Most people know the story of how King Edward VIII gave up the throne in 1936 for the love of Wallis Simpson and that thereafter the couple became the Duke and Duchess of Windsor.
 
Many books have been written about them, although less is known about the former significant others in the Duke’s life. This book explores the lives of three women, any one of whom could have become his wife and possibly changed the course of British history - or at least given our present Elizabeth II a few more decades of quiet family life before being loaded down with the responsibilities of a monarch.
 
Rosemary Leveson-Gower met the Prince of Wales during World War I when she worked as a nurse in a hospital set up by her mother. Edward fell for her and with an aristocratic background she might have seemed the perfect bride. But his father, King George V, was of the old school who believed the heir to the throne should only marry approved unblemished girls - and preferably princesses from Europe - plus he mostly disapproved of the match due to some of her unconventional relatives. It simply would not do for the future queen to have a mother with multiple marriages and a gambling brother! It seems ludicrous today, given the subsequent doings of the House of Windsor, and so the royal family lost the beautiful and appealing Rosemary who went on to prove her worth in other ways, sadly dying at the same age as Princess Di, only 36, in a plane crash.
 
Edward’s penchant for chic, thin, married women with bossy tendencies began with the next choice, Freda Dudley Ward. Much of his correspondence to her still exists, he was totally besotted with her, writing and phoning her many times a day until he suddenly ditched her for the next woman in a similar mould. Freda’s notoriety as one of Edward’s women overshadows her history of a firm social conscience when she set out to help people during the Great Depression, World War II and later. The Feathers Association she founded still operates today helping disadvantaged youth in the London area.
 
Thelma Furness supplanted Freda. She was American, an identical twin, who snatched herself a British Viscount for her second marriage. Her sister was Gloria Vanderbilt with whom she would eventually start her own fashion label and together they became an item in Hollywood society. The later years for the twins were not so good, having a variety of businesses (ironically including hand-making “princess dolls”) and they dabbled in advertising. Thelma and Gloria wrote a joint memoir in which Thelma wrote that in spite of all her mistakes, she would do it all again except: “The only thing I would NOT do again is introduce Wallis Simpson to the Prince of Wales”.
 
Edward may have had a certain charm, but he was also capricious, impressionable and self-serving. He hated the stuffiness and pomp of royalty and all the duties that involved and he could have never matched the sterling loyal qualities of our present Queen. His loss was ultimately Britain’s gain.
 
While all of these women were involved in the flittering dalliances of their class, they weren’t completely shallow or insensitive to the struggles of Edward's subjects and any one of them would have been more preferable over the acidic and dangerous Wallis Simpson.
 
The book does occasionally divert at length into “then they did this, and then they did that” which can create the odd yawn or a bit of speed-reading, but on the whole it is an interesting study in how the lives of privilege and fame often end up more of a burden than a blessing.
 
Four stars

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​In the early 1960s, my mother and I sailed on SS Himalaya from San Francisco to Europe. On board we met another mother and daughter similar to ourselves. We were to disembark in Southampton for London while they were destined for Le Havre and Paris.
 
Mrs Olga Balk spoke French and Russian and had links to Harbin and Shanghai so she and my mother soon discovered they had much in common. Manette was a little older than me but as we were both teenage daughters having what nowadays is called a “gap year” between high school and college we also found common ground.
 
I was sad to say goodbye to my new friend Manette when she left the ship at Le Havre, but in those days before the invention of easy catch-ups through social media we still managed to keep up a pen-friendship for another ten years until we fell out of touch. The last address I had for her was in Mexico, while I had moved numerous times in UK, Canada and Africa before settling in Australia.
 
When a cousin recommended I read this book written by the subject's grand-daughter because it was an excellent story about the White Russian experience, I was instantly alerted to the fact that there in the opening pages it says it is the story of Sophia (Sonechka) Balk. It is not a common surname and I wondered if she could have been connected to my friend?
 
After a bit of digging via Ancestry and other genealogical sites, it turns out that my friend Manette (also known as Mary Ann) was, in fact, her niece, her father being Sonechka’s brother Alexander L. Balk (known as Sasha throughout the book).
 
Having a White Russian mother I have always been aware of her family’s dramatic history and what they endured in the upheavals after the Russian Revolution. So, with the realisation I'd once had a connection to a member of the Balk family as well, this gave me extra interest in this story. Although I can no longer ask her, I am sure many of the people, places and events that crop up in these pages would have been familiar to my mother.
 
At the outset, the reader needs to be aware this is a work of “creative non-fiction” and is based on diaries and other recollections that have been embellished or enhanced to make it both informative and entertaining.

We follow Sonechka’s life from one of comparative ease on a comfortable estate in the warm Crimea, through her early experiences working for a brutal Cheka [secret police, forerunner of the KGB] boss who made her count dead bodies among other more mundane clerical duties, her romance with another Bolshevik hardliner, her escape from his clutches in Moscow to comparative safety in Harbin and then on to Shanghai.
 
