2026/124: Annie Bot — Sierra Greer

Doug and all the other humans talk about their lives with a myopic intensity, sharing singular, subjective opinions as if they are each the protagonist of their own novel. ... they treat their fellow humans as guest protagonists visiting from their own respective books. None of the humans are satellites the way she is, in her orbit around Doug. [p. 215]

Annie is in an abusive relationship with Doug: he says she's fat, criticises her housework, and chooses her lingerie. She's not allowed to go online without permission / supervision. He punishes her with the silent treatment.

It's all right, though </sarcasm> because Annie isn't a real woman. She's a bot -- an artificial being grown in a lab from a human embryo and mechanical components. Doug literally owns her: he purchased her, as a 'Cuddle Bunny' (sexbot), and he gets to decide everything about her, from her breast size to how high her libido is set. (One horrific scene has him setting libido to 10 and then locking her in a closet: she can't 'simulate orgasm' without him inside her, and she is desperate.) But Doug has also switched on 'auto-didact' mode, and Annie is evolving as she learns more about the world -- and about herself. She's also learnt, somehow, to keep a secret -- one that she knows would hurt Doug.

Annie's growing self-awareness, and her understanding of her situation, is powerfully conveyed. I am not sure I liked this novel, but I did want to keep reading to see how Annie evolved. Because it's a first-person narrative, embedded in Annie's physical and mental experience, it has an immediacy that's lacking in some other works with comparable themes. And Doug, for all his many faults, isn't a two-dimensional villain. He changes (perhaps even grows) over the course of the novel. He based Annie's appearance on his ex-wife Gwen, and it's possible to infer the story of Doug and Gwen's relationship from Doug's reactions to Annie. But even at his best, he's pretty bad.

Read because: this book won the Arthur C Clarke Award, and I was curious.

2026/123: The Edge of Memory — Patrick Nunn

Literacy is tyrannical, for it encourages us to undervalue our pasts –- the knowledge amassed by those countless ancestors of ours who could neither read nor write.

Subtitled 'Ancient Stories, Oral Tradition and the Post-Glacial World', Nunn's thesis is that preliterate societies encoded and passed down observations of natural disasters in folk tales. He opens with a discussion of Klamath stories about Crater Lake in Oregon. According to the stories, there was a demon who dwelt in a mountain and terrorised the local people with earthquakes and falls of hot rock. The demon was defeated by a spirit who pulled the mountain down and made a lake instead. This is, according to Nunn, a fair fictionalisation of what actually happened when the caldera was formed ... 7,700 years ago. If the story is an account of actual events, it's been passed down for 300 generations.

The bulk of the book deals with Aboriginal myths that include information about sea level rise and coastal drowning. Nunn recounts more than twenty of these, which began to feel a bit repetitive: but he believes each story explains a local phenomenon, such as the disappearance of an island or the flooding of a bay. He also discusses similar stories from India, and from north-west Europe: Doggerland, and especially the Scillies, which were once rather higher above water (and thus had fewer distinct islands). There's also an intriguing mention of a folktale from Italy which seems to record a meteorite impact in the 4th or 5th century, which disrupted a pagan ritual and convinced the locals to convert to Christianity. (I am unable to access the article on which this is based, but there's more about the theory on wikipedia.)

I wasn't wholly convinced by some of the interpretations, but I do accept the core tenet that folk tales can be fictionalised accounts of actual events, and can be passed on for many generations. And it's certainly true that 'our ancestors', as in 'prehistoric humans', lived through some drastic geological, astronomical and meteorological events. I'd like to read more on this topic.

Excellent narration by Peter Silverleaf, who sounded engaged and enthusiastic throughout.

Read because: I'm fascinated by the notion of stories being passed down, specifically from prehistoric/preliterate times, as a way of remembering important events.

2026/122: The Smart Neanderthal — Clive Finlayson

[the] sweeping statements made by some archaeologists, such as birds are fast-moving prey or hard to catch, are gross overgeneralizations which reveal an absence of natural history understanding, an understanding that intelligent Neanderthals would have had. [loc. 1382]

Finlayson is a keen ornithologist and archaeologist who lives in Gibraltar: much of this book is devoted to his excavations at the Gorham's Cave system, and to his ornithological expeditions in Gibraltar and southern Spain. His aim in this short book is to prove that Neanderthals were cognitive equals to modern humans: 'they made blades; they made complex tools; they had personal ornaments in the form of eagle feathers; they used ochre either to paint themselves or to make paintings, or both; they made engravings in cave walls; and they had sophisticated economic and social organization that included detailed planning of hunting activities at specific times of the year for particular prey. The prey often included birds.' [loc. 2678].

Though his prose is occasionally lacklustre, the sense of scientific excitement comes across strongly -- as does the grind of archaeological excavation, the care which must be taken with each specimen. His descriptions of observing eagles, vultures and corvids in the wild, acquiring an understanding of their habits and behaviour in the same way as Neanderthals may have done, are compelling. And I gained a better understanding of how climate change (the Ice Age and its aftermath) would have affected Neanderthal populations, fragmenting their territory and isolating communities.

