Matt Lacey is in a mental health facility recovering from a breakdown.

In an attempt to work through a mess of conflicting thoughts and feelings, he writes, unwinding the story of his adolescence with the beautiful, impassive, fierce Christina.

As Matt delves into the more agonising moments of his past, he has to learn to look directly at the pain and love that have made him who he is now.

Brazenly wearing its heart on its sleeve, Electric and Mad and Brave is a heightened and technicolour story about the soaring joy and numbing nightmare of being young and hopelessly in love.

Tom Pitt’s literary debut Electric and Mad and Brave centres around twenty-eight-year-old Matt Lacey, living in a mental health facility in Melbourne and struggling to confront and reconcile with events from his past. When Matt’s therapist suggest he keep a journal to reflect on his childhood and the events that led to his admission into the facility, we are immersed in a compelling and tender history.

Narrated in first person, the book’s stylistic devices allow for an immediate sense of Matt’s mind frame and his willingness (or rather, unwillingness) to confront the truth about his past. We come to realise early on that Matt is an incredibly unreliable narrator – at first, his journal entries are clear and concise. Over time, they become chaotic, they double-back, they re-write events we thought we’d already learned. Matt is being untruthful with the reader and it isn’t until the final chapters that we find out how certain events actually unfolded in Matt’s childhood.

“No – that can’t have been what she’d meant to say. There’d been something else on her lips. Hadn’t there? Yes. In that pause, she’d almost said it: something mad and terrifying. Although maybe she couldn’t say. Maybe to say meant stepping off a ledge into…”

Moving between past and present quite frequently, Matt meets Christina when he is 11 and she is 12. We follow them over the course of their adolescence as their connection grows and attraction develops. Both Matt and Christina’s families are unhealthy and dysfunctional, but in rather different ways. These two kids coming together forces these two families to intersect which sets into motion a string of avoidable events leading to Matt’s breakdown and admission into the mental health facility.

Tom Pitts builds tension and pacing throughout the book, but it’s most notable in the final chapters as the truth about Christina and Matt’s relationship is revealed. Their love is a destructive one, and so we can feel the tension build between them as we move closer and closer to the reveal. Stylistically, there’s a quicker nature to the writing. Shorter chapters, more abrupt observations and descriptions. We’re suddenly moving through at a much faster pace to build and maintain momentum.

“In the days after, I began to view things differently, my memories becoming distorted. I would think of Alek at the dining table with his shiny head, only to suddenly recall that his eyebrows had been skin too – that he’d sat upright in hospital only because he was too weak to stand…”

Electric and Mad and Brave sensitively portrays mental health and trauma, and the process of confronting traumatic events from one’s past.

The book moves between past and present so frequently, sometimes in the middle of a chapter, and I’ll admit I sometimes struggled to follow the flow of events. It was often hard to immediately determine what was past vs. present, what was a memory and what wasn’t. I often found myself having to flick back and re-read certain sections.

“Now I was in the back seat, having still not replied, and my hands were sweating. I looked outside and the landscape was enchanting and warped. Somehow this morning dusk was causing the landmarks to become strange imitations of themselves.”

Poignant, moving and observant, Tom Pitts’ Electric and Mad and Brave is recommended for literary readers. Readership skews 30+

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

Electric and Mad and Brave
Tom Pitts
August 2022
Pan Macmillan Publishers

In Strasbourg, in the boiling hot summer of 1518, a plague strikes the women of the city. First it is just one – a lone figure, dancing in the town square – but she is joined by more and more and the city authorities declare an emergency. Musicians will be brought in. The devil will be danced out of these women.

Just beyond the city’s limits, pregnant Lisbet lives with her mother-in-law and husband, tending the bees that are their livelihood. Her best friend Ida visits regularly and Lisbet is so looking forward to sharing life and motherhood with her. And then, just as the first woman begins to dance in the city, Lisbet’s sister-in-law Nethe returns from six years penance in the mountains for an unknown crime. No one – not even Ida – will tell Lisbet what Nethe did all those years ago, and Nethe herself will not speak a word about it.

It is the beginning of a few weeks that will change everything for Lisbet – her understanding of what it is to love and be loved, and her determination to survive at all costs for the baby she is carrying. Lisbet and Nethe and Ida soon find themselves pushing at the boundaries of their existence – but they’re dancing to a dangerous tune . . .

Well this was a delight. Kiran Millwood Hargrave’s The Dance Tree explores lust, family secrets and women under the eye of the Church, set against the backdrop of a captivating dance plague overtaking a small Strasbourg village in 1518. The Dance Tree is also about a returned sister, silenced by a past transgression, and a main character constrained by her marriage and her crowded home.

The Dance Tree is a very female-centric story. At its heart is the pregnant Lisbet, who is hoping her current pregnancy will be her first successful one. Her mother-in-law shames her for her past miscarriages and stillborns, and no one will tell her why Nethe, her husband’s sister, was sent away to the mountains for seven years. What crime did she commit and how will her return affect Lisbet’s life? There is also her best friend Ida, who made a substantial sacrifice years ago and is still living with the repercussions.

“The smell comes like a cloud from the river that cuts east of Strasbourg. It is brown and sluggish beneath the sun, and as they near the city proper, the smell grows solid, grows guts and breath.”

