review

The Prince of Pauper’s Pond by Lars Elling

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From the PR: “1985. Nineteen-year-old Filip spends his days playing football, listening to music on his Walkman and drawing, searching for something he cannot yet name. He lives in a large family house shared with his grandparents, where an old rift between his grandfather Arnstein and Arnstein’s brother Truls still governs the atmosphere. The cause appears trivial, an apple tree dropping fruit across a boundary fence, but the bitterness between the brothers speaks of something far older and deeper.

1912. With Europe on the brink of upheaval, Arnstein and Truls are sent into the forest for the summer by their stern father, determined that his sons should learn to endure hardship. Left to fend for themselves among travellers, log drivers and Forest Finns, the brothers live from the land, fishing, hunting and roaming the vast woodland. Cold and hungry, yet bound together by fierce loyalty and affection, they crown themselves the Princes of Pauper’s Pond, rulers of a world defined by freedom, imagination and shared struggle.

Until, back home, their father makes a decision that will change everything.

Spanning generations, The Princes of Pauper’s Pond is a vibrant, magical and deeply affecting novel about brotherhood and belonging, about finding joy and love in the open landscape, and about those single moments that can seal a family’s fate … forever…”

Sometimes it’s hard to know how to review a book. Not because it’s a bad book – hell, it’s easy to do that. But when a book is so good that it stays in your mind long after, it’s hard to know how to put into words the effect it has on you. Lars Elling’s The Princes of Pauper’s Pond is one of those books. It’s such a beautiful and deeply affecting novel that I don’t really know where to start.

I’m a man that enjoys simple pleasures you can luxuriate in: a mellow cup of coffee in a good mug that keeps it warm long enough to enjoy at the right pace; the process of setting a record on the turntable and absorbing it in one sitting, including getting up and flipping to Side B; a novel that gently draws you in and completely absorbs you in its world as it leisurely unfolds around you. The Princes of Pauper’s Pond gave me exactly that feeling, and I absolutely loved it.

I’ve read a lot of novels from Norwegian authors – quite a few courtesy of Orenda Books – and I can’t think of a time when one has rendered the country quite as evocatively as The Princes of Pauper’s Pond. Yes, Lars Elling is a well-respected visual artist, but to be able to take the skill with which he renders a scene on canvas and somehow translate that to the page is something else entirely. The forests and landscapes of early 20th century Norway become so vivid and tactile that. more than simply being told where these people lived, Elling makes you feel as though you’ve spent time there.

Then again, it’s not just the landscape and setting that Elling has captured so brilliantly. The characters live and breathe on these pages to the point that you begin to feel less like you’re reading about the family and more like you’ve somehow been admitted into it. Whether it’s the “modern day” (well, 1985) with Filip and the family – from the apple wars to the father/son dynamic and those conversations with the Old Man – or Arnstein taking us back into his youth with Truls and life under ‘The Kaiser’, every little detail makes these people feel utterly real. At times you get the sensation that you’re sitting in that downstairs room yourself, hanging on to every laboured breath from the Old Man and waiting for the next part of his story.

That manner of telling of the story is important, too, because so much of The Princes of Pauper’s Pond is concerned with memory… what we remember, what we choose to tell and how the stories we’re told about our families become part of our own lives. The movement between Filip in 1985 and Arnstein’s childhood never feels like the novel jumping backwards and forwards for the sake of filling in a history. You’re listening along with Filip, gradually piecing together a life and a relationship between two brothers that existed long before he did.

It’s that relationship between Arnstein and Truls that gives the novel real emotional weight. Again, I’m not going to go too far into details because so much of the pleasure of the book is allowing Arnstein’s story to reveal itself at its own pace… but Elling captures something incredibly tender about childhood, brotherhood and the way those early relationships continue to shape us long after the events themselves have passed. There’s real warmth and humour here, but also sadness, and knowing that these are an old man’s memories gives even the happiest moments a slight ache.

Elling captures the weight of passing time beautifully, along with that strange sense of loss that can come from looking back at the person you were and the relationships you once had. The young Arnstein we come to know is so heavily contrasted with the Old Man telling his story more than seventy years later that at times it feels as though he’s gazing back at something impossibly far away and yet still immediately close to him.

That contrast is perhaps most affecting in his relationship with Truls. As boys they’re thick as thieves, sharing a childhood and experiences that bind them together completely. In 1985, however, they’re about as distant as two brothers can be despite remaining physically close to one another. We know that that distance exists as Arnstein tells us how inseparable they once were, and it hangs over those memories without Elling needing to keep pointing towards it. There’s something painfully recognisable in the idea that someone can have been the centre of your world at one point in your life and, decades later, become almost a stranger.

What makes all of this work so magically is that Elling never seems determined to wring emotion out of any of it. For all the melancholy that hangs over Arnstein’s recollections, this isn’t a gloomy book. It’s frequently funny, occasionally strange and full of the sort of small adventures, rivalries and moments of mischief that make the childhood sections such a pleasure to spend time in. The sadness is there because we know where these two boys eventually end up, but Elling keeps that knowledge sitting quietly in the background rather than using it like a blunt hammer.

There’s also something almost fable-like about Arnstein’s childhood world. It’s completely convincing as a place, but at the same time seems just slightly removed from reality, populated by characters and incidents that become larger through the act of remembering them. Perhaps that’s simply what childhood memories are like: the places are bigger, the adults stranger and the things that happened to us carry an importance they could never have again.