Read because: I've been fascinated by Neanderthals, and by their differences to modern humans, since I first read The Clan of the Cave Bear (which was impeccably researched, though some of the data is dated now).

2026/121: The Salt King — Natasha Pulley

Avelyn thought of saints in paintings again. There were often other paintings hidden underneath that final layer of colour. You could see them under the right kind of light, those deeper iterations where the saint was not smiling, or where instead of cotton, they wore armour. The more time he spent with Jericho, the more he saw flashes of armour. [loc. 4493]

Avelyn Brocken is a Jesuit priest, 'sent from the Vatican to investigate something that was either miraculous or requiring an exorcist'. He is the only person in the Vatican who speaks Hreod -- the language of Hreodwater, a remote and inaccessible place somewhere in East Anglia that does not appear on any maps, contains the most valuable salt mine in Europe, is a place of pilgrimage, and seems to have been the site of a miracle. An American priest walked again after two years in a wheelchair ... and then, on camera, turned to a pillar of salt.

Avelyn very much does not want to return to Hreodwater. He left after his entire family were killed, and has spent the intervening decade or so lasering off his tattoos, studying, and aware that (unlike his mentor, Father Li) he feels nothing during worship, except cold. He has come to understand, over the last decade, that he was raised in a cult: but he still believes that there is something beneath Hreodwater: something called the Salt King, that has protected the community for centuries. He does not believe it is good.

Meanwhile, in Jordan, nuclear safety inspector Dr Tallis Osho is investigating a mysterious structure in the desert, which may be emitting radiation. Her colleague Dr Saloman Akhbar identifies the black metal spikes protecting the structure as silver. There are other anomalies from around the world: coins always landing heads-up, electronic equipment failing and emitting spikes of salt, random number generators no longer being random (with calamitous consequences for capitalism), fortune tellers finding clear images in coffee grounds and sand... 

But the focus is on Avelyn, and his uncomfortable friendship with / attraction to Jericho (the doctor at Hreodwater), and the gradual revelations of the events leading up to his departure from Hreodwater. It's a strange place, with a subterranean abbey, an ancient language -- and a strange 'salt light', that only Hreoda can see, which illuminates wonders and horrors.

I loved this, despite some flaws -- Tallis's story felt distinctly secondary to Avelyn's -- and some disappointments. Avelyn is very much a product of his training, and he holds some views that I found unpleasant. Pulley doesn't gloss over the scandals of the Church, either: Father Li is viewed with suspicion in some quarters for having 'abducted' Avelyn and taken him to Rome. God, apparently, told him to do it.  

As usual in Pulley's novels, there is plenty of humour, often in footnotes, to lighten the darker aspects of the novel. And there are mammoths, cephalopods, Dionysus, shield walls, and linguistic oddities. It's not a wholly happy ending for all concerned, but I found it very satisfying.

Read because: Natasha Pulley is my favourite author (and I had to wait until publication day because Netgalley don't give me her books in advance).

“Are you, like, neurodiverse?”
“No, I’m a Jesuit.” [loc. 1656]

2026/120: Our Noble Selves — Kate Atkinson

He wasn't whole, he would never be whole, but, like the hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of men before him who had returned from a war, he was getting on with his life by treating the past as if it barely existed. [loc. 217]

Before the war, Harry Flynn was a reporter; then, very briefly, a war reporter; and finally a POW working on the Burma Railway. In post-war London he drifts miserably, only vaguely aware of the planned Festival of Britain. One day he encounters his old boss in St James's Park, and is offered a job in the Festival Office, 'sopping up all the bits and pieces of Festival business that no else else cared to'. He shares his office with 'Badger', a.k.a. Mr Badgley, who doesn't talk about his war work; Evans, who survived shipwreck in the Arctic; and 'the Boy', who is 14, illiterate, working class, and a delight. 

One night Flynn goes for a drink with a rather obnoxious Frenchwoman named Delphine Dubois. He wakes up the next morning with a black eye and a gap in his memory -- and Delphine has disappeared. Naturally, suspicion falls on Flynn. Even under suspicion of murder, though, he still has a job to do -- dealing with a celebrity cook and her nefarious husband, a stepdaughter and a dog, a Festival anthology of appalling poetry, and a plethora of plaster doves...

There is a lot of detail about the Festival here, but it's woven around a thriller about spies, double agents and fascists. As usual with Kate Atkinson, it's easy to get sidetracked by the asides, the characters, the setting: London in 1951 is a city still emerging from the horrors of war, and though the Festival is intended as a boost to morale and a taste of a peacetime future, there are plenty (including the Daily Express) who fulminate about the cost, the inherent classism, the London-centric nature of the main event. Plus ça change.

Flynn is somewhat naive but generally a good man: the novel is told, third-person, from his perspective, and the attentive reader will find significance where Flynn does not. This is a hopeful novel, despite its gentle mockery of British art and attitudes.  I found Atkinson's afterword -- where, as well as describing her research, she sets out her reasons for not writing about Flynn's war -- interesting, too. 

