This is my review of The Space Between Us by Thrity Umrigar.

I was hooked from the outset by this well-plotted, moving tale of the relationship between a middle-class Bombay widow Sera and her faithful servant Bhima. The common factor in these two women's lives is their unhappy marriages leading to disappointed hopes. Despite her education, Sera has endured the tyranny of a spiteful mother-in-law and abuse at the hands of a controlling, often violent husband, but now finds happiness in the company of her pregnant daughter and charming son-in-law. Bhima's life was destroyed when her once adoring husband left her, yet she too finds a reason for living in her grand-daughter Maya whose college education Sera has generously supported. The problem is that Maya's bright future is now in ruins since she has somehow fallen pregnant.

This story is certainly very bleak at times, but made endurable by the author's close observation of Bombay society – embracing both the wealthy and slum dwellers – her keen sense of humour and what sounded to me like authentic dialogue: the quirky turns of phrase, often flowery speech and peppering of Indian terms add colour to the writing.

The story is developed through lengthy flashbacks, so that dramatic incidents are implied to arouse your curiosity, with the details gradually revealed. The climax is predictable but the ending is not. At first, I was disappointed by it, but decided on reflection that the author chooses a subtle, clever note on which to close, leaving it to the reader to consider what happens next.

I was interested by the parallels between the way middle-class Indians treat their servants, and the behaviour of white Americans towards their black servants in the South until recently, as portrayed in the bestselller, "The Help" – for instance, requiring maids to drink out of their own separate cups, and not letting them sit at the same table, whilst expecting them to bring up one's children as their own, and also helping them out in a paternalistic way in moments of deep personal trouble.

All the main characters are well-developed as complex people with strengths and flaws. The character of Bhima is particularly interesting. Her illiteracy exposes her to exploitation – apart from limiting her employment prospects – and saps her confidence. Yet her natural intelligence gives her a perceptiveness and ability to analyse others, in a very pragmatic way, which eludes some of her so-called superiors. Despite endless hardship, she maintains a dignity and pride which at times cost her dear, but you have to admire her unbreakable spirit. In contrast, Sera lets her own spirit be broken in order to hang on to material things and respectability, so ultimately perhaps loses more of what really matters than her outwardly povertystricken and downtrodden maid.

I agree that this book is most likely to appeal to women, and may in fact repel some men initially prepared to give it a chance, since the male sex is portrayed in a pretty negative light, as either weak or selfish and vindictive.

This novel covers the same territory as Arvind's "The White Tiger" but in a less wisecracking and cynical, more subtle and introspective fashion, both worth reading in their different ways.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5 Stars

This is my review of The Troubled Man: A Kurt Wallander Mystery by Henning Mankell.

I could not avoid comparing Mankell's "A Troubled Man" with the bestsellers of the Nordic writers Larsson and Nesbo. Like Larsson, Mankell is deeply concerned about the state of Swedish society, corruption in politics and the security services, and the country's awkward position, supposedly neutral between the "bad guys" in Russia and "good guys" in America, although this crude division oversimplifies the truth. Although Mankell "writes better" than the other two as regards developing characters – I particularly like the complex relationship and dialogues between Wallander and his daughter Linda – this last in the Wallander series is definitely not a page turner. It lacks the tight plotting and moments of tension and high drama you find in Nesbo's Harry Hole novels.

The investigation begins with the disappearance of Håkan von Enke, the retired submarine commander who just happens to be the father of Linda's partner Hans – whose involvement in banking just when Iceland is going bust seems a missed opportunity for development as a subplot. The simple storyline proceeds so slowly, with much of the past drama being revealed to Wallander in long rambling conversations, that I found it hard to continue. The frequent digressions into gloomy even bleak introspection and more bitter than sweet nostalgia began to wear me down. I grew impatient with Wallander's preoccupation with ageing and death – he's only 59, for Heaven's sake! I admit that losing one's mind, which Wallander clearly fears, can strike people far younger than this.

I wondered whether Mankell was investing Wallander with his own sense of mortality, but he's only in his sixties, and seems very active. Perhaps Mankell has grown attached to Wallander and wanted a last novel that would "take stock" of his life, and pursue a realistic approach in denying a happy old age to a man who has sacrificed too much of himself (as regards personal relationships and hobbies) to catching criminals, and has inevitably been damaged by the horrific sights he has been forced to witness.