Based on true events, Kiran captures the religious condemnation of the time period with clarity. When the dance plague starts, and then spreads, those in charge are wielded even more power to make it stop. The plague frightens them, and then in turn, they begin to frighten the rest of the townsfolk. People are already hungry and desperate and oppressed by those more powerful than them. Over time, their control over the town begins to fracture, and women band together to exert their force over those in charge.

The writing is one of the strengths in the book – Kiran’s ability to capture human emotion through actions and reactions. There is no ‘telling’ in this book; we learn everything we need to know through social interactions and dialogue. We come to understand feelings and emotions through movement and song and tender conversations between the unlikeliest of friends. And as the pages progress, Kiran builds tension and pacing with ease.

“The ground is scattered with leaves and her gifts. She brings the babies magpie offerings and places them at the base of the tree: pleasingly patterned stones, found feathers, flowers pressed and weighted with pebbles. She used to be superstitious about it, making deals and promises with each token.”

Other strengths in the book include female friendship and relationships between family — particularly Lisbet and her mother-in-law — setting, temperature and weather, and capturing lust and love between two people who struggle to part from one another.

Lisbet reflects on how her relationship with her husband has changed over the years, from intense passion to disappointment, and finally, to what feels like complacency. Lisbet feels guilty for not being able to carry a pregnancy, and thus she feels lost and alone, even when surrounded by others. She has much to learn about life and living, and Nethe’s return acts as the catalyst towards this.

“Nethe said in the abbey such judgements between holy mania and demonic possession rested on whether someone was liked or not. Lisbet eyes her, wondering what effect such a pronouncement will have on her. But Nethe has turned to stone again.”

Lyrical, atmospheric and imaginative, The Dance Tree is recommended for literary fiction readers. Readership skews female, 30+

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

The Dance Tree
Kiran Millwood Hargrave
May 2022
Pan Macmillan Publishers Australia

In the mid-1950s, a small group of Finnish migrants set up camp on Little Rat, a tiny island in an archipelago off the coast of Western Australia. The crayfishing industry is in its infancy, and the islands, haunted though they are by past shipwrecks, possess an indefinable allure.

Drawn here by tragedy, Onni Saari is soon hooked by the stark beauty of the landscape and the slivers of jutting coral onto which the crayfishers build their precarious huts. Could these reefs, teeming with the elusive and lucrative cray, hold the key to a good life?

The Islands is the sweeping story of the Saari family: Onni, an industrious and ambitious young man, grappling with the loss of a loved one; his wife Alva, quiet but stoic, seeking a sense of belonging between the ramshackle camps of the islands and the dusty suburban lots of the mainland; and their pensive daughter Hilda, who dreams of becoming the skipper of her own boat. As the Saari’s try to build their future in Australia, their lives entwine with those of the fishing families of Little Rat, in myriad and unexpected ways.

A stunning, insightful story of a search for home.

Emily Brugman’s debut novel The Islands is a multi-generational literary tale that documents Finnish migration to the Abrolhos Islands off the coast of Western Australia.

Although this is a fictional tale, The Islands is heavily influenced by the stories of Emily’s ancestors from 1959 – 1972, as well as extensive research into these islands and cray fishermen from the mid-20th century. The Islands is set across many decades and moves back and forth between different members of the family. Over the course of the novel, we observe each character during pivotal moments in their lives.

“A year for the Saaris was now lived in two parts: on-season and off-season. Their first season on Little Rat had been a moderate success, from an economic standpoint, and the couple looked ahead with a suspicious and careful optimism characteristic of their people.”

At its core, The Islands is about the pursuit of a sustainable and secure life. But it’s also about resilience — both physical and emotional — and perseverance. We witness what that can encapsulate whether you’re 40, 60 or 14. In this isolated and secluded setting, we meet women experiencing loneliness, experiencing childbirth for the first time. We read as their children then mature into teenagers within this barren but plentiful landscape — we follow them as they discover impulses and sexual desire. We come across men working to earn for their families, having arrived with the hope of a land that provides.

“They carried him to camp and laid him down on his side, covering him with a blanket. Hilda stood watching from a corner. Helvi was crying and so was Aiti, although she was trying not to. Hilda wanted to cry too, but she didn’t think that would be right after what she’d done. So she just stood there. And Lauri didn’t move.”

Scattered throughout the novel are Finnish verses, then translated into English. By embedding Finnish language into the novel, readers are further immersed in culture, community and these characters’ historical journey.

There is a strong sense of song and music throughout the book, and the Finnish verses also allow the characters to have a stronger connection to their heritage because it feels like knowledge is being passed between generations.

“Towards the close of his first season, Onni woke to find Little Rat covered in dead shearwaters, their dishevelled bodies in oily black heaps on the coral ground. Those shaggy mutton birds, as the Aussies called them. They flew thousands of miles every year, across open ocean, through torrents of rain and wind. They didn’t always make it, and every so often they’d wash up on shorelines in their hundreds. A wreck. That was what they called it, when they washed up like that.”

Evocative and emotional, Emily Brugman’s The Islands is recommended for literary readers, and fans of grand familial sagas steeped in wild, forbidding settings like a Hannah Kent novel. Readership skews female, 30+

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

The Islands
Emily Brugman
February 2022
Allen & Unwin Book Publishers