Amalia Gkavea

‘’The remnants of a pagan past combined with Catholic faith and political conflict have rendered Ireland a bewitching land for those who wish to be initiated to its mysteries, marvels, wonders and horrors.’’

There’s something quietly magnetic about the way Irish storytelling leans into the mist—how it welcomes the uncanny, the haunted, the half-seen. Uncanny Ireland, edited by Maria Giakaniki, is a rich and atmospheric collection that does just that, drawing together strange tales from across time and place. The book is divided into six evocative sections—Folktales and Folk Beliefs, Myths and Legends Reimagined, Some Rural Ghosts and Uncanny Sounds, Gothic Chills, Strange and Dangerous Women, and Modern Horrors—each offering a different lens into Ireland’s darker imaginings. I was especially proud, as a Greek reader, to see this volume edited by a fellow Greek woman. There’s a quiet affinity, I think, between Irish and Greek storytelling—both steeped in myth, shaped by sorrow, and fiercely rooted in land and lore, even if our shores are miles apart.

‘’Open and let me in,’’ she called to the warder. ‘’I claim the protection of this holy place.’’

The Evil Eye (Lady Jane Wilde): Snippets written in the language of the Irish people, narrating true stories of omens, customs, and beliefs.

The Unquiet Dead (Lady Augusta Gregory): True cases of spectral encounters and the connection between our world and the next.

The Curse of the Fires and of the Shadows (William Butler Yeats): A tale of the sidhe, of loss and death set during the Irish Confederate Wars.

A Legend of Barlagh Cave (Fitz James O’Brien): Celtic mythology is strongly imbued in the Irish tales. This is a story of love and despair.

The Monks of Saint Bride (Herminie Templeton Kavanagh): One of the most atmospheric tales in the collection, this is the legend of a curse in the name of love, and uncanny sounds echoing in an old abbey.

The Drowned Fisherman (Anna Maria Hall): The tragic fate of a fisherman who drowns, but the mystery and sorrow surrounding his death unravel deeper secrets within the tight-knit community. Hall weaves themes of loss, superstition, and human frailty with a poignant sensitivity to the harsh realities of rural life.

A Scrap of Irish Folklore (Rosa Mulholland): Fairy men are better than real men, no doubt about it.

The Strange Voice (Dora Sigerson Shorter): A love that withstands death as a young woman is determined to follow her shadowy lover.

The Wee Gray Woman (Ethna Carbery): One of the most haunting, moving, tragic stories. A tale of a doomed love, condemned by a young man's reluctance to acknowledge his love for a mysterious girl.

Tale of the Piper (Donn Byrne’): A piper's tune that may echo the Devil’s music.

The Last of Squire Ennismore (Charlotte Riddell): A fascinating tale of a seaside spectre and unlucky vessels.

The Fortunes of Sir Robert Ardagh (Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu) : I can never connect to the stories of this writer. I just can't get the fascination with his stories which, for me, are the epitome of the sleeping pill.

“It is now the fall of the night. The last of the neighbours are hitting the road for home.”

The Watcher O’ The Dead (John Guinan):

A sad tale that makes use of the conviction that the last person to be buried must guard the graveyard and its souls.

The Sea's Dead (Katharine Tynan): My favourite story in the collection. The tale of a woman who may be a selkie and her undying love for her man.

Julia Cahill's Curse (George Moore): I am not sure what this story wanted to accomplish. Promiscuity is hardly the road to progress…Indifferent, idiotic.

The Return of Niav (Dorothy Macardle): An interesting take on the myth of the Changeling that briefly echoes the Children of Lir and a few of the most famous Irish myths.

The Back Drawing-Room (Elizabeth Bowen): A Christmas story in which one of the guests narrates an unsettling encounter in an abandoned estate.

The Raising of Elvira Tremlett (William Trevor): A boy finds solace in the company of a strange girl as domestic life becomes more and more difficult.

Encounter by Night (Mary Frances McHugh): A man who is trying to find shelter for the night stumbles upon a tragic event. Sad and shocking, set in Dublin.