Fortunately, the plot picks up at the end with quite a rapid denouement, but I was unconvinced by the way that Wallander's constantly reiterated sense that he is "missing something" suddenly resolves into a neat set of accurate deductions.

Filled with admiration for Mankell's support of just causes (including his stance on Palestine), his practical financial aid to those in need and evident wisdom in judging the state of the world, I would like to give him 5 stars. Although I might just give 4 for the quality of the writing, the plot seems a little too thin and lame and would have gained from a little more of the author's time. So, if I give this 4 stars it is as a psychological study rather than a successful detective thriller. Of course, this makes it "out of kilter" with the rest of the series…..

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of Too Much Happiness by Alice Munro.

I have heard Alice Munro described so often as one of the greatest contemporary short story writers that I had high expectations for this book. The length of the stories surprised me, together with her frequent tendency to ramble from what seems to be the main thread of each tale. Then there is the tendency to skim in a few pages through decades of a character's life, often telling us what to make of people and situations, rather than implying or revealing these aspects. Yet from the outset I thought I could see the reasons for Munro's fame in her easy, confident and very readable style, the rapid building up of situations and characters, the occasional very insightful comments which chime with one's own experience of life, clarifying some point which has lain dormant in one's own mind, and one suddenly recognises to be true.

I was held by the continuous sense that a story is heading somewhere meaningful and thought provoking, and by the knowledge that, at any point, she may insert some dark and shocking event: a man murders his children in a jealous rage, a widow realises that the gas man she has admitted to her house is in fact a crazed killer. I suspect that most people will find that some stories leave them cold, but they are moved by a few to which they can particularly relate, such as a mother's sense of loss before steeling herself to accept that her son has "dropped out" to become an anarchist.

I agree with the reviewer who found the title story "Too Much Happiness" hard to engage with – it reads like a draft of a story, based on research notes – but I do not mind that it is "out of character" with the rest in being the tale of a female Russian mathematician in the late nineteenth century, rather than a series of tales of small town Canadian life – a kind of Lake Woebegone with a sting in the tale. Also, the title seems inappropriate for the collection as a whole, since most of the themes are somewhat bleak.

Although these stories are admirable and original, characters appear implausible at times and plots often seem very slight with underwhelming downbeat endings(as in Wenlock Edge) and left me ambivalent – not sure what to make of some stories and wondering whether I had missed something! I suppose that the scope for debating what each one means adds interest – good for reading groups and so on! I was made very aware of Monro's age with many of these stories harking back to a distant youth, and reflecting on a whole lifetime (as in Face). I plan to read some of her earlier work to see if the stories have a tighter structure and make more of an impact.

⭐⭐⭐ 3 Stars

This is my review of The London Satyr by Robert Edric.

I found this the most successful of the six Edric novels I have attempted – two of which I abandoned, but I keep returning to his work for the clear, striking prose – excellent in creating atmosphere and describing scenes – and his concern with people's motivations and relationships.

The theme is an intriguing one – moral corruption beneath a layer of respectability in 1890s London. The topic has not yet been done to death, although covered by the recently televised "The Crimson Petal and the White", an overblown rose next to this much shorter, more narrowly focussed work.

Webster is a photographer employed by the Lyceum Theatre under its flamboyant actor-manager Irving and his control-freak sidekick, Stoker. Webster has drifted into a financial arrangement with Marlow, "the London satyr", the suave pornographer who needs him to "lend" theatrical costumes for use in sleazy photo sessions. Webster is an enigmatic man. Perhaps he likes the secrecy, the risk of detection, the fact of not being quite what he seems. Perhaps he feels his own guilt is minimal, since he is merely a supplier, an observer of a seedy but intriguing world, without knowing exactly what is going on. The murder of a child prostitute by a man in Marlow's circle sets up a criminal investigation which forces Webster to think about whether and how to protect himself.

The fact that Webster often seems weak and passive make him a less attractive character. Why doesn't he stand up to his greedy, manipulative daughter or over-familiar, cunning maidservant? Yet some of the most moving passages in the book provide the explanation for his apathy and for his loss of connection with his wife Alice, for both have been devastated by the premature death of their younger daughter.

Edric also harnesses the late Victorian obsession with the spirit world. Grief has led Alice to set herself up as a medium. Webster's scepticism is a further barrier between them, but he plays along, even supplying information that will help her act out convincing contacts with the spirit world. He makes no attempt to step in, even when it becomes clear that her main motivation is the morbid delusion that dead souls are speaking to her through her deceased child.

