Tag: books

Possibly, Maybe

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Let’s be honest, it’s been a while.

Late in 2024, I had every intention of turning over a new leaf and blasting into 2025 with a blog filled with lots of gorgeous and wonderful book reviews, and all the possibilities that a New Year should bring.

Then, in his usual, don’t worry, I’m fine and it’s probably nothing way, my Dad told me that there were a couple of health things he was dealing with. Except this time, things weren’t ok, and he wasn’t fine. He was diagnosed with kidney cancer in February this year, and passed away in April.

Inbetween the diagnosis and Dad’s death, my sister and I were flung into the unknown territories of looking after someone who is terminally ill. We split our weeks in half so that we could both travel to stay with him and look after him, dealing with medication, and doctors, and hospice nurses, and district nurses, and the realisation that in the midst of all this, our Dad was slipping away from us into a world where his lucidity hinged on where he was in his pain medication cycle.

When he died in April, with the grief came the knowledge that at least Dad wasn’t suffering with the excruciating pain he had endured, and as we then fell into the whirl of admin that comes when someone passes away (which made me realise how I need to get my own things sorted!), the only thing that counted was getting through the days however I could.

My sister and I were now, as someone tactfully told us at the funeral, real life orphans, so we settled back into our lives and are still dealing with everything Dad related at a distance. There is that awful realisation that keeps coming in waves, that your Dad isn’t at the end of a phone, or at the house just off the M4 in Wales, and I didn’t know what to do.

My Mum died in 2019, and blindsided by grief I fell back into and consumed books like a woman on a mission to absorb stories as a way to navigate my loss.

In 2025, I felt differently.

Since 2017, I had been calling myself a book blogger, and with it, came the excitement and thrill of reading and reviewing new books, making bookish connections with authors, publishing people, and best of all, a whole world of people who loved reading and books just as much as I did.

When I started, your ‘portfolio’ was your blog – it was a way for publishers to see what you were writing about, and books were being sent to me faster than I could read and review them. Yet I worked really hard at reading and reviewing them for publication day, shouting about them, telling people to read them, and nothing made me happier than an author thanking me for my review or someone telling me they had got a copy of the book because they trusted my recommendation.

By 2025, the blogging landscape had changed so much. BookTok is huge, talking about books on X is like shouting into the void, and the Instagram algorithm is all about the reels and the videos. It feels like a world where I am sat on the bench at the side of the playground, still writing reviews (admittedly on instagram) and shouting about books, but that everyone is looking the other way at the new kids.

Now, sitting with the quietness of not being seen so much, I realised that again, I had lost my joy of reading because I was getting frustrated by feeling that my efforts to read and review books were not being heard. We are always aware as bloggers how we can help and support authors, but I think we need that support too. Anyway, that’s a post for another time.

My Dad was a bookworm like me, and was always asking me how the book blogging was going, and whether there were any books I had read he would like – there usually weren’t, but we had so many brilliant discussions about reading and what different books meant to us at different points in our lives. Now, realising that we wouldn’t have those chats any more and feeling lost, I turned to my bookshelves for comfort. I read books that I wanted to read, books that had been on my shelves for the longest time, and books that I would never have picked up (hello Lonesome Dove, and thank you Amanda for telling me I needed to read it, you were of course right!).

I decided to take the book blogging pressure off myself, because when you put all that effort in, and you feel like no one is listening, or you start to get frustrated that you are missing out on proofs and seeing people with them and your own requests not being seen, I knew it was time to take a step back and take a long hard look at myself.

I guess this post is a long winded way of me telling you that I am still here, still reading, and am trying to get back to reading without the background noise of feeling I should be reading and reviewing all the new books.

When I wrote a post about my Mum, I ended it by saying that the greatest tribute to my Mum would be for me to just keep reading selfishly, because life is too short to read books you don’t love. Now as I navigate my world without Dad too, I have come to realise that one of the best gifts they gave me was my love of reading, and although it’s heartbreaking that neither of them are here with me, for them, I am trying to find that love again in the best way I can.