Her brother, Sasha, had already managed to reach the United States and constantly encouraged his sister to follow suit but the young girl was too indecisive due to her family ties and ill-founded romantic dreams. By the time her head cleared and she saw the truth and reality of what was happening around her, the Soviet noose had tightened around its citizens and getting away seemed almost impossible. 
 
In the closing notes that detail what happened to the individuals, I was disappointed (also a little mystified) to find no mention of Sasha’s second wife, the Mrs Olga Balk whom I met, nor my pen-friend Manette who seems to have been his only child. Whether this was just an oversight or there is some other facet to this intriguing family story that the author did not wish to share makes for speculation. Russians can be very hospitable and friendly people but as a result of their tumultuous history - as so well-detailed in this story - it also means they are also good at fudging the truth or resorting to secrecy if there is the need to do so! 

Still, that does not deter from recommending this as an enthralling and gripping read and it warrants four-and-a-half stars.


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Emily Hobhouse is probably well known to descendants of the Afrikaner women and children who suffered and died in the British concentration camps in South Africa during the Boer War.

To others, her name may mean nothing which is a travesty  as Emily has to be one of the most important women in early 20th Century feminist and humanitarian history.

Please see my History Bucket blog for a review post about this recent biography of Emily Hobhouse.

Ellen Curtis is a professional declutterer. She helps people get better organised and rid of junk but in the process she can get involved in their lives in unexpected ways. She’s helped to rehouse surplus cats, visits the confused elderly and tries to help a struggling single mother. 

Ellen’s best friend is Hilary who works in offender rehabilitation. Hilary seeks her help in sorting out the house belonging to the deceased mother of Nate Ogden, one of her clients who has just been released from prison. This is when Ellen discovers a corpse of a young woman in the Ogden flat, who is vaguely familiar to her. Having served time for killing his girlfriend, suspicion immediately falls on Nate who has now gone missing. As Ellen trawls through her own past, she begins to find unexpected links to the murdered woman. When Hilary goes missing as well, there’s a race to discover the truth.

This is a most entertaining and easy read of the "cosy crime" variety, with twists and turns aplenty. Ellen is a refreshing female protagonist, with contemporary family issues her own that make her appealing.

Apparently this is the first of a new series, and no doubt Ellen will be making a few more grisly discoveries in other people’s hoards in the future. I look forward to reading about them.

​Four stars.

(Many thanks to NetGalley for the ARC)

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​This is a dual timeline novel set in Sydney in 1967 and 1997. Although classified as a mystery, it is also a social commentary on the issues of race, alcoholism and family violence.
 
Isla lives in London but rushes home to her father Joe in Australia when he calls and tells her that he’s under suspicion for a murder that happened thirty years earlier. It seems he is the last person who saw their neighbour Mandy Mallory alive in 1967. The case has only just been opened due to Mandy receiving an inheritance and her whereabouts are unknown.
 
Weaving back and forth between 1967 and 1997, we uncover the stories of individuals who lived next door to one another: Joe and Louisa, recent emigrants from England, and their little daughter Isla who is minded during the day by Mandy, the wife of policeman Steve.
 
Louisa dislikes Australia and misses England, while Steve increasingly suffers from the traumatic nature of his work which involves the forced removal of Aboriginal children from their parents. With a job working on the Sydney Opera House, Joe struggles to keep Louisa happy, but domestic violence and alcoholism rear their ugly heads. Likewise, Steve is desperate to start a family but Mandy doesn’t want children and so their conflicts increase. Isla has her own demons, dealing with alcoholism. And back in her old house, she remembers being more fond of Mandy than her mother, but being scared of Steve. As she slowly unpeels the past, she wonders if it is possible her father Joe was involved in Mandy’s disappearance? After Louisa takes Isla back to England, Joe finds solace with Mandy and complications are set in play that are bound to end badly. 
 
The dual narratives are well-constructed and the outcome of the mystery feasible given the circumstances but there is little to like about any of these individuals between their drinking and fighting. Isla is abrasive and in fact it is the tortured Steve who is perhaps the best character portrayal. The ambivalent feelings of English migrants struggling with the alien surroundings of Australia give a true reflection of what it was like for many.

When a novel is exceptionally good, one tends to be forgiving of historical anachronisms but they can become an irritation if the reading experience is less enjoyable for whatever reason.

And it is simple technology that can trip up any author.

Yes, it is accurate that travel between the UK and Australia by air was prohibitively expensive for the average person and thus most travel was by sea. Unfortunately, there is a problem in the ease in which the characters then pick up the phone and just call one another. International direct dialling was not yet a possibility in 1967 and all calls had to go through international trunk exchanges, usually booked in advance for a specific time. These calls were very expensive, only used for emergencies or important occasions. In reality, most of the communication between Louisa and Joe would have had to be by aerogramme (air letters) or, in case of urgency, by telegram.

