2020/78: You First -- J C Lillis

... it is generally delightful when an alligator makes an obscure 'Waiting for Godot' reference. [loc. 1870]

Jay and Lev have been together for thirteen years. Both have superpowers -- Jay can manipulate water, Lev can talk to animals (though only pests and nuisances) -- but it's Jay who's been working on improving his powers. And Jay who's just been awarded a medal for saving lives during a local flood. And Jay who's now being recruited for a high-powered super-hero job three thousand miles from home.

Lev feels that he's being left behind: but he's never wanted more than the 'the tiny, trivial, thrift-shop music box of a life' that he and Jay have built. He'd like to carry on performing, with Jay, their little magic show in the park. He tries to enhance his own powers, with the help of a mysterious mentor: but that doesn't work out quite as expected. And though the animals he talks to are as full of advice and admonishment as Jay's family and Lev's own mother, Lev isn't ready to simply fall in line with Jay's plans.

On the one hand, I really liked the world-building here: the super-powers visited upon a tiny fraction of the world's teenagers one day in 1960, and inherited by their children; the 'cliche' of naming powered children alliteratively (Jay Jantzen, Levon Ludlow, Audrey Avila); the nihilist chipmunks, philosophical cockroaches and hateful snakes. On the other hand, I found Lev an uncomfortable narrator, because his lack of confidence and constant anxiety were so clearly and vividly written, and so raw. And the tension between Lev and Jay, with attendant arguments and dishonesty, was really painful and upsetting to read.

There is a happy ending of sorts (HFN, in romance parlance) -- and, apparently, a sequel in the works, which I shall need to read in the hope of more resolution ... and also more alligators! -- but for all its lightheartedness and wit, this is an emotionally devastating novel which I wish I'd read at a happier and more stable time.

Or perhaps, thinking about it, at a time when I felt less constrained by the state of the world. After all, You First is, in part, a novel about choosing the life you want, the future you deserve ...

2020/77: Star Island -- Carl Hiaasen

Of all the stars who were crashing and burning, Cherry Pye seemed most likely to beat the others to the grave, and for that reason she’d become a focus of Bang Abbott’s morbid scrutiny. Although she was neither as global nor as gifted as Jackson, she was a wild, hot babe and would therefore, in his view, be worth plenty of money dead. [loc. 520]

After reading Bad Monkey, I had a craving for more Hiaasen, so purchased and read this. I found it disappointing, though: possibly just because it's a riff on empty celebrity culture rather than a murder mystery, possibly because some of the characters (Skink and Chemo) would be familiar to serious Hiaasen fans but weren't to me, and thus I missed out on the pleasure of meeting them again.

Cherry Pye is a carefully-moulded pop star with unsanitary habits (sex, drugs, booze, and other bad behaviour), a rapacious manager, and a paparazzi stalker with a crush. She is out of control and unreliable -- which is why she also has a stunt double, Ann de Lucia, who is paid to show up and be photographed and keep the Cherry Pye brand alive and kicking. Cherry, of course, knows nothing of Ann: they have never met. But Ann is easily mistaken for Cherry ...

Star Island was amusing in places, and Hiaasen's gift for riffing on detail remains enjoyable: but I really didn't click with this one at all. Which might, after all, just be that I disliked most of the protagonists, and found some of the misogyny (characters', not author's) slimy, nauseating and far too credible.

2020/76: Doctor Brite: Coroner in New Orleans -- Poppy Z Brite

"There’s no such thing as ‘out of character,’ Hank. There’s only realizing you don’t know someone as well as you thought you did. Including yourself.” [loc. 275]

I've very much enjoyed Brite's 'Liquor' series (Liquor, Prime, The Value of X, Second Line, Soul Kitchen) and, when looking for something with a similar feel to Hiaasen, this collection of Doc Brite stories -- featuring Brite's alter ego, the coroner of New Orleans -- attracted my attention.

Evidence suggests that I've already read most, if not all, of these stories in The Devil You Know, but none of them rang a bell. On the other hand, there've been a lot of books under the bridge in the last 14 years ...

The stories are varied in narrative viewpoint, theme (cannibalism, resurrection, a passage to Hell) and tone, but they share an interest in food and restaurants, and in the culture and ambience of New Orleans. 'Doc Brite' the character comes across as surprisingly prim and somewhat withdrawn, which makes the first-person narrations all the more interesting. I especially liked 'Marisol', a cheery tale of vengeance, and 'O Death Where is Thy Spatula', about paying the price: and experienced a wave of nostalgia for the Liquor books -- inexplicably unavailable in English-language ebook editions. Brite's writing here is atmospheric, lush without being overwritten, and with a calm dry wit that complements the extravagance of the plots.

