JESS JUST READS

A BOOK REVIEW BLOG

A Dowry of Blood by S.T. Gibson

A deliciously dark retelling of Dracula, A Dowry of Blood is a sensual story of obsession, desire and the lengths we will go to protect the ones we love.

Saved from the brink of death by a mysterious stranger, Constanta is transformed from a medieval peasant into a bride fit for an undying king. But when Dracula draws a cunning aristocrat and a starving artist into his web of passion and deceit, Constanta realizes that her beloved is capable of terrible things.

Finding comfort in the arms of her rival consorts, she begins to unravel their husband’s dark secrets. With the lives of everyone she loves on the line, Constanta will have to choose between her own freedom and her love for her husband. But bonds forged by blood can only be broken by death.

Exploring obsession, desire and queer relationships between vampires, S.T. Gibson’s A Dowry of Blood is written from the perspective of one of Dracula’s first wives and catalogues their relationship across the ensuing centuries as Dracula begins forming new marriages. Soon, a tale of love turns into a story of entrapment, and Constanta becomes desperate to leave.

The story chronicles a very large span of time over quite a short number of pages. And with a limited number of characters, the book does feel deliberately claustrophobic. We live in Constanta’s head for the entirety of the novel, and we watch as her obsession morphs into wariness. And then, finally, she gains motivation to change her circumstances.

“Those years are a dark smear across my memory; everything feels blurry and hollow. Plague drains not only victims but whole cities of life. It freezes trade, decays parishes, forbids lovemaking, turns childrearing into a dance with death. Most of all, it steals time.”

Most reviews about this book are glowing, and whilst there are elements of this book that are to be commended – the queer representation, the exploration of Dracula’s relationships in such a sensual manner, the beautiful European settings – the book fell flat for me. We move through the decades so quickly we don’t really have a lot of time to sit with any of the main characters, and I didn’t feel I grew to care for Constanta because other characters intersected in the plot far too quickly.

A story like this could move a little slower, allowing for deeper character development, and more exploration between Constanta and Dracula so that their dynamic is more solid before their relationship starts to change.

“We travelled by coach for days, drowsing in the sunlight hours and passing our time with quiet conversation or solitary activities by night. You became more withdrawn the closer we got to the Spanish border, referring to notes and letters you kept tucked into your datebook over and over again.”

Admittedly, the novel starts to feel repetitive as Dracula forms new romantic relationships. We have a short span of time with Dracula and Constanta, and then Magdalena comes along, and then, finally, Alexi. It felt like a cycle that just kept repeating but we weren’t learning anything new.

Another element I thought was under-explored – we didn’t have enough time to really explore the characters or their arcs because the book focused so much on sex. There was definitely room for us to experience these relationships on more than just a sexual level. Who were these characters outside of the bedroom? I’m not sure we ever really found out.

“Even surrounded by the flowering beauties of Spain, Magdalena’s loveliness was undeniable. She cut through the crowd like a shark darting through shallow waters, her teeth bared with laughter. She never missed a step, and never stayed with one partner for long.”

A sexual exploration of Dracula’s relationships, A Dowry of Blood is recommended for younger readers. Readership skews female, 18+

Thank you to the publishing company for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

A Dowry of Blood
S.T. Gibson
October 2022
Hachette Book Publishers

Our Missing Hearts by Celeste Ng

Twelve-year-old Bird Gardner lives a quiet existence with his loving but broken father, a former linguist who now shelves books in Harvard’s library. He knows not to ask too many questions, stand out too much, stray too far. For a decade, their lives have been governed by laws written to preserve ‘American culture’ in the wake of years of economic instability and violence. To keep the peace and restore prosperity, the authorities are now allowed to relocate children of dissidents, especially those of Asian origin, and libraries have been forced to remove books seen as unpatriotic – including the work of Bird’s mother, Margaret, a Chinese American poet who left the family when he was nine years old.

