JESS JUST READS

A BOOK REVIEW BLOG

The Marriage Portrait by Maggie O’Farrell

Florence, the 1560s. Lucrezia, third daughter of Cosimo de’ Medici, is free to wander the palazzo at will, wondering at its treasures and observing its clandestine workings. But when her older sister dies on the eve of marriage to Alfonso d’Este, ruler of Ferrara, Modena and Reggio, Lucrezia is thrust unwittingly into the limelight: the duke is quick to request her hand in marriage, and her father to accept on her behalf.

Having barely left girlhood, Lucrezia must now make her way in a troubled court whose customs are opaque and where her arrival is not universally welcomed. Perhaps most mystifying of all is her husband himself, Alfonso. Is he the playful sophisticate her appears before their wedding, the aesthete happiest in the company of artists and musicians, or the ruthless politician before whom even his formidable sisters seem to tremble?

As Lucrezia sits in uncomfortable finery for the painting which is to preserve her image for centuries to come, one thing becomes worryingly clear. In the court’s eyes, she has one duty: to provide the heir who will shore up the future of the Ferrarese dynasty. Until then, for all of her rank and nobility, her future hangs entirely in the balance.

Set at the heart of the treacherous political world of the Italian Renaissance, Maggie O’Farrell’s The Marriage Portrait centres around a young woman’s tumultuous marriage to someone she is convinced will murder her.

O’Farrell has found her comfort zone with 16th century heroines. In The Marriage Portrait, she crafts a story around Lucrezia, who was the third child of Medici, ruler of Florence. Married off at age 13 to the Duke of Ferrara – Alfonso – she died not long after the wedding and was long thought to have been poisoned by her husband. In The Marriage Portrait, O’Farrell imagines a story around this historical saga, brining Lucrezia and Alfonso to life with a vivid tale.

“Lucrezia said nothing, just pulled a piece of parchment towards her. It was the only way to deal with Isabella’s fits of temper: ignore them, let them run their course. Securing the page with one hand, she held her pen poised. How to begin? Dearest Alfonso? Your excellency?”

Structurally, we first meet Lucrezia one year into her marriage. Failing to fall pregnant and give Alfonso an heir, she knows that he will murder her so that he can re-marry. The novel then moves back in time so we can understand how Lucrezia came to be in this situation.

The setup of the novel is beguiling and intriguing, and the latter third of the book builds in an enticing manner, but for most of the novel the pacing lacks and the tension never builds to where it needs to be. Perhaps the novel is too long. Perhaps too few characters cross our path and so we’re largely forced to read only about Lucrezia who grows a bit monotonous at certain points in the novel.

Truthfully, I wanted to love this novel but in reality, I had to force myself to continue.

“The plaits are arranged, criss-crossing her head, looping over hear ears and the jewels there, up the curve of her neck, and secured at the crown of her head. The veil is brought down around her while they affix the golden diadem, brought by Vitelli himself, from the iron-lined strongroom.”

One of the strengths of the novel does include O’Farrell’s description – rich and full, if at times a little too lavish and long. She revels in how she brings an author to a setting and an interaction; O’Farrell cannot be accused of stripping back her prose too much. At times though, her description boggles and slows down the pacing, traps its reader instead of keeping us propelled forward.

I wonder if there just wasn’t enough to the plotting to craft a faster paced story, and so Maggie had to fill the gaps with excessive prose that brought the novel to an unnecessary 440 pages.

“Except for little Lucrezia, tucked into a bed with both her sisters in a room under the eaves of the palazzo roof. Lucrezia of the solemn gaze and pale, wispy hair – incongruously so, for all her siblings had the sleek fox-dark colouring of their Spanish mamma.”

The Marriage Portrait is best suited to historical fiction readers, with a particular pursuit towards literary fiction. Readership skews 40+

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

The Marriage Portrait
Maggie O’Farrell
September 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

The Stranger by Kathryn Hore

In Darkwater, being female doesn’t amount to much. But Chelsea’s luckier than most. She’s the young lover of the town’s feared leader, which she keeps telling herself is a good thing, what with food getting scarce and the wells drying up. She’s secure and safe and can almost believe she’s happy.

But when a stranger rides into town, gun on one hip, whip on the other, Chelsea can’t look away. Especially when it turns out this stranger is a woman.

Nobody can say what the stranger is there for. But she brings talk of an outside perhaps no longer so chaotic, no longer something to hide away from – and she knows far too much about dark choices made in the town when the world outside was falling apart.

As the rumours fly about Darkwater’s bloodied past and the murder of a woman twenty years earlier, Chelsea finds herself being drawn into someone else’s terrifying quest for justice. Or is it merely deadly revenge?

In a place ruled by fear, Chelsea’s going to have to decide whose side she’s really on, and how far she’s prepared to go to uncover the town’s dirty secrets before more blood soaks the ground of Darkwater – this time, perhaps her own.

Kathryn Hore’s The Stranger is a dystopian feminist Western story, set in the secluded and caged Darkwater community and centring around the arrival of a mysterious but defiant female who enters the town.

Whilst we never learn the country or time period, we don’t necessarily need to. There’s something in the unknown that allows us to stay focused on this incredibly secluded and claustrophobic community.

Our protagonist, 16-year-old Chelsea, grows curious when a woman enters into her town with mysterious intentions. Since the death of her mother and the expulsion of her father, Chelsea’s world has largely been confined by Granger and so we witness as she grows more determined and independent.

“The entire table shifted uneasily. Glances were exchanged, the men confused and frowning. It was akin to asking why a new well should be dug when the old one went bad. There were just some things necessary for survival and surely that was obvious.”

There’s a strong dystopian element to the book, as we learn Darkwater is fenced in because of a raging virus that plagues the world outside. Anyone who leaves Darkwater faces certain death, and so the inhabitants feel both gracious to be in Darkwater and resentful that they must rely on this place.

Kathryn’s exploration of gender is multi-layered. Women are treated as sub-par to men – they’re used and abused, ignored and gaslit. As men group together to lead the town, women are divided, until this stranger arrives and opportunity presents itself for the women to band together and overthrow their oppressors.

“Five months later I was in his bed, his home and under his protection. For what else could I have done? They’d taken everything else from me. I might be young and I might be a girl, but I’m not stupid. I know how to survive. Whatever that takes.”

As we near the end of the novel, and the stranger’s true intentions are divulged, it does at times feel a tad too didactic in its messaging. The stranger explains her actions and her motivations a little too clearly, and so the reader feels spoon-fed.

I think there was room to leave a bit of this dialogue out of the book to give the reader a chance to join the dots themselves.

“Only this stranger needed no protection from anybody. She stood stiff in the middle of the men now staggering to find their feet. Bloodied lip and hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, breath coming in controlled exhales.”

Highly original and addictive, Kathryn Hore’s The Stranger is highly recommended. Readership skews female, 25+

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

The Stranger
Kathryn Hore
September 2022
Allen & Unwin Book Publishers