The List of Suspicious Things by Jennie Godfrey

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The List of Suspicious Things by Jennie Godfrey

Published by Hutchinson Heinemann on February 15th

What They Say

Maggie Thatcher is prime minister, drainpipe jeans are in, and Miv is convinced that her dad wants to move their family Down South.

Because of the murders.

Leaving Yorkshire and her best friend Sharon simply isn’t an option, no matter the dangers lurking round their way; or the strangeness at home that started the day Miv’s mum stopped talking.
Perhaps if she could solve the case of the disappearing women, they could stay after all?

So, Miv and Sharon decide to make a list: a list of all the suspicious people and things down their street. People they know. People they don’t.

But their search for the truth reveals more secrets in their neighbourhood, within their families – and between each other – than they ever thought possible.

What if the real mystery Miv needs to solve is the one that lies much closer to home?

What I Say

It is always brilliant to be able to review books by authors that you have met and become friends with on social media, which is quite ironic, considering that in The List of Suspicious Things we are firmly in a world way before anyone even knew what a mobile phone or Twitter is!

I had been chatting to Jennie for while – usually about all the fabulous books we have been reading, and sharing recent recommendations of books we loved. When I was offered a copy of Jennie’s debut novel to read and review, honestly, I was more than a little nervous – it is a Radio 2 Book Club pick, and already there have been so many wonderful reviews, that there is always the worry that I might not love it.

Once I started reading The List of Suspicious Things, I just knew that I was reading something really special.

Miv, and her best friend Sharon are growing up in the late 70s. Margaret Thatcher is Prime Minister, and The Yorkshire Ripper dominates every news story and headline. Miv lives with her Mum and Dad and Aunty Jean. Her Mum keeps herself to herself, often in her bedroom and then disappears from their house for periods of time, with no one really explaining to Miv what is happening.

Miv’s Dad seems unsettled and not himself, and decides that maybe the best thing for the family is to move down South away from The Yorkshire Ripper and all the uncertainty and unrest around them. Miv is devastated and doesn’t want to move away, so the solution to her is perfectly clear – if she can discover who The Yorkshire Ripper is, she can stay here, with her best friend Sharon and nothing has to change.

Sharon agrees to help, and as Miv pours over the newspapers and listens to news about The Yorkshire Ripper, she decides that she and Sharon have to investigate anyone who fits any part of the profile. This is a brilliant way to change the narrative, because this opens up Miv and Sharon’s world for us to meet the people in their community who make their list, but also shows us that what we have always known is true – that appearances can be deceptive, and you never really know what goes on behind closed doors.

As Miv and Sharon investigate the people and things they have hunches about, we are introduced to a range of characters – amongst them there is Omar who runs the local shop and his son Ishtiaq, Helen and Gary Andrews who seem to be a happily married couple, and Arthur, who is Helen’s Dad and dealing with the death of his wife.

Jennie’s writing harks back to a time when all our lives were contained in the small world of the streets and places and people we knew so well, and we were reliant on who had seen and heard what to find out what was happening. Yet it has to be said that this is not a cosy, uncomplicated and innocent novel, mired in nostalgia and a rose tinted view of life.

The List of Suspicious Things is also a novel that unflinchingly shows a world where there is racism, domestic violence, mental health issues and marital affairs. This is a world presented to us through the eyes of children, who see and hear these things, but do not fully understand the intricacies and realities of what they are party to. Their innocence and seeming naivety presents us with a different view of the world, whereas we as readers, and the adults in the story bring our own experiences and knowledge of the realities of what the children are actually going through.

This is such a layered and nuanced novel that deals with so many things in one book, all executed effortlessly. Undoubtedly the main focus of the novel is the project that Miv and Sharon are undertaking, as to whether they can find the true identity of The Yorkshire Ripper, but this is not singularly why this is such an unforgettable book.