Bird has grown up disavowing his mother and her poems; he doesn’t know her work or what happened to her, and he knows he shouldn’t wonder. But when he receives a mysterious letter containing only a cryptic drawing, he is drawn into a quest to find her. His journey will take him through the many folktales she poured into his head as a child, through the ranks of an underground network of librarians, into the lives of the children who have been taken, and finally to New York, where a new act of defiance may be the beginning of much-needed change.

Celeste Ng’s Our Missing Hearts is a powerful dystopian tale set in the near future where Asian Americans are scorned and feared, with ensuing and continued dire consequences.

Our protagonist is the twelve-year-old Bird, whose mother fled years earlier for seemingly no reason and Bird’s father offers little insight into the true reasons behind such a painful abandonment. When Bird receives a letter from his mother he begins to question the reasons behind her disappearance and as the story unfolds, we, the reader, learn more about the country’s vilification of Asian Americans. More specifically, a law implemented to try and preserve American culture.

“He has never heard these words before, has never even heard this language before, but it is clear from the look on his father’s face that his father has, that he not only recognises the language but understands it, understands what this man has said.”

Celeste’s latest novel explores family and responsibility, but it also delves into power, injustice and racism. An authoritative government has taken over the US and it has harsh ramifications for anyone in the country of Asian descent.

When we meet Bird, he’s living with his father – a man rather oppressed and reluctant to challenge the oppressive government. And when Bird suspects that he may be able to reconnect with his mother, a woman who may just be the complete opposite, he sees an opportunity too enticing to refuse.

Throughout the novel we come to witness an unbreakable bond between mother and child, and how much they’re both willing to sacrifice to be with each other. Amidst a society consumed by fear, we have two characters willing to risk it all.

“They could have fired me, he says. The library isn’t open to just anyone, you know. You have to be a researcher. They have to watch who they let in. The university gets a lot of leeway because of its reputation, but they’re not immune. If someone caused trouble and they traced it back to a book they got here…”

Celeste is known for her powerful novels that challenge treatment of others, and Our Missing Hearts is no different. She has captured such a large-scale dystopian setting through the lens of a very small cast of characters. The ending, in particular, will sit with you for some time.

The novel does take a little bit of time to gain momentum, and it really isn’t until Bird goes in search of his mother that the novel starts to increase in traction. Up until that moment, Bird doesn’t seem to possess much agency or drive – he is merely a player, reactive to what is happening around him.

“A game they played, he and his mother, when he was very small. Before school, before he had any other world but her. His favourite game, one he’d begged her to play. Their special game, played only when his father was at work, kept as a secret between just them. You be the monster, mama. I’ll hide, and you be the monster.”

Recommended for readers of literary fiction, and dystopian tales. Readership skews female, 30+

Thank you to the publishing company for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

Our Missing Hearts
Celeste Ng
October 2022
Hachette Book Publishers

The Other Side of Night by Adam Hamdy

David Asha wants to tell you a story about three people: Elliott Asha, his son, broken by a loss that will redeem him.

Ben Elmys, a surrogate father and David’s trusted friend, a man who might also be a murderer. Harriet Kealty, a retired detective searching for answers to three mysterious deaths, while also investigating a man who might turn out to be the love of her life.

Every word David tells you is true, but you will think it fiction . . .

Adam Hamdy’s thriller The Other Side of Night is a genre-defying novel about how far a person might be willing to go to spend more time with the ones they’ve lost. Exploring love, loss, family and expectation, The Other Side of the Night tests the limits of the space-time continuum to present a reality far from our own.

Incorporating a range of mediums such as articles, columns, court reports, interview transcripts and letters, alongside standard prose and dialogue, Adam offers a complex yet rewarding tale of family, relationships, grief and time.

“Harri hadn’t been able to concentrate after finding the message. She hadn’t been able to sleep much either. The words could have been a cruel prank, but something about them touched her finely honed instincts as a detective.”

The Other Side of the Night is largely centred around dishonoured police detective Harriet Kealty, who conducts her own private investigation into the deaths of physicists Elizabeth and David Asha, and the man who adopts their orphaned 10-year-old son.