A Ghost Story (Mary Beckett): A young married couple that seems unable to see eye to eye in practically everything is about to fall apart because of a haunted house and a TV.

Uncanny Ireland left me with a range of responses, which is something I value in a collection like this. A few stories stayed with me—The Sea’s Dead and The Wee Gray Woman in particular—while others felt forgettable or simply not for me. But that’s part of reading widely: letting yourself respond honestly, rather than expecting each piece to resonate in the same way. What I appreciated most was how rooted these stories are in place and memory—how they carry the weight of old beliefs, quiet heartbreaks, and things half-said. There’s something universal in that, even if the setting is deeply Irish. These stories may come from another time and place, but the feelings they stir—longing, fear, wonder—are instantly familiar. While Uncanny Ireland offers many moments of atmospheric richness and haunting storytelling, it didn’t consistently maintain that immersive quality for me throughout. A few stories truly stood out and lingered, but others felt less compelling or just didn’t resonate. By my usual standards, when I find myself wavering between 4 and 5 stars, it’s a clear sign to lean toward 4—honesty in ratings matters to me. This collection is well worth reading, especially for lovers of Irish folklore and uncanny tales, but it’s not without its uneven patches.

“The greys of the landscape deepened; the green - purple of the trees sunk into gulfs of black all around; a few poplars beyond the cabins stirred faintly in the sky, and the white-blossomed boughs of an alder-tree glimmering out of the deepest darkness down the vanished road, and suggested the hovering nearness, yet aloofness of a reserve of sympathetic and vigilant spirits.”

Many thanks to the British Library Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/

“It was an ordinary spring day in Istanbul, a long and leaden afternoon like so many others, when she discovered, with a hollowness in her stomach, that she was capable of killing someone.”

Can an attempted robbery and assault force your entire life to flash before your eyes? Can a Polaroid plunge you back into the year that shaped everything — your beliefs, your mistakes, your identity? In Three Daughters of Eve, the answer is a desperate, aching yes.

Elif Shafak needs no introduction, and in this novel, she weaves a tale made of a thousand vivid, interwoven threads. Set between Istanbul and Oxford, this is Peri’s story — a story about faith and doubt, love and loneliness, and what it means to hurt others, to be human, to seek happiness. Touching on the cruelty of the Ottoman past, brushed with an elegant note of Magical Realism, Peri narrates her very soul to us. Troubled, intelligent Peri. A true bookworm, caught between a nihilist father and a fundamentalist mother, with books as her only solace. A reader of people. A confused idealist. A quiet young woman who goes about her life troubling no one, longing to be left alone — a lover of hushed debates, having found her haven in Oxford.

Until love strikes. That elemental force before which we are all defenceless.

Through the beautiful character of Peri — can you tell I adored her? — we’re given the chance to view Istanbul and Oxford side by side, like an intricate lecture on Descartes (and yes, I loved that scene…). Turkey, as Shafak presents it, is a country trying to balance between two boats — East and West — and failing to remain steady in either. Her elegant, often wry political and social commentary sketches a chaotic city bowed under the weight of a chaotic culture.

‘We’ are the Christians. The Westerners. ‘They’ are the pious Muslims. Turkey, in this novel, appears as a lighter version of an Islamic State: a place devoid of respect for women, children, Christians, basic human rights — full of hostility, and yet curiously submissive toward the very tyrants it creates. A country clinging to both inferiority and superiority complexes, stranded in cultural limbo.

Oxford, by contrast, is confidence. Its culture is steeped in a past it has claimed and understood. Istanbul’s past is stained with blood, massacres, and inherited barbarity. And Shafak, to her credit, doesn’t shy away from making that point utterly, unflinchingly clear.

‘’It’s hard to break our chains when some of us love being shackled.’’

Peri embodies the quiet, persistent resistance of a woman in a country that punishes femininity with cruelty and control. She walks through Istanbul—the city of rapes—where life bends to men’s convenience. A place where husbands demand virginity tests, where women devour each other over dinner tables dressed as social gatherings. Turkey, with all its contradictions, has no place in Europe—not in this state. And yet, in this brutal landscape, Peri remains tender. Her first love, wild and devastating, offers a glimmer of salvation. In love, we are all defenceless, all innocent.