Also dubious is whether Sydney (i.e. city or suburban) police officers were sent off to rural Aboriginal settlements to take and distribute children to care homes. If this did happen, then I’m happy to stand corrected.
 
The author’s notes carry a lengthy polemic on the history of enforced separation of Aboriginal children from their parents, which is well-known to Australians but probably not to readers in other countries. For anyone who wants to discover more about the “stolen generation”, it is recommended they seek out authentic books written by Aboriginal authors.
 
Unfortunately, the anachronisms extend to the cover which shows distinctly American-style houses, not at all Australian.

​The ones below are more accurate in showing an Australian style of house although it is  c. 1890 Melbourne rather than something more in keeping with 1960s Sydney. 


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3 stars
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(Thanks to Edelweiss for the ARC.)

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​“If you wanted to get away with murder, Vanishing Falls is the place to do it,” is an observation of one of the characters in this novel.
 
Ever since it was known as Van Diemen’s Land, Tasmania has had a dark and troubled history and although it has long since left behind its convict past, there are still pockets where unnamed fears and unease linger, especially in its brooding forests and small towns struggling with unemployment, drug use and other more sordid activities.
 
This all comes together in this compelling page-turning novel about a woman gone missing. She is Celia, wife of Jack Lily, the rich lawyer whose privileged family has lorded it over Vanishing Falls for generations. As people hunt for Celia in what seems like unrelenting rain, we are pulled deep into the psyche of the town and its secrets.
 
Although the evidence is strongly against him, Jack struggles to prove that he was not involved in his wife’s disappearance while trying to hide unsavoury aspects of his own behaviour. The meth-addicted poultry farmer Cliff is mired in his own messy anger and delusions, and Joelle, the apparently simple-minded wife of the local butcher, still struggles with her own horrific memories while desperate for friends and acceptance.
 
It is only through the beautifully understated and unusual characterisation of Joelle that this is saved from being yet another Australian “outback noir” novel in the style of “The Dry” or “Wimmera”, as with an innocence and clarity of vision denied the others, it is Joelle who is instrumental in solving the mystery. As she says: “Something bad happened and I did not try to stop it. I don’t want to do that again.”
 
(Many thanks to Edelweiss for the ARC.)
 
Four stars
 
(Links to book sites after publication)

Matilda (Mattie) Simpkin is an ageing former suffragette who is proud of her achievements (and her police record) and who has no intention of accepting the lot of some simpering middle-aged spinster by disappearing into the sunset. She’s a bit of “old baggage” in the sense that she says what she thinks, is over-assertive, even uncompromising in her beliefs in what is good for her is also good for other people.
 
Mattie needs to find purpose in life and it seems as if the answer is generated following an altercation with a bag-snatcher that results in an unintentional injury to a young woman called Ida. This event gives her the inspiration to create a girls’ group that will involve lots of fresh air and exercise but that will also revive  feminist ideals in the flighty “flapper generation” that doesn’t seem to appreciate the sacrifices and challenges involved by Mattie and her fellow campaigners in gaining them the vote.
 
Mattie lives in comparative comfort with her quieter companion known as The Flea (Florrie Lee) who is involved in health work and giving advice to poor families. Florrie continues to support Mattie, although she can be a trial to live with and Florrie is forever trying to restrain her friend’s outrageous whims and wild schemes.
 
Mattie’s group of Hampstead Heath “Amazons” continues to grow until it finds itself in competition with another enthusiastic youth group, the quasi Fascist Empire League. This gets further complicated when a new girl called Inez joins her group and Mattie loses her focus, going off-kilter in trying to deal with another type of “old baggage” from her past.
 
This is an absorbing and delightful story on all levels, albeit with an ending that some readers may find just a touch saccharine. The writing is brilliant and perfectly conveys the individuals and their attitudes in a style that truly feels as if it were written in the 1920s. There is deliciously quirky humour as well as much deeper psychological and emotional explorations into love, friendship, loyalty and ultimately the benefits of knowing when to admit you were wrong.
  
4 1/2 stars.

Booktopia

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This novel is a curious mix in that it interweaves the Empress Josephine's personal relationship with Napoleon with her passion for exotic fauna and flora being raised in her garden at Malmaison. Plus it also includes the stories of two other women whose respective husbands were involved in the discovery and cultivation of many new species from remote regions of the world, principally Australia.

The three women are also bound together at a fundamental level in their quest to be mothers. History will be changed because of Josephine's inability to provide Napoleon with an heir. Anne, wife of Felix Lahaie, head gardener, will suffer tragedies in her dream of a large family and Marthe, wife of Jacques Labillardiere, the brilliant scientist of the La Perouse expedition, must deal with the frustrations of a frigid marriage.

