The Hotel Avocado, by Bob Mortimer

The Hotel Avocado is the sequel to Bob Mortimer’s The Satsuma Complex, and is just as enjoyable with the same caveat — if you don’t know/don’t like Mortimer’s style of humour, this novel might not work for you — but if you do, it almost certainly will. The novel picks up soon after the events of the previous book — Gary and his girlfriend Emily are still together romantically, but separated geographically as she has moved to Brighton to operate the hotel her father left her, while Gary remains in South London doing legal work and unable to commit to making the move to Brighton to be with Emily. The plot seesaws between Emily’s attempts to successfully open the hotel (complete with giant decorative outside avocado, which requires city planning permission), and Gary dealing with the aftermath of the last book’s plot, in which some rather unsavory characters are very anxious to make sure he doesn’t testify in the resulting court trial. As a thriller, this is probably a little loose and uneven, but I’m not reading it for the taut suspense — I’m reading it for the wacky humour, as well as the fact that several of the chapters are narrated by a pigeon.

“Caesar’s Soldier” and “Caesar’s General,” by Alex Gough

It’s nice to pick up some fresh, interesting historical fiction about a character who has always interested me. I’ve been wanting a good Mark Antony novel for years, and these two books have definitely addressed that wish! (I’m assuming they’re the first two of a trilogy and there’s something like Caesar’s Avenger or something coming to complete it, since Caesar’s General ends with the assassination of Julius Caesar).

As the titles suggest, these books are very much focused on Antony’s military career and have a lot of battle scenes — which is fair, that was the main thing the man did with his life and certainly what he was seen as being best at. If I’d have liked a little more focus on his political and his personal life — especially his marriage to Fulvia, who absolutely deserves her own historical novel and I can’t believe I’ve never been able to find one!! — that’s just a classic case of a writer writing the book they wanted to write, not necessarily the specific one I wanted to read. Despite that, these are two enjoyable, highly readable books about Antony, and I will definitely be first in line to read a third book if and when it comes out.

“Cecily” and “The King’s Mother,” by Annie Garthwaite

Cecily and its sequel, The King’s Mother, are two stellar examples of the very best of historical fiction, which I could not put down once I started. This is another take on the Wars of the Roses, seen through the eyes of one of the most central and yet enigmatic female characters, Cecily Neville, Duchess of York. Wife of Richard of York, who might have been king, and mother of two English kings — Edward IV and Richard III — she has been depicted in various tellings of their stories, but always on the edges, rarely at the centre as she is here. I’ve read a lot of novels about the Wars of the Roses, and one exception to that rule is Anne Easter Smith’s novel Queen by Right, which does focus on Cecily as the main character. While I enjoyed that novel when I read it many years ago, it doesn’t stand out in my mind the way I suspect these two books will.

We often hear that before the 20th century, most women who exercised power had to do it by being “the power behind the throne” — working with, through, and around men. In the case of dynasties, the men involved were often their husbands and sons, and though Cecily Neville was the first English woman to use “The King’s Mother” as a official title, stories from all around the globe remind us that being the mother of a king or an heir to the throne can be a powerful position for a woman. These two novels show just how a woman like Cecily Neville could exercise that kind of power — as well as that power’s limitations.

A Safe Girl to Love, by Casey Plett

Despite my well-established preference for novels over short stories, I think I enjoyed this collection more than I enjoyed Plett’s novel Little Fish, even though one of the stories I liked most was one of the longest and and also one that bore the most similarities to Little Fish (even when reading a short story collection, I’m always in search of that novel experience that will completely immerse me in the characters and their world). Plett writes in this collection, as she does in Little Fish, about the lives of young transgender women; there’s a variety of experience here, as well as of story styles, that I found more satisfying than the rather limited perspective of Wendy’s life in Little Fish. Also, there is one short story in this collection (the one about the cat, if you’ve read it) that absolutely tore at my heart and will probably haunt my memory forever. And any collection that can deliver one story like that, is a great read as far as I’m concerned.

The Hunter, by Tana French

The Hunter is the sequel to French’s The Searcher, which I read and enjoyed very much. In this sequel, fish-out-of-water Cal, the American ex-cop who’s moved to an Irish village for a quiet life, once again gets embroiled in the complex web of relationships that define village life. This is not a “mystery” in the traditional whodunit sense, but there is crime, suspense, and (eventually) a suspicious death. The suspense keeps the pages turning but the real delight here is the character development and the relationships among the characters that keep Cal from falling into the “bitter, cynical, lonely detective” trope. If this is going to be a continuing series, I will go on reading it!