At first, I found the lengthy dialogues entertaining, but soon began to feel that they are too much of a substitute for real action. The continual game-playing, with characters not meaning what they say, or saying what they mean, begin to seem contrived. Some scenes appear wooden and clunky, perhaps because the author has laboured over the words at the expense of the narrative drive. Also, too many of the characters – be they a Jewish immigrant, a female procurer or a servant – speak in the same subtly ironic "voice" and very articulate phrases as the educated middle-class characters.

I felt for a while that the plot is too slight to sustain the book. In fact, it manages to work up to a kind of climax. The inconclusive ending – the story simply stops – disappointed me at first, but then seemed to be quite reasonable. Edric has made his point, and leaves you to draw your own conclusions about how Webster goes on to live out his life.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of Ghost Light by Joseph O’Connor.

I enjoyed "Star of the Sea" and admire O'Connor's desire to experiment, in this case moving from the pace of a vigorous, oldfashioned yarn (Star of the Sea) to a very different kind of novel – much shorter, slower moving, introspective and filled with memories and flashbacks. It begins with a povertystricken, alcoholic old woman recalling the time spent years ago with the much older, long dead Irish playwright Synge.

The structure of the book is quite "original", making demands on the reader to suspend all usual expectations and "go with the flow" as O'Connor pursues Irish streams of consciousness and recreates past scenes, sometimes writing the story of Molly Allgood's relationship with Synge in the form of a scene from a play.

The quality of the prose is undeniable – beautiful, carefully constructed descriptions, and O'Connor conveys well a sense of loss and nostalgia, but for me the work lacks pace, and I cannnot engage with the characters as I should. I felt ashamed to find it so hard to read and may return to it – but I fear that the lure of another book will always draw me away.

⭐⭐⭐ 3 Stars

This is my review of The Hand That First Held Mine by Maggie O’Farrell.

You could easily miss "And we forget because we must", which is the author's quotation for this book. Perhaps it should have concentrated more on Ted, whose lost memories lie at the heart of the story.

"The Hand That First Held Mine" adopts the same technique as "The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox" : two threads run in parallel, with episodes alternating between the present and the recent past of a previous generation. However, the former has a more rambling plot, with few links between the two threads until the final denouement. This latest book is also less dramatic and shocking, since some key events are described rather than "acted out" on the page, plus O'Farrell has an annoying habit of telling you what is about to happen – say when someone is due to die.

The strongest sections of the book for me are those centred on Elina, the young Finnish artist as she struggles with the post-natal trauma of her son's birth, when she almost dies, combined with the total disruption of every aspect of her life, practical, personal and creative by a demanding baby whom she both loves but also find a burden. Some may find the endless details of childcare tedious – they are somewhat exaggerated, but often relieved by humour and likely to bring back wry memories or make the present more bearable.

I suspect this book will appeal mostly to women, although Ted's feelings about fatherhood and its effects on his relationship with his partner Elina are covered sensitively. The abrupt triggering of Ted's puzzling childhood memories did not seem quite plausible for me, although it makes for a mystery to keep one reading on.

The thread based on Lexie, the free spirit at the dawn of the Swinging Sixties is less satisfying. Her dizzy life in the world of publishing is entertaining, but left me for the most part unmoved. The sinister Margot and her ghastly "twirling" mother Gloria seem particularly unconvincing, with inadequately developed roles, which matters as they are crucial to the plot. I also find aspects of Felix's behaviour very unlikely.

I often felt I was reading "exercises in creative writing" – as when O'Farrell rewinds time in order to move Lexie back to an earlier scene. Then there is the detailed description of the cafe which had once been the offices of Innis Kent's magazine. O'Farrell likes to dwell with nostalgia on how buildings have been altered, and their occupants have changed over time.

I was irritated by the narrator's occasional arch collusion with the reader in the Lexie thread – "Here is Lexie"…."This is where the story ends" etc.

The book has a fragmented quality, since it has several styles and themes which perhaps could have been woven together more effectively. It verges at times on chick lit or worse. Yet, I can see why many women will love all the feelings and memories to which they can relate and be intrigued by the plot.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of Les Cerfs-Volants (Folio) by Romain Gary.