Josephine's plight has been the subject of many novels and in this one the reader will still find sympathy with her situation but it also does not avoid the less-attractive aspects of her personality. Neither are Napoleon's excesses and cruelties shied away from. The other two women are only historical shadows and therefore largely fictional creations but are believable enough. There is also an assasination sub-plot that might have provided enough material for a novel in its own right. However, of all the characters, it is the cool and distant Labillardiere who is perhaps the most well-drawn. For any keen gardeners or botanists the descriptions of the plants and the germination processes will provide added interest, although the treatment of the oranguatan may cause some readers to flinch.

This is an absorbing read as the historical and botanical backgrounds are clearly well-researched and convincing although within its 470+ pages there are the inevitable sluggish passages between the more vigorous scenes and events. There are also some issues with repetitive words or statements that makes one wonder if the editing process was not as thorough as it might have been due to some publication deadline. Otherwise, a fine follow-up to the author's debut novel (my earlier review here) about characters from the lesser-known 18th Century French expeditions to the Antipodes.

Four stars.

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​Millicent (or “Missy”) Carmichael is in her late seventies. She lives alone in a large house and is irritable, lonely and depressed. Her son Alistair and only grandchild Arthur live in Australia and she is estranged from her daughter Melanie. She ponders her purpose in life, whether she has outstayed her welcome and compares her existence to an “… abstract, galactic isolation, like a leaking boat bobbing in open water, no anchor or land in sight.”
 
But help is at hand following a random encounter with single mother Angela and her delightful son Otis, then the flamboyant designer Sylvie and the unexpected temporary companionship of a dog called Bob (later changed to Bobby). Although initially fearful and reserved with her new friends - and greatly alarmed at the prospect of having to care for a dog - slowly but surely Missy is drawn into the lives of these individuals, plus others, and finds a new self-confidence and optimism in the process.
 
The story has elements of gentle humour as well as serious reflections and includes flashbacks to Missy’s earlier life and marriage to author Leo. Missy was a victim of her times, expected to play the dutiful wife of a successful man, and her regrets include a tragic secret that she kept from Leo. The ending has a twist in that the initial assumption one makes about Leo turns out to be incorrect.
 
The characters are well-drawn, even if Missy can sometimes seem a wee bit irritating in her insecurity and hesitation in the presence of more assertive and confident individuals, although she does finally find her true voice and bare all (or nearly all!) when coming to the defence of one of her new friends.
 
This is a charming story that will appeal to a wide audience as it tackles the very real issues of loneliness and depression in old age in a sympathetic fashion. However, on a more serious note, this reviewer of a certain age senses the author is very much younger than her protagonist and through the book she expresses her heathfelt desire for older people to be happy. A noble gesture in fiction perhaps, while the practical reality is that for the most part our modern self-absorbed and youth-obsessed society is geared in such a way that there is scant interest in rescuing women like Missy from their leaking boats.
 
Four stars.
 

(With many thanks to Harper Collins Australia and NetGalley for the ARC)

Links shown after publication.

 
It took a while but it only dawned on me when I was well into this book that the fictional Mount Hope is in my own current backyard which, although never clearly delineated, is the Bellarine Peninsula near Geelong, Victoria, Australia, an area now well-known for its vineyards.
 
At the time this book is set, however, the summer of 1893/94, growing grapes was an irregular and risky venture for a farmer. Phoeba’s father Robert has the faith and he believes that sheep and wool are no longer the backbone of the country. This is borne out as the novel progresses; a progress that is at times slow as the bay waves that lap the shore, although this is not a book to gallop through and it needs to be savoured.
 
It is the social climbing that is the main focus of the book, all told with black and quirky humour. The star for me is Spot, the horse who is literally drawn to water, and some of the lesser characters are equally appealing, including the wacky maiden Aunt Margaret and the ill-used mail boy called Freckle. The historical research and references are excellent and give a strong sense of time and place.
 
Phoeba Crupp does remind one a little of Sybylla Melvyn, the heroine in Miles Franklin’s “My Brilliant Career”, who was another independently minded young woman trying to deal with the monotony and drudgery of life on the land in the burgeoning suffragette era of the 1890s.
 
The expectation is that Phoeba will marry Hadley Pearson, literally the boy next door, but she is chafing at the bit to experience more of life and her ambition is to be a vigneron on her own account. Her best friend is Hadley’s sister, Henrietta, but she isn’t fond of her own sister Lilith who is vain and flighty with her eye on the local rich widower, Marius Overton, and her mother Maude is overblown in all senses of the word, including furniture and hats. Her father Robert is long-suffering. Just one classic example:-
 
Robert settled his new hat onto his head. It was a pith hat and looked very silly.
‘Farmers don’t wear pith hats, Robert,’ said Maude.
‘I am not a farmer,’ said Robert. ‘I am a vigneron.’
Maude put her hand to her temple. ‘You are the cause of my headaches, Robert.’ She drifted inside taking the social pages with her.
 