What makes this book so compelling for me to read is the portrayal of family life and the wider community, in all its shapes and forms. I felt that Jennie absolutely understood all her characters and their voices are clear and distinct. You get a real sense of place and time without it being something that detracts from the plot, and it makes the book feel anchored and authentic. Miv is such a brilliant protagonist, fearless and questioning and also aware that her family life is not like other people’s. Her relationship with her Mum is genuinely heartbreaking. – she knows what it should look like, and there are little moments in the book that shows us how much Miv understands that whatever happens her Mum is still there, trying to find a way back to being the Mum Miv needs. Miv is undoubtedly the pivotal character in this novel, and it is her relationships with the people around her that makes this such a compelling story.

In becoming part of Miv and Sharon’s world, we are also looking back at a time that some of us can remember clearly – that sense of growing up in a world where human connection was part of our everyday lives, with no phones or social media to colour our opinions. Our world at that time went as far as the streets around us, the neighbours we knew and the conversations we heard. The List of Suspicious Things is an unforgettable book that perfectly articulates what it meant to be a child at that time, and in doing so may make us realise how far we have come, but also how much we have lost in terms of having that close community around us.

Do Miv and Sharon find out who The Yorkshire Ripper was? Of course I am not going to tell you, you need to read it. One thing is certain though, that I promise after reading The List Of Suspicious Things, Miv and Sharon will always have a place in your heart.

I absolutely loved it.

Thank you so much to Hutchinson Heinemann for my proof copy.

Thank Goodness for Books

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Ever since I decided last year not to do a Best Books of the Year thing, I have been thinking a lot about what I wanted my final blog post of 2023 to look like. I am genuinely too knackered to think of anything witty and erudite to say (that’s the joy of full time unpaid caring for you), but I am just awake enough to say that this year I felt like there was some undefinable shift for book bloggers.

Possibly it is because Twitter has felt very different over the past year – a lot like shouting into the void as you endlessly try and tell people that the books you are trying to shout about are really good and you know that so many of you would love it – if only you were able to reach them. Instagram has me baffled constantly, and at 53 I am not enthusiastic enough to do reels and feel too embarrassed to start lip syncing to songs while remembering to hold my book the right way round, so I guess posting pictures of my books against the white of my dining room wall will have to do.

There is absolutely no doubt that the bookish community is as strong and supportive as ever, but I know that lots of us are all having conversations about how different it feels at the moment – something we can’t quite put our fingers on, but I know lots of us feel it.

As always, this is just my opinion, and as always for me writing about how I am feeling helps me to process and understand it – well at least a little. I have been blogging since 2017, and this is the first year, as I have said before that I found this the most personally challenging in terms of caring and book blogging yet.

Not only have I been trying to juggle full time caring, dealing with all the stresses and pressures that brings – no sick days, no breaks and loneliness and isolation like I have never experienced, but also trying to not let down the publicists and publishers by making sure I read and reviewed the books I had promised to do, as well as keeping Years Of Caring going. This proved to be really challenging because ironically I was so busy caring for Eldest Years of Reading that I found it really hard to make the time to read the books and ask authors to be involved!

Anyway, I think what I am trying to say (not very well, so thank you for sticking with me so far!) is that 2023 has made me realise many things, and perhaps most of all how you have to be kind to yourself and accept that sometimes life means that you can’t read lots of books, or as much as you like, and that you absolutely shouldn’t feel guilty about it.

Reading should be a pleasure, a joy, something that gives you that real physical sensation of connection to a book and the words on the pages. Whatever you read, whenever you read, whether it be one page, one chapter or one hundred pages it is your chance to be somewhere else, on your own, even for just a little while. This year, this has meant more to me than I can explain, and having to accept that reading has to fit into my life rather that my life has to fit into my reading schedule has felt like an enormous weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

So I think the one piece of advice I am trying pass on is to remember how much you love reading. Why out of all the things you could be doing, that picking up a book is what you choose to do. How much you love finding yourself in new worlds, losing yourself for a while, that amazing feeling of joy and wonder that comes when you love a book and want everyone you know to read it too. We all read, loved and recommmended books way before we used social media to tell everyone about them, and I know I need to remind myself of that too.

Reading is a way to start conversations, to make friends, to read books that you never would have picked up, to find solace, comfort and joy. The right book at the right time can make you look at the world in a whole new way, and there is nothing like it when you find an author you love with a whole backlist for you to devour. Don’t ever feel embarrassed about telling an author how much you love their writing either, because it means the world to them to know how much their words mean to you.