I finished The Princes of Pauper’s Pond a few weeks ago now and I’ve found myself returning to it in my head ever since: to Arnstein and Truls, to Filip sitting with the Old Man, to those forests and lakes and long-ago summers. I started this review by saying that sometimes the hardest books to review are the ones that affect you most and I’m still not sure I’ve managed to put my finger on everything this one did to me. What I do know is that I absolutely bloody loved spending time in its world and, more importantly, I wasn’t quite ready to leave it when the final page came.

My thanks to Orenda Books for my copy of The Princes of Pauper’s Pond and Anne Cater for inviting me to take review as part of (in fact, looks like I’m kicking it off) the blog tour.

Split Second by R.C Bridgestock

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From the PR: “What if one moment – one split second – changed everything?
When a firearms officer shoots a suspect dead and wounds another, who later dies in hospital, the official line is that the sun was in her eyes. Her body cam failed. Known only as Officer X, her anonymity is meant to protect her – until a judge releases her name and a media storm erupts.

Detective Superintendent Jack Dylan and DI Charley Mann are called in to determine whether it was a justifiable use of force – or something darker. And when it’s revealed that Officer X knew the victim, and her brother died of a drug overdose linked to the same woman, the case becomes charged with personal and political tension.

As pressure mounts, a vulnerable witness dies and a lost phone surfaces with a photograph and a message that could unravel everything – and reveal the truth about what happened that day. Split Second brings Dylan and Mann together for the first time, in an investigation that will test their instincts, their loyalties and the limits of justice itself, as both detectives must decide how far they’ll go – and what they’re willing to sacrifice – to uncover the truth.”

This book gave me sunburn. Well, maybe not directly but it sure enough contributed to it. I blasted through this in two sittings, the first of which was on a beach in Brittany where ‘just one more chapter’ meant reapplying sunscreen slipped my mind. It’s just such a monumentally gripping book. Those two sessions absolutely flew by – Split Second is so immensely addictive and satisfying that there’s no real question of finishing it as soon as you pick it up.

That doesn’t mean, though, that this is a novel without depth or substance, far from it. This is an intensely rich and detailed story with plenty of twists and populated by great characters. There’s no doubting that R.C. Bridgestock know what they’re talking about. Husband-and-wife writing team Carol and Bob both worked for West Yorkshire Police – Bob eventually becoming Head of CID – and that experience is apparent throughout Split Second. Procedure isn’t simply something sprinkled around the edges to make everything look convincing; it informs the way the investigation develops, the decisions people make and, perhaps more importantly, the consequences of those decisions. There’s a weight and credibility to it that’s too often sacrificed in crime fiction in the rush to get to the next body, revelation or conveniently timed car chase.

This is probably a good point to admit that, historically, the home-grown British police thriller hasn’t been particularly high on my reading list. That may seem slightly odd given how often I’ve complained about people who simply declare entire genres off-limits, but hypocrisy comes for us all eventually. Perhaps it’s the familiarity of it. Years of mundane interactions with the local constabulary and seemingly endless television programmes involving police officers standing beside wet roundabouts have never quite offered the same escapism as, say, a semi-alcoholic Norwegian detective pursuing murderers through the snow, or a one-man army called Jack arriving in some unfortunate town shortly before half its population requires medical attention. Which, given how much I bloody loved this book, may have been something of a mistake.

I’m also going to mention here that I came to Split Second knowing absolutely nothing about R.C. Bridgestock’s previous books. Detective Superintendent Jack Dylan and DI Charley Mann may be the protagonists of two established series – and their coming together here may well mean considerably more to existing readers – but both were complete strangers to me. Happily, that proved no obstacle whatsoever. There’s no sense that you’ve arrived late to a party and are expected to know who everyone is, nor any requirement to head off and read any previous novels before being allowed through the door. Split Second works perfectly well as a thriller in its own right, and a highly addictive one at that. In fact, it’s so bloody addictive that I’m now impatient for the follow-up. Without venturing anywhere near spoiler territory, Split Second doesn’t so much finish as pull the rug out from underneath your feet and disappear.

It does, however, mean R.C Bridgestock have managed something I really wasn’t expecting when I picked this one up. Not only have they completely dismantled my own, admittedly ill-founded, reluctance toward the British police procedural, they’ve left me invested in characters I’d never encountered before and am impatient to find out where they’re going next.

More importantly, Split Second is simply a cracking read. It’s intelligent without ever getting bogged down in its own detail, authentic without endlessly pointing at the research behind that authenticity and ridiculously difficult to put down. I went into it knowing nothing of the writers or their existing characters and came out the other side wanting more of them all – just need to ensure that next time I remember the sunscreen.

My thanks to Orenda Books for my copy of Split Second and to Anne Cater for inviting me to review as part of the blog tour.

Bad Influence by Will Carver

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From the PR: “Alyssa wants to be seen. Less wants to be someone. She takes two buses to class, posts pictures of her lunch, and pretends it’s all effortless. He hides his privilege beneath thrifted clothes and a sketchbook full of impossible designs. Together, they are inseparable – two outsiders constructing a version of themselves the world might finally applaud.

