I liked it. I still liked it, so I did.

… the thing was… well… It was a lot more procedural detail—not that I'm opposed to procedural detail when it has significance to the plot—but not here. It was just detail for details' sake. And not a whole lot of action either. Much less mystery and appeal than I’ve become accustomed to from Chris Ewan—and he is one of my new faves in 2023. This tale wasn’t as intriguing as the first two of the series, but maybe it’s just that I’m not really one of these people to whom Las Vegas appeals. In any way. In any shape. At all. Ever. But it wasn't that, no, it was that the whole vibe of disappointed let-down after hyped anticipation. So, yeah, kind of like Vegas, after all...

I enjoyed the relational aspects that began to develop; that was a bonus.

The best I can say of this novel is that I’m looking forward to the next instalment. I do so like Chris Ewan's writing style—it’s sharp, witty, funny, self-deprecatingly pretentious, and full of snarky one-liners.

Listen, it wasn't his best in the series, but still a worthwhile quick read if you're sitting on a train or a plane for a few hours.

As always, Simon Vance is a bloody star on the audiobook narration. He's maybe a bit too old for me, but seriously: vibes.

Anyways, where is Charlie heading next...?

Intriguing premise. Starts quite well….Thankfully, it also ends well.

And let me first say: despite not finding this to be the next hailed work of gasping literary genius, this novel was an enjoyable read. I devoured it in a night. The story was a unique red rose among red roses—still a nice flower. Best of all, I can recommend it to a young person (8+, I’d say)— and that is a GARGANTUAN bonus for this reader! I love finding novels I can recommend to my nieces.

That said…

I’m glad I read all the way through, but there were moments I might have abandoned this, because that middle third was a banal ‘telling’ of a tired story that plodded along putting many clichés and trite phrases to use, recounting this-then-that and pressing stubbornly onward with this familiar plot. At times, it felt like a drag the author had to endure to get to the ‘good bits’. The grand filling of this beautifully presented nothing-sandwich was a flimsy slice of mouldy imitation meat between two chunks of warm homemade eleven-grain bread; a hiccup of grey cloud between a lightning start and a thunderous finish, the disgrace of Nick’s house in East Egg between glorious mansions…you get the idea… The core lacked substance, came off bland, a rigid report of 2-dimensional characters and some stuff that happened. It gave me a serious case of the ho-hums, as if the person writing this middle gap in the novel didn’t care much for the additional plot-serving characters of the 2nd Act.

But, I’m glad I read on, because the finale, with some predictable outcomes which made them no less satisfying, was yet to come.

Overall, this was an interesting story, but not at all about the things you expect, the exploration of things hinted at in title, synopsis, and cover, such as life aboard a circus train, the effects and treatment of a person with polio in the mid-20th CE, and though it had several elements that reflected plot and setting of The Night Circus and Water for Elephants, I wouldn’t put it in the same category as those works of art…

My Gripe with the Writing Style:
I look for beauty in writing, not just in the events of a story, because stories aren’t appealing for ‘this then that’ but for the way the reader is drawn into the turmoil and action, compelled to celebrate joys, tense and trembling in fear with the characters as they go from ‘this’ to ‘that’ along the way. Unfortunately, the writing here was only briefly beautiful—and these engaging passages were cloistered at the start and finish of the novel. For a large part, the writing was descriptive, employed too many standard adverbs and lacklustre adjectives, seldom poetic, and never absorbed me in the souls of its characters. Hear me out: if one of my students had written this (without the use of AI), I’d be over the moon. It’s an interesting story, but the execution is…amateur (in parts, reads a bit like AI). For a work requiring such grand historical investigation (and certainly shows evidence of this), spanning cultures and decades, and traversing a World War, this lacked the panache it promised. I can’t apologise for expecting more because, after all, it wasn’t written by one of my Secondary Students…

Me Being Picky:
‘He identified as’… (to promote and describe self) is a phrase I’m sure no one ever used in the last millennium. Ever. It shouldn’t have been used in this story. There were little things like this, sayings that have popped up with altered etymology in the last twenty years, and these scattered droppings tainted the historical authenticity of the novel. Parts of the story read like a strong millennial perspective on distant things of a foreign past, framed in a Canadian-bent political philosophy praising acceptance, tolerance and complete cultural appreciation as the basis of integration. These are all principles I wholeheartedly adhere to, and agree that these wonderful attitudes have been threaded into the fabric of all humanity since the beginning of time—but the woke-phrasing and PC terminology is just not as believable when it slips out the mouths of Greek circus performers, Italian shop-owners, and the working-class Englishman of 1945 in Nazi-Fascist terrorised Europe.

A Note on the Narrated Audiobook:
…speaking of Greeks and Englishmen, I know a few, and they have lovely accents that sound very different than the nondescript consistent Canadian/American accent used by the narrator throughout. Until one of the British characters goes to India, and then we get the Indian accent of a rickshaw driver. Hmm…

Harry’s five pages in India were kinda cool…

This is a fun wee story full of girly girl-power adventure and hidden identity. It's lots predictable, headlines some fierce clichés, and stars a few fairly one-dimensional characters, but it's not at all stressful or demanding or in any way challenging to get through. This is a teacher's dream for a Friday night after a stressful week at school: light enjoyable entertainment that satisfies a need for historical fantasy. It even offers up an Asian vibe (though mild and Westernised) throughout which I loved. 

 

Read this in a flash. 

Looking forward to the second. 

Fairly pedestrian, but not a novel that promises much action. Could have been a short story really if they’d thought to send a cat burglar back in time rather than these two… but it all unravels and disrobes and then climaxes (against a cow-gate by the light of the moon); and then dives into a very unexpected and not wholly likeable ending, though ultimately delivers a parting morsel of satisfaction. Like it let me eat the maraschino cherry off an extra large sundae.