Mona, with her pious self-righteousness, is a brute dressed in liberal fabric. Shirin, an oversexualized caricature, is an exhausting echo of Western clichés. Neither holds a candle to Peri’s inner light. I almost wish they had never intruded upon the pages of such a soulful novel. And Azure—mysterious, magnetic, brilliant—who wouldn’t fall for him?

‘’Now I can see it clearly. When we fall in love, we turn the other person into our god - How dangerous is that? And when he doesn't love us back, we respond with anger, resentment, hatred. There’s something about love that resembles faith. It's a kind of blind trust, isn't it? The sweetest euphoria. The magic of connecting with a being beyond our limited, familiar selves. But if we get carried away by love-or by faith-it turns into a dogma,a fixation. The sweetness becomes sour. We suffer in the hands of the gods that we ourselves created.’’

Then Faith enters the game. The women who impose such tyranny on themselves, brainwashed by a twisted piety, faithful to an unapproachable God. How lucky we are to be Christian, because we doubt and believe. We erase and create. Not egoistic believers, but true seekers. That is who Peri is. Not someone who seeks psychics, but one who speaks directly to her God.

Through Safak, we witness attitudes that estrange women from their sacred places. Jesus elevated Woman; fundamentalist Muslims hate her very existence. Azur’s sharp debates on God expose atheists and fundamentalists as two sides of the same coin. Our faith is what keeps us from collapsing; it shelters us from absolute despair. We see God as Love when we love ourselves. Imagine how atheists and fundamentalists view themselves… And this is why, eventually, your downfall comes when you think you have what it takes to ‘decode’ God.

Three Daughters of Eve is one of those rare novels that stays with you long after you close the cover. It seeps into your mind and refuses to leave, leaving behind a swirl of anger, heartbreak, and awe. Elif Shafak doesn’t hand you easy answers or tidy endings. Instead, she drags you into the raw, tangled mess of faith, love, identity — and the cost they demand.

I can’t deny my frustration with Peri’s choices — how love blinded her, how she gave up so much, how she stumbled toward pain. And yet, I found pieces of myself in her — in her doubts, her fierce intelligence, her longing for something more. That flawed, messy humanity makes her unforgettable. This is a story that haunts you, challenges you, tears down what you thought you knew about belief and freedom, and forces you to face uncomfortable truths.

If I write best when I’m furious, then Three Daughters of Eve lit a fire inside me that won’t burn out. Reading it felt like staring into a mirror cracked by love and faith and loss. Even now, my thoughts keep returning to Peri — to the woman I admired, the woman I wanted to save, and the woman who was herself, no matter what.

And even as I struggle to find words worthy of its weight, this much is clear: this is a book to be felt with every fiber of your being, to be wrestled with long after the last page.

‘’She had taken her God - diary with her, into which she now wrote: The eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me, Eckhart says. If I approach God with rigidity, Gold approaches me with rigidity. If I see God through love, God sees me through Love. My eye and God’s eye are One.’’

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/

“Maybe I’m just blessed with encounters with kind people today.”

In the Ginza neighbourhood in Tokyo, there is a very special stationery shop. Aided by an extremely polite, serene owner, people are able to write their thoughts in a unique notebook and find that the words flow like a river. Whether you’re too shy to talk to the one you love, feel inadequate to write an obituary for the only woman you ever loved, or want to thank someone who helped you advance in the world, the Shihodo paper, notebooks, and stationery treasures are there to assist you.

And when this premise is combined with the long tradition of Japanese calligraphy, washi paper, pens, and trivia that will make any stationery lover melt, you expect a novel that will blow your mind, take you to Japan, and heal your heart all at once. Besides, any book lover is also a stationery lover, right?

Yeah… it did not happen.

“Then, what am I to you? Are you telling me what you really think or just being polite?”

