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I haven't read any other translations of Alexander Pushkin's famous poem Yevgeny Onegin so cannot comment on how Anthony Briggs' work differs, but I was surprised at how readable he has rendered the poem. I admit I had been putting it off, expecting something quite impenetrable so was pleased to find myself actually enjoying the story and the humour. I particularly loved the descriptive passages which vividly paint snowy Russian villages, exciting sleigh rides and a wonderful ball. The storyline itself is not complicated and relies heavily on well-rounded and believable characters to carry its more melodramatic moments. I happily despised the initially heartless Yevgeny and sympathised with poor unloved Tatyana. The scholarly technicalities of the poem's structure were mostly lost on me. I understand the theory, but found I preferred to be swept along with the beautiful rhythms of the piece than to frequently pause and analyse why those rhythms and rhymes are so effective.

I think, based on this reading of Yevgeny Onegin, that I would like to tackle more of Pushkin's writing, especially if it has been translated by Anthony Briggs. I liked his style and the interesting essay with which he begins the book that describes the challenges of the translation and the relationships between the languages involved. I didn't realise French was the primary upper class language in Russia in Pushkin's time - much like it was in England in the Middle Ages - but this does explain to me the fluency in French of characters in my other recent Russian read, The Gambler by Dostoyevsky.

I didn't realise when I read The Turkish Gambit (the second in this series) a couple of years ago, that Akunin apparently wrote each of the novels in the style of a different literary genre. I found The Turkish Gambit too slow, but this first book, The Winter Queen was much more to my taste. It's well-paced adventure tale that doesn't take itself too seriously so, although Akunin creates a good sense of late-1800s Moscow and London, there are also plenty of dastardly deeds and the occasional moustache twirl! For me, The Winter Queen almost felt like a steampunk novel. It doesn't have any of that genre's wild inventions of course, but I thought it does have a similar sense of fun.

Erast is nicely understated as a character, especially when set against the more flamboyant suspects in the murder case he puts himself to investigating. We get to see and understand this young man as bashful and often nervous in his first proper job - the start of what he hopes will become a successful career - and I could empathise with his stumbles. I liked that we then see him mature and grow more confident as the novel progresses.

The Winter Queen was a pretty fast read. Its plot tangles well, but not too confusingly, and there is a good array of suspects and red herrings to maintain a reader's interest. I can now understand how Akunin's Erast Fandorin series (all eleven books of it) is so popular. I will probably go on to read more of them myself!

Hope, the brilliant first Operation Galton novel, was my Book Of The Month for January 2020 so I went into reading Wasteland with both high expectations for this sequel and a little trepidation in case it didn't hit the same lofty heights. I needn't have worried! Wasteland is just as exciting and I loved that Terry Tyler has plenty more social insights and prophecies up her sleeves to drive the story forward.

Wasteland is set just over three decades after Hope so, for the younger population at least, the drastic social changes experienced by their parents and grandparents are already losing relevance. Being told about other ways of living is no substitute for actually seeing it and the Megacity generation are unwittingly trapped within their own self-centered bubbles, too concerned with social standing and keeping up with their peers to realise that very little of what they strive for is actually worth the struggle.They are ruled by fear of failing, the horror of being shipped off to a Hope Village (places of last resort) being this society's bogeyman, yet willingly allow their every move to be monitored by apps and social media feeds, implants and holier-than-thou 'friends'.

I found this Megacity 'ideal' to be so suffocating that I was very pleased when we readers were allowed to escape to the Wasteland, a lawless and derelict place to be sure but one where the drop-out inhabitants believe themselves beyond the UK government's reach. Thanks to Tyler's vivid imagination, I could clearly envisage these degrading towns and villages. Almost entirely abandoned decades before and left to rot, the concept was familiar to me from rural villages we frequently see in France and Spain where the younger generations have moved to bigger towns for work, leaving their family homes empty, unwanted and, usually, unsaleable when the old folks die. There it has been a gradual process whereas, in Wasteland's history, it was fast, but the end result is the same. Like Rae I harbour romanticised notions of true Wasteland life so I could completely understand her desire to get herself out there and explore. Especially once Ace appears on the scene. I might just have a few romanticised notions there too!

Wasteland does follow on from Hope by linear timeline, but I think the two books could work well read in either order. For me, these are Wake Up novels which show a potential and utterly plausible path for the UK over the next few decades, one which would be practically irreversible once it started. I am particularly impressed with how Tyler has woven together logical extensions of present-day trends with instances of historical totalitarian actions to create a convincing worldview, then mixed in strongly motivated and believable characters, and also given us a compelling story to boot. If Wasteland isn't at the top of your TBR yet, it should be!