It can be very easy to feel at times that your bookish worth is measured by how many books you have read, or how fast you can get through them, but honestly, maybe the best judge of it is being able to simply say – do you know what, I read some brilliant books this year, and it doesn’t matter if it is two or two hundred.

I guess what I am trying to say is that no matter how challenging 2023 has been, there have been two constants that have helped make it better – brilliant books and truly brilliant bookish friends, and for that I am and will always be forever grateful to all of you.

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,

Lots of love,

Clare

xxx

Keep Caring and Carry On

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Reading Aloud Margery and the Boys by William Hutchison

It’s funny how time runs away with you when you are completely unaware and before you know it, it’s November, and Christmas and the New Year are in view.

I have noticed this year that for me, there have been massive changes both personally – the caring element has really taken over my life to be honest, and also I guess professionally – although I don’t know if I can really call my blogging that.

All I know as we come to the end of the year that things ain’t what they used to be, and I was feeling kind of confused about it all.

I have been shouting about books for a long time, and I love reading and talking about books, and it’s still the best feeling when someone contacts you to say that they read a book you recommended and they loved it. It’s really hard not to recommend another twenty to them, but you feel that you must be doing something right!

This year more than ever, there has been a wide range and numerous discussions and posts about book blogging, and with Twitter (still won’t call it X) changing all the time and Instagram having a fine old time monkeying around with that wonderful algorithm, lots of us are scratching our heads about how we can best get the word out about books we love to fellow readers.

A wise woman (thank you @bookishchat!) told me that when you have read and reviewed a book that you should feel that your part is done and that you should move on to the next book. I was getting really caught up in worrying about no one seeing or liking or sharing my posts, but honestly. I think you will never beat the algorithms and you have to post and move on, and hope that someone picks up a book that you have recommended.

For me, this year, this has been brought even more into focus by the fact that the demands on myself as a carer have increased massively. It has been hard, but I have had to admit that I can’t spend so much time writing reviews and thinking of lots of different ways to talk about books. Being involved with the Curae prize and being fortunate enough to meet the incredible writers who have contributed to it has made me really think about what I am doing and where to go from here.

My day is probably different to many of yours, and in fact my life is too. If you had told me twenty two years ago that I would be looking full time after my adult son, that I would have to give up my career, lots of things I took for granted that I would be doing, lots of my dreams, some friends, some family, holidays, nights out with my husband, having friends over, having weekends away, being able to just walk out of the house to go for a walk, or even be able to go into another room and have five minutes to myself, having a lie in, and all the other things that many people do without a second thought – I wouldn’t have believed you.

Yet here I am.

There are currently around 10 million unpaid carers in the U.K. according to Carers UK 2022 Research Data. You may be one, have been one, you may know one – or lots, and honestly – one day it’s likely you may find yourself as one. You may have known the day was coming, or it could come completely out of the blue, but one thing is certain. Your life will be very different, and for me, this year especially, I knew that in order to keep going, I needed to have something to let me be me – even if for only ten minutes.

Reading is always and has always been the very thing that I turn to, but this year has been hectic and full on, and trying to read and blog alongside trying to do everything else has made me feel that 2023 should really be my last year of Years of Reading Selfishly.

Yet something kept me from deleting my accounts and stopping reviewing.

Quite simply, it was the realisation that without that focus, that part of my life that I don’t know what I would do with my days, apart from look after my son and do housework and watch telly, and that’s not enough for me. It never was.

Starting my Years Of Caring project may be a very small fish in a huge pond, but knowing that I am making sure unpaid carers voices are heard, and that people are realising they are carers as a result of hearing others talk about it has just been incredible for me, and I have made some brilliant friends as a result.

It has also made me realise and acknowledge that reading and blogging is not, and should never be a competition. It’s about finding that joy and peace in those moments, be they languishing or snatched, that for that time it’s just you and the words on the page, and that you are transported away from your world if only for a little while. We all started our bookish accounts because we loved reading and shouting about books, and it’s too easy to get caught up in the misconception that if your posts aren’t liked or shared that it somehow means you have failed. We all read and talked and recommended books long before we dipped our toes in the social media sea, and sometimes I think I forget that.