Read because: spotted it on Netgalley and was intrigued by the premise and setting: I generally enjoy Atkinson's novels, and this was no exception.

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for the advance review copy, in exchange for this full honest review. UK Publication Date is 10th September 2026.

2026/119: The Moor's Account — Laila Lalami

How strange, I remember thinking, how utterly strange were the ways of the Castilians—just by saying that something was so, they believed that it was. I know now that these conquerors, like many others before them, and no doubt like others after, gave speeches not to voice the truth, but to create it. [chapter 1]

The Moor's Account tells the story of 'Estebanico', a Moroccan slave who was among the four survivors of the 600-strong Narváez expedition, an expedition to the so-called New World in 1527. 'Estebanico' is the name forced, by the Spanish, upon a trader from Azemmour, Mustafa ibn Muhommad ibn Abdussalam al-Zamori, after he sells himself into slavery to save his family from poverty and starvation. And the 'New World' is neither unknown nor uninhabited.

Within a year of the expedition landing in what's now Florida, there are only four survivors: three Castilian gentlemen -- among them Mustafa's owner, Andrés de Dorantes -- and Mustafa himself. Sometimes together, sometimes not, they travel westward, living among indigenous tribes (some more welcoming than others) and becoming healers, using a combination of folk medicine, storytelling and prayer. But the Castilians never lose sight of their primary purpose -- to find gold, more gold, all the gold -- while Mustafa's experience as a trader and then as trade goods has taught him that not everything has, or should have, a price. 

Eventually, they are found by a group of Spanish slavers and taken to Tenochtitlan (Mexico City), where arrangements are slowly made for them to return to Spain. The three Castilians are asked for their accounts of the expedition: Mustafa, mentioned only once in the Castilian reports ('The fourth [survivor] is Estebanico, an Arab Negro from Azamor') and is not asked to contribute his own version of events.

Mustafa observes that the Castilians' accounts of the years in the wilderness, they omit a great deal: cannibalism, theft, rape, murder, and their Native American wives. (Not real wives, Dorantes assures him: they weren't married in church.)  Mustafa has sustained himself by dreams of returning to Azemmour: but he too has married a Native American woman, now pregnant, and is increasingly disturbed by the invaders' attitude to the indigenous peoples. Dorantes' reluctance to free Mustafa, despite all they've endured together, crystallises his determination to free himself. 

This felt long, perhaps because it was repetitive: tribe after tribe, misfortune after misfortune: it's under 400 pages in print. I listened to the audiobook, read by Neil Shah, and found the exaggerated Spanish accents rather grating. But it is a fascinating story, and Mustafa's perspective is quite unlike that of the Spaniards. The style is that of an Arabic travel text: dates are given according to the Islamic calendar, and places in the Old World are referred to by their Arabic names. The narrative switches between Mustafa's early life in Azemmour and his adventures as part of the expedition, each chapter entitled 'The Story of...': the parallel narratives show how Mustafa's response to the New World is shaped by his own past, and that of his people.

Two interesting resources I found when I was reading about the historical background: an analysis of the 'official' accounts with reference to the tribes they may have encountered, and Lalami's own set of resources.

Read because:I enjoyed The Dream Hotel, and when contemplating the 'Storygraph Reads the World: Morocco' prompt this drew my attention.

2026/118: The Magician of Tiger Castle — Louis Sachar

By the way, when the princess said the king called me Esquaveta's Leonardo, he was referring to Leonardo da Vinci. Just thought I ought to point that out in case it slipped past you. [p. 127]

We first meet Anatole -- overweight, short and hairless -- in a coffee bar in what used to be a country called Esquaveta. He's musing on the tigers that roam the castle moat, and on the history of the castle itself: then, abruptly, he's reminiscing about the arrival of the very first tiger in 1523, when he was the court magician, working on turning black sand into gold, and performing a series of proto-scientific experiments. ('In the 1500s, science and magic were virtually indistinguishable.') Gradually, he tells the story of how, tasked with ensuring that Princess Tullia of Esquaveta married Prince Dalrympl of Oxatania, he had to contend with Tullia falling in love with penniless scribe Pito. His solution? Create a potion that makes each of them forget the other.

Needless to say, it is not that simple. Oh, the potions work: they didn't have ethics in 1523, apparently, so it's fine not to tell either of his subjects what the potion does, and anyway that would negate its effects. But the potion he uses to postpone the wedding is not the lethal poison expected, and he's forced to flee, with two cantankerous lovers in tow. Can Anatole reach freedom? Can Tullia and Pito survive long enough to marry? And why is Anatole so attached to one of his laboratory animals?

This was announced as Sachar's first novel for adults, though it felt quite YA to me: the plethora of historical factoids ('In 1523 fire was started by striking flint against a piece of iron'; a description of how a hurdy-gurdy works; why ale is was healthier than water) was occasionally intrusive, and the overall tone reminded me of The Princess Bride, though rather more cynical. I didn't really warm to the characters, except Luigi the mouse. A pleasant enough read but not one I'll revisit.

Read because: it was on offer as a Kindle Daily Deal, and I was intrigued by the idea of an adult fantasy novel from the author of Holes.