Tag: book review

Garry Disher’s Mischance Creek Review and Why Crime Writers Keep Getting Farmers Wrong

This review will be a work in progress. I’m a big fan of Garry Disher’s books, but I felt compelled to put my initial feelings down in writing. As someone from an eight-generation farming family, I find it hard to stomach when novels focus on only one element of agriculture. Mischance Creek opens with yet another bleak picture: lonely farmhouses, endless cups of tea, stale biscuits, talk of drought that never ends. The people Hirsch visits are tired, sad, and stuck.

I don’t dispute that life on the land can be tough. In Australia, a drought isn’t a once-in-a-lifetime event. It’s the average year. Every farmer I know assumes it’s coming. That means every year, wet, dry, or in between, we plan for it. Stocking rates, feed reserves, pasture management, water storage: you name it, it’s built into the system.

So when I read yet another story where farmers are painted as helpless, waiting until things are so dire someone has to come and shoot their stock, I wince. That’s not how we farm. It’s not how we’ve survived for generations. Yes, there are bad seasons. Yes, there’s heartbreak. But resilience isn’t just a buzzword, it’s a way of life. Farmers adapt, innovate, and prepare, because that’s the only way you last in this business.

What frustrates me is how rarely fiction captures this side of the story. The quiet pride in planning ahead. The foresight that keeps family farms alive. The fact that endurance in agriculture isn’t about waiting for disaster, it’s about being ready for it, year in and year out.

I have now finished the book and its clear while I’m super sensitive to the way agriculture is portrayed, I also realise that Garry Disher’s books often cast outback Australia, in a fairly depressing light. Yes, he gives you real insight into Hirsch, into what he feels, and even into his mother’s struggles in this book. But for me, it was hard to find someone in Mischance Creek who feels truly likeable and the book was more of the same.

#BookReview #MischanceCreek #AustralianCrimeFiction #LifeOnTheLand #ResilientFarmers #RealAgriculture

A the colours of the Dark – its will break your heart but in a good way

A must read, no question. It will break you but in the best way.

Like every Chris Whitaker book I have read, All the Colours of the Dark is a slow burn until it grabs you and then it really grabs you. It is one of those stories that burrows deep, breaking your heart and piecing it back together, only to do it all over again. More than once, I found myself tearing up .

Yes, the plot is far-fetched. Only in America could you believe something like this would actually happen. But that is beside the point. What makes this book extraordinary is the raw emotion, the humanity that Whitaker writes with so effortlessly.

The passages I highlighted are the heart of the story. Like when Patch, with his small clenched fists, throws the first punch because Saint is all he has got. And when she thinks, I am all you will need.

This is the core of this book. Love, loyalty and how people hold each other up even in the darkest times.

Then there is the aching wisdom woven throughout. People mistake money for class, anger for strength. How grief changes you, how memories live in people, not places.

And that gut punch of a line. Love is a visitor. Because, in Whitaker’s world, love is not always permanent, but it is always worth having.

And let us not forget the way he captures loss, not just of people, but of self. Saint wanted to ask what it was like to lose the thing that defined you. But perhaps she knew. That line lingers because so much of this book is about identity, about the way life chips away at us but sometimes also rebuilds us.

Patch’s art, his desperate attempt to paint someone back into existence, is one of the most devastating yet beautiful parts of the novel. The way he tries to bring Grace back with colour, even when he does not quite know how, is Whitaker at his finest, turning grief into something you can almost see.

A must read, no question. It will break you but in the best way.

#AllTheColoursOfTheDark #ChrisWhitaker #BookReview #MustRead #EmotionalReads #PsychologicalThriller #SlowBurn #LiteraryFiction #UnforgettableStory #HeartbreakingAndBeautiful

Chris Whitaker’s We Begin at the End is one of those rare books.

Some books aren’t just stories, they’re a journey through the human heart, a reminder of how deeply we can feel, and how profoundly we can be moved. Chris Whitaker’s We Begin at the End is one of those rare books. A winner of the Crime Novel of the Year Award 2021, it is much more than a crime novel. It’s a masterpiece of love, loss, and the enduring strength of the human spirit.

 

Part One, The Outlaw, introduces Duchess Day Radley, fierce and fragile, carrying the weight of the world on her young shoulders. By Part Two, Big Sky, the narrative deepens, with moments so tender they demand pause. Two passages, especially, stayed with me:

 

“Death has a way of making saints out of mortals. But with children … there is no bad. She was small and beautiful and perfect. Like your mother was. Like Robin is.”

 

And this:

 

“She chose memories of her mother with great care, seeking only the diamonds amongst a mountain of coal.”

 

These lines are poetry. They remind us that even in the darkest corners of grief, there are glimmers of light, shards of love that refuse to fade.

 

I cried at the end of this book, not just for the heartbreak, but for the beauty of it all. Whitaker gives us a story that reflects life in all its raw, messy, perfect imperfection. It’s a tale that stays with you, a gentle nudge to hold the ones you love a little closer and to find the diamonds, even when life feels like coal.

 

If you haven’t read this book, do yourself the favour. You’ll be better for it.

