Amalia Gkavea

''He says my name sometimes. He tells me to come to the tree.''

A young family moves to the moors, to a house where dreams and nightmares co-exist. The forest nearby hides secrets and strange apparitions. But the young parents are hopeful, away from the noise and threats of the big city. Soon, everything changes. A young boy becomes almost unrecognizable, his intentions inexplicable and violent. A tree appears at will and a presence, called Jack Grey, seems to have entered the boy's mind and is there to stay. What happens when the house you have chosen has a heavy shadow? Too heavy for anyone to bear. How do you defend against a threat you cannot see? How do you cope when the greatest and most unbearable of ills haunt your every step?

This novel excels in the creation of the proper atmosphere for a novel that seems -and I stress the word ‘‘seems''- full of mystery, a homage to the dark Folklore of the British forests. There are certain passages that can freeze your blood because the imagery described and communicated is so powerful, almost tangible. But the novel seems to rely on these features and never moves into something deeper. Yes, the story is definitely intriguing and the ambiguity surrounding the family and, particularly, the child is effective but it is nothing we haven't seen before. I felt that it soon lost a purpose and there were many threads that needed handling and closure. In the end, I thought that the novel was the personification of the phrase ‘‘much ado about nothing.''

The characters are weak and uninspiring. Richard could have some potential but he is lost in the nightmare that is Juliette. I am sorry but I've seldom found such an irritating character in the pages of a book that wants to be taken seriously. She is plainly horrible long before the tragedy that befalls their household. And even this does not account for her obsessive, dismissive, ignorant attitude towards everything and everyone that doesn't agree with her opinion and choices. She even attacks a psychiatrist because the know-it-all- goddess Juliette has already formed her personal diagnosis. I cannot imagine sharing the same house with such a shrew, not to mention her sister. Juliette has reduced her husband into a void presence, a stranger in his own house. So, he is one of the most patient characters I've ever encountered in a novel. And one of the most boring and unrealistic. One side, a snoozefest, the other side a bloody nuisance. I wonder how I was able to finish this book...

And yet, I know the answer. I finished the book because the prose itself was rather good and the scenery was brilliantly depicted. But these elements are not enough. Yes, I could use the adjectives ‘‘atmospheric, complex, challenging.'' It had potential, it could have been perfect. However, the characters were a disaster, the plot used Folklore elements without a purpose, lacking in depth and development, and the dialogue itself was uninspired, the themes repetitive and stalled. And don't get me started on the closure. I was far from impressed and having The Devil's Day on my upcoming reads, I feel the shadows closing in...Let us hope for the best...

Many thanks to John Murray Press and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/

‘'At night, I fall asleep in shreddings and tatterings, my dreams shot through with shouts of violence, bitter notches like bad beads on a rosary. In the still-dark of early morning, I wake to wonder at my face in the wardrobe mirror. Beneath the white flesh of my forehead, my eyes seem further apart from before.''

I cannot do justice to this collection. Not in the slightest. I cannot put my admiration, my love for it into words. Nine stories that haunted me, nine characters that became strange friends, nine texts - what a poor word for this masterpiece- that represent worlds that are exciting, frightening, captivating. And extremely humane and real. That is what I loved more in Salt Slow/. Even though this collection is the finest example of Magical Realism, the situations and themes are extremely approachable and relevant.

In flawless dialogue and prose of impeccable beauty, Julia Armfield narrates stories of womanhood and change, of fear and identity, danger and love, fulfillment and doubts. She writes about visceral concepts and succeeds in creating a language that is ruthless and yet, full of beauty. Daily themes are mixed with concepts that fall in the genres of Magical Realism and Gothic Fiction and produce a collection that leaves the reader in awe over how beautiful and terrifying Literature can be when done right.

Sickness and insomnia become symbols for alertness, sadness, and fear. Subliminal messages through music can lead to a terrifying uprising. Women decide to create what they cannot find, disappointment over a wasted love leads to the sea. Students, artists, everyday people, settled down or wandering, strange cities, eerie phenomena are the ingredients of nine superbly crafted stories.

Mantis: A girl afflicted with a strange skin disease chronicles her days in a Catholic school until the frightening culmination. A story about the obsession of appearance, teenage troubles, and desires. Haunting and terrifying.

‘'When I was twenty-seven, my Sleep stepped out of me like a passenger from a train carriage, looked around my room for several seconds, then sat down in the chair beside my bed.''

The Great Awake: A strange phenomenon causes the majority of the citizens of a picturesque city to become insomniac. Each Sleep becomes an unwanted guest. Are these weird being representations of certain aspects of their vessels? What do they want? A story that should be read in the company of a Chopin Nocturne, a tale that may seem comically absurd but it is actually eerie and extremely atmospheric. Possibly the finest ‘'chapter'' in this perfect collection.

‘'When the neighbours called to complain about the smell, Miriam told them with great dignity that we were purging ourselves of evil spirits.

“Well, I'm sorry that you've had to close your windows, Mrs Adams, but that's the price one pays for catharsis.'' ‘'

The Collectables: A coven of young witches, disappointed by their boyfriends, decide to create the perfect man (made of human parts, obviously...). A funny and elegant tale that reminded me of classic 70s British Horror movies like The Asylum starring Robert Powell c.1972., with an absolute shocker closure.

‘'When the woman who lived across the street from us adopted a wolf and brought it to live with her, people were not as surprised as you might imagine.''

Formerly Feral: A woman adopts a wolf. What happens when the animal acquires the status of a daughter? Themes of transformation, domestic supremacy, abuse towards girls with pathetic sex-crazed boys as the culprits (we see this in Goodreads lately....). A strange, poignant story graced with astonishing imagery.

‘'You'll kill us if you send us away.''

...Stop Your Women's Ears With Wax: A filmmaker finds herself in the centre of the severe impact of a strange girl band on teenage girls while touring the UK. Impossible to summarize, this story is one of the most powerful, darkest pieces of writing I've ever read, with a strong underlying commentary on manipulation, violence, sexualization, and feminism.

‘'Morning sky, gasp of purple, like the dark part at the back of a throat. Day like a swallow. Promise of snow.''

‘'The snow settles - city pressed in clay. You can feel the confusion, a tightening of formerly unsolid things. Ice on car windows, difficult breath.''

Granite: The only way I can describe this story is by guiding you through my feelings while I was reading. First pages: ‘'What a lovely heroine...I can definitely relate to her thoughts.'' Then: ‘'This is such a beautiful relationship...''. And what followed was a mixture of nervousness, anticipation, fear until the striking ending. If this story ever became a novel, it would be the best modern retelling of an ancient Greek myth.

Smack: A jellyfish becomes the metaphor of a broken marriage and a woman's sadness and isolation. Beautiful summery setting for a bleak, bitter story.

‘'My mother had always told me it was better not to answer the door between midnight and three a.m. “Strange neighbourhood” , she would say, sounding more paranoid than she meant to, “ buy a dead- bolt, keep your curtain shut.”

Cassandra After: Eerie atmosphere with references to the Folklore of Death, right from the first paragraphs. A ghost story that is in turns humorous and tender, with commentary on sexuality and acceptance.

'On nights like this, she finds she thinks of her mother at Christmas, reading to her from Under Milk Wood: the wide waters and moonless nights, “starless and bible-black”, the deep dark falls and despairs and seas of people's dreams.''

Salt Slow: A couple in a boat in the middle of nowhere, in a flooded world that approaches its end, has to fight with sea monsters and a dark past. A story that combines Dystopian Fiction, Sci-Fi, ancient sea legends and motherhood.

Daisy Johnson, Jen Campbell, Kirsty Logan, Sarah Hall. And of course, Sarah Perry and Emily Brontë. Julia Armfield has joined this god-given squad.

‘'[..] the wrongs CDs in CD cases, the broken mirrors and messages written on steamed-up shower glass, the never-ending swooning, crooning sounds at night. In each case, they had been miniature hauntings - whispered lyrics, songs playing on unplugged radios [..] ‘'

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'A continent conceived by the scum of the earth without a moment of love: the children of abductions, rapes, violations, infamous dealings, deceptions, the union of enemies with enemies.''

Father of Magical Realism, a true god of Literature, one of the immortals. Gabriel Garcia Márquez doesn't need introductions. He is the writer who drew my attention to Latin American Literature. Through his work, I fell in love with Colombia, its culture and traditions, with the rich literary world of Central and South America. This collection is one more example of the impact and wonder of his writing.

12 stories. 12 pilgrims whose life led them away from their homelands into the old, safe arms of Europe. But is it so? Can you ever truly leave your birthplace behind? The answer is ‘'no''. It is in your blood, your thoughts, your behaviour. It haunts your steps, it doesn't let go...It doesn't matter whether you are in Paris, Geneva, Madrid, Barcelona, Naples, Sicily, Rome. Your land is inside you. Everything else is only a pilgrimage...

Bon Voyage, Mr. President: A young couple befriends the exiled President of an unnamed Carribean country. Initially their purpose isn't exactly honest but what happens when he actually manages to gain their sympathy? Set in Barcelona.

‘'No one sang or died of love in the plastic trattories on the Piazza di Spagna. For the Rome of our memory was by now another ancient Rome within the ancient Rome of the Caesars. Then a voice that might have come from the beyond stopped me cold on a narrow street in Trastevere. ‘'Hello, Poet''.

The Saint: A tender story of a man who has suffered a terrible loss set in Rome, the Eternal City with the immortal beauty, over a sad summer. A story of Art, hope and...self-canonization.

Sleeping Beauty and the Airplane: A beautiful, heartfelt story of unrequited love at first sight, at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris. Márquez transforms a simple, uneventful meeting into pure Art.

I Sell My Dreams: An extraordinary story of a woman who had the ability of prophesying through dreams, set in Havana, Vienna and Barcelona. And we get to meet Pablo Neruda.

‘'Love is eternal for as long as it lasts.''

I Only Came to Use the Phone: A young woman finds herself in an asylum and her real-life nightmare begins somewhere in the Spanish desert. A harrowing story.

‘'They say this is the country of the Moors'', said another, distant voice that resounded throughout the dormitory. And it must be true, because in the summer, when there's a moon, you can hear the dogs barking at the sea.''

The Ghosts of August: A haunted castle in Tuscany is the summer destination of a beautiful family. And this is how you scare the bloody daylights out of a reader in just three pages...

