The Hand That First Held Mine is Maggie O’Farrell’s fifth novel. Two stories are told in parallel: Lexie Sinclair quits Devon for London when the charismatic Innes Kent arrives on her doorstep, and starts her life at the heart of the 1950s Soho art scene; Elina and Ted are coming to terms with the changes wrought in their present-day lives by the birth of their son. As we follow lives separated by fifty years, wondering how they might be connected, we learn that Ted has been having flashes of memory of his childhood which seem at odds with his parents’ version. O’Farrell weaves her usual magic with authentic dialogue and evocative descriptions: the feel of 1950s London is expertly conveyed. This novel is filled with elegant prose, characters to love and to despise, humour and heartbreak, poignant moments and enough plot twists to keep the reader guessing. Fans of Maggie O’Farrell’s previous novels will not be disappointed.

The Murder of King Tut by James Patterson and Martin Dugard is described as the Ultimate Cold Case Re-opened. In the format of James Patterson’s signature (extremely) short chapters, the story is set out over three time periods: modern day, where we follow James’ progress in writing the book; the late 19th and early 20th century and the discovery of King Tut’s tomb; and 14th century BC, contemporary with King Tut’s life. It makes for an easy way to assimilate some ancient history. Whether or not this cold case is solved by the James Patterson treatment is debatable.

Postcard Killers is the first novel co-authored by James Patterson and Liza Marklund. It’s a thriller about young glamorous killers traveling around Europe murdering couples. Plenty of sex and violence, in the short chapter format that James Patterson seems to love. The villains are nasty and there’s a bit of a plot twist to keep it interesting.

Stephenie Meyer’s (so far) stand-alone novel, The Host, departs from her popular Twilight series and explores the theme of bodily possession of humankind by alien souls. As we follow the soul of Wanderer, who is implanted into the body of her host, Melanie Stryder, we gradually learn the history of this alien species and how their possession works. The spanner in the works for Wanderer comes when she realises that Melanie’s soul has not given up the body, and that they inhabit the body together. Having at first dutifully reported this to her supervisor/advisor, a Seeker, she begins, eventually, to have sympathy with her host and manages to escape. The real fun begins when she manages to track down a colony of humans who have so far escaped possession, including Melanie’s younger brother Jamie and her (pre-possession) lover, Jared. This is a thick book to read, but Meyer keeps the reader’s interest easily. The situation where Wanderer’s (Wanda’s) soul and Melanie’s soul, both inhabiting the same body, have fallen in love with two different men, creates an especially delicious dilemma. This was a great read, and, with the Twilight series complete, let us hope Meyer turns her talent to more like this one. There are rumours of sequels in the pipeline called The Soul and The Seeker.

Yan Lianke’s latest work, Dream of Ding Village, is narrated by Ding Qiang: “I was only twelve, in my fifth year of school, when I died. I died from eating a poisoned tomato I found on the way home from school…I died not from AIDS, but because my dad had run a blood collection station in Ding Village ten years earlier. He bought blood from the villagers and resold it for a profit.”
Qiang’s narration details how the dirt-poor villagers were coerced into selling their blood at Government-sanctioned collection stations and even, literally, “in the field”: the flattery or the appeal to patriotism that formed not the soft or hard sell, but the hard buy. Interspersed throughout the narration are the dreams of his Grandpa, Professor Ding Shuiyang: seemingly surreal but increasingly accurate and premonitory, from them we learn how, in the midst of abject poverty, bitterness and increasing hopelessness, some people’s behaviour sinks to breathtaking greed, corruption and short-sightedness.
Qiang gets to see both sides of the coin as his father, Ding Hui, was a “bloodhead”, who used criminally negligent blood collection practices, whilst his uncle, Ding Liang, contracted AIDS in the self-same place. Hui profits initially from buying and selling blood, then from selling Government-issued coffins to the families of the AIDS victims and developing Funeral Parks, then from matchmaking the dead so they will not be lonely in the afterlife. Dream of Ding Village portrays the death of the villagers and ultimately, the death of the village.
Filled with elegant prose, rich imagery, strong characters and allegory, Yan Lianke’s work exposes the nepotism and greed rife in China whilst at the same time giving us poignant moments of love, self-sacrifice and humanity between the villagers. It may be difficult to imagine that this subject matter could evoke humour, but the absurdity of certain situations (a free coffin from the Government as consolation for dying from AIDS; an AIDS couple arguing about who should die first so that a nice coffin and a good funeral will be assured; matchmaking the dead) does not fail to raise a chuckle.
Yan claims that Dream of Ding Village is a sanitized version of the documentary he intends to write. If only a fraction of the events portrayed had truly happened, then it would already be a tragedy of epic proportions: it is easy to see why the Chinese authorities have banned this book. The lack of responsibility taken or reparation made would certainly warrant a cover up. Dream of Ding Village is a powerful read: in places it will leave you gasping and it will stay with you long after you turn the last page. It will also make you grateful that you donate blood under conditions so vastly different from these. Cindy Carter’s excellent translation deserves a special mention.