There is a short time gap between the end of Natascha Birovljev's first Rocky Mountains novel, Shadow Horses Of The Rocky Mountains, and this sequel, Shadow Crow Of The Rocky Mountains, before the Willow Ranch story continues. I loved being back in the Alberta wilderness again! Initially I did feel that this novel seemed more fragmented than its predecessor. Different characters come to the fore and a lot of the focus is on places other than the ranch itself. However, once the new threads are fully set up, the narrative really does get quite exciting.

There is a lot of deception and communication breakdowns during Shadow Crow Of The Rocky Mountains so characters are frequently at odds with each other. Chuck, who had a lesser role previously, is very much at the centre now which allows readers to see how the role of trappers has influenced Rocky Mountains culture. I was interested in how this practice is viewed differently to trophy hunting which is also touched upon. I also liked meeting Nick's mother, despite her being a pretty ghastly character, but I could understand how her influence had created part of the man he has become.

While I didn't think that Shadow Crow was quite as strong a novel as Shadow Horses, I did still enjoy the read. The Canadian perspective is distinctive and Birovljev's love for this environment really shines through.

Having enjoyed reading Karl Drinkwater's novella, Helene, back in March I was delighted to be offered the opportunity to read two further full length novels of his, set in the same universe. Lost Solace is the first of these and I shall also be reading its sequel, Chasing Solace, in the next few weeks. Lost Solace was published two years before Helene and it shares Drinkwater's effective scenario of a woman alone with only an AI intelligence for company. Opal has stolen a spaceship and is on the run, but initially I didn't know exactly what she had to escape from or the significance of this Lost Ship. Drinkwater doesn't fall into the trap of slowing his stories with unwieldy info dumps, instead he deftly weaves the necessary background information into the narrative by way of characters' brief memories or conversations. I appreciate this prose style because it allowed me to always feel in the moment, discovering this strange environment alongside Opal.

The relationship between Opal and the AI, Clarissa, is well portrayed with both characters feeling like genuine women - not always a given in this kind of science fiction novel! Their dialogue has a good ring of authenticity which enabled me to also easily accept the bizarre scenarios aboard the Lost Ship. I believed in both Opal and Clarissa so was convinced of the truth of what they saw. I loved Drinkwater's lifeform inventions for the ship. Nothing is ever fully explained so I always had an unnerving sense of not knowing what was around the next corner, even while vividly detailed descriptions meant I could clearly envisage each tense scene. I was gripped throughout Lost Solace and read much faster than I had intended to because I couldn't put the book down! The storyline incorporates familiar elements such as one renegade being sought by a military presence, but the themes are cleverly twisted and reinterpreted so Lost Solace felt wonderfully fresh and original. I don't generally read a lot of sscience fiction, but I'm impressed with this series and am eager to continue into the next novel.

I was surprised by how deeply Shadow Horses Of The Rocky Mountains drew me in to its story. There are numerous threads in this novel which all come together to create a gripping tale that beautifully showcased the Canadian Rocky Mountain in all their wild glory. I loved this vibrant setting which Natascha Birovljev so wonderfully evokes through her writing. I could tell just how much this wilderness means to her as well as to her characters.

At its heart, I felt that Shadow Horses Of The Rocky Mountains was a novel about a bitterly fragmented family learning to forgive and to trust each other again after years of division. I appreciated how Lee and Lyla returning to a place they knew in their childhood gave us readers a chance to discover the ranch alongside them, learning as they do, and also how the gap in their ages meant they had different recollections of their Canadian life. Lyla's story is particularly interesting because she was so young when her mother took her away from Canada to Germany, yet certain of her memories are incredibly vivid.

Birovljev blends Western and First Nations beliefs and traditions in a way that I felt gave them both equal prominence. I loved seeing how the initial First Nations myth, which is recounted around a campfire in the very first chapter, was reflected within the novel. It's an important moral tale which then develops into a clear illustration of how Western ideas of entitlement and ownership are at odds with First Nations concepts.

While there were a couple of plot points which seemed just a little too convenient to be plausible, I could easily overlook this because I so much enjoyed losing myself in Birovljev's Rocky Mountains. This was a wonderfully immersive novel.

Second Chances is a heart-warming family life drama in which the lives - and lies - of several people connected within one small community are irrevocably changed as a result of one young man's hungover induced mistake. I really liked the concept underpinning this novel and the natural way in which Miriam McGuirk connects her characters. Molly is indeed at the heart of the tale, but I felt that it was the elderly people who actually made this story their own.

The writing style is rather like having a lengthy chat with a friend in that McGuirk does tell readers what happens to Molly, Jamie, Florence, Rita and Stanley, and Colonel Bryce Beckwith, but we meander gently through their lives and pasts on the way to the resolution. I did find this slow pace frustrating to begin with, but once I settled in after a few chapters, the prose did feel appropriate to the story being told. It was good, too, to see so many strong intergenerational friendships.

