not be named) that is one of cognitive dissonance.  

It’s published by Harper Collins on July 17th and I thank them for a preview copy.  #humanrites.  

 The Benefactors by Wendy Erskine:

The lives of three Belfast women intertwine - Frankie, a care home kid now living a life of luxury.  Miriam, recently widowed and Bronagh a charity worker.  Their sons sexually assault a young girl and the crime is attempted to be brushed under the carpet.  

There is enough here for a powerful read, but sadly this isn’t it.  The first person narrative has been done to death but for my money only Anne Enright can do it with any verve or wit.  It’s pitched as a state of the nation novel, but the narrative isn’t clear enough to follow.  The writing is too opaque, figurative to actually inform the reader what is going on.  

I would also draw attention to the characterisation in the novel.  The women - although with ulterior motives - are seen as cold, driven, unhappy.  The only real male character in the novel is Boogie (a taxi driver, the mother of Misty, the girl who is sexually assaulted).  His depiction is pure poverty porn.  Plus Misty does camwork as a sideline and the concept of misogyny, with regard to sex work and male violence is muddied.  Misty’s main client is an American.  And although we could all throw shade at America, his depiction is pure Southern fried cliche. 

It’s a novel of caricature, obscurity and coldness.  It’s published by Hodder And Stoughton on June 19th and I thank them for a preview copy.  #thebenefactors.  

 Beautyland by Marie Helene-Bertino:

Adina is born when Voyager 1 launches.  Her birth connects her to an alien civilisation and she reports back to them about life on Earth and how humans cope with it.  The novel follows her through life, love and loss. 

The best books I read last year (The Ministry Of Time, The Husbands, Rare Singles) all had a relatively simple idea, but had rich, mysterious depths.  Beautyland is in that class. It’s a strangely beautiful, beautifully strange book.  It’s expansive enough to have a neat framing structure (Adina’s life is structured alongside the life cycle of a star), but tricky enough to have some original ideas - Adina reports back to her masters using a second-hand fax machine for example.  

Plus, this is a novel that lives in the last half century of American history, but is not a nostalgia trip.  Overriding it all is something genuinely brave.  The concept that the aliens - a hive mind of souls - actually exist, or it is all a paracosm.  And although it is strongly suggested that both Adina is neurodiverse and asexual, Bertino does enough to suggest she is genuinely not of this earth.  

A light, yet nourishing and incredibly moving read.  It’s published by Random House on 27th March and I sincerely thank them for making me cry.  #beautyland

 Liverpool And The Unmaking Of Britain by Sam Wetherell:

Regular readers will know I am a Liverpudlian.  And I will regularly consume any book on it and enjoy the bizarre process of reading about your own history.  This is a grand book with an overarching concept of how a city rose and fell, rose again and still might fall into the sea.  

The book runs from 1945 to 2008 and amongst the disasters such as Hillborough, there is Toxteth, the rise of Militant - a group who literally ran the city into the ground, whilst profiting others - and it’s time as Capital Of Culture, overlapping with The Credit Crunch.  

And yes, the more unpalatable aspects of the city’s past such as the slave trade, the mass deportations of Chinese sailors after the Second World War, the racism that leads to Toxteth… but also on civic kindness such as the long-standing LGBTQ community during the early years of AIDS (gay dismissed as a ‘bourgeois concept’ by Militant and the pioneering treatment of drug users.

It ends on a mirroring note, with roughly the same amount of people employed in tourism as the docks at its height.  Speke could have been Disneyland, literally.  And Liverpool Waters will be a city within a city at the end of this century, but may only last a generation before climate change erases both from history. 

This is not to say it is a depressing read, it is a comprehensive, energising book.  The best books on Liverpool (A Game Of Birds And Wolves, Wondrous Place, There She Goes) have a narrow focus and do it well.  This, is probably the first to take a panoramic view as broad as The Mersey and succeed.  It is published on February 27th by Head Of Zeus and I thank them for a preview copy.  #liverpoolandtheunmakingofbritain. 

 Fun And Games by John Patrick McHugh:

John is a seventeen year old, who lives in a small village in the west of Ireland.  His nickname is ‘Tits’, as his mum sexted someone and the picture went viral.  As a result, his parents are separated.  He’s in a loose relationship with Amber, a slightly older girl.  John is still in love with his first girlfriend.  The novel plays out over these events, his sister’s wedding and his games for the local Gaelic football team.  

It’s a timeless tale, so let me tell you it’s set in 2009.  Your shagging playlist on an MP3 is nine songs, an animation of an envelope being folded proves your text is sent.  Its main theme however, is not nostalgia but how men relate to men and how they, in turn relate to women.  

