2026/011: Old Time Religion — E H Lupton

...there was something delightful about being able to feel Ulysses’s emotions, even if it was also sort of terrifying. Ulysses had big, messy, complex feelings that reminded Sam of dahlias, so bright and intricate. [p. 153]

As soon as I'd finished Dionysus in Wisconsin I went on to this sequel, set a few months later. Ulysses has almost finished his dissertation (which is about Sam and 'the problem of demigods') and winter is over. All seems promising until Livia, Ulysses' ex, turns up with a tale of woe about a murdered husband. She flirts outrageously, and meets up with Ulysses and Sam 'wearing a dress that looked like someone had crocheted it, and stopped early because they’d run out of yarn'. 

Cue jealousy from Sam -- though, to be fair, he and Ulysses do discuss this and agree that Sam has no reason to feel threatened -- and self-doubt from Ulysses. To complicate matters, there's a cursed book; further discoveries about Sam's grandfather and his nefarious plots; and compost zombies. And the concern, raised by Dr Lesko -- Ulysses' formidable thesis adviser -- that the magical bond between Sam and Ulysses may have negative effects.

A great deal changes in the course of the novel: Sam is still experiencing the side-effects of being possessed by a god, while Ulysses is forced to reassess his life, his ambition and even his family. (The Lenkovs are delightful, and we get more of their history, including Cambridge and Paris: Sam's family are conspicuous by their absence, which is nice.) There is philosophy, blood magic (not a good thing) and a play about Macbeth and the witches. And the majority of the characters are likeable, imperfect, and interesting. The perfect read for a dull winter's day.

2026/010: Dionysus in Wisconsin — E H Lupton

Kitty narrowed her eyes at him. “A bit pompous, aren’t you? To think you can find a solution to a problem that people have been working on for over a millennium?”
“That’s academia, baby.” Ulysses folded his arms across his chest. “Anything else I can help you with?” [p. 205]

Madison, Wisconsin: 1969. Ulysses Lenkov is a 'human lightning rod', a magician who can attract and talk to spirits, but can't decide a subject for his dissertation). Sam Sterling is a mild-mannered archivist who's moved back to Madison to be near his family, who he doesn't especially like. Warned by a fellow-magic user that something big is coming -- something connected with the god Dionysus -- Ulysses seeks out Sam and discovers that his first name happens to be Dionysus ... and that there's a strong mutual attraction between them.

Together, Sam and Ulysses ... well, they do fight crime demons and magical malfeasance, but that's very much background, alluded to rather than the focus of the story. Ulysses is determined to save Sam from being used as a meat-puppet by a powerful supernatural force: Sam is determined to discover his grandfather's role in imperilling him, and whether the immense good fortune enjoyed by the rest of his family is connected with his imminent doom.

I really enjoyed this. Lupton's 1969 is not quite ours. There's a war in Vietnam, race riots and rock music in America, but there is no obvious homophobia and perhaps less sexism / misogyny: magic works and is an acknowledged and accepted fact of life, but not everyone has ability or interest. Period details such as landlines, microfiche, vehicles and fashions all feel familiar. Ulysses and Sam are delightful characters, with very different backgrounds and families. (I want much more of the Lenkovs, with their Russian origins and various magical specialities. The Sterlings are a less appealing, but very interesting, bunch.) The central romance feels balanced, credible, warm-hearted. And I liked the college setting, and the theatrical productions, and the strong sense of place. 

And it's January, when traditionally I dive into a new series and stay there until the midwinter slump has passed. There are three more novels (so far) in the Wisconsin Gothic series... Onwards!

2026/009: Sister Svangerd and the Not Quite Dead — K J Parker

...we dig up their filigree and cloisonné and their rusted-solid clocks, we conserve and steal their books, and we know deep in our hearts that there are some things -- a lot of things -- that human beings used to be able to do once upon a time but can do no longer: that as a species we've shrunk and diminished, and we'll never be smart like that ever again. [loc. 220]

I was a great fan of Parker's earlier work, but lost enthusiasm somewhere around Sixteen Ways to Defend a Walled City -- an enthusiasm that I have now regained, and look! one and two-thirds trilogies to catch up on! Not including the new trilogy that begins with Sister Svangerd and the Not Quite Dead ...

