Category Archives: Book Reviews 2026

When I see the wreckage of Gaza, and now of Southern Lebanon, I wonder just how any of the destruction will ever be rebuilt. Even with good will and money (neither of which are likely to eventuate unless Trump turns them into another of his Trump Trophies), where would you even start? But then I remembered our trip to London way back in 2011, and our surprise on finding St Luke’s Bombed Out Church in Liverpool. At that stage, they hadn’t quite decided what to do with it, and I’m pleased to find that they’re now using it for cultural events. Here is how it looked in 2011:

It was a salutary reminder that, especially in London, many of the historic buildings that we had walked around, marvelling at their antiquity, had actually been bombed during May 1941- and especially on the night 10-11 May 1941, which is the particular focus of this book.

Gavin Mortimer is a freelance journalist, although he has written several war-related books. To gather the material for this book, he appealed in magazines and local papers for the reminiscences of Blitz survivors of 1941 and received over two hundred responses. He followed up by phone with several correspondents, and interviewed others who don’t feature in the book. He also drew on memoirs from several historical societies, museums and archives.

His journalist impulses are on show in how he structures this book. He starts off early on the Saturday morning on 10th May and introduces us to a wide range of characters: probably too wide. It was only half-way through the book that I found a list of the ‘Main Players’ with a helpful one-sentence summary of who they were which I wish had been at the front of the book rather than at the back. Until I found it, I kept thinking “Do I know this person? Were they earlier in the book?” As it turns out, there were many, many more characters mentioned than the featured ‘Main Players’.

As his various characters woke up, and got themselves off to their various commitments, they were unaware of what they were to face that day. After an eight-month Hitler was getting bored of the Blitz, and was turning his attention to Russia, but when the RAF attacked Bremen and Hamburg in retaliation for an eight-month ransacking of London, Liverpool, Glasgow and Sheffield, Hitler was incensed (p. 20)

It was a Saturday: the football was on at Wembley stadium. Daylight saving had started in May, and the night of 10-11 was bitterly cold even though the days were fine. Vera Lynn was performing, and the cinemas were doing a roaring trade. Little did they realize that at 10.30 that night, German planes were readying to take off. Mortimer traces through the preparations of both the RAF and the Luftwaffe pilots as they ready themselves for a raid. This seemed to take an inordinate number of pages so that it wasn’t until p. 116 of a 353 p. book that the bombing actually began. The author is obviously fond of the technical details of military hardware, because at times his descriptions of the planes and dogfights became rather tedious. I much more enjoyed the human stories.

And there are many human stories here. Some of his characters appear just once, as an example of the point that he is making. Sometimes the stories are grouped around a particular location, or a specific role (firewatcher, fireman, churchman etc.) and while some characters appear in several places, others do not. Some of the stories use his informants’ own words, in other stories he has paraphrased them. The bombing came mainly in two waves, with sporadic bombings as Sunday morning dawned. There is a good representation of both men and women, of different ages, located across London.

There is much that I hadn’t realized. It had never occurred to me that it would be bitterly cold- it was May, after all. After more than a year of bombing (imagine that, night after night), arrangements had been made for temporary reservoirs from which the firetrucks could draw their water. Some of them were constructed on the spot as needed on the streets; others were built into the basements of buildings that had been sealed and converted into reservoirs. Buildings had their own firewatchers, patrolling the building looking for outbreaks of fire, especially from incendiary bombs. And how would you even start to reinstall the services afterwards? When the bombs formed craters, the sewage culverts were repaired first because they were the deepest, then electricity cables and hydraulic power mains, followed by the gas mains which were actually lower than the hydraulics but they needed to wait until everything was secure because they were made of heavy iron. The water mains were last, fixed and sterilized. (p. 318)

He challenges some myths as well. There was looting, and the East End bitterly resented the Royal Family coming down and pretending that they were in the same boat as everyone else then travelling up to the wilds of Scotland, while Londoners were left with ruins and craters.

The book has beautiful vintage maps as the endpieces of the book, but as someone not familiar with London at all, I found them next to useless. I would have really appreciated some clearly drawn maps of various locations and landmarks, inserted in the text where he was describing the bombing.

He closes the book with an epilogue, where he follows up on the main informants and what they were doing at the time of publication (2005). Many of them were elderly then, so I suppose that there are even fewer now. This underlines the importance of capturing these ‘Voices from the London Blitz’ before they fall silent. But unfortunately there are other survivors in Ukraine, Gaza and Lebanon, who continue to endure their own blitzes as well. Their stories are yet to be written.

My rating: 7/10

Sourced from: Brotherhood Books

Read because: I loved Sarah Water’s The Night Watch and Kate Atkinson’s Life after Life.

To be honest, when I got to the end of this novella I felt a surge of relief that I don’t have to live inside this woman’s head any more. Fireweather is a follow-up to Miranda Darling’s earlier novella Thunderhead, and it deals with the same characters, some months further down the track. By now, our main protagonist Winona Dalloway has left Him (her husband). She has found a new place to live, and is now battling over custody rights with her ex-husband who is trying to use Winona’s mental health as grounds to deny access to their sons. It’s high stakes for Winona.

This time the weather is real, rather than emotional. Bushfires and a heat wave have enclosed the city in a hot, smoky envelope, reminiscent of the 2020 summer before COVID. As with Thunderhead, all the action takes place within the one day. Winona undergoes a medical test for her seizures, then waits for her children to be dropped off by Him later that afternoon. She has rented an apartment near the school, walking around the suburbs and retrieving old neglected pot plants, like a poinsettia she finds in an abandoned house. She goes to have blood tests at the pathologist, she watches a surf rescue at the beach, she has lunch at a Sushi Train and goes to watch a movie before buying the ingredients for a picnic to have with the children when they arrive.