Small Wonder, Barbara Kingsolver’s second book of essays, was written after the events of 9/11, and touches on subjects as diverse as Terrorism, why the world doesn’t like America, Genetic Modification, Teenagers, Mothers, and Self-Sustainability. While I may not have agreed with every single word of the essays, on the whole, I found Kingsolver’s to be the Voice of Reason. As with her previous book of essays, High Tide in Tucson, there were some aspects that avid readers of Kingsolver’s novels would have found reflected there. The essays are interesting and thought-provoking. The essay on Genetic Modification is particularly succinct. I would recommend this book, not just to Kingsolver fans, but to anyone who wants to read a reasonable point of view.

The Scarpetta Factor is Patricia Cornwell’s 17th Scarpetta novel. The Scarpetta novels have had a chequered history: they started out consistently good and then went downhill for a while. This one is quite an improvement on those of 5 or 6 years ago. While it’s a bit slow-moving in places, on the whole, it has something like the quality of the first novels. A lot of the subject matter is topical, the CSI bits are better than ever, and the characters have finally matured somewhat: they have gone from acting like self-indulgent and irritating juveniles to reasonably responsible adults, although Lucy could probably do with anger management classes. With regard to the plot, it helps if you can remember what happened around the time of Benton Wesley’s disappearance, but it’s not essential. I enjoyed this novel and look forward to reading the next Scarpetta, Port Mortuary.

Emma Donoghue’s latest novel, Room, is told from the perspective of Jack, a five-year-old boy who has lived his whole life inside “Room” with his mother, Ma. Having Jack narrate is a clever device: through his innocent eyes and ears, we gradually learn how he and Ma come to be in this situation and what fills their days. We share Jack’s thoughts about daily life and his fear at the thought of escape and the attempt to carry it out. Altogether, it makes for horror, humour, hope, suspense and sadness. I really enjoyed this book. I laughed, I cried, and at one stage, the tension was so high, I did the reading equivalent of putting your hands in front of your eyes in a scary movie: I had to walk away for a break. Apart from that, I found it hard to put down and I am sure many will read it in one sitting. Heartbreaking in parts, it was ultimately a truly uplifting novel.

For me, Ian McEwan’s book, Atonement, was mistitled. I think a better title would have been “How to profit from ruining others’ lives”. I was prepared to give this book a chance. A slow start, but good use of language, beautifully written, characters to love and hate and what seemed like a good story until the rather grim ending, which made a complete lie of the blurb on the back: “Briony will have witnessed mysteries, and committed a crime for which she will spend the rest of her life trying to atone”. If doing a bit of wartime nursing and then writing the story of your crime after all the people to whom it might matter have died, first changing the ending so that it will be more acceptable to the reader, then Briony’s definition of atonement is something different from the accepted one. “Atonement: amends or reparation made for an injury or wrong”. I felt cheated by the ending for the time I spent on this book. Guess I don't need to try any more by Ian McEwan!