‘'At Christmas, coloured lights were strung between the acacias, and music and happy voices were heard from the balconies, and a crowd of tourists invaded the sidewalk cafés, but in the midst of all the festivities one could feel the same repressed tension that preceded the days when the anarchists had taken over the streets.''

Maria dos Prazeres: A former prostitute is obsessed with what she perceives to be her impending death. A beautiful, sad story in majestic Barcelona.

Seventeen Poisoned Englishmen: A woman travels to Naples to see the Pope and witnesses a strange, macabre incident. A fascinating mixture of comedy, mystery and drama.

Tramontana: A story that vaguely reminded me of Chronicle of a Death Foretold. Brilliant...

Miss Forbes's Summer of Happiness: Two children have to spend their vacations under the control of an extremely strict nanny who has a few dark secrets of her own. Set in Sicily.

Light Is Like Water: Two boys from Cartagena who adore the sea feel trapped in their small apartment in Madrid. The solution they come up with in order to learn how to row has tragic results...

‘'She made her mental calculations, and only then realized that they had passed Bordeaux, as well as Angoulême and Poitiers, and were driving along the flooded dike of the Loire. Moonlight filtered through the mist, and the silhouettes of castles through the pines seemed to come from fairy tales.''

The Trail of Your Blood In the Snow: A young married couple drives from the Pyrenees to Paris. The woman has an almost invisible scratch on her ring finger, but she is bleeding, leaving tears of blood in the snow...This is one of the most beautiful, foreboding stories I've ever read. It shocks you and leaves you empty and in pain. Actual, physical pain...

Gabriel Garcia Márquez writes about exile, despair, loss, shattered hopes, broken families. And death. His pilgrims are people of all walks of life, their backgrounds varying, their aspirations remaining the same. In morbid twists and shocking closures, the reader completes a difficult pilgrimage in the land of the human soul that searches for the unattainable and the pure...

‘'It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams.'' Gabriel Garcia Márquez

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Songs can be incredibly prophetic, like subconscious warnings or messages to myself, but I often don't know what I'm trying to say till years later. Or a prediction comes true and I couldn't do anything to stop it, so it seems like a kind of useless magic.'' Florence Welch

Important information: My mother has been successfully initiated to Florence coven. Mission accomplished.

Who wouldn't fall in love with this outstanding book? A sublime piece of Art by a unique artist. Florence Welch is like an elf, a witch, a fairy, an Ophelia straight out of the paintings of Pre-Raphaelite artists. A songwriter and poet, inspired by mythology, Art, Literature. By life itself. So, let us leave the word to her...

There's a ghost in my mouthAnd it talks in my sleepWraps itself around my tongueAs it softly speaksThen it walks, then it walksThen it walks with my legs (“I'm Not Calling You a Liar'')


Now there's no holding back, I'm ready to attackMy blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out.The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unboundI hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground (“Howl”)

And oh, poor AtlasThe world's a beast of a burdenYou've been holding up a long timeAnd all this longingAnd the ships are left to rustThat's what the water gave us ( ‘'What the Water Gave Me'')

And now all your love will be exorcized And we will find new saints to be canonizedIt's an evensongIt's a litanyIt's a battle cryIt's a symphony (“Seven Devils”)

Oh the queen of peaceAlways does her best to pleaseIt isn't any useSomebody's got to loseLike a long screamOut there always echoingOh what is it worthWhen all that's left is hurt (“Queen of Peace”)

I'm worried we are entering an age of rageWhere only anger will be considered an assetAnd the gentle will be mocked, then eaten.Those with soft voices will have their tongues cut out,As punishment for not using them the right way.Don't you know your words are weapons,Kindness is obsolete,As obsolete as handwriting,As obsolete as silence and darkness in a city. (“Rage”)

Now, if this poem isn't the truest mirror reflecting our screaming society and the mob of the Twitter rebels, hiding behind a screen and dreaming revolutions while sitting comfortably on their sofas, eating pizza, I don't know what is...

‘'I don't know what makes a song a song and a poem a poem: they have started to bleed into each other at this stage, You can have everything.''

See photos of this glorious book on my blog: https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/

‘'Archetypes. Stories that seem bigger than the books that contain them. Wuthering Heights is such a book. Cathy and Heathcliff are such characters.''

I have longed and dreaded to read this collection. I love Kate Moss' work and as you might know, Wuthering Heights is my obsession. I love this novel with a love as deep as Heathcliff's for Cathy. Although I never comment on other people's reviews, I have taken part in countless fights with certain ‘'reviewers'' who are dismissive, rude and frankly ignorant of extreme instincts and the depth of Emily Brontë's work. This is why I was terrified of this collection. If it had been written exclusively by Moss, I would have felt much safer. I know that I would be a severe judge. But it turned out I was in good hands. The vast majority of the stories included are beautiful. There were five stories that were the epitome of trash but 5 out of 16 is rather good when the rest are exquisite.

The introduction by Kate Moss is brilliant. To my knowledge, she is the first writer to stress the importance and the influence of Emily Brontë on the future course of women writers. She broke the mould by transgressing to the territory of the ‘' devilish'' and the ‘'heathen'' and even now there are many who are unable to grasp the obsession and love and urge for revenge that seem unnatural to our weakened minds. But what can we expect when our cultural images of love of our modern world come from silly romances and soap-operas? These are the 16 stories of the collection and you have been warned for I literally tear apart the ones that are bad. Awfully bad...

‘'I am you, remember?''

Terminusby Louise Doughty : A woman travels to a seaside hotel in Brighton to escape an abusive relationship. I couldn't see the connection between Wuthering Heights and the story but it is an exquisite piece of writing with a shocking closure.

‘'You were the one the grown-ups spoke of. And they too spoke as if you were one, not many; not really animal and not really human. Not spirit either. What, then? An exile, a devil, the whipping boy of centuries. An ancient carrier of wrings. You were the massacre, I learned. You were the terrorist. You were the alien. You and me both.''

Anima by Grace McCleen : A young girl witnesses the ordeal of a forest animal with which she has formed a deep relationship. Her thoughts echo Cathy's witnessing the injustice and humiliation of Hindley and the Lindons towards Heathcliff. Brilliant, haunting writing.

A Bird, Half-Eatenby Nikesh Shukla: A married man falls in love with a boxer. No. Nothing to do with the greatness of Wuthering Heights. If you want to write a gay romance, try another genre.

Thicker than Bloodby Erin Kelly: Heath is newly married to Izzy but he's still madly in love with Cat, stalking her social media accounts. This is the definition of modern retelling. Heath;s obsession is depicted in a shocking way, touching on a very sensitive theme and underlying plotline of the original. Possibly the most memorable story in the collection. Outstanding!

One Letter Differentby Joanna Cannon: A tender, atmospheric story of the friendship between a girl with insufferable parents and a very intelligent, mysterious boy, set in the Yorkshire moors. I loved the little bits and pieces referring to Wuthering Heights like the curved letters and the tappings on the window.

The Howling Girlby Laurie Penny: Unfortunately the only thing that was interesting here was the title and a few accurate observations on the influence of political correctness in the choices of the literary world. Otherwise, this was a catastrophe. The writer tried to mess with the themes of love, expectations, anorexia (!), authorship and a pseudo-ghost story and it was atrocious. The gimmick of the girl at the window was a sacrilege.

Five Sites, Five Stages by Lisa McInerney: God, no! Absolutely not! Never! Wuthering Heights deserves so much better than the story of a lesbian couple of drug-addicted, miserable Meanads...Take it out of my sight!

Kitby Juno Dawson: The catastrophe continues. A sex-crazed wannabe ‘'It'' girl with the brain capacity of a tiny pebble and a guy that enjoys gym shelfies but is brooding because he's also a promising (?) artist. This filth should have been tossed in the trash bin with the danger of contaminating the universe. On the other hand, what can a serious person expect from someone who is a ‘'contributor'' in Glamour? Jesus....

My Eye Is A Button On Your Dressby Hana Al-Shaykh tr. by Catherine Cobham: An astonishing story about two lovers set during the tumultuous period of the Arab Spring. This story deserves to become a novel.

‘'He made his way back to Penistone Crag and rested his hand on the stone. So many tales swirled around it- that it was sacred to the fairies, that it would grant wishes for a price, that it could bind and unbind. Should he ask it for help in what lay ahead? He laughed bitterly and gave it a slap. ‘I've been called a changeling, a demon, and the Devil's own child', he said aloud. ‘'If I can't do this myself, I doubt you can help me.'

The Cord by Alison Case: A beautiful text on Heathcliff's thoughts the night he left Wuthering Heights for three years.

Heathcliffs I Have Known by Louisa Young : Such awful, needless bad language...I suggest the ‘'writer'' of this...thing read more Literature and keep clear of a work she clearly cannot understand. Why write about something you loathe and project your own ideas to an immortal character? There is always Twitter and Facebook and a brilliant career as a scriptwriter for a ridiculous TV-series. For shame...

Amulet and Feathers by Leila Aboulela: A story of revenge and injustice set in the Middle East in the times of old. Although not directly connected to the novel, the story reads like a tale from Arabian Nights and it is marvelous.

How Things Disappear by Anna James: A young woman is slowly disappearing. Literally. The problem is she has no one to entrust her heart to. Beautiful Magical Realism story.

The Wildflowers by Dorothy Koomson: A woman has to cope with her lover's horrible mother who cares only about money and status. It may sound simple but it is a powerful story.

‘'You hear a fox scream and an owl cry. The night gathers in pleats of black and blue. The cold rain falls. You teeter on the brink. It would be so easy to tumble and smash your skull on the rocks.''

Heathcliff Is Not My Name by Michael Stewart: Heathcliff's musings of sorrow and revenge on the night Cathy returned from Thrushcross Grange. Moving, haunting text, fully doing justice to Heathcliff's larger-than-life character.

Only Joseph by Sophie Hannah: A mother is suddenly asked to solve a murder that took place in a private school during the preparations for a musical called I Am Heathcliff! I am not a fan of crime novels. In fact, I hate them but this story was rather interesting.

It is impossible to recreate a love like Heathcliff's. It just can't happen or it needs a truly gifted writer. In this collection, the ‘'writers'' who attempted to do that or tried to use the novel as a vehicle for political issues failed miserably. 5 out of 16 would justify a 4-star rating but the rest of the stories deserved their own novels and judging the collection as whole too harshly would be an injustice. When I closed the book, I felt as if I had walked in the moors once again and this was enough...