2020/75: Bad Monkey -- Carl Hiaasen

Sergeant Mendez denied all wrongdoing but was quietly reassigned to the K-9 division. Soon thereafter he was bitten in the groin by a Belgian shepherd trainee named Kong, and he required three operations, culminating in a scrotal graft from a Brahma steer. [p. 13]

The perfect beach read, which I consumed on my first beach trip of 2020. Hiaasen at his best is laugh-out-loud funny, cheerfully satirical, and capable of combining disparate characters (including, in this instance, a capuchin monkey alleged to have starred in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies) and ornate plot complications (such as a lovingly-created occult shrine) with evocative Florida / Caribbean locations and hilariously detailed asides.

Andrew Yancy, on suspension from Key West police due to an incident involving a handheld vacuum cleaner and his soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend's husband, is redeployed as a restaurant inspector. (Note to self: never ever eat anything in a Florida restaurant, ever.) He becomes involved in the case of a severed human arm, indicative of the demise of Nick Stripling, entrepreneur and fraudster. Stripling's daughter thinks he was murdered: Yancy's contact at the morgue thinks the arm may not actually be the sole relic of a tragic boating accident, as is initially assumed. Meanwhile, an amiable chap named Neville is trying to prevent his home being destroyed by corrupt development, and engages the services of the local voodoo practitioner -- who takes a fancy to Neville's monkey, Driggs.

I will not detail the convolutions of the plot, except to say that everything ties together very satisfactorily and justice triumphs. An extremely enjoyable read, though I was a little uncomfortable with the dialect presentation of Bahamian dialogue: “He was in de movies wit Johnny Depp. It’s no lie.” “Cap’n Jack Sparrow? You fulla crap. Your boy played de bod monkey?” [p. 121] Do I class this as racist? (There are other black characters whose speech isn't rendered thus.) Classist? maybe ...

I do wonder if there are female writers exploring similar crime/thriller/satire territory. Suggestions welcome!

2020/74: Body in the Woods -- Sarah Lotz

The rot in the garden is getting worse. There are now small pockets of mulchy, foul-smelling earth in amongst the beds, as if the land is softly rotting from the inside. Iain says the mould on the steps is perfectly natural (despite the fact that we’re having a dry summer). I’ve tried washing it off with the power-hose, but within hours it’s back. [loc. 721]

Another Newcon Press novella; a quick and not wholly satisfactory read. Claire and her husband, the mostly-absent Iain, have moved from London to the countryside, where Claire is doing up a cottage adjoining their house for the AirBnb market. One rainy night, Claire hears someone outside the house: it turns out to be her old friend Dean, who had taken her drunken vow to help him hide a body rather more literally than she intended.

That's the beginning of the story. In a series of flashbacks we see how Claire's friendship with Dean -- and with Dean's wife Mae -- has evolved over the years. Dean and Mae supported Claire when she was a single mother enduring a series of breakups with ghastly men: their son Zack and Claire's son Jake are close friends. And now Claire has helped Dean bury a body: but whose?

Claire's gradual disintegration is mirrored in the rot and chaos she perceives around her. She alienates her only local friend, the reliable (and aphasic) Sam; she becomes obsessed with rumours about the farmer who lives alone up the hill, whose wife went missing. She repeatedly tries to get Dean to tell her the truth about the dead body he brought to her: but it becomes obvious that not only is Dean being dishonest with his explanations, but honesty hasn't ever been a defining trait of his. The body wasn't, isn't, the only burden he's bestowed on Claire over the years.

The end of this novella is really the only ending that would work, but it felt somehow ... inconclusive: unsatisfying. But it works.

2020/71-73: SPECTR Series 3: Stalker of Shadows, Bringer of Night, Seeker of Truth -- Jordan L Hawk

“You are more important to me than hunting.”
John couldn’t help but chuckle, even though he knew Gray was perfectly sincere. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“It is,” Gray agreed. [Stalker of Shadows, loc 759]

I started Stalker of Shadows and was laughing out loud within a few pages: because yes, obviously Caleb, on relocating to New Orleans, would become a vampire-tour guide. (See that hyphen?) And obviously Gray would regard vampire stories as 'mortal nonsense'.

Exorcist John Starkweather (still suffering from the aftermath of the series 2 finale) has ended up, with Caleb and Gray, in New Orleans. His remit is allegedly to keep an eye out for major paranormal issues, but realistically he's just there to ensure that Caleb and Gray don't ditch SPECTR in favour of doing their own thing, whatever that might be.

John quickly discovers that he has more problems than keeping his lovers happy. There is something powerful gathering in the wilderness to the east of the city -- and an attack on a long-estranged family member forces John to confront memories of his teenage years. But somehow he can't make sense of those memories any more. Does he even know his own name?

I steamed through these three novellas in a single day, and now I have to wait for ages to get the conclusion of the story. I'm happy that John finally has a story arc that focuses on his history, rather than his relationship with Caleb and Gray: he's become more interesting to me.

Also, yay Zahira!

2020/70: SPECTR: The Complete Second Series -- Jordan L Hawk

“In all those years, he must have had mortals who served him. Perhaps he calls them something else?”
“I never cared about mortals until I had a living body. Unless they were possessed. Then I ate them.” [loc. 5003]

There are five short books in this omnibus edition, but I barely noticed the joins.

The second series of SPECTR picks up some months after the end of Series One. John and Caleb (and Gray) are working for SPECTR, but Gray is chafing at the restrictions -- such as caring more about saving possessed mortals than eating the demons possessing them -- and Caleb is uncomfortably aware that he represents nothing more than a very valuable Gray-container to SPECTR. To complicate matters, John's boss Kaniyar has been promoted, and he and Caleb now report to District Chief Barillo, a micromanager who's out of his depth and who strongly disapproves of John's liaison (professional and personal) with a 'faust', or demon-possessed individual. On the plus side, there's a new member of their team, Zahira Noorzai, who thinks Gray is 'amazing'.

Luckily Caleb is not without resources. He finds a support group for people with mild paranormal abilities (though obviously he can't tell them about his co-pilot), and then -- even better -- encounters another drakul, as powerful as Gray, and his charming host Yuri. Maybe it's time for Caleb and Gray to learn a bit more about the demon-infested world and their place in it.

Like series 1, this was a quick read that built steadily to a pyrotechnic finale but didn't sacrifice characterisation, humour or style. There's plenty of tension, a genuine sense of development, and even more diversity than in the first series. There's a lot about gender in this series: there's also a mature and sensitive examination of the interplay between trust and love. John, Caleb and Gray negotiate the dynamics of their poly relationship, and the complex web of loyalties and affection, imperfectly but satisfactorily.

And I was extremely happy that, amid the somewhat stylised hyperviolence, the big bad was defeated by a mortal woman with a heartfelt grudge.

Onto season 3 except oh wait, it isn't complete yet ...
... never mind, I'll read in installments.

2020/69: SPECTR: The Complete First Series -- Jordan L Hawk

Single entity, 10,000 years old, seeks same. Must be into inhabiting dead bodies and drinking the blood of the possessed. [loc. 899]

This is technically six (short) books but published in, and devoured as, an omnibus edition. The premise is simple: demons exist, though the modern term is NHE, Non Human Entity. They possess humans, and must be driven out before the possession becomes permanent -- a forty-day window. Government bodies such as, in the US, SPECTR (Strategic Paranormal Entity Control) employ exorcists like John Starkweather to drive NHEs out of their hosts and into bottles,enabling them to be humanely euthanised. But when Caleb Jansen, an artist and part-time barista, becomes host to the powerful demon that was previously walking around in his brother's corpse, John's world view is shaken. This demon names itself Gray (because Caleb is its first living host, and everything is suddenly in colour) and seems resistant to, and rather amused by, John's efforts at exorcism: and both John and Caleb come to realise that Gray is not their average NHE.

This was a fast and utterly gripping read, with three compelling and well-drawn protagonists and a host of supporting characters, including plenty who aren't white men. It's a romance, a tale of corruption and hidden agendas, and an examination of demon ecology and the ways in which the presence of demons affects the world. ('the 9-11 demons'; registration for anyone with paranormal abilities, unless they can hide their gifts; the underlying truths of mythology ...) Each of the six books in this omnibus features a different demonic threat (wendigo, succubus, drakul, et cetera) and this first 'season', which builds episode by episode to a grand finale, spans a period of just over a month.

I didn't really engage with my first Jordan L Hawk read (Widdershins) but I found the SPECTR setting, style and voice -- third-person, alternating between the three protagonists, one of whom exists in present tense ("there is only ever now") -- more enjoyable. Perhaps the humour is more apparent here, or perhaps it's the characters that appealed. I certainly approved of the percentage of strong female colleagues and antagonists, and the lack of feminisation of the male characters. (Gray has some interesting views on gender and sex, too.) And the modern-day Charleston setting makes an excellent backdrop.

So of course I instantly bought the second-series omnibus ...

2020/068: Chosen Spirits -- Samit Basu

'Dystopia is pornographic, Olamina. You see it and shiver but it's also kind of fun because it's happening somewhere else, to someone else, you know? It requires distance. Some of us are actually sitting in the fucking middle of it and we may never learn to care in time. This isn’t dystopia. This is reality.’ [loc. 2347]

Delhi, the near future: Joey (Bijoyini Roy) is an Associate Reality Controller, running the Flow (live, curated, multichannel videostream) of Indi, a popular entertainment Icon who also happens to be her ex. She hires Rudra, a family friend who's being pressured into abetting his family's exploitative concerns: this sparks a chain of events that open Joey's eyes to the inequity, corruption and superficiality of the society in which she lives.

That's a poor summary of a complex and dynamic novel: I had the same feeling of sensory overload and hurtling plot that I recall from early cyberpunk novels, and the same desire to keep reading, to immerse myself in this new milieu. Basu's Delhi is far from idyllic: constant, AI-driven surveillance, Residents' Associations enforcing local restrictions, water shortages, deadly heat, riots and violence, caste and class, and the ubiquitous 'smarttatt' assistant, Narad, that probably has Siri somewhere in its ancestry.

Joey's parents look back to the Years Not to Be Discussed -- basically our own present day -- before which it was safe to express controversial opinions, go outside without a mask, et cetera. "... they'd known the end times were coming but hadn't known they'd be multiple choice." Joey and Rudri know the world has changed, but -- being privileged, liberal upper-middle-class types (I do not pretend to understand the interaction of class and caste) -- are only vaguely aware of the dissent and revolution bubbling under the city's multicultural, media-focussed milieu. But the resistance is growing. Protests are advertised via hidden QR codes in kolams, including their 'potential bloodshed rating'; Joey's parents' housekeeper, Laxmi, shows Joey the Flows of illegal immigrants and street people; and Rudri is transformed from scion of a slave-trading family to ... something quite different.

Chosen Spirits was an immensely satisfying read, despite its uncomforting depiction of the future. It's thoroughly and joyfully Indian -- cultural and regional concerns focus on China and to some extent Africa, not Europe or America: "we never thought America was better than us" -- and full of unfamiliar words (kuàizi, laifu, pyravikar, saptaparni, zenana). It acknowledges the ecology of modern media: "asteroid belts of stans, shippers, fan-fiction Flowers, re-enactors and deep-fake pornographers". Its inequalities are intersectional: race, class, gender, caste and more. And it is thoroughly science-fictional, with notions that'd anchor a simpler novel simply mentioned in passing. Highly recommended.

2020/067: My Year of Rest and Relaxation -- Ottessa Moshfegh

I can't point to any one event that resulted in my decision to go into hibernation. Initially, I just wanted some downers to drown out my thoughts and judgments, since the constant barrage made it hard not to hate everyone and everything. [p. 17]

The unnamed narrator of My Year of Rest and Relaxation is the archetypal 'poor little rich girl': white, beautiful, wealthy and cultured, but desperately unhappy. I'm not sure the author intended us to empathise with her, but I did, to some extent. However, it's abundantly clear that she is not a nice person. She's blind to her own privilege, vile to her best friend Reva, a pathological liar, selfish and manipulative. She's obsessed with her abusive and manipulative ex, and contemptuous of the NYC art gallery where she works.

She is also suffering from severe mental illness, and her solution is to spend a year 'hibernating', sleeping or doped up as much as possible, to refresh and renew herself. With the aid of her 'irresponsible and weird' psychiatrist, Dr. Tuttle, she experiments with a cocktail of psychoactive drugs that, realistically, would probably kill anyone who took so many for so long. Infermiterol (the author's invention) turns out to be the the solution: it bestows three-day blackouts during which the protagonist apparently shops, goes clubbing, smokes cigarettes and so on, but of which she retains no memory.

At the beginning of the novel, the protagonist describes her urge to hibernate as 'the opposite of suicide ... self-preservational': but to me it seemed as though she was trying to erase herself, continuing the erasure perpetrated by her parents, her classmates, her various exes, even her (only) friend Reva. None of those people seem to perceive our narrator, or engage with her emotionally: they may as well be talking to, interacting with, themselves. Even Dr Tuttle, dispenser of pharmaceuticals, isn't interested enough to challenge any of the narrator's lies.

I found myself empathising with the narrator at various points: some of her experiences of rejection echoed some of mine. And I empathised with her urge to curl up and hide from the world. The image at the end of the novel, "a human being, diving into the unknown, and she is wide awake" [p. 289] affected me strongly, though that may just be because of the actual event it fictionalised.

Gorgeous writing, savage satire, horrible-yet-pitiable narrator: I'm not sure I'd call this an enjoyable novel but I found it compelling.

2020/066: Winter Tide -- Ruthanna Emrys

Someone lied about us, about what we did in our temples and on beaches such as this. The government believed them: when I was twelve they sent soldiers, and carried us away to the desert, and held us imprisoned there. [p. 26]

Ruthanna Emrys' Winter Tide is a subversion of Lovecraft's The Shadow over Innsmouth: here, the monsters are white men, and the narrative focusses on characters -- Aphra and Caleb Marsh, Ron Spector, Professor Trumbull, Dorothy Dawson, Neko Koto, Charlie Day -- who are variously 'other', Jewish or queer or female or Japanese or Black.

Aphra and Caleb are the last two survivors of Innsmouth, having endured eighteen years in an internment camp, where they were befriended and helped by the Koto family when Japanese-Americans were interned during WWII. Aphra is working in a bookstore and, together with her boss Charlie, trying to piece together the ancient rituals and traditions that are her heritage, when she is approached by FBI agent Ron Spector, who wants her help in investigating a Russian spy ring which might be trying to use ancient body-swapping techniques to infiltrate the highest offices of government. In exchange, Aphra and her brother will gain access to the library at Miskatonic, where books stolen from Innsmouth -- their heritage and history -- have been locked away. During the course of their investigation they encounter a Yith (time-travelling body-swapping archivist) in human form, a young African-American woman whose FBI assignment is deeply repugnant, and a number of irritating white men.

I admired this novel a great deal: the prose is lovely and the examination and reframing of Lovecraftian 'horrors' from within is thoroughly convincing. I didn't really warm to Aphra, for some reason: perhaps her hard-earned detachment, perhaps my own emotional state. But I am interested enough in the plot and setting to want to read the second in the series, Deep Roots. And the themes -- found family, reclaiming one's heritage, pushing back against expectation -- are ones that resonate, for me.

2020/065: Nomads -- Dave Hutchinson

“I’m empowered, on behalf of Her Majesty’s government, to welcome you to Earth,” she went on, “but first I need to know how long you’ve been here and where your home solar system is.”
Pep burst out laughing. [loc. 986]

A novella of two halves: in the first part, we meet Sergeant Frank Grant, comfortably policing a rural area somewhere in Yorkshire. Unfortunately, his report on an intruder at a remote farmhouse attracts the attention of Internal Affairs, and Frank has to abandon some long-range plans. The second half of the story makes it obvious that he's not going back to his flat above the police station -- though it's not at all clear what he'll be doing instead.

It's hard to write much about Nomads without giving the plot away (the quotation at the top of this review doesn't spoil anything), but there are hints and allusions scattered through the opening chapters that combine to produce a sense of oddness, and make complete sense after the Big Reveal. I did feel, though, that the final few chapters were rushed: there's a lot more story to tell, and I'd love to read it.

Like all of Hutchinson's work, there's a low-key comfortable cynicism and some dry wit here. The everyday business of subterfuge -- safe houses, minders, decoys and press releases -- is sometimes reminiscent of Le Carre: no glamour here. Frank is a pragmatic protagonist, not given to bemoaning his lot, and possibly not as wholesome as his narrative suggests. I would like to see more of him.

2020/064: Passionate Travellers -- Trish Nicholson

(Note that we are prying: Montaigne did not intend his travel journal for publication, but it is too rich a document to be forgotten, and we will be discreet.) [loc. 2529]

The travellers' tales in this volume are organised by geographical region, and then by period: so, under 'Central Asia and India' we find Fâxiân (a Buddhist monk) travelling in 399CE; Alexandra David-Neel, entering Tibet in disguise in 1924; and missionary Mildred Cable, travelling to Huozhou in 1901.

Statistically it's an interesting mix: 8 women, 13 men; the earliest is Herodotus, ~428BCE (his account was one of the finds at Oxyrhynchus), the most recent Gladys Aylward, 1932. Many journeyed for religious reasons, others for sheer love of adventure. (And one chap crossed America on a penny-farthing, because he could.)

I read this book over a period of several months, partly because some of the travelogues are better reading than others (I especially enjoyed the chapters on Robert Louis Stephenson, Alexandra David-Neel and Octavie Coudreau) and partly because I found it more pleasant to dip into these tales -- remote in time and space, but filled with timeless concerns and recognisable idiosyncrasies -- than to read them all in one rush. For one thing, a lot of the journeys start off with the problems of travel in that place at that time ...

A few minor issues ('white and guilt paintwork'; a claim that the lowest temperature on Earth was recorded in Tibet; a reluctance to call Byzantium by that name; references to 19th-century attitudes in a chapter about a 20th-century journey) but they didn't spoil an intriguing book, which introduced me to travellers that I hadn't heard of before.

2020/063: Creatures of Will and Temper -- Molly Tanzer

...they were connected by a will not their own that loved them both equally and sought to add their uniqueness to its understanding of the world. [p. 305]

Evadne and Dorina Gray are sisters, but there's little common ground between them. Dorina is the golden child, indulged by their parents, fond of art and clothes and beauty: Evadne is plain, restrained, and a practitioner of the unfeminine art of fencing. When she inadvertently witnesses her sister debauching one of the local girls, she tattles to their mother -- and ends up as chaperone to Dorina on the latter's long-anticipated trip to London. The girls are to stay with their uncle, the painter Basil Hallward, and Dorina hopes that he will help her in her ambition to become a noted art critic.

But Basil is reserved and melancholy, mourning the death of the close friend he's immortalising in oils, and all would be dire for Dorina if she had not been introduced to Basil's friend Lady Henrietta Wootton, known as Henry. Henry's aesthetic interests intrigue Dorina, while Evadne is appalled to see a grown woman dressing in men's suits.

Evadne seeks solace in a fencing school, recommended by the young man she hoped to marry: Dorina throws herself into the social whirl that has Henry at its heart. But both the fencing school and the aesthetes' dinner parties harbour secrets which put the girls in danger ...

Victorian lesbians! Diabolists! Fencing! Art! And a dialogue with Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray! (As the author says in her afterword, "envisioned through a glass…not darkly, but brightly": this is a much more cheerful tale than Wilde's original.) I found the final few chapters rather breathless, and the epilogue glossed over too many aspects of the situation: but this was a madly enjoyable read with a complex and credible relationship between the sisters, and tantalising hints of the relationship between Lady Henry and her ginger-loving guest. (The diabolism in this novel is quite different to the usual midnight sacrifices and raving possession.) The villain wasn't too difficult to identify, especially given some of their habits, but on the whole the plot progressed satisfactorily.

2020/062: Daisy Jones and the Six -- Taylor Jenkins Reid

Daisy: I had absolutely no interest in being somebody else’s muse. I am not a muse. I am the somebody. End of fucking story. [loc. 393]

A rockumentary in the form of a novel, Daisy Jones and the Six is told entirely in interview format, featuring the voices of The Six, their erstwhile singer Daisy, and various friends, colleagues and lovers. It's set in the 1970s -- I was horrified to discover that this is tagged as 'historical fiction' by many on Goodreads! It can't be history, I remember those years! -- and examines groupie culture, creative differences and the fragile interface between emotion and art. There's a distinctly feminist mentality here, which Reid manages to convey without anachronism. Possibly that's because the story does focus on Daisy, and on several other excellent women (Karen the Six's keyboard player, Camila the band's founder's wife, Simone the disco star who's Daisy's best friend).

I found this an easy and enjoyable read. The voices of the various interview subjects are sufficiently differentiated to make the 'oral history' format read smoothly: there are also many delightful instances of mis- and re-interpretation (though one might ask why the individuals concerned didn't discuss these with one another, rather than waiting to be interviewed many years later). (Oh, wait, yes: rock stars.) Ego, narcissism, a classic love triangle -- as well as the predictable sex'n'drugs'n'rock'n'roll -- make this a credible and often amusing take on the Seventies rock-star lifestyle, and the tensions that can make or break a band.

Late in the novel we discover the identity of the interviewer: I found this an interesting twist while reading, but now wonder what purpose it serves.

Soon to be a TV series -- I may actually watch it.