When Phoeba encounters the attractive new Overton manager Rudolph Steel, she has a lot of thinking to do about what she really wants out of life vs. her obligations. The ending almost seems predictable at one point until there’s a surprising switch-about.
 
Four stars.

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​This is a "cosy" mystery story about what happens when good intentions come up against an individual who is either just psychologically disturbed or is very artful with their own evil agenda hidden behind a mask. 

Ellie Quicke is married to Thomas, a retired minister. Both of them become alarmed and suspicious when Thomas starts receiving a series of bequests from deceased people he barely knew. Ellie investigates to see if there is some link that ties them together. 

Meanwhile, Ellie has another problem with a homeless woman, Hetty, whom she has taken in only to realise she forebodes serious trouble (not least her terrible cooking, hence the reference to a pie on the book's cover). And then there's the truly awful Diana, Ellie's daughter, who starts making onerous demands for money. Ellie has some difficult, even dangerous, issues ahead of her.

When an author is new to me, I prefer not to know anything about them until after I have read their book. Since reading this title, I've discovered Veronica Heley is multi-published and Murder for Good is the 20th in a series featuring an older woman sleuth. This is a bit of a disadvantage as is the case with many such series you need to be up with the back story to really get a grip on the characters and their motivations.

That said, I still managed to enjoy this for its slightly quirky plot line and its human qualities, although there are unpleasant aspects too. I couldn't abide Ellie's daughter, Diana, and the way she terrorised her mother, so that ended up spoiling the book for me. Ellie struck me as a bit of a ditherer but being unfamiliar with all that she has been through previously, or why she tolerates receiving such treatment from her daughter, I never quite "got" her. I also thought the ending rather abrupt with no real comeuppance for the culprit.

An entertaining read with a lot of positives, but if that awful Diana features in all the other books in the Ellen Quicke  series it has put me off reading any others.

(With many thanks to NetGalley and Severn Books for the ARC)

Three stars

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Slow journeys are in vogue these days with many of us seeking counteraction to lives that are all about rushing around and getting things done quickly, so this book about a long funeral procession is part of that trend.
 
The book’s back cover blurb by the publisher summarises it best:-
 
Bankrupt dairy farmer Tom Murray decides he'd rather sell off his herd and burn down his own house than hand them over to the bank. But something goes tragically wrong, and Tom dies in the blaze. His wife, Dawn, doesn't want him to have died for nothing and decides to hold a funeral procession for Tom as a protest, driving 350 kilometres from Yardley in country Victoria to bury him in Melbourne where he was born. To make a bigger impact she agrees with some neighbours to put his coffin on a horse and cart and take it slow - real slow.
But on the night of their departure, someone burns down the local bank. And as the motley funeral procession passes through Victoria, there are more mysterious arson attacks. Dawn has five days to get to Melbourne. Five days, five more towns, and a state ready to explode in flames ... [copyright HarperCollins Australia]
 
The whole process is seen through the eyes of Tom’s teenaged son, Jack, and his voice is quintessentially modern Aussie. The issues with low prices being paid by supermarkets to dairy farmers and regional areas struggling with debt and drought are topical. People are drawn to the cause and along the way there are confrontations with local authorities and the police while the national media and assorted individuals all join in for the ride.
 
With its combination of laconic humour, grit and perseverance in the face of adversity, this book will charm many readers.  The narrative is fast paced and some familiarity with contemporary Australia plus knowledge of the characteristics of the real towns along the route will help to add extra layers for readers. (I live near to the ferry terminal in question and could well visualise the amusing process involved in trying to get a horse and cart, plus coffin, onto that ferry.)
 
There a few aspects that didn’t gel for me, however. Why Jack and his twin, Jenny, had to have a rare, bizarre medical condition that didn’t really have all that much of a bearing on the events puzzled me. And being very much against the ruthless murderer bushranger, Ned Kelly, I never like it when his words are used in any sort of inspirational sense.
 
Other than that, this is a most entertaining read that will most likely find its way into a cinematic version before long.
 
Three stars.

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A review of this book can be found on my companion history blog, The History Bucket

​This is not a new book and was a spontaneous selection from my local library as I had previously read, and greatly enjoyed, other titles by author Susanna De Vries. (Her book Desert Queen was one of those I read when researching my blog post on Daisy Bates.)
 
There are some individuals who live such extraordinary, generous and altruistic lives that one is almost dumbstruck by their sacrifices and achievements.
 
The name Joice NanKivell Loch probably doesn’t mean much to the average person, although in parts of Greece she is still a legend and she received many honours from Poland, Serbia and Rumania for her humanitarian work. In her homeland of Australia there are scant echoes of her.
 
