Things I have enjoyed lately.

(mostly books I meant to blurb for but am probably too late. Sorry, lovely publicists)

It takes a lot of skill to write a novel in which none of the characters are particularly likeable, and yet you still find yourself propelled forwards, desperate to see what happens. In Bella Mackie’s second novel – What A Way To Go – a wealthy patriarch dies at an obscenely opulent party, and we witness the fallout through the eyes of various family members and protagonists. God, they’re all deliciously awful. I loved her first novel, How To Kill Your Family, and here she seems to have found a rich and poisonous vein. Think a very English Succession, with just as much intrigue, backstabbing, and narcissism. (published Sept 2024)

Naked Portrait by Rose Boyt is a memoir of her complicated relationship with her father, the artist Lucian Freud, and the long shadow he cast over her life and that of her sisters and family. It’s a brave and unflinching account (it opens with her posing nude for him) punctuated with extraordinary detail, and if you are interested in art, or problematic family dynamics, or, like me, grew among the arts in the 1970s, it is a fascinating read. It reminded me a little of my late friend Ken Saro Wiwa’s memoir about growing up in the shadow cast by his activist father. A man that is a hero to others, it turns out, can leave a weighty and difficult legacy. (out now)

Full disclosure: I have loved Jodi Picoult’s books since My Sister’s Keeper, almost a quarter century ago. I don’t know anyone who works harder, or who researches more widely; every single book is a masterclass in a new field, whether it be Egyptology or racism or school shootings. When she told me last year that she was writing about a woman considered to have authored some of Shakespeare’s works, I knew that it would not just be a page turner, but would be backed up by proper forensic digging. This is a dual time frame novel, in which Picoult expertly contrasts the fortunes of Emilia Bassano, a 16^th century courtesan, her skills rendered insignificant, with her modern-day descendant, who is facing similar struggles in the world of New York theatre. Prepare to have your beliefs challenged… (october 2024)

Also: she’s written 29 novels! TWENTY NINE!

One for the US readers: Emily Giffin doesn’t need any of my help in the American market – this book has gone straight into the top three in the New York Times bestsellers list. But I wanted to give her a shout out because a) she’s one of the nicest women in publishing, and b) everyone assumes that beach reads are easy. Wrong: the good ones are underpinned by real craft, and observations about human nature, and are propulsive and this one, about grief and loss and the messiness of the middle years, has all that in spades. And I am so tired of broadsheet lists of summer reads which never include commercial fiction. Because everyone reads it. Even if they pretend they’re only taking a biography of a minor 19th century Polish composer. (out now in the US)

Also: can we talk about season Three of The Bear? It’s been discussed at length by better critics than me, but I just want to applaud the extraordinary two-hander that is episode eight. Jamie Lee Curtis, so incandescent and terrifying in Fishes (season 2), is magnetic. You ride the whole episode with your breath held, as she and her daughter go backwards and forwards between anger, empathy, sorrow and forgiveness. The acting and the script are both beautiful. As someone who is fascinated by family dynamics, as an example of generational trauma this is non pareil. The Bear may be occasionally patchy or divisive, but every series has at least one episode that makes you just so grateful it exists.