Life is too short to read books you don’t love – and for me I have realised that life is also too short to believe that likes and shares somehow validate you as a reader or blogger. Once I realised that, suddenly all that matters is knowing that I am going to keep talking about and recommending books – however and whenever that works for me.

My Summer of Reading Selfishly

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A Woman Reading in the Woods, 1959 (Life magazine)

I had my Summer Reading all perfectly planned.

A stack of books, selected, piled, all ready for an introduction on Twitter (refuse to call it X), a lovely filtered picture on Instagram and a cheeky post on Threads. There is so much bookish stuff going on – the Booker Prize Longlist, the notabene prize Shortlist, the Diverse Book Awards, the fabulous Women In Translation month, not to mention the books that are coming out in August and all the ones I haven’t managed to read and review yet, and don’t get me started on the books sat on my bookshelf glaring at me..

I don’t know what happened, I sat looking at them all and I just felt completely overwhelmed.

I always feel when you announce to the world “These are the books I want to read this summer”, that there is an obligation to read them all – even if you don’t really love them, because you have put it out there, and as a book blogger, I always try to do what I say!

I ended up with a full on case of The Dreaded Book Slump, not wanting to read anything at all, and instead spent my days watching re-runs of Real Housewives and sat staring at my books.

So this Summer, I am trying to do something a bit different. It might not be for everyone, but for me, I know that with everything else I have going on (hello real life!), that I need to stay interested and feel that reading is a pleasure, not a bookish chore I need to get through – otherwise those Real Housewives are going to get watched a LOT.

This Summer is going to be my Summer Of Reading Selfishly, and if you have read this far, thank you, and you are probably (hopefully) wondering what it means, and whether you could do it too.

I have picked a new pile of books to read over the Summer – in fact, as I write this blog post, they are sat on the table in front of me, and I have decided that I am not going to share what they are.

I am not setting myself any deadlines, I might post a review if I feel like it – although am not quite sure where works anymore – but that’s a whole other blog post. If I love the book I have read – I will tell you about it, if it’s not for me, I won’t say a word, and move on to the next one.

For me, that’s the best bit – this is a win win for everyone! I shout about books I love, the authors know I love their books, and if I read a book from my stack that I don’t love, I just put it down and move onto the next one – and no one knows. More importantly, I don’t feel under any pressure to read and review everything I have in my pile – because I am the only one who knows what’s on there.

So for this August, that’s my Summer Reading sorted, and honestly, for the first time in a long time I am looking forward to just reading for the sake of it. I might even start to remember a time when I used to read without thinking about how I would review it!

One thing is for sure, I promise to let you all know when I read a brilliant book – and here’s to my Summer of Reading Selfishly.

The Whispers by Ashley Audrain

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The Whispers by Ashley Audrain

Published by Michael Joseph on 20th July

Available from all Good Bookshops

What They Say

The whispers started long before the accident on Harlow Street . . .
Was it at the party, when Whitney screamed blue murder at her son?
Or after neighbour Blair started prowling Whitney’s house, uninvited?
Or once Rebecca and Ben’s childlessness finally puts a crack in their marriage?
But on the terrible night of the accident, the whispers grow louder, more insistent.
Neighbours gather round. Questions are asked. Secrets are spilled. And the gloss on everything begins to rub off. Everyone is drawn into the darkness.
Because there’s no smoke without fire.
No friendship without envy.
And no lie that does not conceal a devastating truth . .

What I Say

You might have already read Ashley’s first novel, The Push – which quickly found its place as one of my favourite books.

When I was asked if I would like a proof of The Whispers, of course I said yes, but there is always that slight concern that it won’t be so brilliant, and then how do you review it?

Readers, let me tell you, I think The Whispers is even better.

This is a novel which puts motherhood and relationships front and centre. What does it mean to be a mother? What does society expect from mothers? Does it mean losing ourselves as we strive to make sure that our children’s needs are always the most important, and what if you don’t fit the template that everyone expects you to?

With Whitney, Blair and Rebecca, we see three very different women living in the same street, all dealing with motherhood and their relationships in very different ways.

Whitney feels overwhelmed by motherhood, and instead spends as much time as she can out of the house at her business, leaving the parenting to her husband and anyone else, revealing how dull and boring she finds it, resentful of all the mundanity and routine it brings.

Her best friend Blair is the complete opposite, her world is her daughter, and her own wants and needs have been subsumed by her daughter and husband. Yet Blair is not fulfilled either, is desperately lonely, and yearns for something that is her own. Blair slowly starts to suspect that her husband is having an affair – with Whitney.

Rebecca is an ER Doctor, and in spite of trying, is unable to carry a child to full term. Although originally she wanted to stop trying, she now wants to have a child with her husband. As they try to conceive, the gap between them becomes wider, and Rebecca feels that her marriage is failing.

Whitney undoubtedly seems to have the world and her neighbours in her picket fence perfect suburb of Harlow Street at her beck and call. Until one day at a party held in her home, they hear her screaming at her son, Xavier. A few months later, Xavier is in a coma, having apparently fallen from his bedroom window, and as she rushes to his bedside, seemingly bereft, his accident shows us exactly who Whitney really is. and little by little, the seemingly perfect facade of Harlow Street slowly cracks to show us exactly what secrets the residents are hiding.

As the events leading up to Xavier’s fall start to become clearer, and the women’s lives start to unravel before us, you understand that each of these women have one thing in common – that they have put the needs of others first, and that although on the surface they seem content, very slowly you understand that each of them is burying the anger and resentment that they feel, because to show it outwardly would deem them as socially unacceptable.

Ashley Audrain’s incisive and intelligent writing reflects this. If all these women were perfect examples of motherhood – then we wouldn’t engage with them, and the story would feel vacuous. It is the very fact that these women articulate what so many of us express privately is what makes us feel a connection with them. They are not perfect, they are vulnerable and at times bewildered by a world that judges them for their ability to conform to standards that are old fashioned and unforgiving.

The power of this novel also comes from the way in which the plot moves along at a rapid pace, but never feels forced or contrived. Ashley knows that in order for us to engage with and care about the characters, that there has to be a distinct line between scintillating plot twists and truthful character portrayals, and in The Whispers, she achieves this perfectly.

The Whispers is a brilliantly constructed and effortlessly plotted novel that once you start reading you cannot put it down. Ashley absolutely understands not only the dynamics and pressures of families, but also the complicated and sometimes limiting roles we find ourselves in as partners and parents. As the novel draws to its conclusion, Blair and Rebecca find the confidence to determine what they want from their lives, putting themselves first. We also sense that Whitney will finally get the chance to be the mother she realises she wants to be, but be prepared, because life is never that straightforward is it?

I absolutely loved it.

Thank you so much to Jen Breslin for my proof copy.

Is It Just Me?

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Here’s the thing.

I’ve been blogging about books since 2017 and have loved every single minute.

Honestly? For the last few years, I have felt that I am shouting into the void, along with eleventy billion other bloggers too. You know when you read a book that’s just so brilliant you want everyone to know about it – there’s only so ways you can say “Trust me, you will love this book, please read it!” How do you not lose heart or lose faith in your judgement when it feels like no one is listening?

I love reading, and I love talking to people about books, but thanks to the constant changes in the algorithm on Twitter and Instagram, I am starting to wonder why, and doubting myself as a reader and blogger.

Recently, I have found it sometimes difficult to be enthusiastic about books, and have been feeling overwhelmed by my reading pile – I can’t get through them fast enough to talk about them, and the reading slumps have been coming more and more frequently. At one point, I started to wonder what was the point of reading and posting about books for publication day, when it feels for me that the views and likes and retweets are less and less with every week.

People will tell you that it shouldn’t matter, that you do it because you love it, and that you are creating an online document of the books you have read and loved. I do love what I do, but I still want to feel that my words are reaching people. Having worked with quite a few authors now, I know how important it is to them that we talk about their books – especially when you find that special one that you want everyone to read.

