Australia is a young nation built on a primordial landscape. It had no permanent European settlement until the late 18th Century, but its Aboriginal history stretches back more than 50,000 years. For those susceptible to spiritual echoes there are numerous places on the continent where one might be able to connect with either the recent or ancient past.

This, the fourth title in J.G. Montgomery’s investigations into the paranormal, concentrates specifically on Australian ghosts in each State and Territory, plus Norfolk Island. There are tales here about ghostly prisons and pubs, lunatic asylums and lighthouses, that can send shivers down the spine of even the most sceptical individual.
 
Some ghosts are already well-known to Australians, such as Frederici, the actor ghost who haunts the Princess Theatre in Melbourne or Martha Rendell “the last woman to be hanged in Western Australia” who watches over Fremantle Gaol.
 
While perhaps most sightings have a rational explanation, there are others that do not. Even the famous historical fiction author, the late Colleen McCullough, had a strange experience in her house on Norfolk Island that was hardly surprising in “... that this tiny, remote settlement is so haunted given the names of so many places on the island, names such as Ghost Corner, Bloody Bridge, Slaughter Bay and Gallows Gate ...”
 
The book also touches on the inexplicable in the physical landscape, such as the strange oscillating Min Min light formations that occur mainly in the Channel Country of Queensland, and although there may be a reasonable geological explanation for the way Lake George near Canberra seems to disappear and then reappear, sometimes in a matter of days, to many people it remains “an eerie place” that “has built up an enviable reputation for ghosts, hauntings, UFOs and strange phenomena”.
 
This compact book is nicely produced, complete with a few blood splatters, and well-illustrated with colour photos. It also has a comprehensive bibliography for anyone wanting to learn more about the supernatural side of Australia. Just the thing for when you are in the mood to be spooked!
 
(With many thanks to Edelweiss and Schiffer Publishing for the ARC.)

Booktopia

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Once upon a time there was a beautiful captain’s daughter from Maine called Jessie Dermot. Rather than running off to sea like the men in her family, she skipped away from some messy personal matters and went on the stage, changing her name to Maxine Elliott. In due course she would use her sex appeal and savvy business sense to reach the pinnacle of the social ladder and the ultimate prize of a dalliance with King Edward VII.
 
When Maxine decided to retire in the early 1930s, and using the skills of renowned architect Barry Dierks, she built herself a striking confection of a house known as Chateau de l’Horizon near Juan-les-Pins on the French Riviera. She began inviting the glitterati of the age to come and keep her company. And what a roll-call of names it was: politicians, royalty, movie stars, artistes. There were the notorious good-time girls of the English upper classes being the three “D’s”, Daisy Fellowes, Doris Castlerosse and Diana Cooper. Noel Coward played the piano. Winston Churchill rode the slippery water slide into the Mediterranean. Edward and Mrs Simpson, later to be Duke and Duchess of Windsor, found it a refuge from the storm around the abdication crisis.
 
Maxine’s reign ended early in World War II when the house was trashed due to the tramping in and out of various armies, and its next incarnation was under the ownership of Prince Aly Khan, playboy religious leader, whose infamous womanising antics dominated the gossip sheets throughout the 1950s. When he married Rita Hayworth in 1949, the lavish reception at Chateau de l’Horizon demonstrated an excess that had a world still recovering from trauma all agog. The house is now under the ownership of the Saudi royal family and the story of the Chateau is far from over yet.
 
There is a strange kind of compulsion in reading about these people with their brilliance, beauty and high achievement mixed with hedonism, immorality and irresponsibility. With so many of them doomed to tragic ends it is all too easy to demonstrate your own inverted snobbery about their shallowness while secretly, of course, you must be a little envious.
 
Mary S. Lovell always writes excellent biographies and although this particular work contains too broad a compass to explore any of the individuals in depth, it is still a most enjoyable way of curling up and idling away your own hours immersed in an era when “the worst possible behaviour was to be boring” and when wit and sophistication, glamour and style were at their peak.
 
4.5 stars.
 
(With many thanks to Hachette Australia for sending me an advance reader’s copy.)

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What does it say about a book that leaves you feeling both exhilarated and irritated? It means it has had an impact, is unlikely to be forgotten, and perhaps even the ultimate sign of great literature. This fictional tale about the Russian aristocrat, Count Rostov, who is confined to Moscow's Metropole Hotel for a good part of the 20th Century certainly qualifies on that score.

Much of its prose is brilliant and reminiscent of the great classics, with its observations of human behaviour and other philosophical meanderings and shades of nostalgia for a lost way of life, but its basic premise is difficult to swallow. If anyone knows anything about how aristocrats, artists, merchants and intelligentsia were treated by the Bolsheviks after the Russian Revolution, they would know that there is no way as a “former person” Rostov would be allowed to continue to live almost in the manner to which he had been accustomed, albeit on a tiny scale and in a much smaller apartment than previously. If not executed out of hand, he’d have been locked up in some ghastly place like the Lubyanka before disappearing into Siberia along with the countless thousands of others like him who were exterminated by that increasingly vicious regime. His access to wines and quality foods in a country always on the brink of starvation, his ability to meet old friends and make new ones, to wander around the hotel at will and, the most implausible of all, teaching one of the Soviet regime's military leaders English, were absurd. Everyone who worked at that hotel would have been looking out for their own skin, everyone an informer, no-one to be trusted, yet the Count sails through all without ever really being at risk of losing his head.
 
It is also just too long and even the finest writing in the world can lose impact when there is too much of it. (My ARC also had some typesetting faults with closing paragraphs displaced at random several pages later which added to the labyrinthine quality, but hopefully this has been remedied in the final print.)
 
If one can pull away from reality and see this book as a bit of fantasy - somewhat akin to that film "Hotel Bucharest" - then it will be a satisfying experience and worthy of five stars. But if you prefer solid veracity when it comes to the background of your historical fiction, then it could be a struggle. 

(Many thanks to the publisher and NetGalley for the opportunity to read this novel in exchange for an honest review)

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This novel is disadvantaged from the start with the choice of title as it will inevitably get confused with that other blockbuster book. 
 
Gretl and her sister Elsa are the only survivors when a train bound for Auschwitz is sabotaged by Polish resistance fighters. One of the men, Jakob, comes across the two girls and takes them home to his family to look after. After the war, Jakob arranges for Gretl to be sent to South Africa under a scheme to resettle the orphaned children of German soldiers. When she is on the verge of adulthood, Jakob arrives on the scene, stirring up old memories and secrets.

Translated from Afrikaans, the novel's best attribute is in giving voice to little-known episodes in history including the struggles of the Polish resistance during World War II and the experiences of child migrants to South Africa from non-English backgrounds.

While it should be refreshing to read about an Afrikaner family without the usual accusatory and clichéd aspects of their treatment of black people, avoiding the issue altogether can suggest a form of denial. As a result, it is difficult to believe in all the sweetness and light surrounding Gretl, especially when her adoptive father carries intense suspicions and obstinate beliefs about Jews, Catholics and Communists. After promising opening chapters the novel plunges downhill into a romantic pot-boiler. The early fatherly relationship between Jakob and Gretl is tenderly conveyed but it becomes unsettling, even a bit creepy, when it switches to one of desire.

Also there are some issues with the translation, the word “weird” being overused every time for anything unusual or strange, plus I couldn’t help agreeing with Jakob when he kept continually warning Gretl how “old” he was, implying that she would be bored stiff with him after a few years.
 
Based on its beginning, this could have been a high-rating historical novel but its later chapters are littered with awkward, implausible and romantic formulaic writing that left me very disappointed.
 
Two stars.

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