Born in the middle of a cyclone on a Queensland sugar plantation in 1887, she was the granddaughter of one of Australia’s richest men, Thomas NanKivell, but she would see nothing of the family’s wealth. Her father George’s farming enterprises all failed and Joice’s childhood turned into one of grinding poverty, living in bush shacks and labouring like a slave on the land. Her dreams of becoming a doctor were dashed, but her love of writing would sustain her and eventually lead to her becoming a published author and journalist. After her only brother was killed in World War I, at the age of 26 she finally broke free of her domestic drudgery and found opportunities in Melbourne.
 
She married Sydney Loch, another writer and veteran of Gallipoli. Together, they were commissioned to write about the troubles in Ireland. After a dangerous time in Dublin, the couple were forced to flee due to likely IRA retribution. Although not religious, they found work in Poland with the Quaker Relief Movement and began their lifetime work in humanitarian service. Whilst in Poland, they were instrumental in saving countless numbers of refugees from starvation and disease, often at risk to their own lives.
 
In the 1920s, Joice and her husband moved to Greece where a new wave of refugees were fleeing from Turkish persecution. Although she was never fully qualified as a doctor, Joice was to become a highly-respected medical practitioner in her new home near Mount Athos and treated many more who suffered from famine, disease, wounds and other afflictions. As a mid-wife, Joice also saved the lives of many women and babies who would otherwise have fallen victim to the primitive beliefs and superstition then practised in that remote region of Greece.
 
There was never a quiet retirement for Joice and during World War II, she plunged headlong into another risky rescue adventure. Just before the Nazis took Bucharest, she escorted a thousand Jews and Poles to safety via Constantinople to Palestine.
 
Joice died in 1982, having also found time to write ten books and “…. was one of the world’s most decorated women. At her funeral the Greek Orthodox Bishop of Oxford named her ‘one of the most significant women of the twentieth century’.”
 
Throughout the book, there is evidence of the misogynist, class-ridden and outright racist Anglo-Australian thinking of the time. Joice had to put up with derogatory male attitudes. As Poles and Greeks were often considered second-class citizens, it meant that Joice was only awarded the lowest class of British honour with just an MBE for her humanitarian work, whereas the European countries where she lived and worked lauded her with their highest medals and awards.
 
This is an absorbing and magnificent story of a truly inspirational woman who should have far more recognition than she does. Very highly recommended.
 
Five stars.
 
Note: The author’s website says that all 6 editions have sold out, but new copies are available by print-on-demand. Click here for info.
Second-hand copies will be available via usual dealers.
 
 
 
 

​The Little Book of Hygge: Danish Secrets to Happy Living by Meik Wiking [some versions are subtitled The Danish Way to Live Well] was hyped as the book to read a couple of years back, so I am late to this, but seeing it on the library shelf recently I decided to find out what all the fuss was about. I am glad I didn’t buy a copy.

​It is not without some irony that the famous Emperor’s New Clothes story was also written by a Dane - Hans Christian Andersen - and which gave rise to the phrase now considered “… a standard metaphor for anything that smacks of pretentiousness, pomposity, social hypocrisy, collective denial, or hollow ostentatiousness.” The Little Book has a fair bit of that lurking in its pages.
 
The author says that hygge can’t really be translated into English although he suggests that the Canadian “hominess” is the closest. For a start, why that word is considered the property of Canadians is rather strange and even other simple English words like “ambience”, “cosy” and “snug” are pretty good at describing a lot of what is in this book.
 
Apart from being a great marketing exercise for Danish tourism, it verges on sad that there has even been a need for such a book, that there are millions of people so out of touch with their own innate sense as to what makes them feel safe, comfortable and happy, that they need instruction and have to be told that lighting candles, reading a good book, eating cake (or Danish pastries), enjoying Glögg and a heart-warming stew, sharing the evening with good friends or family, wrapping your toes in woolly socks and your body in a blanket to watch a favourite TV show, or just listening to the crackle of a fireplace, makes you feel good. 
 
The author also states that Denmark tops the list as the “happiest country in the world” (down to 3rd in current rankings). As he is the CEO of the Happiness Research Institute in Cophenhagen, a cynic might comment that he has to say that doesn’t he, also that he is blessed with all the benefits that go with a high standard of living. But how these statistics are calculated is a bit of a mystery as the country still manages to feature in the top half of suicides as well - perhaps some of that hygge is a mask to what is really going on in the Danish soul. Like Russians and other nationalities who live half the year in the dark, Scandinavians are well-known for their psychological downside, e.g. alcoholism, depression and for producing grim noir TV crime series. Hans Christian Andersen was also responsible for that maudlin tale The Little Match Girl which as a child I found seriously disturbing.
 