Then you start to think it must be you – that you have done or said something to offend people, and that in a world of screens and scrolling your posts are whizzed past or ignored.

After some personal decisions were made this week, I realised I could sit around and feel sad – or I could do something about Years Of Reading and take the chance to shake things up and move in a direction that I want to go in.

So here we are.

The funny thing is, that once I had a chance to process everything, I realised that if I was brave enough, that this could actually be the chance for change, for me to sit back and think about what I love doing and what I don’t, and that now my bookish future is up to me.

Reader, I started to think of what I want Years Of Reading to be and have already done a few bookish things way out of my comfort zone – will they come off? I don’t know. The thing is I tried, and at least it’s made me realise that you don’t know unless you ask. For the first time in a while, I feel enthusiastic and inspired about Years Of Reading – because I know that it’s up to me what happens next – and do you know what?

That’s the most exciting thing of all.

We All Want Impossible Things by Catherine Newman

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We All Want Impossible Things

by Catherine Newman

Published by Doubleday Books on January 12th

Available from West End Lane Books and all Good Bookshops

What They Say

Who knows you better than your best friend? Who knows your secrets, your fears, your desires, your strange imperfect self? Edi and Ash have been best friends for over forty years. Since childhood they have seen each other through life’s milestones: stealing vodka from their parents, the Madonna phase, REM concerts, unexpected wakes, marriages, infertility, children. As Ash notes, ‘Edi’s memory is like the back-up hard drive for mine.’

So when Edi is diagnosed with terminal cancer, Ash’s world reshapes around the rhythms of Edi’s care, from chipped ice and watermelon cubes to music therapy; from snack smuggling to impromptu excursions into the frozen winter night. Because life is about squeezing the joy out of every moment, about building a powerhouse of memories, about learning when to hold on, and when to let go.

What I Say

There are novels you read and love, and then there are novels you read and love and nod your head in recognition, that make you laugh and add lots of post it notes so you can go back and reread the passages because they are so wonderful – and We All Want Impossible Things is one of them.

If you are looking for a sweet, subdued book about friendship – then this is not for you. If however like me, you love novels that show friendships in all their glorious, messy and magical forms, then this should absolutely be on your reading list.

Edi and Ash have been friends for longer than they can remember, and have that wonderful connection that comes with a lifetime of shared experiences and moments they only understand.

When Edi is diagnosed with terminal cancer, Edi’s husband Jude decides that to avoid their son Dash having to see his Mum pass away, that Edi will move into a hospice close to Ash, and Ash will provide the daily support she needs.

The power of Catherine’s storytelling is steeped in every single page of this novel. Not only must Edi and Ash now navigate a new and uncharted path through their friendship, but dealing with the day to day unglamorous realities of cancer, the etiquette of grief and dying, and the ever present knowledge that Edi is not going to be here for much longer, makes the women appreciate what they have now and all the things they have ever had together.

Ash seems to be split in two – dealing with Edi and being the present and unshakeable friend in her presence, but at the same time unravelling when she is away from Edi, seemingly separated from her husband and ricocheting from relationship to relationship as she tries to hold everything and everyone together. At times I felt completely frustrated with her, but it also makes you understand that there is no prescriptive way to deal with grief, and while we may not understand why Ash behaves as she does, it is not for us to judge her.

It is also important to say that this novel does not shy away from Edi’s condition, and this is not some airbrushed version of cancer. The day to day realities of what it’s like to have a terminal illness, and the physical, emotional and medical stresses that Edi and her family go through are laid bare. It was at times undoubtedly hard for me to read, having lost a Mum to cancer, but at the same time I was pleased that Catherine told Edi’s story with compassion and candour.

Catherine Freeman also perfectly understands the complicated and awkward nature of dealing with a loved one who is dying, and that there should be no shame in acknowledging the humour too. If Edi’s heart’s desire is to taste the cake from a recipe no one can find, that Ash will do everything she can to get hold of it, whilst at the same time Ash wonders when the most appropriate time would be to ask Edi if she can have the favourite t-shirt back she borrowed! This is what Catherine does so well – her characters are real, relatable and not perfect – and it made me love them even more.