There’s plenty of teenage shagging between John and Amber - hot, sweaty and furtive. The main themes have been done before though, and as a result the action grows a little episodic. Plus, the relationship between John And  Amber takes a turn in the last third and it doesn’t really seem credible and the novel ends on a question mark.  

Viewed with modern eyes, however John can be seen as having ADHD and body dysmorphia. However, this is a dark, solipsistic read but lacks narrative pace.

It’s published by Harper Collins on April 24th and I thank them for a preview copy.  #funandgames

 Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One by Kirsten Arnett:

Cherry is a Floridian, scraping a living as a clown and paying the rent with a dead end job.  The best entertainer on the circuit is Margot The Magician.  Can Cherry fall in love, make a living and reconcile with her Mum?

Well, I’m gonna leave you to find out.  It’s the kind of novel that in less-talented hands could be a disaster.  The outrageous nature of the plot is always there and there’s the make-up of dark jokes.  In between that, it flits between being a workplace comedy (all Cherry’s co-workers have side hustles), a book about art versus commerce, imposter syndrome, the impending fubar of a right-wing America and queer relationships.

It also strikes me as being an incredibly erotic, comedic book.  It opens with Cheryl ‘entertaining’ a bored mum at a kids party (Mum has a clown fetish) and we have some great sex scenes - especially Cherry and Margot’s first encounter portrayed as the stages of a magic act.  

This is balloon of a book that is dark, funny and ties itself off in a sweet bow.  It’s published by Little Brown on 18th March and I thank them for a preview copy.  #stopmeifyouveheardthisone.  

 Slags by Emma Jayne Unsworth:

Sarah hires a camper van for her sister Juilette’s birthday.  Juliette is a mother, married to a decent, yet dull bloke.  Sarah limps from hook up to hook up.  The great love of her life was her English teacher, Mr Keavney. As the sisters head to Scotland by Hymer, the story switches between this and what happened in the Summer of Sarah’s last year in school.  

I’ve been a fan of Unsworth’s writing for a long time - Animals was adapted as a film and didn’t quite capture the wabisabi of the book.  This is a genuine treat. It’s funny, Rabelasian and Wildean by turns.  It’s dead on in the way sister relates to sister.  And, by turns men and boys relate to women.  

It’s also brilliant on the ascending boho that was late 90’s Manchester.  She’s also brave enough to stitch a fictional thread to this, the boy band 4Princes.  What happens to Sarah is a genuine shock (and not the one you’re thinking of).  When the novel takes a dark, sharp turn she’s still in control of a book that is sweet, sour, touching and horrifying all at the same time. 

It’s published by Harper Collins on May 8th May, 2025 and I thank them for a preview copy.  #slags

 When The Moon Hits Your Eye by John Scalzi:

Overnight, The Moon turns into cheese.  NASA declares it to be an ‘organic compound’, the Chinese government says it’s actually bean curd.  The Vatican declares a miracle.  And so, an outrageous chain of events is set in motion… with a cast including a dimwitted US President (not that one) an egocentric billionaire (see also), a pensioners lunch club, a set of disenchanted church goers, bored astronauts and greedy bankers. 

Ok, minor criticism first: often this feels like a loosely connected series of vignettes, with the connecting cheese being the President, the Astronauts who can’t actually go to The Moon and the Musky billionaire. Who is not him, but just as awful in different ways.  Plus, the final part of the novel literally retcons the original and outrageous concept.  

But for the vast majority of it, it’s laugh out loud funny and the kind of silently, screaming satire that Armando Iaunnucci would love.  Among my favourites: the warring cheese shop owners (with the two rival staff members who fall in love) and the sex scandal involving an ambitious congressman. Put it this way, you’ll never look at Brie the same way again.  Late on in the novel, as things become apocalyptic (described as ‘Fromageddon’ or ‘The Lactopalypse’) we have the aforementioned bankers offering people high limits credit cards and the young fantasy writer who will never see her novel published.  

Scalzi considers this as the final in a trilogy that started with ‘The Kaiju Preservation Society’ and he’s now writing space opera again.  I’d urge him to reconsider - this succeeds as a sweet, nutty treat in two difficult genres - funny SF and an epistolary novel.  It’s published by Tor on March 27th, 2025 and I thank them for a preview cheese, sorry copy.  #whenthemoonhitsyoureye.  

 Murder On Line One by Jeremy Vine:

This is technically Vine’s second novel and even on Socratic terms, it’s pushing the envelope.  Edward Temming was the host of a lunchtime phone in, in Sidmouth Devon till a family tragedy intervenes.  Made redundant by his employer, Edward discovers a plot.  

Well, I can’t really say anymore as it may ruin your enjoyment.  Vine is an English eccentric and it’s a truly bizarre wedge of prose; with a surreal line in simile and metaphor. See also: the  characterisations of women in this novel (which vary between traitorous/menopausal/libidinous) and a character later in the novel which I would consider to be transphobic. 