The eponymous Sister is a former prostitute turned deadly assassin: our narrator, Brother Desiderius, is her partner -- in a strictly professional sense, of course -- and a talented forger. Unlike Sister Svangerd, he happens to be an atheist. The two are sent to the fifteenth ecumenical council in Choris Anthropou to assassinate a princess: but of course it is not that simple. There are angels and/or devils; ancient gospels acquired by what might look like coincidence; heresies and schisms, convenient and inconvenient demises, and ... well, the titular Not Quite Dead. Desiderius spends a lot of time bemoaning the fall of the old empire (which gives the novel a somewhat Dark Ages feel) and refusing to believe in either the Invincible Sun or the Loyal Opposition. He clings to that atheism despite all signs to the contrary: I do love a stubborn protagonist, especially one who's given to philosophising.

I liked this a great deal, though recognised some familiar Parkerian tics: overuse of pronouns, a world-weary narrator who regards himself (probably rightly) as more competent than those around him, a certain cynicism (wholly reasonable, considering the setting and the events). I liked Sister Svangerd -- also fearsomely competent, and as flawed as Desiderius in completely different ways. The setting feels medieval, and not especially magical. (This is a good thing.) And I am vastly intrigued by the Loyal Opposition, of whom I expect to see more in the remaining two-thirds of the trilogy.

I would love a map and a timeline encompassing the whole of Parker's oeuvre: I'm pretty sure it all takes place in the same world, with its echoes of Classical and medieval history, its familiar technologies, its fierce and pointless wars, its great cities and fallen empires.

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for the advance review copy, in exchange for this full honest review. UK Publication Date is 27 JAN 2026.

2026/008: The Brightness Between Us — Eliot Schrefer

I will live in these current moments as fully as possible. Then I will be gone. Ambrose will be gone. ... It arrives. The brightness between us. [p. 387]

Sequel to The Darkness Outside Us, which I read and liked a lot last year: I have many^many books in my TBR, but needed something instantly engaging and positive to counter world news, so bought this and dived in.

Read no further if you haven't read the first book!

There are four narrators: Owl (a girl) and Yarrow (a boy), growing up with their dads on Minerva; and the original Ambrose and Kodiak, who discover that the mission to Titan is a lie and that heart-throb Devon Mujaba (one of the voices of the OS in the previous novel) is not just a pop star but a revolutionary. Owl, Yarrow, and two versions each of Ambrose and Kodiak all face catastrophe, from war to sabotage to the blind danger of the universe: each is misunderstood, or misled, by those closest to them.

The scenes on Minerva were interesting, though I felt very sorry for Owl ('the only human alive with a womb') and sympathised with her desire to explore the rather unpromising planet. The episodes back on, or above, Earth felt more engaging, though: perhaps because the protagonists were more familiar, perhaps because there was romance, perhaps simply because it was a future Earth. It would have been interesting to see how the Minervan dads perceived things, but I can understand why Schrefer chose not to write from their viewpoints.

I wasn't 100% convinced by the solution found on Earth for Minerva's problem -- or, for that matter, by the explanation of that problem as described by the perpetrator -- but that didn't stop me enjoying the story.  There's a larger cast in The Brightness Between Us, a broader stage, and the focus is no longer on Ambrose and Kodiak alone: but I enjoyed their interactions almost as much as the gradual romance of The Darkness Outside Us.  

Now I want to reread the first novel again and to wishlist Schrefer's other YA novels. And forget, for a while, about the crises-riddled world in which I live: a world in which I feel Devon Mujaba has a point. 