Characters were a range of super fun, sarky, witty, annoying—the plethora of humanity in there; rife with sexual tension and bitter regret, socio-cultural restraint, and some open jealousy. The setting was a sci-fi jump between Georgian England and a futuristic-alternate-reality world that none of us ever truly want to live in (at least not me), but was well-painted.

A bit awkward in the delivery, at times, which spoke true of the clashing cultures and eras, but overall a fun read. Catchy writing.

Such sharp-tongued feminist insight into a library of classical tales. True to the details and bursting with character, respectful of the classical context, and even the Classical Authors (Ovid, Homer, Virgil, etc.), this novel exposes each woman, revealing her inner conflicts and delights, her vulnerabilities, weaknesses, and cravings—and we are permitted to enter all of their minds and experiences intimately. A refreshingly impressive new look at a centuries-old tale, retold and rediscovered with each new telling. 

 

This particular telling brings the varied women and goddesses of the story to life in a way we’ve wondered about, imagined in our own wandering minds as we’ve listened to the men go on about their multiple conquests and victories, suffered their penchant for using women as objects of similar conquest or momentary satisfaction—despite the equal treatment many of the ancient authors dedicated to the warrior women and embittered mothers and revenge-seeking sisters and petulant goddesses. And even though we know the end for all these women already, we delight in the new colourful insights this novel brings to an old and established perspective. 

 

“A war does not ignore half the people whose lives it touches, so why should we?” 

 

Sing, Muse… 

 

If Haynes writes more on these (and others not featured here) various diverse women’s perspectives, I will read it. Easy to digest, educational, imaginative, and engaging; peppered with humour and misery that instantly draws us near to endear these characters. 

 

As the author confesses in the Afterword, I’m in agreement: I, too, will miss Cassandra the most (and the sarky but resigned bite of Penelope)... 

 

Starts intriguingly, ends in a bit of nonsensical chaos. 

 

I see the point, I do. I’m sure this kind of story resonates with someone, somewhere, and as much as I enjoyed the writing style (excellent writer, no doubt about that) and can appreciate the quality and philosophical artistry of the unfolding plot, the story itself didn’t have me scratching my head in amused wonder or changing my political alliances or reviewing what I consider important in life or… 

 

...well, it was just... there. 

 

A time-passer, mildly entertaining, and fortunately short. 

Starts with intrigue, and we’re given one piece of the puzzle to scrutinise, then another piece is added, and another, blossoming outwards until we are privy to the whole picture—and there are some delightful surprises that await us in the unveiling. 

Molly is well written, and as the depth of her character unfolds and we come to understand her twisted loyalties, what drives her conscience, what fuels her sense of worth and the things she takes on in responsibility, we grow to love her, but I’m not sure we ever trust her… the question lingers: can I trust Molly? She’s telling this story, but something is missing, something is amiss…

Fast prose and scatterbrained indecisive internal dialogue leave us spinning, and an insular cast of vibrant characters gives the nostalgic feel of a modern Christie—but not too modern—more like something stuck between the fashions and hospitality industry of the 50s, but sprouting millennial social issues.

I can see how this will translate smoothly to the screen. It’s a fast easy read, ripping and catchy; you’ll have it done in three train journeys.

Just good—fast to read, twisty-plot, clean-criminal fun.

Cheeky. Witty. Absorbing. Brill. 

Cat is a danger to herself, but worse than herself are her dodgy relatives, poised to muck up her life, job and relationships if they can get at them—but she works hard to keep her private and professional lives on opposite sides of the city and in polar arenas.

Cat idolises the Boss Lady, even comes close to letting her in, but settles for discreet swooning in the aftermath of her praise. Her partner is the father figure she’s always craved, and the father she has is the bane of her existence, the focal point for all her agonies and joys. She’s a desperate mess, and we come to love her and hope for her in all her arrogant and ignorant blunders. Cat badly craves accolades in the job—but more so, she is consumed by an internal motivation to bring justice to the innocent young girl left dead on her kitchen floor.

And this mysterious murder has us stumped as well.

There are so many layers in this story it goes beyond ‘police procedural’ and sucks up family drama, social commentary, and lures us to the dark, to walking that rickety fence between righteous and criminal. You just don’t know what side Cat will end on, even though we see the purity of her tainted heart.

The writing is quick, smart, sparse on wordy explanations, but full of vivid and artful descriptions. Plot and periphery whip into place with intricate detail in a seemingly effortless delivery.

Can’t wait till they turn this into a mini-series; rich and layered, this is perfect for the small screen.

This was so vast, so epic, it spanned the century, encapsulated lives and lifetimes, hopes of yet displaced persons, the inner dreams of a swallowed nation…and the characters absorbed the page, some apologetic for their existence, others ashamed and floundering, a few burst, boisterous—the remaining diaspora voices of a scattered Pyongyang intelligentsia and working-class, all beautiful, longing for a stolen homeland, the invisible past of wiped geography and shifted borders... 

The novel is fiction wrapped in so much truth, wrought with the pain of bitter and broken hearts, yet shining with the beauty of forgiveness, and delivering immense hope for a promising future.

The characters are rich and real, and I was only upset at not being able to spend more time with the especially wonderful people we met along the way.

Both a history lesson and a moral on forgiveness and love—particularly between two cultures so closely knit, yet so distinctly dissimilar at their cores—the novel reminds us of what matters in culture, what is vital to keep, and of what matters even more: who we become in our sharing, our love, our choice to vindicate rather than retaliate.