Linking the narrative is a random chain of objects and events.  These include variously: a catfishing scam, antique automata, a Scooby Gang of angry pensioners, an old episode of Columbo, the early Hitchcock ‘Rebecca’ and a computer hard drive filled with acid.  No, I’m not making this up.  

And although it is nice to see a real place (I should, know, my wife lived there) it is too overworked as a gimmick.  Put it this way: if you don’t like it you can use it as SatNav to find your way round the South West. Sidmouth, a place where nothing happens on a daily basis is portrayed as a cross between 1930’s Chicago and millennial Baltimore.  

It’s at least fifty pages too long and an editor should have ended the book in Sidmouth Costa.  A series is planned.  Less snark, more logic and sharper editing may improve it. It’s published by Harper Collins on April 25th, 2025 and I thank them for a preview copy.  

The Lion Who Never Roared by Matt Tiller: 

For those who don’t know, Jack Leslie was the first black player to play for England.  The star of a barnstorming 1925 Plymouth Argyle team, the call up rescinded when the selectors discovered his skin colour. 

The author was one of the campaigners which has led to a statue of Jack outside Home Park (plus, him becoming the first England player to get a posthumous cap).  It’s a lucid portrait of a man, playing in a 2-3-5(!), a character who loved his wife (who was in, turn racially abused for marrying a black man).  

It’s also good on the bizarre nature of 1920’s football, with Argyle playing Exeter City on BOTH Christmas Eve and Boxing Day, with Jack’s career ending with a scratched cornea from the lace of a football.  

It’s also good on the casual nature of racism then (in newspaper reports) and it’s more virulent nature now.  Ultimately, this is a portrait of a hero who ended up being the bootman for West Ham.  To quote Harry Redknapp, ‘turns out we should have been cleaning his boots’.  

 Shroud by Adrian Tchikovsky:

In the far flung future, humanity lives among the stars and exploits any planet it comes into contact with.  On the moon of Shroud, a survey team comes into contact with a primitive society, but one with  the capacity to learn.  When they become stranded, will peace or science win the day?

Well, neither actually. Hard SF fans will lap this up quicker than a second-hand copy of New Scientist, but it’s not dynamic enough to sustain attention.  The writing is heavily factual.  And, yes I’ll admit that is a trope of the genre.  But despite the odd flourish (humanity is genetically engineered for deep space) the crew are the hard-boiled narks that have inhabited SF since the Nostromo in 1979.

The plot picks up a little in the middle eight of the book, but this is what Whovians will know as ‘base under siege’.  The prose style here is choppy, episodic and resolved far too quickly.  The alien race (worm-like, using endoskeletons and sacrificing the injured to their god) is a fascinating concept, but they are seen first as bloodthirsty Lovecraftian beasties and then noble angels at the ends of the novel.  

It’ll have its fans, but it found it too cold and worthy to keep my interest.  It’s published by Pan Macmillan on February 27th, 2025 and I thank them for a copy.  #shroud

The Quiet by Barnaby Martin: 

Hannah is a college lecturer in the mid-21st century, she’s a mum to Isaac, a hearing-impaired child.  She lives in a pre-apocalyptic world, with UV levels so toxic, going out without protective clothing invites skin cancer. Plus, there’s a maddening, ever present hum called The Soundfield.  And then Hannah becomes involved in a conspiracy against the government.  

There is the potential here for a cracking dystopian sci-fi novel. Sadly, potential is what it is.  The novel has a well-realised world, but a lot of the plot devices (censorship, neo-fascism, an underground resistence) have been done before, better.  The odd cracking idea (society lives at night to avoid UV levels, The Last Jedi is a classic movie) seems lost in it.  

The truly revolutionary bits of the novel (a theocratic government and Issac’s connection to The Soundfield) are ignored or not explained clearly.  The flash back, flash forward structure of the novel makes it difficult to follow, plus it’s not exactly clear how to novel ends.  

It might be enough for some people,  it I found it messy, disappointing and unsatisfying.  It’s published by Pan Macmillan on May 15th, 2025 and I thank them for a preview copy.  #thequiet

 May You Have Delicious Meals by Junko Takase:

 A Japanese novel, this features on the office romance between Ashikawa and Nitami. She is sweet, wife material and an avid baker.  He is looking for sex, rather than love and is powered by instant noodles.  

It’s an interesting concept - the idea that we are defined by what we eat, rather than whom we love.  But the flavour of it doesn’t really cut through.  Too much energy and prose is devoted to this existential, almost Buddhist concept.  The sex itself is flatly written and it is hard to discern where the actual narrative arc pans out.  

I think that may come down to the translation, but as my Kanji isn’t what it was there seems no flair or weight in the prose.  It’s also a very short book (144 pages).  And yes, I know Japanese fiction is short for a number of reasons, but Japanophiles may gobble this up.  The rest of us may require something more substantial. 