2026/007: Aberystwyth Mon Amour — Malcolm Pryce

I sat in the corner and gazed through red throbbing eyes at the lurid pageant: drunks and punks and pimps and ponces; young farmers and old farmers; pool-hall hustlers and pick pockets; Vimto louts, card sharps and shove ha’penny sharps; sailors and lobster fisherman and hookers from the putting green; the one-armed man from the all-night sweet shop, dandies and dish-washers and drunken school teachers; fire-walkers and whelk-eaters, high priests and low priests; footpads and cut-throats; waifs, strays, vanilla thieves and peat stealers; the clerk from the library, the engineer from the Great Little Train of Wales … it rolled on without end. [p. 31]

Wales is independent, and has fought a colonial war in Patagonia: the veterans haunt Aberystwyth and its environs. The town is pretty much owned and run by the Druids, as corrupt and wicked a crew as any mob. Private detective Louie Knight is engaged by local chanteuse Myfanwy Montez to investigate the disappearance of a schoolboy -- the first of several to vanish without trace. Louie, with his teenaged sidekick 'Calamity' Jane, unravels a heinous plot involving an ark, an antique Lancaster bomber and a forensic knitting expert.

I'm not sure why this didn't work for me. Possibly the inherent misogyny of the noir genre, which Pryce has retained; possibly Louie's haplessness (he doesn't recognise his own car); possibly the author's dislike of commas. Some of the prose is great, but not enough of it to keep me interested.

Read for bookclub: the general consensus was that the humour felt dated and the book could have done with tightening up.

2026/006: The Land in Winter — Andrew Miller

It was, he knew, outrageous to watch her, but how rare the chance to see someone sitting in the maze of herself, all unsuspecting, bare as a branch. Doctors should be trained like this, at windows, at night. [p. 274]

The novel opens in December 1962, in an asylum. A man named Martin Lee wanders the halls at night and discovers the body of another patient, Stephen Storey, who has killed himself. Martin is haunted by memories of the Second World War: The Land in Winter, set in a village near Bristol, plays out in the long shadow of that war, and the 'Big Freeze' of winter 1962-63. 

Neither Martin nor Stephen are protagonists, but they have connections to the quartet at the centre of the novel. The focus is on two married couples, near neighbours: Dr Eric Parry and his wife Irene, incomer farmer Bill Simmons and his wife Rita. The women are pregnant: the men work hard. Eric is having an ill-advised affair, and Bill has secret plans for the deserted airfield near the village. Rita likes to read science fiction novels, while Irene is busy planning a Boxing Day drinks party. The past of each character is slowly revealed, and their secrets uncovered. And each suffers sudden change.

What I loved most about this novel was Miller's writing. There were so many sentences that snagged my attention, brought me up sharp and made me slow down and reread. The Sixties setting -- tuna croquettes, institutional racism, Mariner 2, green grass over bomb sites, Acker Bilk's 'Stranger on the Shore' -- felt impeccably accurate. (It was before my time, but not by much: when I was a child 'the war' was still very much on my parents' minds, and a frequent subject of discussion between adults. Of course, it was more recent for them than 9/11 is for me...)

Glorious: and a reminder of how much I like Miller's work, and how many of his novels are in my TBR.

...though he was not much given to thinking about love, did not much care for the word, thought it had been worn to a kind of uselessness, gutted by the advertising men and the crooners, and even by politicians, some of whom seemed, recently, to have discovered it, it struck him that in the end it might just mean a willingness to imagine another’s life. [p. 82]

2026/005: The Debutante — Jon Ronson

This is the story of a Tulsa debutante who, as a result of a series of unlikely and often very bad life choices she made in the ‘90s, found herself in the midst of one of the most terrible crimes ever to take place in America. [opening line]

I don't think this really counts as a book: it's more of a podcast, complete with hooks and a 'special bonus episode'.

Jon Ronson explores the history of Carol Howe, adopted at birth by a wealthy family in Tulsa. She was a debutante, but a rebellious one, and became part of a white supremacist group (plus swastika tattoo, 'Dial-a-Racist' phone line etc). She was involved with a white supremacist Christian cult in Oklahoma with ties to Timothy McVeigh, the Oklahoma Bomber. Then, apparently, she decided to become an informant for the ATF (Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms) and kept a detailed diary of events. The ATF claim she was 'deactivated' because of mental instability. Howe claimed she warned the ATF about the cult's plans to bomb a major target, but was ignored.

Ronson didn't manage to track down Howe, but he did -- in the 'special bonus episode' -- discover what happened to her: dead in a house fire in January 2025, after years of paranoid behaviour. An interesting investigation, but I would have preferred a straightforward narrative to the 'tune in for our next instalment' ambience of a podcast.