‘'I lingered round them, under the benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath and the harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers on that quiet earth.'' Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

Many thanks to The Borough Press and Edelweiss for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

Don't try to provoke me with political comments, it will end badly...

Disrespect to the memory of a man fighting against tyranny, disrespect to the victims of the Holocaust. Pseudo-equalizing the Nazi monsters with Che's fight...Learn some History, dear ‘‘nobody'' writer...

‘'Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lustLike diamonds, we are cut with our own dust.'' The Duchess of Malfi, John Webster

May I just say that this is one of the most intriguing covers I've ever seen?

Few eras were as tumultuous and fascinating as the Jacobean times. A period that produced some of the bloodiest tragedies in British Theatre, with John Webster and Ben Johnson as the leading playwrights, an era that was sadly defined by an incompetent king, the son of a dull mother. James I thought he knew all about leadership and religion (...and witches...) when, in fact, he knew nothing about anything. Depravity, fundamentalism, superstitions are three words that can summarize his reign with significant accuracy. This is the colourful background of Fremantle's The Poison Bed, an exciting Historical Fiction novel.

Frances Howard and Robert Carr are two young people imprisoned within their personal and familial ambitions, their partners' obsession and the fickle mind of a horrible king. Soon after their marriage, which seems to be their own way to escape, a strange murder occurs in the Tower of London. One of James' protegees is found dead and our protagonists need to prove their loyalty. However, honesty has a very sketchy part to play in this unusual case.

Ιn this novel, the phrase ‘'based on a true story'' finds its proper meaning. Inspired by the unsolved case of the death of one of James' playboys, Fremantle weaves an intricate plot where this incident plays second fiddle. The focus is on human relationships with the stormy Jacobean era as the background. The manipulations of the noble families, the balance between a wife and a husband, the relationship between lovers of both sexes and their implications, the dynamics between a ruler and his subjects. These are themes that transcend the 17th century, relevant to all eras and societies. Naturally, religious disputes, witchcraft, truth and betrayal can only spice up the excellent mixture and the result is a novel that is not the same old Historical Fiction book with a ‘'fashionable'' feminist message but a powerful and well-researched journey to an age of danger, lust and, ultimately, change.

The writing style is sharp, satisfyingly faithful to the depicted period and the interactions are vivid and believable. The writer doesn't waste space to long descriptions and the scenes take place mostly indoors. What I find problematic was the almost simultaneous use of the first and the third personal pronouns within the same chapter to refer to the same person. I admit, it greatly bothered my teacher-self. In addition, I have to say that the overall result would have been even better if the actual number of pages had been diminished. There was quite a lot of repetition that did little to advance the plot.

What made me enjoy The Poison Bed so much was the impression Frances' character had on me. She is shady and cunning to the point of being manipulative and ruthless and I loved her. I love characters that are ambiguous and complex and this is a crucial factor that can make a Historical Fiction novel successful or dull. I am happy to say that Frances elevated the story and became one of my favourite heroines. Rober is a character that becomes weaker towards the end and I cannot say I was captivated by his presence. When compared to Frances every character paled.

This is an excellent combination of Historical Fiction and period thriller created by a talented writer. Despite certain technical mistakes and omissions, The Poison Bed will keep you good company, especially if you are fascinated by the many aspects of the Jacobean era.

Many thanks to Penguin UK and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

''A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life,'' and as such it must surely be a necessary commodity. ‘‘

Sometimes you have to fight against ignorance, prejudice and all kinds of malicious gossiping. Sometimes you have to allow yourself to go against the flow and make your mark in an ignorant community that blindly follows the way of the ‘' money'' and becomes hostile to the one who wishes to break the mold. Sometimes you have to fight against pretentiousness and dishonesty, you have to justify your choices because you dared to make a choice. You have to battle with people and ghosts. You have to stand your ground because you are an independent woman. No matter whether you find yourself as the winner or not, you have earned the right to walk proudly, in dignity and wisdom. This is the world of Florence Green in this beautiful, bittersweet novel by Penelope Fitzgerald.

1959, Hardborough, East Anglia. Florence decides to transform the legendary Old House into a bookshop. ‘'Α bookshop?'', the residents wonder, ‘'who needs a bookshop, anyway?'' Apart from the narrow minds of an uneducated, stubborn society, Florence has to fight against the petty ambitions and plans of the local elite, a woman who would put the Devil to shame. Perhaps, Nabokov's Lolita can come to the rescue of Florence. Perhaps not. How can one prevail against such ruthless, vulgar people locked up in a world that has died decades ago?

‘' Outside it was a clear night and she could see across the marshes to the Laze, marked by the riding lights of the fishing boats, waiting for the low tide. But it was cold, and the air stung her face.''

Fitzgerald's prose is sharp, magical and elegant. I have difficulty in describing it but it seemed to me like a beautiful, misty English morning in the countryside. Magical writing when she describes the town during the blue hour. Sharp when she brings the ruthless, misogynist community into focus. Elegant when Florence takes over, when her thoughts and her dignified personality stands against the elite of a village that tries to smother anything that is new and progressive.

Penelope Fitzgerald makes use of the novel that shocked the world when it comes out. Nabokov's Lolita is still dividing the reading audience although I fail to understand why. I suppose we are educated, progressive and open-minded people but I may be wrong, who knows? She inserts a brilliant semi-subplot with the ‘'rapper'', a poltergeist that has a mind of its own and lends an aura of mystery in the story. I'd say that mystery is a continuous feature in the novel as we find out very little about Florence's past or the background of the characters. And I loved the fact that we don't get any answers. The writer guides us into cold autumn (with a beautiful description of Guy Fawkes' Night) and an even colder winter and drives her story to a realistic closure that demonstrates the results of the fight between evil ambition and an unwavering, resilient spirit.

‘'She had a kind heart, though that is not much use when it comes to the matter of self-preservation.''

Florence is a wonderful character. Wise and determined, down-to-earth (perhaps a bit too much...) and brave. She swims against the current for independence and change, an idealist in the den of illiterate wolves. With the exception of Mr. Brundish and Mrs. Gripping, the rest of the cast is pretty much horrible. Perfectly drawn characters but despicable to the core. Even the little girl, Christine, is a downright, ungrateful fiend. Plain and simple.

The Bookshop has become one of the newly-discovered classic and rightfully so. In our troubled and troubling age, we are in urgent need of stories that may light the way in the darkness the ones in power have created...Personally, I can't wait to discover Fitzgerald's work in its entirety.

‘'They won't understand it, but that is all to the best. Understanding makes the mind lazy.''

My reviews can also be found on: https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/

‘'It would have been the head of a dolphin and the wings of a peregrine, and it would be a storm-watching beast, watching the weather while we sleep.''

Max Porter's Grief is the Thing with Feathers has been on my list for quite some time but for one reason or another, I never seem to find the chance to read it. Lanny was recommended by my personal idol, Jen Campbell, in one of her outstanding videos. I wanted something dark, British and preferably short read to accompany me on my trip to the mountains and Lanny found its place by my side. It is now one of my favourite reads, even endorsed by my partner who is a devotee of Andrić and Márquez. If he is satisfied and I am impressed, Lanny must definitely find a place among your upcoming reads.

‘' You cannot fix the way the world is broken all on your own.''

A family of three moves in a village of 50 houses within commuting distance from London. Robert works in the City, Jolie is an actress and an aspiring crime fiction writer and their son, Lanny, is a charismatic boy who loves Art and feels immensely close to nature. Their life is far from easy, though. Financial insecurity, career uncertainty, a father who is mostly absent and a community that is viciously cruel, firmly shut within their microcosm. Even being an actress is considered suspicious.

‘' What if we said what we really felt?''‘'There is no such thing as trust. It's a pernicious myth.''

In this eerie, beautiful, unique novel, Porter talks about trust, loss, isolation, estrangement. He sheds light on the millennia-old relationship between the human being and nature, between the past and the present, between assumptions and reality, appearance and truth. Lanny is a remarkable child, a boy who weeps over the possibility of another child dying. Jolie is a tender mother but she is also absorbed in her own aspirations and insecurities over her career and the suspicious villagers. Robert is a husband and a father who is simply not there. Troubled, cold, indifferent. He changes and changes and only for the worse. The family is not a shelter but a broken unit and trust cannot be found in this stern community. Those we think we can trust can potentially turn into the greatest threat...

‘' There's a girl living under this tree. She's lived here for hundreds of years. Her parent were cruel to her so she hid under this tree and she's never come out.''

Porter writes in a Post-modern style. His prose is dark, ominous, features of stream-of-consciousness are evident throughout. No matter the style, what makes Lanny such a powerful, impressive read is the theme of nature's influence in the life of a community. Nature acquires a persona, wise and vindictive, in the face of Dead Papa Toothwort, a tree demon. ‘' A man made entirely of ivy'', the Green Man who reigns in British Folklore, representing the Old World that is now lost forever. The jewel of the book, in my opinion, the demon contrasted to Lanny who is the angel of our story. In raw, often violent, scenes, Porter makes use of a number of symbols. Skeletons of animals, a Christ without a cross, ghosts, tales, and dangers born out of the forest and its lore. Magic, irrationality, bereavement. Darkness and silence are signs of the coming evil when even the owls are unable to hoot...

In fear of saying too much, I will stop here. We often say that there are certain books one needs to read in order to experience the atmosphere of a story unlike any other and Lanny is a glorious example. The musings of the villagers will make you think of Saunder's Lincoln in the Bardo. The second part of the novel is one of the most ferociously beautiful moments in Literature and the third part is haunting, unadulterated literary lunacy in its finest form. Forget mundane stories and find yourselves in Lanny's mysterious world for a few unforgettable moments of literary greatness.

‘' Dead Papa Toothwort has seen monks executed on this land, seen witches drowned, seen industrial slaughter of animals, seen men beat each other senseless, seen bodies abused and violated, seen people hurt their closest, harm themselves, plot and worry or panic and rage, and the same can be said of the earth.''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/

‘'I am a problem without a solution. I am a question without an answer. I am a poison without an antidote. I will never know what it is I've done.''