The five characters whose stories unfold in the novel are given chapters named after stationery items. Themes of loss, first love, regrets over misguided choices are interwoven with reflections on Japanese social norms. The competitiveness, the famed politeness that hovers between insecurity and emotional dishonesty, the control-freak mentality that drains every chance to enjoy life, the pressure of a deeply patriarchal society—where men must be perfect husbands and fathers, and women must sacrifice their dreams for marital and maternal duties—it’s an oppressive atmosphere that is, frankly, difficult for a European woman to stomach.

“After all, handwritten characters have expressions. They have laughing faces, crying faces, angry faces, happy faces, kind faces… Your mood at the time will be expressed directly.”

Fountain Pen:

A young man, always neat and composed, hovering between dignity and docility, wants to write a letter to his grandmother—the woman who raised him and instilled in him a quiet strength after his mother abandoned him. Sometimes, what we need is for the words to pour out along with our tears. And then, much may change for the better.

A moving introduction to the world of Shihodo.

Organiser:

I’m sorry to say I did not appreciate this story. I have a firm aversion to escorts of any kind, and for me, prostitution isn’t only about physical contact. The woes of a young woman who chose the lure of easy money over using her Humanities degree left me utterly cold.

Notebooks:

Teenage love—we get it, we’ve all been there. But all this tearful pining (and I do mean a lot of tears) over a boy with the personality of a control-freak potato didn’t make for a compelling chapter.

Frankly? I was bored.

Postcards:

A businessman, long the epitome of the scoundrel, must write the obituary of his (first) ex-wife—the only woman he ever truly loved. A bit melodramatic, but tender. And yet again, the misogyny that permeates Japanese society becomes glaring.

I mean, “Men who make women cry will only produce daughters”? Really?

Memo Pads:

Why would I care about the complexities of tea and sushi if there’s no compelling story attached? Memo pads, the sorrows of a sushi chef, and I was bored to tears.

A chapter as flavourless as cold rice.

I loved learning about the different ways to say “Welcome” in Japanese. I loved the details about calligraphy, stationery paper, and washi tapes (which I adore, by the way), and the evocative way flavours and scents can trigger memory. But that’s about it.

Where was the whimsical atmosphere? Where were the interesting characters? The dialogue was atrocious—likely a result of the translation. How many “oh”s and “hmms” do we need?

Whimsical imagery and memorable characters are the backbone of Healing Fiction—alongside, of course, the emotional themes. But in this novel, the imagery is weak, and the characters are practically non-existent. Even the shop owner is a cardboard cutout, a pale imitation of figures from more successful works in the genre.

This novel promised to be a balm for the soul, a love letter to stationery, memory, and all the unspoken things we carry. Instead, it gave me tears, tropes, and sushi metaphors. The Shihodo Stationery Shop might help fictional clients put their feelings into words—but as a reader, I was left with nothing much to say beyond: what a wasted opportunity.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/

‘’A smoky blackness swallows up the mustard path. There is a bite in the room and the bullish wind seems like a living, breathing, angry entity.’’

God, in His unfathomable wisdom, created the Day and the Night. One cannot exist without the other. And though most of us grow apprehensive, even nervous, once the sun sets — even I, who adore the tranquillity of darkness — try living in a country where daylight is constant through summer. It’s excruciating.

Night hides a different universe in its folds. And this beautiful book serves as our guide into that realm: a poignant, mystical journey through the shadows and their lurkers, human or otherwise.

Starting on the Normandy coast, Arifa Akbar narrates a tale about the isolated island during the dark hours, the rural night, ushering us into the deep feeling of insecurity that permeates every woman's evening walk. Echoing Charles Dickens's insomniac wanderings, she takes us into a 24-hour play in the West End and reminisces on her father's slow surrendering to dementia. She talks about the unsettling phenomenon of ‘’sun-downing’’ and the hospitals at night.

‘’I can’t remember when I first stopped sleeping soundly.’’

Somnambulism and Van Gogh’s torment. Murakami’s dreamlike narratives and Moshfegh’s hallucinatory novels become vessels for Akbar’s most intimate thread: the story of her sister’s mental health struggles and eventual death.