We All Want Impossible Things is a glorious love letter to female friendships in all its unremarkable, remarkable and perfectly imperfect forms. Edi and Ash are characters who not only have the emotional shorthand that so many of us long for in friendships, but also resonate so deeply because they are just like us – not perfect, not always likeable, but they would do anything for each other however difficult that might be, and I completely loved them for it.

Thank you so much to Alison and Doubleday books for my gifted proof copy.

And Just Like That, 2022 is done

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I’m not quite sure why I am writing this blog post on the last day of 2022. I haven’t read a huge number of books this year, I’ve been at times lackadaisical in posting on my blog, and have often felt like Twitter and Instagram have been changing the rules so often that I have no clue as to what the best way is to shout about books anymore!

Book blogging has been my thing for such a long time now, and while it’s introduced me to a world where I finally feel that I belong, has given me opportunities I could never have dreamed of, and has given me incredible friendships I now couldn’t be without, I am ending 2022 feeling a bit lost.

I am a firm believer in being honest about my blogging, and as 2022 comes to a close, and 2023 looms large, honestly, I have been feeling overwhelmed with it all at the moment. It’s hard to keep the energy and enthusiasm sometimes – I still love reading but by December (probably like lots of you!) I felt a bit like I was back on the bookish conveyor belt of reading books in a certain order so that I am ready to review them for publication date.

I have taken a complete break from social media over Christmas – and it’s been lovely. I’ve watched a lot of films, spent a lot of time with my family and put my phone down for days – which not surprisingly has meant I have read a lot more! It has been so refreshing to just sit and read without constantly thinking of what I am going to say in my review, and instead have just read for the sake of reading!

There are a few things I know I want to do now. I need to feel confident in my voice again, and find the joy in blogging. For me, it’s hard to keep posting when you feel like no one is listening – I know it shouldn’t matter, but when I read a brilliant book, I just want to make sure as many people as possible know, and honestly, I still get frustrated sometimes because I don’t know the most effective way to do it, and feel like I have let the authors down.

Having a chance to pause over Christmas has also given me time to think and reflect on Years Of Reading Selfishly and what I want it to be going forward next year. I am sure no one is really bothered, but for me I need to feel enthusiastic about it or I just won’t do anything! Perhaps in writing this blog post I am making myself accountable and can look back on it in 2023 to make sure I actually do what I say.

When the brilliant author Harriet Evans wrote her article for The Bookseller this year about how women over 45 love books, and that the book trade should love them back, I was lucky enough to be quoted in the article, and I also felt that Harriet perfectly articulated what I have been thinking for a long time too. As a 52 year old woman, at times I have felt invisible, at one point this year seriously contemplated stopping blogging – but do you know what – I don’t want to lose my voice or feel my thoughts about books don’t matter. There should be room for everyone to talk about the books they love, however they want to do it, and my voice and opinions count – I need to remember that, and make sure that we support each other too.

The other thing I have been thinking about a lot, is how to combine book blogging with being a carer for my adult son. I told you all this year that I am going to keep talking about the realities of caring, because as a society we don’t, and books have given me the perfect peace and space I have needed to recharge this year – because it’s hard and full on sometimes.

In 2023, I want to read and share books written by people who are carers like me, to use my blog as a way to amplify the voices of people whose stories you may not know but need to be heard. I am pulling together a reading pile of books, and am having a think about the best way to do it – more on that soon, but in the meantime I’d also really love it if the publishing industry didn’t do away with online events. Just because book lovers can’t physically be somewhere doesn’t mean we don’t want to take part…

Looking back on what I’ve written it seems like such a lot. It’s up to me now to practise what I have been preaching, but the one thing I know for sure is that while at times I do feel like I am done, that there is also something that keeps me here – and that’s the fact that sharing my love of books and reading brings me joy – and I know that I need that in my life now more than ever.

Here’s to 2023, and all the books we have waiting for us, the love of books that we want to share, and to you, the incredible bookish community who absolutely understand the joy of books, reading and shouting about them!

Lots of love,

Clare

Xxx