I fell under Jac Jemc's spell what I read The Grip of It, one of the most haunting, strangest books. Even now, its memory sends chills down my spine. What I loved so much in it was the underlying terror, the constant, unnamed threat, the darkness whose source cannot be found. Now, I don't dare to presume things and I am not inside Jac's mind but the same feelings kept me company while I was reading False Bingo.

20 stories of the finest kind. Stories where even swearing and innuendos have a rightful place in the narrative, reflecting reality in an environment that is mysterious, eerie. I felt that there is an ominous presence in every story and even when the closure seemed to be positive and optimistic, I had the feeling that if we search a little further, if we added a few pages more, all Hell would break loose. Jemc knows how to create the background and set the scenery to captivate the reader. The characters are women whose life reflects the demands and expectations of our modern society and the stories read like contemporary parables that mirror the issues and threats we face on a daily basis.

I won't tire you with my musings over 20 stories but these are the ones that absolutely deserve your attention:

Delivery: A shopaholic man who keeps on purchasing things he doesn't need. A weird, fascinating story that can be seen as a metaphor for our materialistic society, a modern plague that may make you think there is a terrible mystery within this troubled family.

Τhe Principal's Ashes: Stories that involve teachers always attract my attention. I eagerly try to understand whether my concerns, anxieties, hopes and fears are shared by others. Dissecting frogs, religion, the worries of a teacher and the ashes of a former principal. A wonderful educator and an ending that will make you stare with your mouth open for about five minutes...

‘'They say there's ghosts there, you know.''

Don't Let's: A woman stays in a former plantation estate. There is talk of a hag that tries to steal your breath or your skin but the warden has her own demons to fight. Deeply atmospheric and poignant.

Loser: A powerful metaphor of the scourge of the ‘'unpopular'' student that plagues the schools in the USA through the sense of smell.

The Halifax Slasher: A town surrenders into terror and hysteria over a slasher lurking in the dark. But what separates truth and compulsive lying?

Hunt and Catch: A Tarot reader believes she's being followed by a truck driver. I dare you to read this story and remain calm...

Under/Over: A marvelous, poignant story about the relationship between siblings, alcoholism, inspiration and understanding.

Trivial Pursuit: A cryptic description of the stereotypes of the suburbs in a story with mysterious, threatening undertones.

Powerful, raw and mysterious are only three of the adjectives I can use to describe False Bingo. Jac Jemc's writing is a jewel in today's' Literature.

‘'At the Board Game Couple's apartment, they ask what you'd like to drink only after you've agreed on what game you'll play.''

Many thanks to Farrar, Straus & Giroux and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Inhale the scent of a forest close by. I can smell the earthy fragrance of autumn as night falls, the leaves gently rustling, I can feel the damp air of dusk descending.''

Our story begins in autumn. Tomura, a young man from Hokkaido, starts working as an apprentice to a piano tuner, a charming man named Mr. Yanagi. Tomura meets all kinds of clients, some sensitive, others abrupt and demanding, but no meeting influences him more than the acquaintance of Kazune, an enigmatic young woman, and her twin sister. It is then that Tomura understands his inclination towards the beauty of music through his unique bonding with the forest and the mountains.

‘'When I was walking near the sea, it sounded like the mountains at night.''

When I was five or six, my mum took me for a walk in Plaka, the most beautiful neighborhood in Athens, a place where one can feel the influence of a centuries-old history, where the quaint houses stand proudly to remind us of a possibly lost innocence and quietness. It was the beginning of summer. As we were walking in one of those unbearably beautiful alleys, the sound of a piano reached us from an open window. This is a moment that is still vivid after many years, its quiet and peace fervent as ever. This is how I felt as I was reading Miyashita's novel. The sounds and the perfumes, the moonlight gently touching the top of the trees, the sound of the leaves, the smell of the wood. The scenery, the atmosphere comes alive through the pages of this beautiful book.

I travelled to Hokkaido with Tomura and saw the seasons changing, the serene autumn reigning among them. I heard the soft, powerful notes of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata and dreamt Kazune's dreams lulled by Chopin's Nocturnes. Few things are as beautiful as the melody coming from a piano, a sound that has the power to raise your soul to a revolution or make you dream in the moonlight. It is no easy task to depict this in a novel and yet Miyashita creates such an evocative environment, populated with beautiful characters.

Ιn a tender, heartfelt translation by Philip Gabriel, we come to know Tomura, Mr. Yanagi, Kazune, to feel their wishes and insecurities. As is always evident in Japanese Literature, the characters and the dialogue communicate a deep connection between nature, family values, and beliefs and the road we have decided to walk. Mr. Yanagi helps Tomura fight his doubts and Tomura helps Kazune believe in herself and her vocation.

This novel is a quiet, gentle, atmospheric ode to Nature and Music. To our past and present, to bonding and the belief in ourselves, to the strength we need to discover within us. It is one more example of the uniqueness of Japanese Literature.

‘'Playing the piano is not how I'll make a living'', Kazune said. ‘'It's how I'll make a life.''

Many thanks to Penguin Random House UK and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'I take the opportunity to lend an ear to ambient life with an eagerness I never suspected. The idea of remaining calm doesn't displease me. Some days I make sure everything is grey, like in November, or sombre, for I like storms.''

In Quebec, in Hotel Clarendon, two women try to communicate with each other and share the sadness, the insecurity and sense of loss in a crucial moment of their lives. Two women who live and breathe Art and Culture and attempt to realize feelings and thoughts through the creations of the past.

‘'On Sundays, in summer, children play among the gravestones.''

Nicole Brossard escorts us on a journey in Dublin, Venice, Rome, Montreal, Paris, Leipzig, Stockholm through the memories and experiences of a writer and a museum curator whose escape from the death of a mother and torturing love comes through Art and Literature. In Descartes, the era of Knowledge and Reason finds a symbol in a man who overcame a terrible loss and went on to light the world with the fruit of his thoughts. With Enlightenment comes Culture and through Simone's musings, multiculturalism comes into focus. Our world is a beautiful painting made from different images, convictions, and values that have created masterpieces over the centuries. However, can Beauty be enough when our heart breaks? I was very interested in the problematization whether ancient ruins can be seen as a reminder of death in life. Or should we say life in death?

‘'The room is poorly lit. A fine rain is falling on the lilac tree in front of the house. A leaden greyness is descending around the cars parked behind the apartment building, the grey of malls and conference centres lost between two highways. Life against a backdrop of Big Macs Shell Harvey's and Pizza Hut.''

Yesterday, at the Hotel Clarendon is a beautiful book that defies styles and formulas. Parts are written like a play, others like a memoir or a contemporary novel. With few instances of dialogue and tender, yet powerful, descriptions, the personality of each woman is clearly depicted and each voice is poignantly heard through Brossard's poetic, elegant, sensual prose. The novel has an almost ‘'hazy'', postmodern feel, interesting and demanding.

If this book were a film, it would be a creation by Ingmar Bergman. This is a novel to be read in the garden in a lazy summer afternoon, sipping cold tea. It is full of a charming, bittersweet aura of nostalgia. An old-fashioned feeling of a leather-bound book, a film produced in the golden age of cinema. It's a book oozing (allow me the somewhat vulgar gerund) with culture and elegance. A haunting translation by Susanne de Lotbinière- Harwood.

‘'It's still dark. A heavy rain is drenching the city. Standing behind the curtains I listen to the violence of the rain on the roofs, on the city. The water seeps into history, lifts up the earth, the grocery list a woman dropped when she darted into a fruit store. The sound of rain can be terrifying. I take for granted the freedom of water, the beauty of spring, the shade of the lilac trees yesterday, their fragrance. I take note, getting fired up about distant ruins.''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Each of my pilgrimages aims at some other pilgrim. In this case the pilgrim is in pieces, broken down.''

This might very well be the first time that I have no clear ‘'picture'' in my head regarding this review. Flights is the winner of the 2018 Man Booker International Prize and this is one of those cases where the verb ‘'like'' and its negative form can't retain any significant meaning. So be patient with me while I am trying to -clumsily- explain the impact Flights had on me.

In a magnificent translation by Jennifer Croft, Flights is a modern Odyssey of the human being amidst eternal journeys from country to country but, most importantly, within ourselves. Anatomy and transportation are combined to demonstrate the continuous search, the change, the fight for self-discovery. Individual stories, taking place over different eras, born out of curiosity and despair. Tokarczuk's work is a hymn to human emotions, to independence, to unfulfilled wishes.

‘'He said that death marks places like a dog marking its territory.''

Flights is a novel featuring characteristics of essays, biography, and non-fiction, where the voice of the writer reflects the feelings and thoughts of characters in a distant and, at times, clinically sharp way. Tokarczuk's writing brings to mind great authors of Balkan and East European Literature. I found similarities to Daša Drndic and Dubravka Ugrešic although, in my opinion, Tokarczuk lacks the darkness and impact of the two Croatian writers. She focuses on issues that reflect the strangest aspects of traveling and searching for the destination that would mean the end of a fulfilling journey. Or not. What happens when you don't want to reach the end? When you feel that you can't settle, that you don't need a permanent basis?

‘'The apartment doesn't understand what's happened. The apartment thinks its owner has died.''

There is a plethora of information in this beautiful book. Tokarczuk refers to the Recurrent Detoxification Syndrome, the need of the human mind to return to certain images no matter how disturbing or repulsive they may be. It's what makes us freeze, unable to take our eyes off images that make our stomach turn. Another interesting point has to do with the apartment that is left behind, locked and dark, when we depart for a journey, leaving our shelter silent and lifeless. And what about the images that come to mind at the sound of a country's name? What do we recall when we think of e.g.China, Russia, Spain, Lithuania, Serbia, Ireland and every other country of our planet? Each one of us forms a unique, personal picture based on experience, education, and various cultural influences.

The richness and power of Flights lie in the characters and their journeys. I was confused, moved and horrified by the story of Kunicki, a Polish businessman, whose wife and son disappear for three days and for unknown reasons while vacationing in a Croatian island. The story of a Russian woman, a mother in the most difficult position imaginable, who tries to relieve the pain of people who have no destination anymore made me think of loneliness and the horrible feeling that you're slowly drifting away when you aren't strong enough to fight. Nebojša's thoughts on what war leaves behind and the moving journey of Chopin's heart from Paris to Warsaw are outstanding moments.