Slow Dance, by Rainbow Rowell

I found Slow Dance to be a fun and extremely readable novel about a couple of high-school friends, Shiloh and Cary, who meet up again at a mutual friend’s wedding. Shiloh and Cary never dated in high school, had a close brush with romance when Shiloh was in college and Cary was in the neighbour, and then grew apart after some painful misunderstandings. Now both single again, they are finding their way slowly back to each other, but real life in adulthood is full of complexities – Shiloh has two young kids and is sharing custody with her ex-husband; Cary is still in the navy but visiting their hometown to help his disabled mother, who is living in poverty while still being responsible for lots of other, needier family members. I really enjoyed how believable this depiction of romance amid the complications of family, friends, and memories was.

A Class Act, by Rob Beckett

We often pick memoirs by UK comedians we both enjoy as audiobooks to listen to when my husband and I go on road trips. This one was fun; we haven’t seen a lot of Beckett’s stand-up (if any?) but have enjoyed watching him on panel shows and of course Taskmaster. (Rob randomly guessing the “What’s in the Briefcase” task is one of my favourite things from possibly my favourite Taskmaster task of all time, which got me hooked on the show).

While this is a memoir, and is quite funny, there is a serious question underlying it: what is social class, how does it operate in the UK, and what does it mean to move between classes. Rob Beckett’s family origins are solidly working class: does the fact that he’s now a well-off comedian mean that he’s changed social classes? What does it mean that his kids are being raised in a social class very different from the one Rob grew up in himself? Examining all these leads to some hilarious hijinks, as you might imagine, but also a few serious thoughts about the way we divide up and categorize people, and how you stay true to your roots when your circumstances change. I enjoyed this a lot.

Adequate Yearly Progress, by Roxanna Elden

On one level, this is a light and often funny novel about a group of teachers making it through the school year, the rivalries and bonds among them, what different lessons they all learn. On another level, it’s the most dystopian nightmare scenario I’ve ever read, since it’s apparently a relatively realistic portrayal of public-school teaching in some US states (it’s set in Texas). For someone whose teaching experience was in Canada and who hasn’t been in a public high school setting for many years, it’s kind of terrifying. The dystopian vibes come not so much from bad student behavior (though there’s plenty of that) but from intrusive, micro-managing administrations driven by frankly weird political initiatives to “improve” classroom teaching, forcing teachers to waste time writing meaningless objectives on the board and using their non-compliance in silly minutiae to fire teachers deemed problematic. It was really troubling to read and realize that that’s the reality for a lot of US teachers (along with the threat of school shootings, book banning, etc).

I found a glimpse into this teaching world so different from my own experience very interesting to read, and thought the characters were well-developed, with a depth that went beyond the initial race/class/gender stereotypes they could have easily fallen into.

Miss Morgan’s Book Brigade, by Janet Skeslien Charles

Well, how could I resist a book with this title?

This is one of those novels that unlocks a nearly forgotten part of history — in this case, the American women who went to France near the end of and after the First World War to offer aid and help rebuild communities devastated by war. The “Miss Morgan” of the title was a real woman, a famous philanthropist who was the daughter of the wealthy banker J.P. Morgan. While Morgan and her partner, Dr. Anne Murray Dike, are characters in this novel, the main character is a lesser-known (but still real!) member of her book brigade, a librarian named Jessie Carson who, unlike most of the other women involved, was working-class rather than wealthy, and did much to create the library system in France after the war.

The historical story is interspersed with a later story of a librarian in the 1980s who begins researching the documents related to Jessie Carson and the other members of “Miss Morgan’s book brigade.” I’d never heard of any of these women or this story before, so I’m glad to have read the book and learned about it.

Shakespeare: The Man Who Pays the Rent, by Judi Dench and Brendan O’Hea

This is an absolute delight of a book for anyone who’s even a mild Shakespeare/theatre geek, as well as a Dame Judi Dench fan. The book grew out of many, many hours of interviews that Brendan O’Hea recorded with Dench about her lifelong experience which has encompassed playing nearly all the female roles in Shakespeare, in a variety of productions. When the material from those interviews was edited and distilled down into a book, Dench herself could not read her own parts for the audiobook, as her eyesight is now very poor. Barbara Flynn does an amazing Dench impression in her reading (perhaps their voices are just that similar, but I absolutely would have believed it was Dench all the way through) and the real Judi Dench (sounding almost exactly the same but audibly older and frailer) recites some of the many Shakespeare soliloquys and speeches she has memorized, interspersed throughout the book. There’s also a bonus interview between O’Hea and Dench at the end where they talk about recording the book and you get a sense of how funny and chaotic all those original hours of recording must have been.

It’s also interesting, as someone who’s studied Shakespeare in university and taught his plays in high school for many years, to listen to a veteran actor who knows the plays inside and out, talk about them from an acting perspective. Dench has so many shrewd insights on the plays in general and Shakespeare’s women in particularly — but there are many questions that O’Hea asks, especially some about character motivation and backstory, that she just stops dead with “Well, you can’t be thinking about that when you’re playing the part.” It’s a really interesting insight into what a truly great actor does and doesn’t consider when playing a part.