While I did think certain characters were forgiven rather too easily, that was in keeping with Second Chances' mood and atmosphere. I appreciated the overarching message that it is never too late to turn one's life around and make up for previous mistakes and lost opportunities.

I was first drawn to read Wildwood by the late Roger Deakin because or having thoroughly enjoyed several of Robert Macfarlane's nature books. I understand that Macfarlane is now the literary editor of Deakin's extensive writings and I figured if Macfarlane appreciated Deakin's writing as much as I do Macfarlane's, then I would love this book too. Wildwood is a collection of essays encompassing many different topics, but all linked through their central theme being wood in one sense or another. Deakin recounts his travels across the world in search of one tree species or another, discusses the trees on his own land in Suffolk, and introduces artists such as David Nash who have made careers out of wood sculpture and art. To be honest, despite being quite a fan of sculpture itself, the arty essays were my least favourites because they did get too pretentious for my tastes. That said though, Wildwood, like an actual wood itself, frequently changes its makeup and appearance as we move through it, so it wasn't long before I was immersed in Deakin's travel memoirs instead. His search for the origins of our domestic apples in Kazakhstan reminded me strongly of a similar search through the history of pears in the brilliant Lost Feast by Lenore Newman, and I also loved Deakin's diversions into tree culture and folklore which I found fascinating. Wildwood probably is not best read from cover to cover - as I did, of course - but dipped into between other reads, a chapter at a time, over a period of days or weeks. Deakin is obviously very knowledgeable about his subject and, other than his frequent references to classic works I haven't read (he does like a good Shakespearean allusion), I found his writing style both informative and pleasantly engaging.

The Baghdad Villa is a curious novel, told in the first person by Ghosnelban, and mostly taking place within the walls of what we are told is the last luxurious mansion in Baghdad. Ghosnelban herself is an incredible snob so I found it very difficult to warm to her as she told her story. I was reminded a little of the aristocratic family's attitudes in The Last September by Elizabeth Bowen in the way Ghosnelban displays such an aloof, entitled persona. As the novel progresses, I learned how much of the woman she has become is down to her family's rigid observance of strict traditions, Ghosnelban's life accomplishment seemingly just being her existence as the seventh generation lady of the house, an existence which is now completely anachronistic in war-torn Baghdad.

The mansion is shared with Ghosnelban's brother, Silwan, a young man whose mind has been completely destroyed by horrors he witnessed at war in the desert. I was moved by Zuheir El-Hetti's portrayals of his PTSD demonstrating so clearly how his imagination is still trapped inside scenes he cannot escape. Earlier on in The Baghdad Villa I did wonder if Silwan's story would have made for a more engaging novel, however I was gradually drawn in to Ghnoselban's narration. This is a slow and introverted novel with repetition of Ghnoselban's woes, all of which struck me as rather trite given the circumstances right outside her house, however this woman is not given to actually looking even that far from her immediate family and home.

I was also distracted from the storyline at the beginning of each chapter by needing to briefly research artworks online. Seven classic paintings hang in the mansion, each one being the title and focus of a chapter. They are all quite famous works by artists such as Caravaggio, Goya and Hieronymous Bosch, so readers with a knowledge of art history probably would not need to make the same diversions as I did. Having an idea of each painting did help with my understanding of the chapters though, as much as looking them up took me out of the atmosphere.

While I am glad to have read The Baghdad Villa, I cannot say that I was particularly captivated by its story. I felt too far removed from Ghnoselban to really connect with her experience. El-Hetti's novel does give a viewpoint into the Iraqi invasion that I hadn't previously encountered so this aspect was interesting in its own right, and I did more deeply enjoy chapters when Ghnoselban's life is contrasted with the lives of two other Baghdad women. Overall though I didn't feel that The Baghdad Villa was an ideal book for me.

Having previously read Leuschel's stand-alone novella, My Sweet Friend, I was keen to experience more work from this author and delighted to get a copy of Manipulated Lives. The five stories in this collection explore narcissistic personalities from the points of view of these people's victims, the narcissists themselves and, in my favourite story, My Perfect Child, in the words of a mother who blames herself for her son's abusive behaviour. I love Leuschel's ability not only to understand human behaviour and motivation, but also to put this knowledge across to readers without her stories feeling at all like lectures or preaching. It helps that she has a deft hand for characterisation whether that be portraying an elderly, isolated care home resident (in Tess And Tattoos) or a naive teenager's first love (in Runaway Girl). These chilling stories are gripping reading in their own right, and I like that they can also serve almost as a kind of morality tale showing us potentially intimidating behaviours to be on the lookout for in other people and also how we might be subconsciously attracting narcissistic personalities to ourselves.