Harriet suspects Ben Elmys, who Harriet once dated briefly, could be responsible for the deaths of Elizabeth and David, and over the course of the novel she stumbles upon unexplainable events that indicate some kind of other-worldy, science fiction element to the story.

Adam’s writing is accessible and highly readable – despite quite an intricate plot and quite a complex ending, at its heart, this book is a character exploration. We’re invested in the Asha family and their young son, and we’re also rooting for Harriet as she attempts to salvage her career and prove that there’s more to the Asha deaths than previously known.

“She would never forget how she’d felt that day and even the memory of what had followed couldn’t entirely tarnish the joy of their first encounter. She hoped she’d feel that way again, but right now there was no sign of romance on the horizon, and she wasn’t sure she wanted it after running into Ben.”

The Other Side of the Night is described as a thriller, but it’s also science fiction and perhaps dystopian fiction, alongside a police procedural, poetry, court report and high-tension, suspense mystery.

With quite a small cast of characters, the novel feels deliberately claustrophobic. We’re swept up into a rather emotional story that bounces between the same core characters, amidst quite a limited setting as well, allowing the reader to maintain focus on the story and its movements.

“After he was gone, Harri stood in the little flat for a moment, listening to the distant sounds of the city, where thousands of lives far more productive than hers were being played out.”

A unique and impressive mind-bending science fiction read, Adam Hamdy’s The Other Side of Night is for readers of thriller and genre-bending novels. Readership skews 25+

Thank you to the publishing company for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

The Other Side of Night
Adam Hamdy
September 2022
Pan Macmillan Publishers

The Only Child by Kayte Nunn

Almost every graduating class had a girl who disappeared. A decades-old crime threatens to tear apart three generations of women in this unputdownable mystery that will keep you gripped until its last heart-wrenching page.

1949 It is the coldest winter Orcades Island has ever known, when a pregnant sixteen-year-old arrives at Fairmile, a home for ‘fallen women’ run by the Catholic Church. She and her baby will disappear before the snow melts.

2013 Frankie Gray has come to the island for the summer, hoping to reconnect with her teenage daughter, Izzy, before starting a job as deputy sheriff. They are staying with her mother, Diana, at The Fairmile Inn, but when an elderly nun is found dead, and then a tiny skeleton is discovered nearby, Frankie is desperate for answers.

Kayte Nunn’s historical novel The Only Child follows dual timeline between 1949 and 2013, and centres around a secluded and strict home for unwed, pregnant women in the mid 20th century.

In 1940s United States, unwed pregnant young women were sent away by their families out of shame – once they’d given birth, and pressured to give up their babies, they could return home. The Only Child is very much drawn from real life events, and it’s clear how much research and authenticity has made its way into the book.

In this early storyline we meet one such teenager, star pupil and promising student and now devastated to find herself in the predicament she was in. And in 2013, mystery surrounds an aged care home in the same area – a murder that may be connected to the unwed mother’s home. Police officer Frankie Gray finds herself deep in the investigation as she works to connect this murder with a skeleton found nearby, as well as with her elderly mother who seems to be harbouring secrets.

“Frankie rankled at being ordered around by her mother as though she was a teenager herself, but she let it slide. Besides, it wasn’t such a terrible idea, and it would mean that Izzy was at least able to explore on her own without having to rely on one of them to ferry her around all the time.”

Unlike previous Kayte Nunn novels, The Only Child is more of a steer towards crime/mystery, with decades-old secrets only coming to the surface in 2013. Personally, I really liked this element of her writing and found it kept the story engaging and moving forward at a reasonable pace.

Alongside this, Kayte’s book incorporates strong vivid setting and characterisation. Written in third person, each protagonist and storyline is crafted with clarity. She captures emotion and intimacy with ease, and dialogue is natural and realistic.

“As they got out of the car, she saw two girls sweeping the front porch. Both were obviously pregnant, their bellies stretching the dull fabric of their dresses. The girl didn’t know why but the mere sight of them, in a similar predicament to her, eased the knot in her stomach.”