"Les cerfs-volants" (The Kites) is a good read for those wishing to brush up their French, say from A Level. This novel by Romain Gary, who won prizes under both this pseudonym and that of "Emile Ajar", presents the reminiscences of Ludo Fleury who grows up between the Wars in a Normandy village under the care of his eccentric Uncle Ambroise, celebrated throughout France for his skill in making kites of famous historical characters, and leading men of his day.

After a slow start, I gradually became caught up in the story, as Ludo falls for Lila, the self-centred and over-indulged daughter of a Polish count who hires a house for his family in the neighbourhood during the summer. Although Lila appears to return Ludo's love, she also enjoys the adoration of two other youths, and enjoys playing one off against the other, so the relationship seems doomed. I feared a kind of over-sentimental variation on "Le Grand Meaulnes", but once World War 2 breaks out and the French, much to their mortification, are so easily overrun by the Germans, the story gathers pace and depth. Ludo uses his reputation for being a bit mad to be an active member of the resistance. I liked the very French theme of the local restaurateur's controversial attempt to "cock a snook" at the invaders, by treating them to the highest quality French cuisine, thereby showing the unbeatable superiority of the French where it really matters.

Although the plot is quite clunky in places and not all the characters seem entirely realistic – Lila's father, for instance – there are some striking visual and atmospheric descriptions e.g. Bruno playing the piano on the shore. I like the scenes where Ludo so much wants to be with Lila that he imagines her presence. The story is strengthened by the fact that Ludo is not blind to Lila's faults, and uses a good deal of irony in his conversations with her.

Perhaps the ending is a little idealised, but it is comforting to end such a dreadful period on a note of hope.

It is therefore all the more shocking to learn that Gary committed suicide soon after completion of the work.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars

This is my review of The Girl with Glass Feet by Ali Shaw.

As someone who is not a fan of magic realism, I had to suspend my prejudice to read this book for a group discussion.

Although the description of Ida turning to glass at the end – I don't think this is giving too much away! – is well-written, much of the rest seems quite amateurish or immature. The plot is thin, with scenes which serve no purpose, underdeveloped characters and unconvincing dialogues. It appears that, apart from the basic idea of a girl turning to glass in a sad love affair with a unhappy adolescent boy, the author does not really know where to take the story. A short story on this theme might have been more powerful.

A few trivial details riled me, such as the unlikely combination of geographical features in the Scottish (?) island on which it is set, and the fact the author describes cooking a breakfast when he has clearly hasn't done so – starting on the eggs before the sausages!

⭐⭐ 2 Stars

This is my review of The Betrayal by Helen Dunmore.

A gripping tension builds up in the early chapters as a panicstricken doctor manages to foist onto Andrei the dubious honour of trying to heal the perhaps terminally ill son of Volkov, a high-ranking Soviet official in the dreaded Ministry of State Security.

The book is convincing in capturing what it must have felt like to live through the final months of Stalin's Reign of Terror. Ordinary, decent people learned to keep their heads down and their mouths shut, anything to avoid attracting notice, even to the extent of suffering the harassment of malicious neighbours in overcrowded apartment blocks.

Helen Dunmore is skilful at portraying the minute details of people's relationships, their shifting thoughts and emotions. There is even subtle evidence of sympathy between Andrei and Volkov. She makes us care about Anna, the nursery school teacher whose life has been so restricted through the crime of having a free-thinking writer for a father, her artistic teen-age brother Kolya who is like a son to her, and her principled, sensitive husband Andrei. The fear of the "knock on the door at night", the helpless anger over the mindless destruction of one's possessions by the police, the shock of realisation that so-called friends and colleagues are too frightened to help, all come across vividly.

What could be a grim story is lightened by Dunmore's poetical prose – the descriptions of the landscape, and the wry observations on human nature, as some people spout slogans to wangle their way to the top. I always felt optimistic for Anna and Andrei because they are survivors of the terrible siege of Leningrad – I realised too late that "The Betrayal" is a sequel to "The Siege", but it can stand on its own.

The final chapters do not build up to a strong climax, and the narrative loses momentum, becoming almost dull in places, with some potentially dramatic events reported rather than acted out. This approach may well be "true to life". It may also reflect the author's liking for short stories which do not require the development and maintenance of a plot over many pages.

I admire the quality of the writing (although sometimes the children's author voice slips through a bit patronisingly), the plot idea is excellent. It is only the handling of the denouement that could have been defter.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars