First, I have to say that I’ll read anything and everything Emily Henry writes. She’s got a style that’s addictive and endearing and reminds me of my joy-filled, awkward, heart-on-their-sleeves students, and so she wins me over every time.

This novel has a highly predictable ending. From the very start we know exactly where this is going—even from before the start. Of course we know. But we CAN’T STOP READING because we have to know how it happens, have to see how it all unfurls and rejoins and comes together. It’s addictive fun and guarantees pages of humour and the tittering warm fuzzies. This is precisely the kind of highly predictable story you want to read from start to finish and savour all the delectable run-ons and literature references and awkward misunderstandings and hope—and hope—(and know) that this will all turn out for the best in the end. *with gleeful giggles*

Of course it does. She basically tells you so on page one. No worries. No trepidation. No fear. Read on.

If Emily Henry’s writing defined the romcom genre I’d become a believer; I’d be an avid follower. I’ve tried a few others. Can’t say I’m sold. As it is, Henry is currently one of the only authors I’ll read in this genre because I find her contemporaries in the genre so...ugh. Too much porny-cringey-‘rom’ (or a superficial excuse for love/romance) and not enough out loud laughs. People We Meet on Vacation had me being stared at in public for the bursts of laughter, fits of delighted giggles, and broad spontaneous smiles. She brings the ‘com’ to every page—and isn’t crass about it (what a relief!)—just genuinely cute and funny.

If I’m completely honest—and I hate to criticise anything about this novel because there was nothing wrong with it at all—the pace was faultless, the plot folded together like perfectly constructed origami, the characters were people you want to squeeze and cuddle or easily forgive in their struggling humanity, and the setting was one minute a relatable next door and the next minute a desirable jet-setting adventure—but… but…

(Omg, I hate writing this ‘but’…)

But…the ending was about 8000(?) words too stretched and a little (ever so slightly) over-baked till I felt like I had to chew it too much and some of the flavour faded while I was chewing. I blame this mostly on editors and publishing companies in the current market. I get there’s a word count authors need to meet these days (oh, the pressure: does no one read John Steinbeck anymore? I mean most of the man’s novels, bar The Grapes of Wrath and okay, East of Eden—are around 50,000 words: as in The Pearl, Of Mice and Men, The Red Pony, Cannery Row… Salinger and Hemingway’s greatest works are about 70,000 words… gosh, I digress…) and it’s an 80,000–100,000 word norm in the US publishing market (come on, it’s up to 70,000 in the UK) so that’s my excuse for this extradditional verboseness al final. Not Henry’s fault. Punto.

Okay. But. Just ignore that rant cos this novel is so worth reading in the winter. And then put it on the shelf till the first birds of spring start tweeting and pull it down to read again. And also take it with you on summer holidays, cos even though you already know the ending (from the first page) and have read it twice this year you’ll enjoy reading it again and again and again…

Much like Kate Quinn (but for completely different reasons) I will read everything this woman writes. I’ve already got her next one on preorder…

Adventure. Intrigue. Murder. Delightfully complex characters at the heart and seams. A stimulating setting that bounces between privilege and poverty. All strung together by a well-paced plot, timely clues, and the unfolding glimmer of a promised romance. The key to what makes this second in the series another hit (and I dare say a star more engaging than the first) is again its tantalising pace. Just pace perfect.

We’re left satisfied with the climactic finale and yet, we’re still salivating over the wafting scents of remaining secrets that linger on the fringes…

This is like the bathroom in which a person with three degrees in higher education who’s stumbled upon a joy-giving career in lieu of stressful degree-related work offers you crack on a silver platter: gold-trimmed, velvet-cushioned, fancy-laced, in a 5-star hotel in a world class city, costly, paradoxically pleasant to the senses, and needlessly elaborate for the necessity it serves, but dammit if you don’t keep coming back for another hit… I’m completely biased (cos of the addiction, of course), but I could read this ongoing saga forever and never be done or bored or fed up.

Gimme more.

Such twisted history, secrets, lies and wrongful accusations leading to hangings and beheadings in this era make for riveting plot and complex characters. Shardlake gets himself tangled in another political mess, and out of favour with those in power, and it’s Jack to the rescue —even amid his own little distraction in the vibrant Tamsin.

Matthew Shardlake is one of the most honest and reliable narrators I’ve read—and it’s a supremely interesting change from the norm these days. He is faulty and a little naive, which endears him to us, and best of all he’s willing to change his mind about things if the argument suffices—despite a bit of initial stubborn kicking against the goads at new ideas and beliefs and evidence.

In this one we get more of the personal life of Jack Barak and his new love-commitment. And it’s a bit awkward and tenderly humorous and after all, heartwarming. Of course, Shardlake has a fatherly fondness for Jack now, and his faithfulness is unwavering even when disagreements arise. He always strives for the truth and reconciliation, and subsequently, we want the best for Jack, too.

The setting is middle-ages England with the degenerate King Henry VIII on the throne going through women like options at a 20th Century American buffet and twisting the naked faith of the little people into religio-political chess pieces, behaving quite like a spoiled child who throws a fit if he loses. He’s well-characterised here, even if he only makes a cameo appearance on occasion. The more interesting accidental royals are Jane Seymour (already deceased) and Catherine Howard (on her way to early death) and their involvement at the fringes of the unfolding of this plot.

The question it all raises at the end keeps you thinking on into the night… who’s really royalty? and who’s not? and does it even matter? And why does it matter…? And we in the 21st century (UK and commonwealth nations) sigh a relief at having such a stalwart, dedicated and honest Queen on the throne. Regardless of what one thinks of the monarchy, or our assessment of the history of monarchs we’ve suffered, Queen Elizabeth II garners a great respect considering the ancestry of that seat… but I can certainly see how the nation throughout history might have wanted to do away with the institution.

Rich in history and setting, this series continues to deliver hours of intelligible entertainment.

This one had particular appeal for the topic it explored. Amid a special commission to examine new herbal medications brought recently aboard a ship from the Caribbean, Dr Thomas Silkstone faces a strange feeling of unease when a professor of anatomy has far too much ease accessing recently deceased cadavers. It’s fishy. That, and a special herb that supposedly has the power to resurrect the dead, a medical journal, and its important keeper have all mysteriously gone missing. Not to mention the suspicious deaths of the doctors responsible for the transport of the herbs. Well, you get the picture: Thomas gets a lot dumped on his plate. And he’s super curious. He needs to know.

No punches held in this one addressing the developing laws and established practices involving the way humans treated one another based on the colour of skin. The exploration of this social issue was the best part of the novel, and the additional characters involved were almost more interesting than Thomas and Lydia (well, we liked them better than Lydia, that’s for sure. She doesn’t improve much here, and in fact, I tried to like her more, but I think she probably gets a bit worse; her saving grace is that she’s not present much). 

The part about the secret formula to raise the dead was a bit weird. Indeed, that whole plot-line was anticlimactic in resolution, but necessary for the whole web woven here. It just ended on a bit of an eye-roll. Not sure what could have been done with it otherwise as it was so super fantastical, but more creativity required for this solution. 

Anyway, it all goes to hell at the very end, like putridly and morosely, just as we’re starting to maybe care a touch more for Lydia, but I can see the potential for the exploration of this particular confrontation of an old system…

I’m glad I’m reading these long after the whole series has been published because I’d be a tad annoyed at that ending — on to the next cos no. Can’t end there.

I like that these stories are based on actual events—and then embellished with a fictional retelling of some real small town class-struggles, packed with unreliable characters clinging to shaky systems of toxic belief amid a rather bleak life in the 18th century. And bleak it is. You can’t even see past the bleak atmosphere because of the acid rain and noxious fog that has descended upon the country. And of course, religion offers zero hope. 

In the midst of the thick mist, Dr Silkstone needs to solve a set of mysterious deaths. He sets his scalpel to the task with his trusty sidekick, Franklin, the white lab rat (before lab rats were a thing, apparently). And he’s fallen hard for a Lady (with little foundation to their relationship, even though I think Thomas is a super decent guy and can understand why she’s fallen—just can’t see his motives exactly—other than she needs rescuing and she might be aesthetically beautiful, and these both appeal to him). And there are some complications here to do with Lydia’s lost son that they face together.

It’s got some fairly good action and interesting bits about historical culture and systems of the day which are explored on several planes, though nothing gets overly complicated. In fact, it all seems a bit too easily resolved.

In reflection, I can’t help but want more from Lydia. Thomas is the star, obviously, but I think his choice in woman might be a tad more exotic or intelligent. Lydia is too easily swayed and discouraged and manipulated. She’s shown hints of having strength, but her character is really weak overall. Maybe that’s intentional, but just seems Thomas has more brains than to be with someone so intellectually dull. Who knows…

On to the next one, see what happens…

Better character development and more complex plot in this one than the first. The addition of historical personalities of Charles Byrne and the anatomist John Hunter was fascinating—and compelled me to read up more about the ongoing petition for the skeletal remains of Byrne in the Hunter Museum to be released to the sea as per his wishes.

The question of ownership of body post-mortem is an interesting philosophical discussion; some manner of credence of the soul is required to engage, but if the soul is absent from the body, and the body is mere dust to be returned to dust—does the earth not own the corpse? And if the earth is ours (the living) to nourish and discover and investigate and replenish—does the soulless body not belong to discovery and science for the advancement of humanity? I certainly understand respecting the wishes of the living for their future corpse… but the whole discussion does raise interesting ideas about scientific & medical advancement, community responsibility, religious beliefs about the dead… and well, so much more.

Thought-provoking. A solid piece of educational entertainment.

Billy Shakes does it again. 
A real tragedy through and through.
Muy teachable.

Nothing special about the plot, the writing, or the characters. I likely won’t remember it in a few weeks. Not a stand-out in any way. At least not for the first 50%… 

This is exactly the kind of novel I call an airplane novel. Solid 2.8. Better as a script to a made-for-tv movie which would be over in half the 4hrs it took to read the book.

It became quickly obvious that the novel was a type of unreferenced/unsupported essay directed at the obi-gyn medical practice, particularly maligning the men in the profession. Very Misandrist. The one person we know the author wants us to think badly about is the doctor in this case.

Leo (the teenage brother) is the best character in the novel. He’s the most genuine voice. Everyone else seems to be trying too hard to fill a role and expectations that go with their roles. But I guess that’s pretty genuinely life-in-suburban-middle-class-neighbourhoods these days innit…

This is an easy read BUT IT’S PROPAGANDA.

Halfway through things start to get a bit thicker, people start to become more interesting… a little. Meredith becomes more interesting—even though she’s still useless. She keeps a list of hospitals she won’t trust and OBGYNs she won’t recommend. She’s not a doctor, but she acts as though she has more qualifications than the medical staff. I’m not saying this isn’t a thing in the USA, but it is, in the USA cos it’s all a money-making industry (praise  capitalism)… so that at the end of the day, an uneducated Doula gains more praise/accolades and respect than people in the medical profession who have studied for 7-10 years and will be paying for those studies for the rest of their lives. Way to go America.

It’s a very specific culturally-engrossed plot as it’s entwined around the idea that the medical profession and the studied doctors within it are not trustworthy nor to be respected. That’s mostly a new generational line of thought in western nations. I can’t see any of my Thai or Dominican friends bothering to read this one, though…

Feingold—a Jewish doctor, cast as a misogynistic, patriarchal, patronising man who laughs (actually out loud busts a guffaw) during a labour of a woman. This is ridiculous, unlikely, and anyone reading this novel might think that a harsh stereotype. And perhaps so they should… (On a personal note: it’s because of an older Jewish OBYGYN that I lived through my own birth, so perhaps I’m a bit biased.)  The Doula is painted as the more knowledgable and wiser person in the medical situation. This is an exception to the norm, I’m sure.

PS: Kate is ridiculous, judges before knowing facts, and is suspicious according to appearances, but overly trusting and naive to the point of incriminating fault. And she is a terrible driver* (that scene is supposed to be some kind of tricky foreshadowing, ooh). She also has a drink in her hand every time we see her. We’re meant to like her, but I find her really very dumb for supposedly being a smart and educated person. She trusts her faulty feelings and instinct more than her education or an educated evaluation of anything she might have perceived with careful observation. Kate is the overall problem actually.

Meredith: quite annoying, but faithful to her husband, actually thinks Josh is an angel. She comes across as a ‘nice’ person, but she’s high on herself and her own judgement, thinking that what she decides and that her own wisdom is best for herself and for everyone; she’s not particularly smart, but she thinks she is, which is kind of dangerous…

Anyways…

There are some astonishingly dumbass characters in this novel. I know writing a novel isn’t easy, and you have to obsess over the details, but when you’re writing a story like this, the devil is in those details, and if you’re writing about mysterious devilish acts, you better dang-well get those details right. Kubica misses the mark on several inconceivable details. She writes social-media-culture-hot cookie-cutter personalities to paint cliche characters that are one-dimensional and lacklustre. And dumb. Have I mentioned how dumb some of these people are? Even the ones we want to care about are dumb as dirt. Leo is probably the only authentic self-aware voice in the whole novel, and tbh is the saviour of a whole star in this rating.

The list of characters is long, which works in the author’s favour as she wishes to cast doubt throughout on several of these narcissistic morons. Point to Kubica.

However, the ending was so terribly eye-rollingly, omg-ingly, head-shakingly implausible I laughed out loud. And this weren’t no comedy, folks. But it was funny.

Thing is: I know at least 3 people in my book club who really enjoyed it. So there you go—depends on your likes, but this one is definitely not going on my best-reads list.

Can’t say I’ll be reading  more from this author. She has three of my friends as followers now, though. So, keep writing. Some love it, even if I didn’t.

The reason I’m finishing this series is … wait: am I stubborn? 

I loved Horowitz’s Sherlock series—fantastic stuff—and his Christie offshoot mystery series was super fun, so I’ve been giving some of his other stuff a go. But maybe I should drop this…

It’s okay writing. It’s an okay plot. Character development is like, okay. But I don’t find it interesting and that’s maybe just cos I’m not a 14 year old boy.

-.-

But… do 14 year old boys even like this series? Darker than the Hardy Boys, less spy-themed than Eoin Colfer’s Artemis Fowl or Horowitz’s own Alex Rider, the protagonist teens in this series are mostly clueless while the world crumbles around them—and they save it by some supernatural miracle. So there’s that, if you like that sort of thing.

I can’t see these hitting even the small screen anytime soon.