She writes of night terrors — or was the room truly haunted? — of strange female figures glimpsed on Waterloo Bridge or crouched outside a bedroom door. And all the while, ghostly presences drift through the pages: Virginia Woolf, Anaïs Nin, Dorothy Wordsworth, and the tortured brilliance of Sarah Kane. Even Goya’s Black Paintings loom in the dark, a visual chorus of anguish and shadow.

Sex workers in Amsterdam, BDSM clubs in Berlin, dancers in Lahore. Night tours in Whitechapel, immigrant workers in London’s nightly markets. Like a contemporary Edward Hopper, Arifa Akbar draws the portrait of Night and, especially, the portraits of the creatures - whatever their origin - that inhabit it. A book unlike anything I have ever read.

‘’I rushed downstairs, to the kitchen, whose window overlooks the building's many little allotments. It is a black mirror, reflecting my face back at me. There are shadows here too. Has the ghost woman pattered down the stairs with me? I eat quickly before racing back upstairs. When I pass the corner, I feel its filled vacancy. I know it is my imagination that gives the darkness its freighted quality. And yet I remain scared. The woman is someone I carry with me now, and I place her here every time I pass. It is a story I keep telling myself. A decision to fill the darkness with something over nothing.’’

Many thanks to Sceptre and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/

The Spiral Staircase began with all the right ingredients—an isolated manor, an air of creeping menace, and a sympathetic heroine in Helen. The early imagery was compelling, and the sense of a house gradually emptying was deliciously eerie. Unfortunately, the tension fizzled out midway, giving way to tiresome dialogue and domestic entanglements that diluted the suspense. By page 220, I found myself skipping ahead, unable to remain invested. While there’s merit in the premise and atmosphere, the narrative’s sluggish turn made it difficult to finish with enthusiasm.

Many thanks to Pushkin Vertigo and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

‘’What will we do with this paper, sir? Why, we’ll write great books. We’ll grow up and never marry.’’

Emily Brontë wrote only one novel. Just one novel. One. This novel became the measure by which every book of the Gothic genre is rated. It became controversial due to the mistaken, feminist approach of the Meanads who declared Heathcliff “ a monster”. It is worshipped on the altar of the literary masterpieces by the lovers of literature who know HOW to read. Her novel became one of the best novels ever written. For me, it is THE best novel ever written.

And The Man in the Stone Cottage is undoubtedly the finest novel about the Brontë family.

The West Yorkshire setting reflects the emotional and thematic core of the novel, mirroring the solitude and elemental strength that define Emily Brontë. Emily remains faithful to the stones, the moonlight, and the cold winds—guardians of memory, bearing the voices of the dead. In contrast, Charlotte’s spirit longs to soar beyond the moors, drawn to the vitality of London and its intellectual allure. Yet, the novel continually returns us to Emily: her solitude, her mystery, her quiet defiance.

‘’Why don’t people leave me alone?’’

Many have wondered how Emily could portray such a powerful, dark, and intimate relationship without ever having known love herself. Stephanie Cowell imagines a Scottish shepherd who melts the frost around Emily’s heart and temporarily draws her away from the world she so fiercely clings to. Though Charlotte’s story occupies much of the narrative, it is Emily’s presence that dominates. She exists not only in her own story, but in her sister’s thoughts and ambitions. It is Emily’s feral, mystical energy that haunts the pages of this remarkable novel.

‘’Where did this story come from? She thought of leaves against a corner of the church, a homeless boy she had once seen wth huge, dark eyes. And there was than ancient book of poems, particularly the poem about a wanderer. He was exiled from all he loved and roamed the cold seas and walked the paths of exile, just like the man in the stone cottage who had aroused such strange feelings in her.’’

The writing is truly exquisite. We can hear the winds howling, the branches knocking on the windows, the church bells, the leaves under the boots. We can see the stone cottage, Haworth, the moss on the graves, the silence of the empty church. The dialogue is beautiful, rich and elegant, poetic and moving. When you are as familiar with Wuthering Heights as I am, you understand that Cowell’s work is full of subtle nods and literary echoes—Easter eggs that deepen the experience and draw a clearer emotional thread between the two works.