One chapter contradicts the hygge positives; on page 47 there is The Dark Side of Hygge, where the author goes so far to admit that hygge is more beneficial to people who have roots in the place:- “ … I have also come to realize that there is a severe drawback to a social landscape like this: it doesn’t readily admit newcomers. Every person I’ve met who has moved to Denmark tells me the same thing. It is close to impossible to penetrate the social circles there. Or at least it requires years and years of hard work and persistence … Danes are not good at inviting new people into their friendship circles …” (If this is the case, one might make a few observations as to how well migrants or refugees to Denmark are accepted.)

The book is a nice compact size with cute imagery and has recipes - I might even try the Danish Meatballs in Curry -  and it also has other twee stuff, such as how to make woven hearts, although the font is both a bit small and pale for those with vision problems.

It’s a book with its heart in the right place, but it can’t help also being smug and superior as well. 

2 1/2 stars.

PS A browse of bookseller websites shows there has been an explosion of similar feel-good lifestyle books with the Swedes, Finns, British, American and Japanese all exploring their versions of hygge, and the author has produced another title The Little Book of Lykke that will also sell in the millions but looks to be just more of the same. Save your money and put yourself in a hyggeligt mood by donating it to a charity that helps bring a little happiness to others who are not as privileged as the Danes.
 
 
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This is the second novel featuring the retired detective Daniel Hawthorne. It is best to have read the first book in the series, The Word is Murder, to gain more insight into the background.
 
As with the previous book, the narrator is Anthony Horowitz himself - famed screenwriter of Foyle’s War and the children’s Alex Rider series, among many others - who is ostensibly writing a biography of Hawthorne and tags along with him as he is brought in to help solve a new murder mystery (shades of Holmes and Watson).
 
The victim is Richard Pryce, a prominent divorce lawyer, who has been bludgeoned to death with a bottle of very expensive wine. As Pryce is teetotal, what was the wine doing in his home in the first place? And what is the meaning of the numbers 182 painted in green on his wall?
 
Suspicion immediately descends on the haiku and literary author, Akiro Anno, estranged wife of one of his clients, who had created a scene in a restaurant in which she poured wine over Pryce. But this is only the beginning and from then on there are twists and turns a-plenty.
 
Just when you think the case has been cracked there is another sharp swerve in a completely different direction. This is what makes books by Horowitz such a pleasure to read. You are never bored for a minute. There are red herrings and tricks galore with words and numbers.
 
It is also fun trying to decide which of the characters are real individuals in his life - such as his agent, publisher, wife and children - and which ones are made up for the book. (The real ones are probably either chuffed or dismayed at being included and one hopes that if the rather terrifying DI Cara Grunshaw of the Met does really exist, she is sufficiently disguised here not to start a case for libel!)
 
Another brilliant and entertaining five star read. Many thanks to Edelweiss for the ARC.

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This is one of those novels that sucks you in with a gorgeous cover and that you quite enjoy while in the midst of it but are more than likely to forget eventually as it has a plot that has been done many times before in various guises.

There is the dilapidated old house, Cloudesley, in the English countryside in desperate need of rescuing, its owner a frail elderly woman with secrets, and hope lies with a granddaughter returned from a life abroad but who had already run away previously due to romantic issues of her own. It also has the dual time switches that are now mandatory with such novels.
 
Lillian is the grandmother, and widow of Charles Oberon, owner of Cloudesley. In the mid 1950s, she falls in love with handsome up and coming artist, Jack Fincher, who is hired by Charles to decorate the walls of the nursery. With her lonely step-son, Albie, and doomed sister Helena, whom Charles supports in a care home, Lillian’s choice is stark when she has to decide between husband and lover. This is by far the better part of the novel.
 
Maggie’s contemporary story is less convincing as she displays indecision and unreliability and as a result she’s never quite believable as someone who would do anything for her grandmother let alone turn herself around and pull together the practical resources to rescue the old house from the developers. 
 
For the anachronism hunter, there are quite a few minor terms and words that were not around in 1950s. Women didn’t use “blusher” on their cheeks, it was still just called rouge in those days, nor did the term “toy-boys” appear until more than thirty years later.
 
[Spoiler alert!] Although I know it is often a plot device for both historical and contemporary women’s fiction, domestic violence is never pleasant to read particularly when it has no really satisfying outcome and for that reason alone is enough to reduce this to a three star rather than four star read.

With thanks to Edelweiss for the ARC.

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I have yet to see the movie Ladies in Black which has been very popular with audiences, but I was aware that it was based on a bestseller 1960s novel by Australian author, Madeleine St. John, and decided I'd like to read the book first before seeing the film.

Not unexpectedly due to the film's success, my library has a lengthy wait-list for the current edition of the novel titled Ladies in Black, but it seems people don't realise it was originally called The Women in Black, which I found instantly available as an e-book on the library's website.