I don't particularly agree with a few of the writer's views on people and God. They seemed too detached, almost nihilistic, but this is of little importance. Flights should be an undisputed reading choice, a book that can be read while on a journey, in an airport while the night is falling, in a hotel room overlooking the distant glimpses of the city lights. And if you don't travel, do not worry. Olga Tokarczuk and Jennifer Croft are here to be your powerful guides.

‘'I'm a few years old, I'm sitting on the window sill, and I'm looking out onto the chilled courtyard. The lights in the school's kitchen are extinguished; everyone has left. All the doors are closed, hatched down, blinds lowered. I'd like to leave, but there's nowhere to go. My own presence is the only thing with a distinct outline now, an outline that quivers and undulates, and in so doing, hurts. And all of a sudden I know: there's nothing anyone can do now, here I am.''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Like everyone else, I want gifts that come from the heart, the gift without a price. I've wondered this earth for such a long time, I've worn myself to the bone, but I have yet to meet a soul that will offer itself to me freely and not ask for anything in return.''

A strange mist has fallen over beautiful Belgrade. The lamplights are too weak tonight. If you listen closely, you will hear footsteps. Two sets of footsteps, in fact. One swift, assured but light. The other cautious, alerted and slightly tired. If you concentrate, you will see two men walking in the streets of the White City, two men as different and day and night, as light and darkness. Who may this strange duo be? Well, none other than the Devil and his servant.

...Welcome to Belgrade as you've never seen it before...

‘'When the dead are disturbed and their bones unearthed, great evil shall follow. It's not good to lay hands on the dead.''

18th century. A dashing Count and his wise servant are sent to Belgrade. Serbia has freed herself from the grasp of the Ottoman Empire but the Habsburg Monarchy pretends to be the protector. However, problems arise from another front. A supernatural source. Vampires. The Vampire legend is alive and extremely strong in Serbia and in most Balkan countries. I distinctly remember an incident that took place in Zarozje in 2012 when it was believed that Sava Savanović was in the loose. Savanović is one of the most fascinating Serbian legends, one of the few vampires that are known by their full name. Although I highly doubt vampires exist, my boyfriend's mother has told me tales to make your blood freeze and when I had the chance to visit Djavolja Varoš or ‘'The Devil's Town'', I actually felt as if I had stepped into a mystical, beautiful and extremely dark place. Now, in our story, the Count is sent to uncover the vampires that want to ‘'attack'' the White City but no one has actually thought that this stranger might be a tiny bit more dangerous since, you know, he happens to be the Devil.

‘'Nothing but my footsteps, hollow footsteps, along the empty streets. My tread. The echo.''

‘'What did the city look like? Or the river? It must be black. There was no gleam of water, no moonlight. When there's nothing to shine upon it, it isn't there.''

Mirjana Novaković has created a story that defies genres and stereotypes. In an eerie, Gothic setting in one of the most beautiful European cities, Novaković plays with features of Historical Fiction, Gothic, Philosophy and Psychology, and the result is a novel that touches on a number of issues that concern and define human nature, guiding us to a journey in the history of the Serbian people. Walking in the heart of a perpetual fog, we learn about the Battle of Kosovo, one of the defining moments in Serbian History, about Saint Sava, the protector of Belgrade, and the Albanians and the Tatars that amply demonstrate how foes of the past remain foes of the present and the future.

‘'But most people are bloody fools and only know what they see.''

‘'If you're expecting the worst, or something only a bit better than the worst, you'll be happy with whatever actually comes along. But if you were hoping for the best, anything that falls even a bit short will seem terrible.''

Walking in the Fortress of Kalemegdan, the Devil contemplates on human nature. Hell and Truth and Love and Trust. Human suffering and Fear. The human desire for acceptance that results in a permanent disguise and fakery. The Devil exposes their hypocrisy, their desire to satisfy their needs, ignoring their others. Count Otto and Novak, his trusted servant, help us witness a society that is terrorized by the mere thought of vampires when the real bloodsuckers are the ones who rule their fate behind golden walls. Serbia is being oppressed by a foreign monarchy imposed by the Western powers in order to control the ‘'unruly'' recently-independent people who ‘'do not know what to do their freedom.'' Something similar happened to Greece following the 1821 Revolution and our independence from the Ottoman Empire. And this is exactly where the main strength of the novel lies: it exposes issues that have its roots in the past and are yet to be resolved...

‘'Not a sound could be heard. Not even a moan. Only silence. An otherworldly silence. The stillness of Hell in which there are no sounds, no nightingales, no cried of torment; no mortal words in the first language, or words in any language, or purring of cats, or death-rattles; no wind in the fields, nor thunder, nor lyres, nor sneezing; no sanding and rasping, no weeping. No breathing either. That kind of silence. Even Mary Magdalene was quiet. The sun beat down. Was this really the month of Nisan? The first new moon after the spring equinox. And Friday? I looked into his eyes. Flames. In his pupils, a roaring fire. I had to turn and look. Jerusalem was burning. Herod's white walls ringed the fires around. Who could ever put them out again?''

Novaković writes an eerie description of the Crucifixion, seen through the eyes of the Devil and places Mary Magdalene - my favourite religious figure - as a mirror for the Devil to witness his true self. But the Devil doesn't taunt or bully the Son of God. Instead, he is bitter and sad and tired, trying to understand the extent of an Evil that isn't his responsibility and to grasp the fact that someone accepts to die for the sake of the Human Being, a creation that went wrong from the start...

Fear and His Servant is a novel of immense beauty and depth. Through an excellent depiction of the era and the use of brilliant, clever dialogue, it poses a plethora of questions and makes us think that, perhaps, the Devil (whatever THAT may be...) might know us better than anyone. Ultimately, Novaković shows that we don't need demons or vampires to do harm to one another and to ourselves. No one does this better than us...

‘'By the way, lest I forget: I was the first thing he spoke. Created. Because the first thing he said was ‘'Let there be light'', and there I was. For I am Lucifer, the light-bearer. And do you know, the other angels could never forgive me for that.''

‘'I can't go on like this', I nearly cried. ‘I can't be afraid any more. I can't think about Hell anymore. Just call it all off now, and there won't be any Hell. Let people do their living and dying. What more do they need? ‘'Hell is there where thou art, and where thou art there, too, is Hell. I cannot help you. I have come to vanquish death, and by death alone can I conquer. By my own death.''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Where shall I start? How does an artist begin to make art?''

Paris is a city forever linked with certain images in the minds of the citizens of the world. Le Chat Noir is one of the most recognizable. We see the beautiful, proud feline in posters, bags, notebooks, umbrellas, earring (...guilty of that...). We all admire the elegance of a bygone era. However, how many of us know the artist who produces some of the most characteristic images that represent the unique Parisian flair to perfection? This is a beautiful book on Théophile-Alexandre Steinlen, the artist who loved cats and the ordinary people who called the City of Light their ‘'home''. It is simple and elegant because it aims to familiarise children with one of the most particular European artists and it is mighty successful.

The Swiss-born French painter is one of the most well-known Art Nouveau artists and one of the first to depict the darker, realistic side of Montmartre. Faithful to the demands of the era, he painted landscapes and nudes but it is people and animals that inspired his work. Characters that seemed to have been sprung from the novels of Émile Zola became a favourite subject for an artist who had to work in a very tense and dark era during the Great War. This lovely book, written in rhyme, doesn't touch on the details of Steinlein's life but decides to refer to his love for cats, the masters of the animal kingdom. In beautiful, vivid, old-fashioned illustrations by Courtenay Fletcher, Antoinette discovers the secrets of an artist and its vision, guided by a very clever cat.

Walk in the streets of Montmartre and let your eyes take in the unique atmosphere of a place filled with Art and life. Feel your heart breaking in front of Gaudeamus, dance in a dimly lit cabaret, drink with Toulouse- Lautrec, Erik Satie and Jane Anvil, but don't disturb Maurice Ravel who is composing his immortal masterpiece, Bolero.

A beautiful gift to the children of the world.

‘'This world is abounding with magic and mystery! Each thing has a past. Each place has a history! You can make the world better with music and art, if you keep your eyes open and follow your heart.''

Many thanks to Inner Flower Child Books and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'In 21 cases there was death but no burial; in 10, funerals but no burials; in 8, funerals but no death.''

Dolls never found a top spot in my favourite toys list. My mum didn't like them at all but my grandma was a collector and tried her best to convince me to love them. I just couldn't. Their cold faces frightened me and the feeling that their unblinking eyes were watching me was horrible. The discomfort and fear of those moments returned while I was reading Nina Allan's The Dollmaker.

...This book is one of the most darkly powerful novels I've read this year...

A talented dollmaker starts corresponding with a woman who adores dolls. He decides that the time to meet her has come. However, the obstacles are many. He is a dwarf. She is a resident in a psychiatric hospital. The stories of their lives are interrupted by Ewa Chaplin, a Polish Jew writer that fled to London after Hitler's rise to power. Hers are the extraordinary tales that make The Dollmaker such a unique read.

This is a beautiful novel. Unbearably beautiful and haunting, dark and twisted. The symbolism of the Doll is powerful as the simulation of a life devoid of instincts and feelings. The role of the Dollmaker as an insufficient god who has the ability to create copies of living human beings but is unable to provide them with life. There is no breath, no beating heart. The Dollmaker is not God. However, this facade is his only refuge form a life full of denial and abuse. For Bramber, dolls are cold-hearted saviours from a strange darkness.

The writer manages to create the perfect combination from Andrew's thoughts, Bramber's letters, and Chaplin's stories. Injustice, isolation, harassment. Love, fear, loss form a tale embroidered on a dark canvas born out of Allan's imagination and exquisite use of symbols, immortal moments of Art and our primordial need for stories that would exorcise all evils.

Confident writing, exquisite prose, and successful dialogues are faithful companions on a journey that takes us to the mysterious Bodmin Moor, to Whitby and London. To Austria, Poland, Germany, Russia. We enter traditional pubs and haunted inns, quirky workshops, and theatre houses. Let yourselves by amazed by beautiful, vivid descriptions of places that come alive out of the pages. Contemplate on some of the greatest mysteries in the world of Art, Why didn't Desdemona tell the truth and save her life? What is is that ‘Las Meninas' by Diego Velázquez continues to impress us and raise questions? What is the possibility of actually living in a parallel world?