‘’Because,’’ she mumbled slowly, her fingers peeling the polished bannister, ‘’the poems are from the inside of me. What all of you see isn’t the real me; it’s a shadow. If I don’t hold on, what’s real will be taken from me. Who I really am would be thrown away.’’

I have the audacity to confess that I’ve always felt a deep connection with Emily. In her silence, I saw my own aversion to the empty exchanges and performative interactions that fill our daily lives. In her rage, I recognised my own frustration. In her fierce privacy, I saw my own unwillingness to expose the intimate details of my life, because it’s nobody’s business.

After reading Stephanie Cowell’s novel, that connection felt even more profound. I felt it in my core—as if, through these pages, Emily had shared her deepest secrets with me. And now, I love her even more. This little heathen who wrote wonders…

‘’Ancient drystone walls ran far into the distance on the Yorkshire moor, and now last autumn’s heather and grass were covered with a light frost. A red grouse cackled from a wall and leaped into the air.’’

Lyrical and melancholic, sacred and bittersweet, this beautiful novel is a treasure for anyone who adores Emily Brontë. And for those unfamiliar with the Brontë family, it may spark a deeper curiosity, prompting them to explore the sisters’ works and extraordinary lives. If I sound opinionated—or even elitist—it’s only because years of encountering misreadings and shallow commentary about Emily Brontë have made me unapologetic. I can’t wait to own a physical copy of this book and place it among my most treasured volumes.

‘’We have always been here, they murmured. We are more real than you are. We are more real than he is, your man in his stone cottage, and he is dangerously real.

Live for us alone.

I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always. Take any form, drive me mad, only do not leave me in this dark alone where I cannot find you. I cannot live without my life! I cannot die without my soul.’’

Many thanks to Regal House Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/

Jesus Listens for Christmas offers a beautiful glimpse into a devotional that feels both timely and timeless. Sarah Young's signature warmth and reverence come through once again in this holiday edition of her beloved Jesus Listens series.

This Christmas devotional is thoughtfully structured, with daily readings that begin in late November and lead up to the New Year. Each prayerful entry is written in a first-person conversational style that invites the reader to connect with Jesus in a personal, reflective way. The themes of hope, peace, joy, and light resonate deeply, especially in a season where spiritual reflection can be both needed and overlooked amid the busyness.

What sets this edition apart is its gentle focus on the heart of the Christmas story—God’s love made manifest. There is a balance of scripture, prayer, and meditation that creates a calming rhythm to each day. Whether used in solitude or shared as a family reading, it encourages mindful presence and gratitude.

The book is a wonderful gift, and a treasure for the family while the various activities and suggested reading make it a true Christmassy companion.

Highly recommended for anyone looking to slow down and focus on the spiritual richness of the Christmas season. Jesus Listens for Christmas is a comforting and inspiring companion for Advent and beyond.

Many thanks to Tommy Nelson and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

‘’Not everyone alive in that winter night, and the following day when chaos erupted, would live to see the flowers return, or the warmth of summer, or enjoy the fruits of the harvest that followed. But that is always so. Men and women live with a heart-deep uncertainty every morning when they wake. It is why they go to war, why they write poems, fall in and out of love, plan thefts on dark nights, or try to forestall them. Why they pray. Or refuse to pray.

It is the uncertainty that shapes and defines our lives. The tears of the world, a longing for joy. Or even just safety. Just that.’’

A land plagued by endless war. A poet bearing the weight of a broken world. Two women—headstrong, intelligent, fiercely loyal. A maiden leading an army. A god of justice, echoing the spiritual reverence of Christian belief. Guy Gavriel Kay’s new novel is a thing to behold: intimate and epic, brutal and beautiful, in every way.

‘’Sometimes we retain the quiet moments that come in the midst of chaos, or after it. The city, my city, in the night. Our lives, written on the dark.’’

Epic and moving, without the vast scope of places and characters of previous novels, his new book is focused on Orane and a handful of characters, allowing the reader to breathe and concentrate on the themes that form the heart of the story. It explores war and its endless, torturous consequences: sorrow, famine, enmity. Poems that speak of valour cannot conceal the scorched earth left behind. Guy Gavriel Kay paints a fascinating imagery of the Dance of Death, perpetually defining the fates of countries and their people. And the endless cycle, the snake eating its tail.