Kate Grenville’s latest novel, “The Lieutenant” is a beautifully crafted work. The Lieutenant in question, Daniel Rooke, is based on William Dawes, a soldier in His Majesty’s Marine Force on the First Fleet which arrived in Sydney Cove in 1788. Dawes accompanied the First Fleet as an astronomer, to record the predicted reappearance of a comet in late 1788/early 1789. The story is thus based on historical events: Grenville fills in the blanks of everyday life around these events in a way that makes the historical facts a pleasure to assimilate. Whilst waiting alone in his observatory for the comet to appear, the lieutenant interacts with the indigenous population, his intention being to make a study of the native language. This interaction with the natives, in general, and his friendship with a young girl, in particular, appears to be a pivotal point in Rooke’s life. Subsequent events prompt Rooke to re-evaluate his priorities and lead him to the conclusion that “…the service of humanity and the service of His Majesty were not congruent”.
Grenville’s skill is such that we cannot help but feel empathy with the young Rooke from the very first page. Her characters are realistic, although Silk is perhaps not what he first appears to be. The dialogue takes us very effectively back to the 18th century. Grenville conveys the feel of the place and the time with consummate ease.
This is a novel about language and communication, solitude and loneliness, duty and integrity. Grenville explores friendship, truth, a man’s place in the universe. And what is worth risking one’s career or even one’s life for. The end leaves a lump in the throat.
What a pleasure this novel was to read. Let us hope for more from Kate Grenville soon.

"....the Tiger disappears into thin air. Tracking him to Africa, Alex knows that he must follow. Alone. "
Huh? Why would Alex Cross, a really smart guy up to now, go to Africa, where he has absolutely no jurisdiction and no support, to track a killer? Alone! Puhleese!
What a disappointment this book was! It was just too far-fetched, beyond belief. Alex Cross was beaten up so many times, it was a surprise he was still alive at the end. I think that Patterson has run out of things for Alex Cross to do. Maybe the next one will be better..............but I sure won't be paying full price for it like I did for this one!

I read the 3 Andy Brazil books against advice from more than one person. I wanted to see for myself if they really were that bad. I liked the Scarpetta books (although I thought that the endings of some of those books were too rushed, too contrived). The Andy Brazil books are nothing like those! Hornet's Nest is probably the best of the three, although the characters are shallow and unconvincing and the plot is weak and implausible. There is some humour and some sexual tension which is frustrating for lack of relief. 5/10. Southern Cross degenerates from this. Ms Cornwell seems to be having fun at our expense, but the result isn't really funny or vaguely satisfying. 3/10. Isle of Dogs, well, how much lower can you go? What were you thinking, Ms Cornwell? Or what drugs were you on? This book was ridiculous! I persisted to the end of these books because I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt. Not sure why I bothered. Even if one reads these as tongue-in-cheek romps through the workings of a Police Dept, the final book is hugely disappointing. 1/10. Scarpetta fans who pay full price for these books will feel angry and very much cheated. Luckily I bought mine 2nd hand. Readers whose first taste of Cornwell is one of these books will never buy another. Whatever you do, don't pay full price for these books!

Chevy Stevens’ debut novel, “Still Missing” is definitely a page turner. The story, about a 32-year-old female realtor who is abducted and held captive in a mountain cabin for a year, is told in the first person narrative as sessions with the victim’s psychiatrist. Chevy has created an original plot, with plenty of twists and full of tension, which keeps the reader enthralled and eager to see what happens next. The dialogue is realistic and the characters are so well crafted that sometimes the reader will feel like grabbing them by the shoulders and shaking them. There are occasional moments of black humour, especially the disposal of the body scene. Chevy shows a great deal of insight into state of mind of victims. She gives us a gutsy heroine whose endurance and attitude cannot fail to garner admiration. Add to this a climax that leaves the reader gasping. Set aside some time to read this book and don’t be surprised if you read it in one sitting: once you start reading, it is almost impossible to put down. Chevy Stevens? More, please!

Elisabeth Tova Bailey’s latest work, “The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating” has a title that naturally intrigues. Is this book really about snails? And if so, how interesting or exciting can that be? Is reading this book going to be like watching paint dry or grass grow? And can you actually hear a wild snail eating? The answer to the last question is “yes”, but don’t leave it at that. This book is worth your time: you will very likely read it in one sitting.

Bailey finds herself in a situation of enforced inactivity. It is the reader’s good fortune that she uses her time to share her observations of Neohelix albolabris, the White-lipped forest snail. Bailey displays a great insight into her own situation. She identifies with her snail: they are both homebound; both prisoners; both displaced from their usual familiar environment. Bailey’s isolation is kept at bay by her snail (as hard as this may be to believe!). We are treated to quite a different perspective of the world. This book is full of easily-digestible information about snails and delightful quotes and anecdotes about snails from various literary sources. And, as unlikely as it may seem, there is also philosophy, humour and sex.

This book is truly a pleasure to read. And after reading it, you may well hesitate as your hand reaches for the snail pellets, next time you go into the garden.