Then Alyssa stumbles upon the hidden world of phrogging – living unnoticed inside other people’s homes. She and Less slip through Los Angeles’ glossy veneer: influencers, producers, pop stars, all so busy performing their perfect lives they don’t notice the shadows in their attics, the scratching in their walls.

An act of rebellion. A harmless thrill. A social experiment.

Until they choose the wrong house.

Until the influencer they idolise catches them in the act.

Until the cameras, already rolling, capture everything.

What begins as a reckless adventure becomes a nightmare of lies, power … and murder”

Sometimes a book comes along at just the right moment… with Monday’s welcome announcement of a social media ban for Under 16s, the recent ‘Inside the Manosphere’ joining an already strong field of explorations on the ugly side of these platforms, the timing for Will Carver’s Bad Influence couldn’t be better, really.

Despite having had the pleasure of reading several of his novels already, I’m still never sure what to expect from a Will Carver novel – well, there’s a guarantee of meticulous plotting, razor-sharp and biting observations, and more than a smattering of dark humour – and Bad Influence is again full of surprises.

If it wasn’t already clear from the off, Bad Influence is not a love-letter to influencers. It is, instead, a deliciously withering take-down and exploration of the darker side of influencers ( that I still find myself wondering what a fucking bizarre world we live in that that’s even a term goes to show how much this book is on point for me) and the lengths to which people will go to in order to grab their 5 seconds – forget 15 minutes in these days of dwindled attention spans- of fame, regardless of the costs.

“There are pockets of Spain where reality contestants go to die”

In a way, what’s perhaps more disturbing, is that none of the lengths to which either the influencers go – be it Paige or Rosie’s posing of ‘just so’ scenes for posts to Ariel’s special yoghurt ingredient – or the actions of the reality TV producers feel that far-fetched anymore. For those that take delight in watching Influencers In The Wild’s posts, none of this is that unbelievable. But this isn’t a non-fiction book and in setting Bad Influence in LA – where we’re almost programmed to expect the most vacuous and desperate of behaviour lurking around every corner – makes for an ideal way for Carver to lure is in to the actually unexpected, to hide it in plain sight. We’re so busy siding with Less and Alyssa in judging those wannabes so “desperate to live out loud in front of the nation” that we leave ourselves unguarded to the fact that Carver is subtly, expertly, weaving in a delicious twist. Or five.

We should know by now, on the strength of his body of work, that Carver has a masterful way of setting an already disquieting scene and managing to surprise and shock just a little bit more… only for you to discover he’s still winding up for the big throw down. Master of the paradigm shift and absolute King of the shocking climax.

It also introduced me to the concept of Phrogging – sneaking in and secretly living in someone else’s home or property without their knowledge or consent – and meant that I’m now making doubly sure that my doors are locked when I leave and keeping a very sharp ear out for any noises from the attic. Thanks for that, Will.

Bad Influence is an immensely enjoyable read. Meticulously plotted, deeply amusing and addictive, Will Carver has delivered another belter or a novel.

My thanks to Orenda Books for my copy of Bad Influence and to Anne Cater for inviting me to review as part of the blog tour, it’s been way too long.

The Fascination by Essie Fox

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From the PR: “Victorian England. A world of rural fairgrounds and glamorous London theatres. A world of dark secrets and deadly obsessions…

Twin sisters Keziah and Tilly Lovell are identical in every way, except that Tilly hasn’t grown a single inch since she was five. Coerced into promoting their father’s quack elixir as they tour the country fairgrounds, at the age of fifteen the girls are sold to a mysterious Italian known as `Captain´.

Theo is an orphan, raised by his grandfather, Lord Seabrook, a man who has a dark interest in anatomical freaks and other curiosities … particularly the human kind. Resenting his grandson for his mother’s death in childbirth, when Seabrook remarries and a new heir is produced, Theo is forced to leave home without a penny to his name.

Theo finds employment in Dr Summerwell’s Museum of Anatomy in London, and here he meets Captain and his theatrical ‘family’ of performers, freaks and outcasts.

But it is Theo’s fascination with Tilly and Keziah that will lead all of them into a web of deceits, exposing the darkest secrets and threatening everything they know…

Exploring universal themes of love and loss, the power of redemption and what it means to be unique, The Fascination is an evocative, glittering and bewitching gothic novel that brings alive Victorian London – and darkness and deception that lies beneath…”

I know they say you should never judge a book by its cover but I’ve got a feeling that’s a load of tosh, there are some great novels on my shelves with covers that are just as glorious and Essie Fox’s The Fascination has joined that list, it’s a stunner inside and out.

I tend to be wary of historical novels, I find the notion of characters within pages set, for example, in the time of Henry VIII behaving or using phraseology too close to the time they were written vs the time they supposedly inhabit, especially when we have literary touch points from that time that are more likely to be accurate in that respect. Perhaps its because I studied the era and its literature (specifically that of crime and law) at university, I’m typically less forgiving of novels set within the Victorian era that find characters either cliched or as historically convincing as Ben Affleck in, well, anything other than a meme.

With that preamble out of the way… how do I feel about The Fascination? I bloody loved it. Essie Fox’s novel feels like a delicious example of that classic Victorian narrative that made the era and genre so ripe and important. From the syntax to the characters, their clothing and actions and presentation, The Fascination is so immersive and richly of its time you’d be forgiven for doubting it was published in 2023.