‘’Usually there are no headstones for the dead of a battlefield. Sometimes a mound is raised.

What we know, or decide we know, of the past needs to be judiciously weighed and measured. It rarely is. We have our allegiences, even when centuries have gone by, season after season, year after year after year.’’

The observant, educated reader will notice the parallels between the story of Orane and the Hundred Years War—especially Jeanne d’Arc, the battle of Agincourt, and the fascinating ways in which history has been woven into this work of fiction. At the centre is Thierry, a character who is earthy, relatable, and direct—someone readers can easily connect with and care about. He’s supported by two intriguing, enchanting women, who add further depth to the narrative.

‘’It seems to me that most moments in a life can be called interludes; following something, preceding something. Carrying us forward, with our needs and nature and desires, as we move through our time. It also seems to me that it is foolish to try to comprehend all that happens to us, let alone understand the world.’’

As the two moons—first seen in the mystical A Song for Arbonne—rise once more, the fate of a land unfolds. Men and women struggle for justice, for meaning, for survival, in a brilliant work of literary art from a true master of the craft.

‘’There was still blood on the ancient stones. Rain would wash it away in due course. It had done that before. The moon, rising, shone down upon the arched bridge and the river, and the stars did. In the teachings of that time and place, Jad of the sun was in the darkness below, battling demons to protect his children, as he did every night since the world had been made, and remade, and remade.’’

Many thanks to Hodder & Stoughton and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/

‘’Not everyone alive in that winter night, and the following day when chaos erupted, would live to see the flowers return, or the warmth of summer, or enjoy the fruits of the harvest that followed. But that is always so. Men and women live with a heart-deep uncertainty every morning when they wake. It is why they go to war, why they write poems, fall in and out of love, plan thefts on dark nights, or try to forestall them. Why they pray. Or refuse to pray.

It is the uncertainty that shapes and defines our lives. The tears of the world, a longing for joy. Or even just safety. Just that.’’

A land plagued by endless war. A poet bearing the weight of a broken world. Two women—headstrong, intelligent, fiercely loyal. A maiden leading an army. A god of justice, echoing the spiritual reverence of Christian belief. Guy Gavriel Kay’s new novel is a thing to behold: intimate and epic, brutal and beautiful, in every way.

‘’Sometimes we retain the quiet moments that come in the midst of chaos, or after it. The city, my city, in the night. Our lives, written on the dark.’’

Epic and moving, without the vast scope of places and characters of previous novels, his new book is focused on Orane and a handful of characters, allowing the reader to breathe and concentrate on the themes that form the heart of the story. It explores war and its endless, torturous consequences: sorrow, famine, enmity. Poems that speak of valour cannot conceal the scorched earth left behind. Guy Gavriel Kay paints a fascinating imagery of the Dance of Death, perpetually defining the fates of countries and their people. And the endless cycle, the snake eating its tail.

‘’Usually there are no headstones for the dead of a battlefield. Sometimes a mound is raised.

What we know, or decide we know, of the past needs to be judiciously weighed and measured. It rarely is. We have our allegiences, even when centuries have gone by, season after season, year after year after year.’’

The observant, educated reader will notice the parallels between the story of Orane and the Hundred Years War—especially Jeanne d’Arc, the battle of Agincourt, and the fascinating ways in which history has been woven into this work of fiction. At the centre is Thierry, a character who is earthy, relatable, and direct—someone readers can easily connect with and care about. He’s supported by two intriguing, enchanting women, who add further depth to the narrative.

‘’It seems to me that most moments in a life can be called interludes; following something, preceding something. Carrying us forward, with our needs and nature and desires, as we move through our time. It also seems to me that it is foolish to try to comprehend all that happens to us, let alone understand the world.’’

As the two moons—first seen in the mystical A Song for Arbonne—rise once more, the fate of a land unfolds. Men and women struggle for justice, for meaning, for survival, in a brilliant work of literary art from a true master of the craft.