These are only a handful of the mysteries hidden in Ewa Chaplin's stories.

The Duchess: A famous young actress struggles to survive in a suffocating marriage. Fate introduces her to a mysterious beggar and an eerie portrait of a noblewoman and a dwarf. Her life becomes the backdrop for a Jacobean tragedy, possibly set in Austria, following the First World War. This story is a beautiful piece of Literature. How could it have been different when there are references to Shakespeare, Ibsen, Marlowe, Webster, Tolstoy, Velázquez, Sherlock Holmes in the same text?

Amber Furness: A story whose title says it all. A very dark, complex tale with a strange dwarf and a charismatic young woman as protagonists. Philosophy, gender commentary and the themes of premonition and the doppelganger compose one of the most powerful moments in the novel.

‘'In the version of her story her class loved best, all the fairies at the christening were qualities of attraction and magical powers. Sophia brought the gift of wisdom, Agatha granted the power of levitation and so on. Margaret kept a dragon trained to her side like a Rottweiler and promised the princess protection against demonic powers. Cecilia blessed her with the gift of music and divination.The bad fairy had no name, and she had been excluded from the celebrations because she was ugly and senile and the only gift she had to offer was her preternatural talent for talking with ghosts. No one wanted to be reminded that the infant princess would eventually grow old and go crazy. It was said that the royal family was rife with craziness, that the queen herself was already beginning to show the signs. The bad fairy was no really bad, Mila saw. She was just an unwelcome reminder of what was true.''

The Elephant Girl: A young teacher has to face the seemingly irrational fear caused by the presence of a strange - looking girl. Influenced by her third pregnancy and full of premonitions, she tries to find a refuge to fairy tales. This is another extraordinary story and my personal favourite.

Happenstance: The world of makeup artists isn't very different from the dollmaker's. Colours are used to create a ‘'better'' face, to form the ideal facade. A young woman, intrigued by the deformity of her aunt, wants to find a place in the theatre community. Makeup and murder are merged with the folklore of the Changeling and the result is one more phenomenally beautiful story with an impressive, even if a little unsatisfying, closure.

The Upstairs Window: A story that takes us into the hidden world of Art, the repercussions of our dubious choice, the uncertainty of a fickle, though intriguing, field. A beautiful journey in London and the cinema industry. Add traces of espionage and troubled relationships and you've got an exciting mixture.

Historical Fiction? Gothic Fiction? Literary? Magical Realism? Folklore? Mystery? Whatever your choice may be, this novel will become your beloved companion. The Dollmaker is one of the most powerful novels of the year.

‘'What choice did I have, though? I had travelled so far, so many miles heading westwards with her in my thoughts. She held my future in her hands without even realising.''

Many thanks to Quercus Books and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'He would think that love fails on such nights, and that many of its children are cut down.''

Dylan Thomas is the writer who made me love poetry with his dark imagery and almost primal language. He is often compared to D.H.Lawrence and Thomas Hardy but I've always placed him side-by-side with Federico Garcia Lorca, one of my very favourite writers. Their inclination towards the darkest depths of the human soul, the use of a chaotic, punishing nature and a tradition that inspires and oppresses produced unparallel literary moments. Thomas's A Child's Christmas in Wales always brings my own childhood Christmas to mind. Christmas festivities spent in a city very different from the one in the story but no less nostalgic and mischievous. Long gone are the innocence and the ‘'what ifs'' of a carefree childhood. They have been replaced by (not always welcome) knowledge and the uncertainty of reality. For me, Dylan Thomas's work is a mirror that exposes everything that is hidden within us, the good and the evil, presented in a highly allegorical, raw language that fascinates and terrifies.

Most of the stories included were written for the Swansea Grammar School Magazine and are clearly the products of a unique mind. Many would consider the Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog to be the gem of the collection but I am always drawn to the dark, the twisted, the macabre. Apart from A Child's Christmas in Wales, which makes me feel as if I am about to put up the Christmas decorations even though Easter is only three weeks away, the stories that touched me soul are the children of a pen that produced a world of madmen and children fascinated with a tragic Crucifixion. A world populated by the exiled, the discarded, the isolated. A world of dark fairytales and Welsh legends, myths and twisted folklore, sexuality and mysticism. A world that makes you walk with beggars, fugitives, heathens, and witches. A world where nature becomes a pagan altar where you dance with murderers and sinners. What material could be more ideal to create stories for demanding, doubting minds?

These are the stories that I have read again and again over the years. I will leave our favourite Christmas tale aside for now to enter a deep, murky darkness.

The Tree: A story that brings Edgar Allan Poe to mind, inspired by the Stations of the Cross, with a child strangely fascinated by Christ's ordeal. The Jarvis Hills become a Welsh Golgotha. Or the Promised Land? Hard to distinguish the two in Thomas's work.

“See what the stars have done,”

After the Fair: I've always wondered what happens to the energy of a place when a fair ends. There is an intense melancholy and a ‘'where will the next fair find me?'' question that always touched my soul. This story is clearly influenced by Joyce and his After the Race story from Dubliners, and echoes Dostoevsky's insight into the nature of the exiled, with two characters that deserve their own novel. A strange girl with a baby and a Fat Man.

The Dress: A nightmare born out of passion and restless persecution. A man's obsession with a woman who acquires the role of the angel of temptation, a dark goddess whose realm is the pagan nature.

‘'Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head,And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voiceOf Him that walketh in the garden in the evening time.'' William Blake

The Visitor: The Visitor that is sure to come to us one day, the Visitor that is usually uninvited and unwanted. The Visitor that doesn't ask but gestures and we have no choice but to follow. A story where fairy tales and poetry create a dark fable.

The Vest: A story full of terror and dark sexuality. A dog, a terrible love and a deep sickness of a man whose obsession results in darkness and murder. A powerful text that makes you wonder on the chaos that was residing in young Thomas's mind.

The Burning Baby: If there is a story that could surpass The Vest in terror, now obsession and twisted inclinations, it would be this. Nature is violated and becomes a product of a monstrous birth. It wants revenge and justice and works in mysterious ways. Hypocrisy, false piety, distorted images of love, Biblical punishments compose one of the most viciously powerful stories that you'll ever read.

‘'It was six o'clock on a winter's evening. Thin, dingy rain spat and drizzled past the lighted street lamps. The pavements shone long and yellow. In squeaking galoshes, with mackintosh collars up and bowlers and trilbies weeping, youngish men from the offices bundled home against the thistly wind.''‘'It's the saddest night in the world,'' I said.''

The Followers: There are some winter evenings when your heart is gripped by merciless cold, the shadows become thicker and your soul is darkened by premonitions that verge on fear. And all these seem to spring out of nowhere. In our story, two young men decide to follow a young woman and a surprise awaits...

‘'The wind howled over Cader, waking the sleepy rooks who cawed from the trees louder than owls, disturbed the midwife's meditations. It was wrong for the rooks, those sleepy birds over the zinc roofs, to caw at night. Who put a spell on the rooks? The sun might rise at ten past one in the morning. Scream you, said Mrs. Price, the baby in her arms, This is a wicked world.''

The School For Witches: Imagine that Macbeth's Witches and the Salem girls from Miller's The Crucible joined forces to bring everyone on their knees. A pagan hymn to the primal forces of the human nature that some would call ‘'black magic'', others ‘'hysteria'' and some would prefer the word ‘'power''. A story where healing and remedy have no part to play. When Shakespeare meets the Bible, Hell happens. And it is beautiful...

‘'I hold a beast, an angel, and a madman in me.'' Dylan Thomas

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/

‘'And the wind brought people who had let their plows rust; solitary people tiling the sky, reaping the harvests of summer nights, the fat grain of early straws, leaving it all unwinnowed. Instead they sued swords; their plowing was of bodies, their furrow cut to the heart; they plucked out hearts like tree stumps, they burst gall bladders, with livers they fed the vultures on their shoulders. At the last they rolled away the skulls like stones for building, but for building there was never time.''

I don't think I am capable (or even worthy) to write a text -let alone a so-called ‘'review''- about one of the most terrifying, powerful, moving books I've ever had the blessing to read. This is a novel for which the verb ‘'love'' holds no meaning. It is superficial and insubstantial. This is a novel that comes only once, maybe twice, in the life of a reader and leaves us speechless, staring in awe in front of the power of Literature and the horror committed by human beings. This is one of the most significant books one will ever read. In fact, it should be taught in every school in Europe. Perhaps then there would be a small glimpse of hope for change in a world that still lets politics define lives and codes of behaviour. A world that still adopts the evils of Nazism and Sovietism, the two faces of the same coin.

‘'Where is my face? Where is my past? Where is my resting place? Where is my grave?''

Andreas Ban, our guide on a journey through the darkest periods of our recent History, through the horror of Nazism, the nightmare of Sovietism, the bloodshed during the 1990s. A psychologist who has failed to decode the evil in all of us and has chosen to reside in a coastal town in Croatia. What we witness is his personal journey through seemingly disjointed thoughts and memories of a dark past and a tumultuous life. A life sealed with the bloody mark of war, terror, and despair. With the results of the mob that feels the need to kill just because they obey men who would frighten the Devil himself.

‘'...darkness like dust covers the losers and the victors mixed together in heroic blood and cowardly excrement.''

Andreas focuses on the Nazi crimes and the terrors committed by the Ustaša regime which led to the massacre of Serbs, Jews, and Roma. He barely touches in the 90s war and this was refreshing. We know all there is to know about the 1990s conflicts in the Balkan peninsula but virtually nothing about the atrocities committed by the Nazi puppet states during the Second World War and the years prior to it. Andreas's thoughts ask us to consider questions that seem to have no easy answers. What happens when you are the child of a war criminal, forced to carry an impossible burden? What happens when you are a citizen of a country that was responsible for unspeakable crimes? What hope is there when the result of a war for independence is the arrival of a new dictatorship?

Andreas is someone who craves truth as we crave air and water. Through the absurd persecution of the Jewish people over the centuries, he contemplates the futility of our existence, the horror created by a human being and the monsters born out of these actions. The countries that collaborated with the Third Reich paid the price but there is no future in a world that remains fixed in the past as a pretext to serve vile ambitions. Who is on the side of righteousness and who condones the crimes of the Nazis and the Communists? Whose opinion can the rest of us trust? There is an array of utterly disgusting Nationalists, Nazi worshippers, Stalinists, murderers and rapists that answers to the question ‘'how can a war start?'' The reason why people become beasts following these ideologies is to be found in low education, low self-esteem, and all-around hereditary evilness. This is my personal explanation and observation.

‘'I sold my painting. Now I wander through deserted landscapes getting lost.''

Andreas's heart is in Belgrade and the violent rules imposed by war-mongers demand that he become an enemy. How can you put your past aside when war has taken away your identity? Andreas remembers children being humiliated by their teachers in the service of a tyrannical state. His mind is haunted by images from Bergen- Belsen, Auschwitz, and Dachau. The seven dwarfs of the Ovitz family, Mengele's terror experiment. One more monster that was never punished for his crimes. The Šabac concentration camp where 25,000 people were imprisoned and 7,000 of them were massacred by the Nazis and their allies.

‘'I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boatStubbornly hanging on to my name and address...'' Sylvia Plath, ‘'Tulips''

Andreas takes us to Belgrade and the Sephardic cemetery which is a true beauty to behold. I visited a few years ago and the sight is moving and poignant. It is located next to the Cemetery of the Liberators and its unique Holocaust memorial and the monument commemorating the Kladovo transport when winter became a Nazi alley, condemning hundreds of people to a horrifying death. You can see some of the most impressive monuments there, created by Bogdan Bogdanović, one of the most renowned Serbian architects. Our journey continues to Zagreb, Split, and Imotski, three of the most beautiful cities of Croatia. To Amsterdam, Vienna, Leipzig. To Paris, Moscow, the Hague, and the seven shiny chairs, a monument in honour of the children taken by the Nazi beasts. Above all, the river Drina stands as a symbol of unity and the peaceful coexistence of people and religions which is so fragile and easy to tear down. Art in all its forms is Andreas's faithful companion. Akhmatova, James Joyce, Pessoa, Beckett, Dubravka Ugrešić (one of my favourite writers), Plath, Pasternak, Andersen, O.Henry. Eisenstein, Picasso, Plisetskaya. The story of the rescue of the broken dolls and the crazy Clementia. The flowers as a symbol of life blooming and life withering and dying.

This is a masterpiece that cannot be compared to other novels with similar themes. This is the child of Daša Drndić, a modern, female Dostoevsky, perfectly translated by Celia Hawkesworth. An elegy to a life torn by isolation, guilt and the agony and struggle of sustaining even the faintest resemblance of life in the midst of a never-ending terror born by Fascism of both sides (right and left have zero differences. Their aim is to oppress and destroy) How can you let the sunshine in and avoid the poison of the belladonna when monsters still roam the world?

‘'Follow the histories of once-living people and converse with the ghosts. But people do not have the time.''

The following extract is the daily reality I face as an educator and an observer that witnesses the new generation being led by right and left populists, unwashed anarchists whose dirt can be smelled by miles and mobile-phone and Facebook fashionistas whose already non-existent brains have turned into an extremely failed omelette.

‘'One girl told me that the Second World War had begun in 1945 and ended in 1950, another that Camus had lived in the eighteenth century. There are those who believe that ‘'The Bridge Over the Drina'' is a five-act play, that ‘'Hamlet'' is a novel. For some the middle ages lasted until the nineteenth century which is, all right, a fact one might accept. Eighty percent of my students had never been to the theatre, 99 percent had never gone to a single art exhibition. What have I wasted my life on.''

My reviews can also be found on: https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'It is Spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent and the hunched courters' - and rabbits' wood limping invisible down to the shoe-black, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat- bobbing sea. The houses are blind as moles (though moles see fine tonight in the snowting, velvet dingles) or blind as Captain Cat there in the muffled middle by the pump and the town clock, the shops in mourning, the Welfare Hall in widows' weeds. And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town are sleeping now.''

On my way to work, I realise that spring is hesitatingly knocking on our door. Even though the changing of the seasons is an abstract notion in Athens, working in the northern suburbs of the capital, far from the city centre, has quite a few perks (if we exclude the fact that taking the Athens Tube and sitting with an unimaginable number of idiots lowers my IQ...) As I watch the tress acquiring life once again and the days lengthening, I can feel the sweetness in the air and this special weightlessness. Although spring is my least favorite season, the arrival of Easter gives me such joy that I can ignore the allergies and the irritating pollen flying and sticking everywhere. This anthology is my final stop on a beautiful journey curated by Melissa Harrison.

‘'I don't think any artist, using the subtlest brush strokes and softest of hues, could capture the rich colours and sounds and scents of the evening. Is there a poet who could fit the rhymes and beats and randomness to the rigidity of a sonnet or haiku, even with the cleverest metaphors? No orchestra could mimic the mellow simplicity and the startling complexity of this unrehearsed, yet harmonized soundtrack. The sun has set on this Suffolk spring evening.''

Toads, swallows, hedgehogs, foxes, bumblebees, deer. Badgers, otters, magpies playing in the woodland while bluebells, mandarins, anemones, unopened buds in the night garden. Travel to some of the most beautiful corners of Great Britain: Cambridgeshire, Buckinghamshire, Hertfordshire, Cumbria, the Highlands, Bodmin Moor, the Yorkshire Dales, Chesil Beach, Oxfordshire, Suffolk. Take a stroll and enjoy the spring evening in the company of beautiful texts and extracts by famous writers and lovers of the flower season.

‘'There is a spiritual feel to the wood tonight that I don't think I'm imagining. Perhaps it's expectation, and awe that this recently denuded scene is now bursting into life again. The winds have stopped and our sense of anticipation seems to be shared by nature, waiting with us. A blackbird shrieks an alarm call in front of us, as if to dispel such romantic notions.''

A beautiful text on the coming of spring in the Highlands by Annie Worsley. Highfield, a beautiful poem by Alan Creedon. A moving text on fatherhood and the bond between the generations accompanied by the sweetness of the birdsong by Rob Cowen. A vivid description of the change of seasons in the North by Elliot Dowding, the thoughts of a teacher on children and baby owls by Nicola Chester and a beautiful confession of the isolation that has now become the companion of every city resident and the change most of us undergo when the opportunity to come closer to nature occurs. A joyous text on the coming of spring in the city by Melissa Harrison and an ode to Sakura, the cherry blossom, and the unique relationship between flora and the Japanese culture.

And then we have the greats joining the spring fest. William Shakespeare's Sonnet 98. An extract from Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte and from Mansfield Park by Jane Austen. Thomas Hardy. The preparations of the Mole for the coming of the season or How to Do Spring-cleaning in The Wind In The Willows way by Kenneth Grahame. Dylan Thomas and a beautiful, haunting text on the silent, hesitant spring nights taken from Under Milk Wood. A dark, atmospheric passage on the death and rebirth of Nature by D.H. Lawrence. And so many more...

I am going to miss the series. The only thing that would make me feel better is to have an anthology dedicated to each month. That would be ideal...

‘'Only you can hear the houses sleeping in the streets in the slow deep salt and silence black, bandaged night. Only you can see, in the blinded bedrooms, the combs and petticoats over the chairs, the jugs and basins, the glasses of teeth, Thou Shalt Not on the wall, and the yellowing dickybird watching pictures of the dead. Only you can hear and see...''

‘'And the seasons roll through our literature, too, budding, blossoming, fruiting and dying back. Think of it: the lazy summer days and golden harvests, the misty autumn walks and frozen fields in winter and all the hopeful romance of spring.''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'When someone dies, this means that a stranger wanted to tell us something important. Every death is, in fact, a word. And all our deaths create a long, unread letter.''

* The extract is translated by me and taken from the Greek edition, beautifully translated by the great Gaga Rosić. *

Milorad Pavić is one of the greatest Serbian writers and one of the most important European masters of Literature. His works are characterized by a sensitive lyricism and a haunting eroticism, remaining faithful to the unique complexity of Serbian Literature, a characteristic of the Balkan writing. I believe that Forever and a Day (as is the English title of this work) is his most impressive creation.

This is an outstanding example of Dramatic Literature, a frightfully ‘'difficult'' genre. Pavić created a play like a menu with three ‘'starters'', a single ‘'main course'' and three ‘'desserts'' that can form nine versions of the same play depending on the choices of each director. I have never read something similar, I don't think there is a similar play to be found. A composition of Dictionary of the Khazars, Landscape Painted With Tea and Last Love in Constantinople, three of his most famous novels. Ten different settings and four time periods formulate an extremely complex drama that may be a little too difficult to understand by reading. We have to watch the characters and experience the dialogue in action to fully appreciate the Beauty and the Strange in Pavić's writing.

This is the love story of Petkunin and Kalina, although the phrase ‘'love story'' is too sugary and too shallow to describe this work. It seems to me that this is the struggle of the human soul to find a form of meaning in the presence of another human being without losing our identity. The journey through the eras epitomizes the influence of our heritage and our family which isn't always welcome. Petkunin and Kalina's story is composed like a combination of the Biblical story of Adam and Eve and the myth of Eros and Psyche mixed with the traditional Balkan belief on the Vampire that lives amongst us. Philosophy, Religion, History, Psychology, tradition form a story that reads like a hymn to the eternal, endless search for hope, meaning, freedom of choice and the right to a second chance, to correct the mistakes and start again...

A monumental work...

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'When someone dies, this means that a stranger wanted to tell us something important. Every death is, in fact, a word. And all our deaths create a long, unread letter.''

* The extract is translated by me and taken from the Greek edition, beautifully translated by the great Gaga Rosić. *

Milorad Pavić is one of the greatest Serbian writers and one of the most important European masters of Literature. His works are characterized by a sensitive lyricism and a haunting eroticism, remaining faithful to the unique complexity of Serbian Literature, a characteristic of the Balkan writing. I believe that Forever and a Day (as is the English title of this work) is his most impressive creation.

This is an outstanding example of Dramatic Literature, a frightfully ‘'difficult'' genre. Pavić created a play like a menu with three ‘'starters'', a single ‘'main course'' and three ‘'desserts'' that can form nine versions of the same play depending on the choices of each director. I have never read something similar, I don't think there is a similar play to be found. A composition of Dictionary of the Khazars, Landscape Painted With Tea and Last Love in Constantinople, three of his most famous novels. Ten different settings and four time periods formulate an extremely complex drama that may be a little too difficult to understand by reading. We have to watch the characters and experience the dialogue in action to fully appreciate the Beauty and the Strange in Pavić's writing.