It's a charming read, about a group of women who work in a prestigious Sydney department store called Goode's, but which Australians will immediately recognise as a clone of David Jones in Elizabeth Street. You may need to be a certain age to remember such things as "cocktail frocks" as it dates back to the days when clothes were not the cheap ill-fitting and throw-away imports of today and when women were expected to dress well - and behave well for that matter - and when they had to put their faith and futures in the hands of their men.

Working in the frocks, there's Patty, the childless wife with a galah * for a husband, and Fay, who has just about given up on finding Mr. Right, due to too many bad experiences with similar galahs. There is the clever teenage Lesley (who prefers to be called Lisa) who hopes to go to university but whose galah father squawks at the idea. And then there is Magda, all European sophistication and sass, who serves exotic foods such as salami and knows attractive, suave and intelligent men who are far from being galahs.

Written before the feminist and sexual revolutions of the later 1960s took off, it is obvious why St. John's novel was such a success in an ultra-conservative British-centric Australia that was only just starting to come to terms with foreign migrants with different views on life (and food!)

A short read, delightful in its insights, its way of poking fun. A little patchy where the author seemed a bit rushed to get through certain scenes, but overall a solid 4 stars and highly recommended. 

* Galah, actually a type of parrot known for its silly antics, but used in this connection as per the definition from Australian Dictionary of Colloquialisms: "An ass or nincompoop"

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I tend to take a long time to psych myself up to either read bestsellers or watch blockbuster movies set during the Holocaust, so I am coming late to this book even though it has been sitting in my reading pile since before its official publication (thank you to Edelweiss for the ARC). There are now hundreds of reviews out there, so I have nothing new to add except to express my own unease as to veracity.
 
In a nutshell, this is a romance novel set in a concentration camp that has a happy ending. (See below for an article from Australian ABC about its genesis.) Not a scenario for any faint-hearted author and I have to compliment Heather Morris for taking it on to resounding success and for turning it into a sizzling Hollywood plot. If it had been written as a non-fiction memoir, it would probably have been destined for the remainder pile by now.
 
The author must have been convinced of the truth of the story she was told; how the dashing Lale from Slovakia met the love of his life, Gita, in Auschwitz, and conducted a passionate love affair with her under the noses of the SS: how he had a privileged job and managed to walk around the camp freely, help his sadistic guard negotiate problems with his love life, be involved in organising a soccer team between starving prisoners and fat SS (really?), traded gems and money from the crematoria collection with outside workers for food, gave his girlfriend chocolate, and even after his nefarious activities were discovered, he still managed to survive and continue as before. 
 
When it comes to what really went on in concentration camps only those who were there can ever know the truth of it. Few of us can tell what we would do in those circumstances and what humiliating and despicable steps we might take in order to save our own skin. Collaboration is not a word to use lightly but it did happen and those of us who had parents and grandparents in such a situation and managed to survive, must face the brutal fact that they may have had to compromise themselves and sacrifice others in order to do so.
 
The romantics and idealists - and perhaps deniers - among us will want to believe that it was possible something good and beautiful could have come out of those camps, the more pragmatic will be concerned about horrific history also being compromised in order to produce a story that makes the rest of us feel ... hey, perhaps it wasn't really that bad, you know ...
 
Three stars for the Hollywood plot. One star for doubt.

ABC News Story here

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Sara Rose’s Russian grandmother Nina has died and left her a cottage in Tasmania. It is the catalyst Sara needs to change her life. Together with daughter Ellie she leaves her marriage and returns to her roots. Once there, she has a chance to contemplate the past and try to find answers to questions she has avoided for far too long. Why was she raised by Nina and not her mother, Helena, and why does she not even know the identity of her own father?
 
As she settles in, Sara becomes friendly with an Afghani refugee, Abdhul, who arrived in Australia by boat and is anxiously waiting to find out if he is eligible for permanent residence and whether his wife and children left behind in Pakistan can join him.
 
Sara’s abandonment by her own mother contrasts with her need to protect Ellie from witnessing the raw realities of life and wants her “to feel that love wrapped around her like the layers of the matryoskha” given to her by Nina and to let the child experience something of the “same magical childhood” that she enjoyed.
 
In her work as a geneticist, Sara becomes involved in a project researching whether trauma is inherited and this adds yet another level to the story. Nina’s traumatic refugee experience of an earlier era reflects off that of Abdhul in the Australia of today and yet Nina in her own way was not immune from prejudices, some of which go to explain Helena’s subsequent actions.
 
There is a great deal here to think about with all these layers:  family secrets, morals and ethics, current politics, feminist issues, and ultimately those genetic components that might shape us and over which we have no control. There is a romantic relationship that doesn’t always find its place within such a strong and compelling storyline, but overall this is a tender and sympathetic read from Katherine Johnson in which the narrative flows well and it is highly recommended.

​(With many thanks to NetGalley and Simon & Schuster Australia for an advanced reading copy.)

4 stars


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