‘’There was still blood on the ancient stones. Rain would wash it away in due course. It had done that before. The moon, rising, shone down upon the arched bridge and the river, and the stars did. In the teachings of that time and place, Jad of the sun was in the darkness below, battling demons to protect his children, as he did every night since the world had been made, and remade, and remade.’’

Many thanks to Hodder & Stoughton and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/

Despite being a bit repetitive at times and overlooking the fact that the language is occasionally too informal, these devotionals are an immense help to sustain your peace of mind and aid your prayers when the times are rougher than rough.

Many thanks to Barbour Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review

Devotionals to see us through days of stress, anxiety and turbulence. Although the texts tend to be repetitive after a while, the desired tenderness and quietness come through the pages. My only 'serious' qualm is the translation of the Old and New Testament extracts. It would have been better for the editor to use the King James Edition because certain parts 'sound' extremely odd and modernised.

Many thanks to Barbour Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

London, 1928. Egyptomania is at its peak. A mummy, the real mummy of a Pharaoh, is brought to the capital, and the public goes wild. Two bookshops compete to hold the ‘mummy night’, but it is Lucy, the owner of the ‘losing side’, who finds herself amid a whirlwind as strange notes appear and bodies pile. As if this wasn’t enough, Lucy has to deal with an utterly obnoxious mother and irritating suitors and the obvious attraction towards a fascinating Inspector.

Best mystery I’ve read in a long time and that’s an understatement!

Treading more than carefully since we are talking about a murder mystery, the setting is absolutely perfect! Foggy London, with its mysterious alleys and the Londoners’ fascination with all things occult and paranormal, with its rich ‘benefactors’ who waste money on stealing treasures from other countries instead of aiding the ones in need, becomes a character in itself. The writing and the interactions between the characters are seamless, engaging, and the elegance of the era permeates the novel. The story itself had me guessing until the last page. Each time I thought I had figured things out, I found myself hopelessly wrong. And we are not talking about gimmicks, twists and turns and herrings, but about a truly perfect plot that needs no cheap tricks.

Lucy is the factor that turns an excellent book into a triumph. She is perfection personified. Smart, kind, the perfect boss and the perfect example of putting others in their place without offending them. She is the epitome of the British female sleuth and one of the finest heroines in this quintessentially British genre. All the characters are rounded and tangible enough to be believable, but I admit I have a soft spot for the Inspector. He is dreamy, and no, I refuse to remain professional at this point, thank you very much!

As a Greek, I couldn’t help but wince every time the British Museum was mentioned, and I applaud the writer’s stance on filling your shelves with stolen goods. It just doesn’t work, people! Don’t do it!

Long story short, you need this book in your life, and I need another 776729 novels with Lucy Darkwether as the heroine. And the Inspector, obviously…

Many thanks to Hodder & Stoughton and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/

A comprehensive, poignant and, at times, moving commentary on the Gospel of St.Mark, possibly the most concise and somewhat enigmatic of the Four Gospels.

Divided into chapters dedicated to specific verses, the writer starts with introductions that draw parallels to our era and our modern thoughts and perceptions, continuing with extracts from Mark and analysing the meaning of the passages as relating to the Past (the time of Jesus' earthly ministry) and our Present.

Ending with moving devotionals and enriched with questions that provide food for thought and give you plenty of material for your prayer journal, this book is a valuable guide to the Christian's study of a rather unique Gospel, regardless of denomination. (I am Greek Orthodox.)

Many thanks to HarperChristian Resources and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

A comprehensive, poignant and, at times, moving commentary on the Gospel of St.Mark, possibly the most concise and somewhat enigmatic of the Four Gospels.

Divided into chapters dedicated to specific verses, the writer starts with introductions that draw parallels to our era and our modern thoughts and perceptions, continuing with extracts from Mark and analysing the meaning of the passages as relating to the Past (the time of Jesus' earthly ministry) and our Present.

Ending with moving devotionals and enriched with questions that provide food for thought and give you plenty of material for your prayer journal, this book is a valuable guide to the Christian's study of a rather unique Gospel, regardless of denomination. (I am Greek Orthodox.)

Many thanks to HarperChristian Resources and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.