With a 1949 setting, Kayte establishes the time period well. We experience the public scrutiny, scorn and shame that comes with an unplanned pregnancy. How it changes families, and forces young women to be shipped off with no say in the matter. Women who may want their babies are encouraged to give them up for adoption, and the medical facilities available at the home are sub-par and so mother and baby are put at risk – particularly in The Only Child, as the 1949 Winter is the coldest it’s ever been. The home isn’t necessarily equipped to handle the cold weather.

“The girl hadn’t brought much with her – a couple of changers of clothes, skirts that her mother had let out as far as the waistbands would allow, and an old sweater of her father’s that would stretch over her stomach as she grew bigger – and so she quickly arranged them, closing the suitcase and sliding it under the bed.”

Kayte Nunn’s The Only Child is recommended for historical fiction readers. Readership skews female, 30+

Thank you to the publishing company for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

The Only Child
Kayte Nunn
September 2022
Hachette Book Publishers

Wildflowers by Peggy Frew

Meg and Nina have been outshone by their younger sister Amber since childhood. They have become used to living on the margins of their parents’ interest, used to others turning away from them and towards charismatic Amber.

But Amber’s life has not gone the way they all thought it would, and now the three of them are together for the first time in years, on the road to a remote holiday rental in Far North Queensland, where Meg and Nina plan on helping Amber overcome her addiction. As good intentions gradually become terrifying reality, these sisters will test the limits of love and the line between care and control.

Peggy Frew’s Wildflowers is a disarming and moving novel about three sisters who test the boundaries of their fragile relationship in an effort to aid their youngest sister Amber as she spirals through a drug and alcohol addiction.

A character-driven exploration of love, family and grief, the book is largely set in the past. The bookend chapters of the novel are the present, where we realise how traumatised the 37-year-old Nina is after a recent family trip away to North Queensland. There, her and Meg had attempted to help wean her sister off drugs, and the results were enough to severely psychologically wound and damage Nina.

As the book progresses, we read about the events that transpired on this family trip away.

“They were still who they always had been, still those sisters, but on this afternoon, in this car, driving with the windows down between cane fields under a deepening sky with purple cut-out mountains in the distance, they were wearing it so lightly, their bossiness and flakiness and wildness; they were wearing it like they used to, like it was supple, slippery, not completely fixed. Like it could be taken off.”

Peggy seamlessly captures three very different women – Amber, Meg and Nina do not blend together at any point of the novel. I did not have to re-read to work out who was speaking, nor did I get confused whose life we were embedded in at any given moment.

She’s crafted three siblings whose lives have catapulted in completely different directions – Meg, whose happiness stems from family and those around her, Nina, who seems to prefer functioning solo and finds solace in distancing herself from others. She resembles the observant one. And then there’s Amber, who finds comfort in the chaotic and unstable nature of addiction.

“In the car Meg had been laughing too. Meg and Amber laughing in the front and Nina in the back hiding secret tears of hope behind her sunglasses. They had been close then, the three of them, together in that moment of lightness…”

Peggy’s writing is taut and highly observant, capturing even the most mundane of actions with intense clarity. There’s an intimacy to her writing that I think readers will love – an introspective and omniscient narrative.

The book does move back and forth between past and present and I did find it a little confusing at times – a little grey in its construction and separation – but other than that, found Wildflowers to be incredibly moving and well-crafted. I haven’t read Peggy’s earlier works yet, but this one certainly is a motivation to steer toward them.

“Amber followed, and Nina came last, eyes on the bags hooked one over each of Amber’s skinny arms. What might be in them? Not heroin – not anymore. And not ice – Amber, thank God, didn’t seem to have gone for ice. Pot? Maybe. Please don’t let her be that stupid, thought Nina.”

Literary fiction with rich, raw characters and a slow-build but satisfying story, Peggy Frew’s Wildflowers is recommended for literary readers. Readership skews female, 25+

Thank you to the publishing company for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

Wildflowers
Peggy Frew
September 2022
Allen & Unwin Book Publishers