More than managing the tricky feat of creating an accurate setting in time, Essie Fox’s novel also delivers a compelling and, if you’ll pardon the pun, fascinating storyline that’s loaded with mystery, suspense and underpinned with a whole lot of heart.

While the principal trio of Keziah, Tilly and Theo deservedly evoke plenty of emotion (the twins’ early years are rendered so heartbreakingly), they’re supported by a bevvy of characters that are painted with similarly sympathetic colours and attention to detail, providing the emotional warmth of the novel even as it treads into some seriously grim and dark waters.

Those dark waters do get pretty disturbing too… it’s to Fox’s credit that she manages to convey those horrors so vividly while still maintaining the feeling that you’re reading a classic Victorian novel. As thrilling as some of those moments get, I think it’s fair to say that The Fascination is more an enthralling mystery than it is a thriller and there are some genuine surprises in store as its different threads come together – indeed, the very last one was one that left my mouth agape and made me go back and double check I’d read it correctly.

The Fascination is rich in detail, overflowing with brilliant characters and reading like a true classical Victorian novel and wholeheartedly recommended.

Mirror Image by Gunnar Staalesen

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From the PR: “Bergen Private Investigator Varg Veum is perplexed when two wildly different cases cross his desk at the same time. A lawyer, anxious to protect her privacy, asks Varg to find her sister, who has disappeared with her husband, seemingly without trace, while a ship carrying unknown cargo is heading towards the Norwegian coast, and the authorities need answers.

Varg immerses himself in the investigations, and it becomes clear that the two cases are linked, and have unsettling – and increasingly uncanny – similarities to events that took place thirty-six years earlier, when a woman and her saxophonist lover drove their car off a cliff, in an apparent double suicide.

As Varg is drawn into a complex case involving star-crossed lovers, toxic waste and illegal immigrants, history seems determined to repeat itself in perfect detail … and at terrifying cost…”

There are few reading pleasures like sitting down with a new Varg Veum novel but then there are few writers as good as Gunnar Staalesen. Since reading We Shall Inherit the Wind back in 2015 Staalesen has become one of my favourite writers and a new Varg Veum novel from Norway’s finest is always reason to get excited.

Like all good pleasures, the reading of a new Staalesen novel is something to be savoured. The problem is that it’s also so bloody good and addictive that it’s usually impossible to put down. Mirror Image builds up momentum so masterfully, places just enough hooks in each chapter and leads the reader from ‘wait, what?’ to ‘hang on, but that means…’ so compellingly that addictive isn’t the word and before you know it you’re knee deep in snow peering through a cabin window and on your way to a denouement that’ll leave your jaw open. Oh, and Mirror Image may be the most stunning of those yet.

There’s a quiet poetry in reading a novel set in 1993 that works perfectly with Varg’s style. I’ve said before that Staalesen’s lone wolf is neither a Reacher or Harry Hole, there are no explosive set pieces here nor does our hero deliver any violent kicks to the kidney that ‘would have sent a football out of the stadium.’ Instead, Veum tracks his clues determinedly, putting in the leg work and the miles as he puts the pieces together. In 1993, devoid of cell phones to ping locations from (though Varg does revel having such a then-new device) or the ability to reach someone in an instant with a text, Mirror Image moves to a different pace. It’s joyous to sense the work and miles – numerous early morning starts and ferry crossings across those fjords to islands not yet reached by bridge – involved as Veum doggedly chases the truth across a geographical distance that manages to mirror the chronological distance involved as he travels back and forth across both the country and decades to unravel the complexities of his case.

Speaking of mirroring… how about the symmetry in the events of 1957 affecting the central characters of Varg’s current case just as the events of his previous investigation affect his current life?

There’s a huge amount to enjoy in Mirror Image. From the characters – both familiar and new – to the perfectly detailed landscapes. Staalesen’s style and prose remains that of a master, succinct yet evocative with more than a crackle of charm and humour all clearly written by an author that takes delight in the form. The plot is as wonderfully crafted and multifaceted as you’d expect from a Varg Veum novel – just when you think the pieces are starting to come together Staalesen can subtly work in a new angle that brings increasing layers into play and still find a way to seamlessly bind them into one.

The only bad thing about Mirror Image is that it must draw to a close. Though that close, again, is possibly the finest ending to a Varg novel to date.

Mirror Image is the ninth Varg Veum novel in my collection (of a published nineteen with) and yet Staaelesen still manages to bring something new to the character with every instalment, ensuring that Varg remains both familiar to readers but compelling enough to want another novel straight after finishing, all the while continuing to set a high benchmark for both Nordic Noir and fiction as a whole.

My thanks, as always, to Karen at Orenda Books for my copy of Mirror Image and for all the work she’s done in championing these books in English, my bookshelf would be a poorer place without them.

Walk in circles back to square one: Foo Fighters – But Here We Are

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You’ve probably seen / read / heard a chunk about this album already and with due cause. As it’s an album that I’ve spun close to daily since release – which is quite a rarity – I thought I’d add my take on the new Foo Fighters album But Here We Are.

This is a bittersweet album in many ways fuelled, as it is, by the passing of Taylor Hawkins and the non-announced passing of Dave Grohl’s mother a few months later. While grief and how we process it is a personal thing, given that the first Foo Fighters album – performed almost entirely by Grohl himself – was recorded as a way to recover from Kurt Cobain’s suicide it’s no surprise that But Here We Are is the sound of Dave Grohl processing two major life changes in one. The real surprise, though, is not just that it’s good but that it’s up there with the finest of their career.

Across their preceding career spanning over twenty five years, the Foo Fighters had dropped ten studio albums. Two of those – The Colour and The Shape and Wasting Light are close to unimpeachable. Their last few studio efforts had veered close to ‘commitment’ level releases to provide reason to venture out on another stadium-filling tour across the globe: Sonic Highways was completely ignored on their recent Essential… and while Concrete and Gold felt like a strong return, it didn’t hold up as well longer term and their 2021 ‘dance’ inspired album Medicine At Midnight felt like a slight deviation on ticking along. But Here We Are, though, manages to combine the musical diversity of The Colour and The Shape and, particularly, There Is Nothing Left To Lose with the force and tightness of Wasting Light musically and pair that with Grohl’s most direct and affectingly raw lyrics to date.

Hawkins’ passing left a vacant drum stool in the Foo Fighters. When they announced that they would be continuing as a band there was a ridiculous amount of speculation who’d be filling it. The answer, essentially, is nobody. While Josh Freese sits behind the kit on tour, this is the first album since The Colour and the Shape that features Dave Grohl’s drumming power throughout and on album standout, the ten minute belter ‘The Teacher’ (a nod Grohl’s mother) he fucking gallops along on the beat while the song moves through charged lyrics “you showed me how to breathe, never showed me how to say goodbye… try and make good with the time that’s left, counting every minute living breath by breath” before building to a wall of noise amidst a cathartic, screamed “Goodbye!” It gets to be real goose-bump stuff for me.

Yes, from opener ‘Rescued’ and its “It came in a flash, It came out of nowhere” to closer ‘Rest’ and “rest, you will be safe now” everything in between deals with the passing of those dear to us but Dave Grohl of 2023 paints in Wembley Stadium sized colours and turns it into a mass healing ritual across these ten tracks. Judging by the few shows they have under their belt since the album’s release this transfers live too as fans find solace in the process too. In anyone else’s hands a whole album dealing with this matter would be a massive downer, man, but the Foos have created an album that’s more interesting and powerful musically than anything they’ve done in the last two decades (less straight-ahead than Wasting Light).

That’s not to say they don’t still bring the power when they want to: ‘Nothing At All’ is ferocious, opener ‘Rescued’ is show-opening ready and ‘The Teacher’ thumps hard.

This is, in many ways, an album nobody wanted the Foo Fighters to have made but I’m bloody glad they did. Not only is it a fitting and powerful coming to terms with loss but it shows that they have a lot more in the tank than I thought they had and that, eleven albums in, they’re still willing to push beyond comfort zones. Essential for Foo Fighters fans, definitely worthy of investigation by the curious and likely to count as one of their best for a long time to come.

So Pretty by Ronnie Turner

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From the PR:“Fear blisters through this town like a fever…

When Teddy Colne arrives in the small town of Rye, he believes he will be able to settle down and leave his past behind him. Little does he know that fear blisters through the streets like a fever. The locals tell him to stay away from an establishment known only as Berry & Vincent, that those who rub too closely to its proprietor risk a bad end.

Despite their warnings, Teddy is desperate to understand why Rye has come to fear this one man, and to see what really hides behind the doors of his shop.

Ada moved to Rye with her young son to escape a damaged childhood and years of never fitting in, but she’s lonely, and ostracised by the community. Ada is ripe for affection and friendship, and everyone knows it.

As old secrets bleed out into this town, so too will a mystery about a family who vanished fifty years earlier, and a community living on a knife edge.

Teddy looks for answers, thinking he is safe, but some truths are better left undisturbed, and his past will find him here, just as it has always found him before. And before long, it will find Ada too.”

Two things drew me to this book. First – it’s published by Orenda Books and there’s not a book on my shelves with their logo on the spine that I haven’t enjoyed. Secondly, it’s set in Rye. Rye is a small, picturesque town that’s not too far from where I sit and type and, once upon a time, was once. coastal port. It’s one I’ve visited often and happened to have done so just before my copy of So Pretty arrived – massive thanks to Karen at Orenda for sending this one over. It’s certainly changed the way I’m going to be looking at the town next time.

So Pretty is one hell of good book. I cannot think of the last time I was so gripped by a story, or swore under my breath quite so often while reading, or wondered how many more times the hairs on the back of my neck were going to stand up before I reached the end of this novel.

Just as “there is something malignant” about Berry & Vincent, the curio shop that haunts the heart of this novel from which a sense of unease seeps, there’s a deliciously chilling sense of foreboding that seeps out of the pages of So Pretty. And then… well… it dials up the chills with a literal “say Daddy” shudder of a shocker and changes gear as foreboding breaks into full on sinister thrill ride.

It’s a challenge not to give away too much of So Pretty‘s plot away here because this is a ride every reader should take. It’s like a literary roller coaster – that long, drawn out pull up to the peak where you feel the tension rising in as you teeter at the top, realising that Teddy might not be all there, before the sheer, heart-pumping acceleration, twists, turns and terrifying moments that follow. You want to close your eyes and not look but you can’t; it’s just too damn gripping and thrilling as So Pretty races through heart-in-mouth moment after another until it reaches the end and you put the book down, realise you haven’t been breathing for a few moments and almost immediately want to read it again.

Ronnie Turner is a fantastic writer. That’s why this book is so bloody good – it takes real skill to tackle the subjects handled in So Pretty as well as she does all the while creating characters that you care about, painting a detailed and real sense of place and managing to slyly but surely ratchet up that tension – she certainly knows how to keep the book firmly gripped in a reader’s fingers. From multiple narratives – of varying reliability – to gut-check reveals, disturbing vignette after another, real emotional pull and moments of genuine ‘I need to put this down for a second and say “fuuuuuuucking hell” a few times’, So Pretty delivers everything you want in a thriller and more.

On a rattlesnake speedway in the Utah desert… Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band: The Legendary 1979 No Nukes Concerts

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In the wake of the Three Mile Island accident two things happened in the Springsteen universe.

The first immediate result was his writing of ‘Roulette’ which, while it would be the first song recorded during The River sessions, would languish in b-side status until appearing later on both Tracks and The Ties That Bind. It’s a belter.

The second was the formation of MUSE – Musicians United for Safe Energy and the organising of five ‘No Nukes’ concerts at Madison Square Garden. Not yet particularly active or even vocal when it came to politics, Bruce wasn’t among the founding members. Nor did he attend press conferences or issue a statement on nuclear energy. He did, though, agree to perform at two of the shows and for those shows to be filmed and recorded.

I’m adding this historical context for a reason. The Bruce Springsteen of 1979 was not the Springsteen today – or even of six years later following Born In The USA – in terms of status but he was very much a rising star with both Born To Run and Darkness On The Edge of Town behind him and live shows that were already becoming the stuff of legend.

This is Springsteen before the stadium era. Before, even, The River and ‘Hungry Heart’ – in fact Bruce and The E Street Band weren’t on the road at the time, they’d spent most of the year working on an album called The Ties That Bind that Springsteen was to throw away in favour of going for the double with The River (though you wouldn’t know it from the performances captured on those evenings). Nonetheless, tickets to Bruce’s headlining nights sold out within an hour.

One final piece of context is that the full The Legendary 1979 No Nukes Concerts recording arrived at the end of 2021. A timely reminder of the power of Springsteen and the E Street Band when any plans for touring had been on hold for two years, forty two years after the event.

Given that it arrives so long after the fact and in an era where so many entire concerts are available from Springsteen – not to mention his already extant six official*- you’d be forgiven for questioning whether this was needed. I’m here to say it is, it’s an essential piece in the canon

This isn’t so much a review because, let’s face it, I’m late in the game here and this one has already hit the high notes with the critics. This is more.. personal reflections after a good month or so of repeated listens.

One of the things that springs to mind when it comes to Springsteen’s shows these days has got to be their marathon length. Granted 1979 Bruce didn’t have quite the staying power but his shows were already clocking pretty long times. The idea, then, of condensing a Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band show into just ninety minutes can’t have been an easy order – hell, I reckon it must’ve been easier planning the 12 minute half-time show than making the choice for the No Nukes setlist.**

The timing restraints are kinda felt at times. Prove It All Night, for example, is shorn of its then-customary elongated intro and Born To Run particularly feels squeezed for time – it barrels past in less time than the album version*** – and there are moments where the need to keep songs tighter than a duck’s arse and keeping a proverbial eye on the time means Springsteen seems a little out of breath as the shorter-than-usual arrangements give him less opportunity to catch a breather between bars.

But these are more observances than faults because, frankly, there aren’t any to be found after repeated listens because the overall sensation is of a joyous celebration of Bruce Springsteen – and the E Street Band – being captured at full gallop on their early peak. Even a condensed blast of this power-house operating at such peak performance is better than so many others.

And while Born To Run may be sprinted through, Rosalita (Come Out Tonight) gets to stretch its legs out over 12 glorious minutes complete with band introductions.

There’s a strange delight in hearing Springsteen – who’d celebrate his birthday the night following these shows – refer to himself as ‘over the fucking hill’ and that, turning the age of 30 meant he could no trust himself anymore (especially as this now reach us with Bruce in his 70s and still delivering) after delivering both the one-two-three punch of Prove It, Badlands, The Promised Land and then-new song The River.

It’s an added delight to hear The River rolled out for the first time and not have the first few blows on the harmonica not greeted by the rapturous applause they’d soon be greeted with forever out.

The setlist is pretty unimpeachable too. While, with an hour and half only to play with you could lean to wanting, say, an Adam Raised A Cain or Candy’s Room or even a 10th Avenue Freeze Out in place of the three covers that end the show but Bruce was already throwing his Detroit Medley and Quarter to Three into his sets and using them to work the crowd up into a final frenzy and in the context of making an impact and bringing the audience to its knees – they do a brilliant job.

The whole album is a blast to listen to. Peak Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band will never disappoint and while there are plenty of single-show recordings out there, you’d be hard pushed to match this in terms of quality.

*as in bearing the Colombia logo vs Nuggs or whatever it is these days.

**both nights featured identical setlists save the inclusion of ‘Rave On’

***a chunk of the credited 4:59 is dedicated to applause.

Earthling – Eddie Vedder takes it ‘solo’

/ Tony / 12 Comments

I’m still here. I’m not quite finding my blogging mojo for reasons various but, hey, if there was anything that was gonna stir the juices a bit it was gonna be Pearl Jam related, right? And a solo album from Eddie Vedder that’s neither a soundtrack or sixteen ukulele tunes was always gonna be worth investigating.

First things first – it’s a manage expectations job. It’s not 1994 anymore and those expecting a Vedder solo album to be something that would represent the singer of ‘Not For You’, say, are living in the past with Walter Sobchack, man. I’ll admit I kind held a smidge of a hope for it though. See, while there are three decades of beautiful tradition, 2022’s Eddie Vedder is a different man. Let’s face it: it’s unlikely that he would have made an album of ukulele songs or caught the same wave that inspired Into The Wild straight after writing ‘Leash’. But, as Pearl Jam’s albums in the decades that followed that last great gasp for music have shown, Vedder remains a crafter of fine lyrics and tunes – as exemplified on 2020’s unexpectedly* strong Gigaton – as he matures.

Hearing the manner he’s been able to bring that sense of inner peace while still screaming at external torments – be they political or global – has made for many of Pearl Jam’s finer moments of the last couple of decades. For a band that’s often demonstrated that the sum is greater than the value of its parts, the real question was whether this would work outside of Pearl Jam on a more traditional (read: with full band backing not just four strings) solo album?

First impressions via lead-off single ‘The Long Way’ were promising – nice melody, lot of Tom Petty vibes while sounding like Eddie having fun without trying to sound like Pearl Jam. It even features Benmont Tench on the hammond organ, the first time the Heartbreaker had taken his equipment out of storage for use since the last Heartbreakers’ tour.

Then my anticipation stalled upon hearing ‘The Haves.’ In fact, it fell asleep. It’s a song with a good lyric but it’s straight-forward tack and lack of hook make the five minute run time feel four times as long. It’s not until the last minute or so that Vedder really seems to get into it from a vocal point. ‘Brother the Cloud’ however sent me to the ‘pre-order’ button**: it’s a fine tune that leans into the Pearl Jam sound without feeling like it’s trying to imitate and an inspired lyric from Vedder that’s seemingly about the passing of two people both called Chris:

Oddly for a solo album, there’s not a single Vedder / Vedder credit – all songs apparently born out of jam sessions with a band made up of Josh Klinghoffer, Chad Smith and Andrew Watt (who also produced) with Vedder smashing lyrics out at a clip that he hadn’t for some time. It means that these songs feel airier and have a spring in their step that speak of the speed at which the project came together and reached our ears. It also feels like Vedder had a real blast making this album. There’s no real head-on tackling of weighty issues and Vedder paints with the brighter, more vibrant rock colours that Pearl Jam typically avoids.

Sometimes this works really well – the previously mentioned ‘Long Way’ and ‘Brother the Cloud’ along with ‘Fallout Today’ and opener ‘Invincible’ shine as initial highlights: there’s a looseness and willingness to play about the music, ‘Fallout Today’ adds another entry into Vedder’s strong-women narratives and the multi-tracking of Vedder’s voice in ‘Invincible’ makes a great entry point for the album. According to a recent chat between Vedder and Springsteen it was the first music written and the last lyric completed:

This looser spontaneity gives Earthing a feel of an Eddie Vedder & Friends Rave Up. Despite the co-write credits, it’s clearly Eddie’s show throughout, though. While the ‘Earthlings’ are made up of big-name players they never contribute anything musically that would make you say, for example, ‘man, Chad’s such an awesome drummer, that fill made me need new undies’. It’s a feeling that’s borne out by the choice of guests on the album’s last volley of tunes too. Vedder has said that he approached the tracklist as he would a concert; toward the end you get a little more relaxed and bring out the guests. Much in in the same way as nobody has walked away from a Pearl Jam show saying “fuck, that dude from The Buzzcocks really added to ‘Rockin’ In the Free World’ tonight” nobody could say that the worst Beatle brings anything other than his name to ‘Mrs Mills’. If we’re keeping the same metaphor you’d guess Elton John was hanging around side stage and dragged on to trade vocals with Eddie on ‘Picture’ but managed to sound more like a South Park parody of himself with a song that feels like it should be accompanying some animated film about two animal friends. The real highlight in terms of guests is the fittingly all-too-brief moment in which Vedder accompanies his father on the closing ‘On My Way’:

For those familiar with the history of Vedder’s discovery that the guy he’d thought was his father ‘was nothing but a…’ that fuelled a large part of his and Pearl Jam’s initial angst, it feels like a fittingly emotional way for Vedder to end this album. Putting to bed some of his troubles on an album where he seems to be having more fun than he’s had on record in a long time.

Much like you’d expect from an ‘Eddie Vedder & Friends’ show, Earthling is a lot of fun and at times a damn fine listen. Those moments when Vedder is on form and giving it his all are great. Even when he’s leaning back and his forays into different styles don’t always land – his inherent abilities and unmistakable voice (though the effects of smoking on his voice prevent him breathing as much into a lyric as he once did) mean that even the lesser of these songs still offer a reason to tune in.

But – Elton John aside – what stops Earthling being brilliant is the sound and production, which fails on at least three tracks. It’s flat, sonically, where it could be really interesting – it’s all volume and no nuance or texture and feels out of place. It all sits on the shoulders of ‘super-producer’ Andrew Watt who, despite his fan status, is better known for his work with the likes of, ahem, Justin Bieber, Post Malone, 5 Seconds of Summer and Miley Cyrus. I’m all for experimenting with new producers; Brendan O’ Brien was hardly an established name when Pearl Jam started working with him and the sonic experiments of Binaural, Riot Act and Gigaton yielded glorious results. However, Watt’s approach of pushing everything up loud drowns songs like ‘Rose of Jericho’ and ‘Good and Evil’ when a little nuance and texture could’ve bought them to life, meanwhile the over-processed sound of ‘The Dark’ would be more at home on a song from some X-Factor pop-puppets or John Shanks produced Bon Jovi record (THE HORROR!). It made me want to go back and listen to Gigaton (no bad thing) and hope that the mutterings that Watt will produce the next Pearl Jam album amount to so much promo-cycle air.

How-fucking-ever: the diversity and full-bodied nature of its highlights make Earthling the better of his solo albums. While it’s not the Eddie Vedder solo album we may have expected, in many ways it does a more than admirable job of straddling both the range of his musical lexicon and tastes past and present in a way that his single-theme solo efforts to date failed to do. It captures a once angry young man comfortable in middle-age and having a great time some thirty years down the line from his grimace appearing on the cover of Time magazine. Given how many of his contemporaries are listed as casualties of the ‘scene’ we should be happy that Vedder is both here and that the easy, Eddie-having-fun vibe that fact brings still makes for a blast on repeated – albeit five songs lighter than intended – listens.

*Backspacer and Lightning Bolt had their moments but Gigaton found Pearl Jam embracing a new producer and sounding tighter than a duck’s arse.

**On cd this time as vinyl production is still feeling the impact of supply chain issues coupled with the the unholy revival of a Swedish crap heap and an equally awful album of ‘heartbreak’ karaoke fodder.

The Quiet People by Paul Cleave

/ Tony / 1 Comment

From the PR: “Cameron and Lisa Murdoch are successful New Zealand crime writers, happily married and topping bestseller lists worldwide. They have been on the promotional circuit for years, joking that no one knows how to get away with crime like they do. After all, they write about it for a living.

So when their challenging seven-year-old son Zach disappears, the police and the public naturally wonder if they have finally decided to prove what they have been saying all this time… Are they trying
to show how they can commit the perfect crime?

Multi-award winning bestseller Paul Cleave returns with an electrifying and chilling thriller about family, public outrage and what a person might be capable of under pressure, that will keep you guessing until the final page”

Okay, so we all know the adage that you’re not supposed to judge a book by it’s cover – a thoroughly bogus claim anyway – but it would be remiss of me to even think of reviewing Paul Cleave’s The Quiet People without mentioning how bloody awesome its cover art is. It’s also a pretty cracking proposition; many is the time I’ve mentioned that I wouldn’t like to play chess with a few crime writers given how many moves ahead they seem to think. Of course there are also some where you have to wonder if they need to lie back on a couch and talk to someone at a large hourly rate. Obviously reality and a controlled, fictional world over which a writer reigns omnipotent are two different things, but could someone who spends their time coming up with tricky, hard to solve murders, actually get away with murder?

Which leads us to another question, the gist of this review; does Paul Cleave’s The Quiet People deliver on that premise? Does a cracking cover design grace a cracking novel? Oh hell yes.

Paul Cleave has delivered a novel that ‘gripping’ doesn’t do justice to. He kicks it off strong: getting the tension going with a chill-inducing prologue then darts into an equally nerve-wracking scenario as Cameron loses track of his son Zach at a fair. He doesn’t let off that hammer throughout – there’s no way of saying ‘just one more chapter’ with this bad boy, it’s intense in a delicious way.

As a parent of a seven year old son, I found this to have a whole lot of edge-of-the-seat moments and tore through with baited breath just hoping…. but then I can’t talk too much about plot because I don’t want to give this away – I’ve made enough ‘Bruce Willis was dead the whole time’ comments in these reviews. Without trotting out that chess metaphor for the second time in one review, I will say that Paul Cleave has crafted a brilliantly plotted and paced story here with some real vivid scenes. It has the expected twists and turns of a great thriller and a conclusion that might just floor you and it’s told with a masterful narrative and style and, yes, you may wonder if Paul Cleave might be capable of pulling of an unsolvable crime himself it’s so fiendishly clever in its storyline.

The characters push the tension along and Cleave paints them both fully and complex. There’s a real joy to be had seeing how they interact – particularly Cameron and Lisa – as the plot unfolds and the nuances in their behaviour sneak out and cracks appear, the same of which can be applied when the narrative switches to DI Rebecca Kent and her relationship with DI Ben Thompson. The narrative switch, and getting an alternative view of Cameron and his wife to that presented by his narrative is another brilliant element of Cleave’s craft.

Cleave’s prose is precise and wielded like only an expert can. He keeps it taught, powerful and it packs a sharp punch. Ridiculously compelling, tightly plotted and massively rewarding; The Quiet People is another shot of the bloody good stuff from Orenda Books.

My thanks to Karen at Orenda for my copy and to Anne Cater for inviting me to review as part of the blogtour.