This gorgeously grotesque book features body parts of all shapes and sizes. Go out and pick up a copy today. Just don’t read it while you’re eating.
Little fictionalises the life of Madam Tussaud. Born in the eighteenth century, this famous woman narrowly escaped the guillotine in France before touring Britain with a macabre set of death masks taken from the Revolution’s victims. Continue reading “Review: Little by Edward Carey”→
There’s something unsettling about books that make you stare mortality in the face. After I finished The Immortalists I sat down and – for the first time ever – made a bucket list. Even if I never learn to create a soufflé or walk the Pennine Way, it gave me back the sense of control that this story rips away. Continue reading “Review: The Immortalists by Chloe Benjamin”→
Ever since The Book Thief made me sob on the bus, I’ve avoided reading novels about World War Two on public transport. So, when I decided to take All the Light We Cannot See on a train, I knew there was a high chance I’d need tissues.
I’m much too weedy to climb an actual mountain, so Milkman became my Everest. Sometimes it was slow going and exhausting, occasionally I needed a restorative cup of tea, but every second was an amazing experience.
It starts with one of the most attention-grabbing sentences I’ve ever read: “The day Somebody McSomebody put a gun to my breast and called me a cat and threatened to shoot me was the same day the milkman died.”
Imagine an England without internet or mobile phones, where people leave their doors unlocked and neighbours help each other; a time when affairs are common, and fast-spreading, malicious gossip can ruin lives.