 

#WeBeginAtTheEnd #ChrisWhitaker #CrimeNovel #BookReview #BookLovers #MustRead #HeartfeltStories #EmotionalRead #AwardWinningBook #BookwormLife #LiteraryFiction #CrimeFiction #PowerfulReads #BookishThoughts #ReadMoreBooks #OutlawDuchess #BigSky #UnforgettableReads #BookCommunity #BookQuotes

A Reflection on Blood Ties by Jo Nesbø

Hate is a powerful and often misunderstood emotion. It’s something many of us struggle to grasp, let alone confront within ourselves. Yet, in Jo Nesbø’s Blood Ties, this complex feeling is laid bare in a way that finally made sense to me.

The pivotal moment comes when Kurt reflects,

“‘Whenever you hate someone in that intense way, it’s because you actually hate yourself.’”

This line encapsulates a profound truth about the nature of hate—what we despise in others often reflects what we cannot accept in ourselves. Nesbø delves into this uncomfortable reality with a sharp psychological edge, forcing readers to reconsider their own emotions.

Throughout Blood Ties, family dynamics are at the heart of the story, showing that love and loyalty can be just as destructive as they are nurturing.

The line, ‘There’s a farmer in us all, we need to own our own land… it’s like a bloody disease,’ speaks to a deeper need for control—control over our lives, our relationships, and our destinies. It resonates because it speaks to the primal human need for control and ownership, which, when unchecked, can turn toxic.

In this world, love and loyalty are often as destructive as they are nurturing, a theme that permeates the novel and forces us to confront the darker sides of familial bonds.

Another powerful theme explored in Blood Ties is the idea of moral uncoupling. Roy’s justification for killing eight people is a chilling example of this phenomenon. He repeatedly rationalises his actions, telling himself that his violent acts were necessary to protect others or to right past wrongs. The most telling instance of this is when he says, “If you look at it that way it was more assisted dying than murder.” Roy’s ability to morally disconnect himself from the weight of his actions allows him to live with what he’s done, an unsettling portrayal of how individuals can twist morality to suit their needs.

Nesbø shows us that this need can drive people to extreme actions, making his characters both terrifying and deeply human.

What resonated most with me is how Blood Ties strips back the layers of human emotion, exposing the raw, often painful truths we hide from ourselves. The novel is not just a page-turner; it’s a reflection on the ways we project our insecurities and unresolved conflicts onto others. Nesbø’s ability to weave such intricate psychological insights into a gripping thriller is what makes Blood Ties more than just a murder mystery—it’s a meditation on the human condition.

#BloodTies #JoNesbo #PsychologicalThriller #BookReview #UnderstandingHate #FamilyDynamics #HateAndSelfLoathing #BookLovers #ThrillerReads #LiteraryInsight

 

A Chilling Portrait of Power and Cruelty in Fred Trump’s Memoir

Whilst I didn’t find this book as compelling a Mary Trump’s “Too Much and Never Enough: How My Family Created the World’s Most Dangerous Man”, Fred Trump’s memoir offers a haunting exploration of the power dynamics that can permeate a family, where loyalty is a one-way street, and love often takes a backseat to ambition and control.

The book is a frightening reminder of how power, when wielded without compassion, can fracture familial bonds and inflict lasting damage.

The most shocking parts of the book reveal a family where power is often used as a tool of control, even at the expense of basic human decency. One of the most jarring examples is the decision to cut off the family’s health insurance—a lifeline that had been in place since birth. Fred writes, “His message was that our medical insurance, the coverage my grandfather had provided to all his family members, the one I’d had since birth, the insurance that was now paying for my son William’s life-or-death care, was being cut off abruptly. What? Of all the cruel, low-down, vicious, heartless things my own relatives could do to me, my wife, and my children, this was worse than anything else I could possibly imagine.” The shock and betrayal are palpable, as Fred reflects on the cruelty that led to such a decision, especially when it concerned his infant son’s critical medical care: “How could anyone do something so cruel to someone they were related to? What could I have possibly done to cause something like this? If this wasn’t evil, I really couldn’t say what might qualify.”

The book also exposes the callousness with which Donald Trump approaches the challenges faced by others, particularly those with disabilities. During a conversation about the high costs of caring for profoundly disabled individuals, Donald chillingly remarks, “The shape they’re in, all the expenses, maybe those kinds of people should just die.” This statement, devoid of empathy, underscores a recurring theme in the book: the prioritisation of money and power over human life and dignity.

Finally, Fred’s memoir touches on the toxicity of the Trump name, which has become a burden rather than a badge of honour in many circles. He recounts how, after his uncle mocked a disabled reporter, the Trump name became synonymous with cruelty, making it difficult even to engage in charitable work: “The trouble accelerated in 2015 when he publicly mocked Serge Kovaleski, a New York Times reporter who had a disability called arthrogryposis. My uncle’s cruel gesture and comments got a deluge of media coverage, all of it negative, and generated understandable outrage among families, advocates, and decent people everywhere.”

Fred Trump’s memoir is not just a personal account; it is a broader commentary on how power dynamics within a family can be manipulated to control, marginalise, and even destroy. It is a chilling reminder that behind the public personas lies a family history rife with manipulation and cruelty, where the pursuit of power often comes at an unbearable cost.

#FredTrump #Memoir #FamilyDynamics #PowerAndCruelty #TrumpFamily #HealthInsurance #DisabilityRights #ToxicFamily #BookReview #FamilyBetrayal #PowerStruggles