This is the love story of Petkunin and Kalina, although the phrase ‘'love story'' is too sugary and too shallow to describe this work. It seems to me that this is the struggle of the human soul to find a form of meaning in the presence of another human being without losing our identity. The journey through the eras epitomizes the influence of our heritage and our family which isn't always welcome. Petkunin and Kalina's story is composed like a combination of the Biblical story of Adam and Eve and the myth of Eros and Psyche mixed with the traditional Balkan belief on the Vampire that lives amongst us. Philosophy, Religion, History, Psychology, tradition form a story that reads like a hymn to the eternal, endless search for hope, meaning, freedom of choice and the right to a second chance, to correct the mistakes and start again...

A monumental work...

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'Cora Burns. Born to crime.''

A young woman, named Cora Burns, hears the gates of Birmingham Gaol closing behind her. She is free from her incarceration but not from her past. A horrible dead has been haunting her for three years and doubts over her mother will not let her rest. Her chance comes when she starts working as a maid in the house of a scientist who hides his own secrets, feeding his own obsessions. In the search of her past, she needs to discover herself and this is the most terrifying prospect.

‘'And what of yourself, Cora Burns? Where would the crosses lie upon your own chart of temper? To the left or to the right? More agreeable than these here, or less so?''

The story of Cora Burns is memorable not because of the plot but because of the questions it poses and the opportunities for discussion. The plot is intricate and complex but it is not unique. We've seen this premise before and we will see it again. This is not a negative feature when the writer has the means to create a successful result and Kirby definitely knows what to do. Through confident and atmospheric writing and with an accurate, faithful depiction of the era, she focuses on themes that are always relevant and highlights the endless fascination to unlock the depths of human nature.

What is the difference between social assumptions and reality? What is it that makes each one of us unique? Billions of people call this planet ‘'home'', each one of us with a unique background, a personal story and yet closely connected to each other. What constitutes our temper? How easily can our mood change? How can our temperament lead us to happiness and success or to misery and punishment? Can our genes make us criminals? Is evil inherited and developed? Can we escape a dark heritage? And, ultimately, what turns a human being into a ruthless murderer?

A Historical Fiction novel that poses such questions can only be successful in conception and execution alike. Through scientific essays, medical accounts circa 1880s that may be fictional but no less interesting, following a route that passes through the horrible reality of the gaol and the asylum, through the slams where mothers need to sell one of their children in order for the rest of them to survive and the wealthy estates whose owners play a wicked game with the fate of those who are less fortunate, we are guided by a young woman who is one of the most gifted characters I've seen in recent Literature. I've always had an affinity for the name ‘'Cora'', ever since I first read The Last of the Mohicans and Cora Burns didn't disappoint me in the slightest.

Although it is hard to end such a complex story in a fully satisfying and plausible way, Kirby succeeded. I couldn't have been more pleased with the closure which I found to be realistic and a bit unpredictable based on my personal perception of the story. A truly exciting debut.

Also, repeat after me: A well-written novel doesn't need silly romances to become ‘'interesting.''

‘'Even though it was morning, lights still burned in some of the terraced houses across the street. The creamy glow of parlours fringed by velvet and lace would not long ago have seemed as remote from Cora Burns as a gentleman's country estate. But no longer.''

Many thanks to Carolyn Kirby, Catherine Sinow and Dzanc Books for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'I can make the seasons go backwards, and turn the order of nature upside down.''

Pu Songling's best-known work is a collection of haunting stories with the title Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio. I chose to read another collection in order to form a first impression of his writing and I was led to Wailing Ghosts. Striking title, undoubtedly, and the result was a very engaging array of mysterious stories with an intricate sense of humour by a writer that belongs in the Great Qing, the last imperial dynasty of China.

Let us start a journey in one of the most fascinating countries and witness an elegant and mysterious fight between the supernatural and the mortal.

Where to go: Visit the ghostly corners of Shandong, Changshan, Fujian, Yanzhou, Nanjing, Shenyang.

What to see: Temples, beautiful pavilions, gardens of breathtaking beauty and run-down neighborhoods.

When to visit: During the autumn harvest and the spring festival.

Choose a guide: Noblemen, merchants, soldiers, mandarins, monks, magicians, sects, rebels, concubines, witches.

Beware of: Winds blowing, doors opening by themselves, mutilated corpses, moonlit alleys, magic caves, cursed mountains. Trolls, monsters, fox spirits, will - o'- the- wisps, wailing ghosts seeking justice.

Enjoy gory tales of challenges, deathly jokes and broken vows, rich in atmosphere, elegance, wit and the inimitable Chinese culture.

'His room filled with the roaring of the wind, and he heard the sound of clomping boots gradually approaching the alcove in which his bed was situated. By now he was utterly terrified.''

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

‘'You know, Charlotte, I sometimes think - don't laugh, will you?- that Emily's strength comes from the moors. She's like a tree, planted tree, and if she's uprooted it won't matter how tough her trunk is, she'll wither and die.''

I approached this book with mixed feelings of enthusiasm and apprehension. I have read quite a number of biographies on the Brontë family but I tend to avoid works of fiction based on their lives. With only a handful of exceptions, the writers tend to project their own values and perceptions to the sisters with no success. Especially apparent in the case of Emily Brontë, these women cannot become ‘'characters''. It is impossible. A gifted writer is required for that. Sarah Perry, Daisy Johnson, Diane Setterfield. Lynne Reid Banks didn't strike me as a writer, let alone a gifted one and this book was a frightful disappointment.

In a clumsy mixture of Biography and Historical Fiction, the writer almost turned the family into characters of the most mundane, dated (justifiable given the date the book was published) romance. Exhaustingly detailed in parts that hold little significance and naively simplistic when it had to be powerful and, possibly, thorough. The only part she seemed to get right was the unbreakable relationship between Emily and the mystical English moors. Even this vital characteristic is depicted in a highly exaggerated, dramatic manner. Charlotte takes the spotlight and thus, the narration becomes quite boring. Plain and simple. Not because Charlotte was a boring person, God forbid, but because she is portrayed in such a way.

There is very little focus on the sisters' work - almost none on Branwell's who seems to be there just to remind us of a George Best type of man (I love George Best, don't mind me...) and even less attention on the process of conceiving and giving birth to their immortal creations. The fact that the writer chooses to suggest that every novel of theirs was almost autobiographical is ridiculous, laughable and inappropriate. More emphasis on Jane Eyre, very little on Wuthering Heights (I doubt the writer could understand its implications, themes, and importance...) and Anne's novels may not have been written at all... I feel that this book ‘'wanted'' to become a Peeping Tom than a serious work of Biography and Fiction. It focused more on what she believed was the sisters' social and sentimental issues rather than their work and was not interested in that.

In my opinion, the Author's Note is offensive and derogatory towards the readers, the world of Literature and the Brontë family. Making fun of the family's course shows little respect and a huge, absurd ego. The way I see it, this book is an extremely failed effort. A true disappointment.

Many thanks to Sapere Books and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com

'We were a family and now we're not any more. We're the wrong number. It's all wrong. I can't cry. I can't.''‘

The times we live in are uncertain, turbulent, obscure. Financial insecurity, fear caused by leaders who dream of generating the Third World War, Nazi and Soviet sympathizers in power, presidents who believe themselves to be modern sultans, members leaving the Union they fought hard to form. Utter degradation of every basic human value, absence of feelings, absence of respect. This is our world today. This is the world that seems to suffocate Bea and Dan, motivating them to find some form of escape. The young Londoners travel to France to aid Alex, Bea's brother, with his ‘'duty'' in an almost run-down hotel. Little do they know...

One needs to tread carefully because almost 50% of the novel is set upon a trap of spoilers. The themes and the consequences of the characters' choices are irreversibly linked throughout the story. To begin with, the first chapter is striking. It immediately attracted my attention, it was the perfect introduction. In Part One, I felt that the motif was inspired by the Seven Deadly Sins, a prominent decoration in the hotel with no guests. A hotel whose only occupants are dust and snakes. The reptiles can be heard during the night, an ominous sound, a threat that cannot be seen, unpredictable and deadly. A symbol of suspicion and treachery, the fragility of a marital relationship and the influence of the parents and the social background.

What I perceived to be a prominent question was the significance of money and social influence as our goals in life. What about those of us who believe that there are values more important and crucial than material wealth? Are we weak? Are we lacking in ambition? We hardly care. This is who we are. This fight is successfully depicted in the clash between Bea, an extremely well-written protagonist, and Griff, her father, one of the most horrible characters, a truly despicable man.

Despite the undoubtedly sensual, dark prose, there were a few problems that became noticeable soon. On a personal level, I was almost offended by the writer's nihilistic and dismissive views on religion. As someone who believes, I felt Jones included a derogatory monologue for the sake of serving a ‘'modernity'' that calls for the rejection of anything that has to do with spirituality. Yes, by all mean, do worship your new mobile phones. They're so important...What logic is there? Am I not educated? Am a less adequate reader because I am a Christian? This is utter bullshit. Next time, place a special sticker on the cover, stating ‘'I don't want my books to be read by Christians.'' And as a reminder, the Seven Deadly Sins weren't created by themselves, Sadie Jones.

I couldn't understand what was the need for the emphasis on Bea's presumably less- than- perfect external appearance. It didn't feel ‘'literary'' but a cliché derived from a boring thriller. There was too much swearing and, frankly, the book was too long. 100 pages less would have been ideal with better-placed dialogue and a more careful linking of the themes. I believed I was about to read a literary social commentary. At worst, a literary thriller. I was extremely attracted to it and its dark tone. And then, it became a rich family soap-opera, complete with the subjectively neglected husband trope and I grew cold. And bored. I am not interested in parties, estates, and inheritances. However, Part Four was very good. A number of subplots remained unresolved but the ending was astonishing. Absolutely shocking. You'll have to read it to experience how powerful it is.

So, I admit I am conflicted about the rating. With the exception of Part Three, which was pretty bad, this is a hypnotizing novel. It lures you and it's difficult to detach yourself even though you know you won't end up loving it completely. I think it will be one of the most talked-about novels of the year and despite the issues I faced, it has stayed with me. This speaks for itself. I feel that 4 stars is a fair rating.

Many thanks to Random House UK and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com