She is alone, but her head is noisy. She has taken to devising strings of rhyming words in an internal monologue. She talks with Bruce, a neighbourhood dog. New voices have taken up in her head: The Child, The snide Archer, The bossy Nanny and the florid Poet. They bicker amongst themselves like the Greek Gods. Meanwhile, she goes off into thought trains of her own, interesting enough but didactic and distracting for both Winona and the reader.

Is this book really necessary? I wonder. I don’t know what sense you would make of it if you hadn’t read Thunderhead. I see that it has been short-listed for the Stella Prize, and I wonder if it’s an (unsuccessful) attempt at a ‘second bite of the cherry’? I think that its sequel nature would make it difficult to win, and I think that Thunderhead was the better, and more clever book. The issue of coercive control is important, but it becomes lost and almost pathologized in the noise in Winona’s head.

My rating: 6.5/10

Sourced from e-book borrowed from Yarra Plenty Regional Library

Read because: I knew it was the followup to Thunderhead and I was looking for a short book between two longer ones.

A thunderhead is a dense, towering cloud that often presages a thunderstorm. The sky can be blue but the thunderhead glowers on one side, building up power and energy until it blots out the sun. That feeling of rising tension pervades this short 76 page novella as its protagonist and narrator Winona Dalloway tiptoes around her controlling husband, referred to only as ‘He’ and ‘Him’ -always capitalized- trying to practice Transcendence over her small daily challenges while trying to summon the courage to make bigger changes. Dalloway? where have you heard that name before? Ah- Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway, and this book makes many references to Woolf’s book, and even more, I think to Michael Cunningham’s riff on Woolf in The Hours, most particularly the character Laura Brown. As with all the women in both Woolf’s book and Cunningham’s tribute to it, there is a rupture between the interiority of the characters and the outward image that they are trying to project.

I mentioned the Laura Brown character in Cunningham’s book in particular, because both women are negotiating around an oppressive husband, trying to anticipate his needs and running to fulfil them. In Winona’s case, ‘He’ manifests for much of the book through a series of commanding SMSs and calendar entries. As with Clarissa Dalloway in Woolf’s book, there is a dinner party to be held that night, and both women are apprehensive. ‘He’ is directing her preparations through SMS, while structuring her activities during the day: peering into her appointment with a psychiatrist, ordering her to be present when the plumber comes before 2.00 p.m.

Winona, a frustrated writer, is surrounded by voices: both ‘His’ SMSs and instructions, and her own inner voices differentiated by bold text and italics. These voices cause her to second-guess herself, and we- and she- only gradually realize that He is gas-lighting her as well. Her confidence and autonomy is so fragile, and she tries to guard it by the writing of lists and the ticking off of small achievements while negotiating domestic life.

For such a short book (only 79 pages) there is a lot packed in, and the tension is almost unbearable: so much so that I was glad that it is only short. I’m bemused by the publicist’s description of it as ‘black comedy’. There’s no comedy here: there’s coercion, oppression and tension- all within 79 pages. I enjoyed the allusions to Woolf and Cunningham, but the book stands on its own without knowledge of the other two books. It’s a very accomplished piece of compact writing.

My rating: 8/10

Sourced from: YPRL e-book

Read because: Kim’s review at Reading Matters

I’m not particularly fond of Coca-Cola. I will have a sugar-free Coke occasionally, but I’d much rather have a juice, or even water. Which is just as well, because after reading this book, any affection I might have felt for Coca-Cola is long gone.

I don’t know who Mark Thomas is. I gather that he’s a comedian and a social activist, and that he was involved in a documentary criticizing Coca-Cola previous to writing this book. Perhaps this is where much of my dissatisfaction with the book lay: an unknown comedian or television personality doesn’t come across as particularly funny when you have absolutely no idea who they are. This book felt like a documentary and I surmised that this was the book tie-in, but it doesn’t appear that it is. A filmed documentary can get away with making the same point through several examples, each in different settings, but in a book it just seemed repetitious. Viewing a documentary is easy: a book takes more commitment, and I felt as if it was going round in circles, eating up precious reading time.

His argument is that Coca-Cola, as a global phenomenon, has a business model that works through subsidiary companies, allowing it to promote an international and western brand (which might have cachet in third-world countries in particular) while turning a blind eye to practices at a local level. Amongst the South American subsidiaries, Coca-Cola washes its hands of anti-union coercion implemented by paramilitaries; in El Salvador children work in the sugarcane fields that provide the sugar; in both India and El Salvador it extracts water for manufacturing that leaves villages parched; and in Mexico in particular- although this would apply in many other countries too- it contributes to obesity and diabetes. In fact, in Chiapas, Coca-Cola has even been incorporated into religious ceremonies.

All of this takes place while The Coca-Cola Company, the multinational, through its shareholder meetings and policy documents claims to exercise Corporate Social Responsibility, papering over all these disreputable practices committed by their subsidiary companies. At the multi-national level, they are replacing the water taken (even though this is not the case), they are ‘monitoring’ child-labour and anti-union activities, they are reducing the amount of sugar in their products. The brand is all important, and this cloaking in ‘corporate responsibility’ and ‘ethical procedures’ is camouflage for practices for which the company takes no responsibility.

All of which is interesting, but which is probably best experienced as a documentary rather than a book. Coca-Cola’s Dirty Secret on SBS gives you much the same information but in just 25 minutes- leaving you time to read something else instead.

My rating: 6/10

Sourced from: Brotherhood Books

Read because: it looked more interesting than it turned out to be.