It’s punished by Random House on 20th February 2025 and I thank them for a preview copy.  #mayyouhavedeliciousmeals. 

Really Good, Actually by Monica Heisey: 

You may know the author from her journalism, her work on Schitt’s Creek, you may have even heard on This Way Up.  

Leave all that aside.  This is that sweet spot between funny and heartbreaking. Maggie’s marriage ends after just under two years and she navigates single life, sexuality and picking up the pieces.  

This alternates between deadpan humour and the pure emotional carnage of a break up. It’s heartfelt, filthy and warm at the same time. 

 Friends Of Dorothy by Sandi Toksvig: 

This is Toksvig’s sixth novel.  It’s an amiable read, but offers little in plot development.  Stevie (a policeman) and Amber (a paramedic) but their first home in a quiet part of London.  The only trouble is, the previous resident, an old woman called Dorothy is still there.  As Stevie and Amber cope with a new home, deciding to have children and demanding, often dangerous jobs Dorothy becomes a constant presence in their lives.  

Fan’s of her warm, yet cheeky humour will lap this up.  Dorothy (who likes pop music and Minecraft) is a fabulous creation.  And it is nice to see such a queer friendly, acceptant novel.  The real problems lie structurally.  There is no real sort of plot, it sort of ambles from situation to situation.  That episodic nature will work on TV.  And although the novel ends on a sweet note, a shocking situation in the final third is resolved far too easily.  

Some may enjoy this, but I found its lack of focus problematic.  It’s published by Little Brown on September 26th and I thank them for a preview copy.  #friendsofdorothy.

 The Secret Public by John Savage: 

This is a high concept book, discussing LGBTQ in culture.  It’s as enriching as any of his previous books, even with such a high concept as Sylvester being the last gay pop star and Little Richard as the first.  

You can’t argue with near 700 pages of book, with another 100 of notes.  We move from Richard, through the sixties with Joe Meek and Epstein.  The 70’s see Bowie declare his gayness, and backtrack whilst Jobriath crashes and burns. 

It’s a book that admits it’s own failings (the lack of lesbians, those who chose not to come out). Plus vinyl nerds will debate whether ‘Soul Makossa’ was the first disco record. 

But as music journalism becomes more what Zappa said, Savage is the exception that proves the rule.  It’s published by Faber And Faber.  

 Fox and Haze are the proverbial couple goals.  He’s an investment banker, she’s an artist.  They have an adorable baby daughter.  But the relationship has become stale, lately.  Since they agreed to stop serial killing domestic abusers, paedophiles and gropers.  Who’s gonna crack first?

As you’ll have noticed, this is a darkly comic, hands over the eyes, read.  But look a little deeply and you’ll see this a metaphor for several things: relationships, raising children, family, intimacy, creative block…

And the main characters are so well-written, you’ll find yourself cheering each kill. Yes, you will.  The humour is some of the most deadpan I’ve read recently. Such as, Fox meeting Haze in Paris. When she’s having trouble finishing off a murder.  Mackay is always in control of the narrative and keeps it both funny and thrilling with two great twists midway through the book.  

Judging by the praise from actors; I think it’s a matter of time before you see this on a screen.  Plus, the book ends on an open note.  We may not have seen the last of Haze and Fox’s bloody/hilarious adventures.  It’s published by Headline on January 14th, 2025 and I thank them for a preview copy.  #aserialkillersguidetomarriage. 

 The Woman Behind The Door by Roddy Doyle:

I lost touch with Roddy Doyle’s books after The Guts ten years ago.  I have to say this is a massive return to form, or maybe all the books I have missed in the last decade have been up to this standard.  Either way, Doyle has returned to Paula Spencer - the protagonist of The Woman Who Walked Into Doors and the eponymous sequel.  

In this book, Paula is in her late sixties. She has a great group of friends, a dull (but dependable and decent) man in her life and a bunch of children - some of whom are distant, one (Nicola) considers herself damaged by Paula’s marriage.  Against the backdrop of COVID, cost of living and  modern day Dublin; things come to a head.  

It’s a powerful cocktail and those who love Doyle’s dialogue driven style can see it here.  He’s always in control of using events in a bigger story about coming to terms with your own child, let alone your past.  And although readers may be familiar with what happened to Paula in the previous two novels, it stands alone as a funny, brutal, warm, touching read.  

In this book, Paula reads Marian Keyes’ novel The Break.  Perhaps he’s impishly nodding at a universe where both novelist and novel are fictional and real at the same time.  Either way, this puts Doyle alongside Keyes and Enright at the top table of Irish literature. 

It’s published by Random House on 12th September and I thank them for a preview copy.  #thewomenbehindthedoor