I'll Give You the Sun by Jandy Nelson

This is the kind of book that brings all the walls down. From the way thirteen year old Noah sees the world, uncontained, art literally spilling out of him, to the way Jude breaks down the barriers she and her family have put up to try and protect themselves, not to mention the magical writing, the way that it is about everything, not just one thing, and the way that Jandy Nelson and her characters bring you in, tip you upside down, and turn you around, remade, at the end.

Twins Noah and Jude have been dividing up the world since they were little: one of them would take the sun and the flowers, the other the moon and the stars. But it’s not so easy to divide their parents – Noah’s relatively okay for Jude to have their dad, but Jude’s not so happy for Noah to have their mum. And that’s probably where it all starts to go wrong: when they decide to apply for exclusive high school, California School of Arts (CSA), Noah’s work pours off the page, creating an extra bond between him and their mom, while Jude keeps her art close to her chest. And it’s when Noah and new neighbor Brian become inseparable friends and Jude starts to hang out with the surf dudes; when their mother starts to step outside of herself; when love and possession make it impossible to share anything anymore.

Cut to three years ahead and everything is different. But not only different: reversed. Noah seems to have taken on Jude’s former role in the world, and Jude Noah’s. Things are breaking left, right and centre. But what happened? How did things get to be like this? In a last ditch attempt to keep her place at CSA and try to rid herself of her ghosts (yes, literal ghosts, not metaphorical ones) Jude sets out to convince the renowned but reclusive sculptor, Guillermo Garcia, to mentor her and teach her to carve stone. Her mother interviewed him once: “He was the kind of man who walks into a room and all the walls fall down,” she said – and Jude’s about to find out how true this sentiment is.

But the thing about what happens after the walls fall down? You get a chance to remake the world.

This is one of those books where I just know I’m going to feel the urge to collect as many different editions of it as possible – the proof copy Walker kindly sent me, the hardback, the paperback. Some books just demand to be read and treasured and this is one of them. All the things I want to say about it are spinning around in my mind all at once and defy being turned into words. I love the way Noah looks at and sees the world, the way he and Jude think magically, the way he is – mostly – not afraid to love, how he wears his emotions on his sleeve and, conversely, how afraid Jude is to let one drop of hers out into the world. It makes me want to go out and see the world the way Noah sees it.

I also really like that, although I’ll Give You the Sun is told in alternating parts by Noah and Jude, unlike a lot of novels that take this approach, the two viewpoints jump across time. Noah’s words come from his thirteen/fourteen year old self – where things are coming apart – while Jude’s words come from her sixteen year old self – looking at what’s fallen apart and how it can be fixed. I thought this was quite an unusual approach and it works really well. The effect is to highlight the differences between the old Jude and the new Jude, the old Noah and the new Noah – or, at least, that’s how I interpreted it as a reader. But the trick is that when they’re thirteen you pretty much only see Jude through Noah’s eyes, and when they’re sixteen you only see Noah through Jude’s eyes. So who’s to say they really are that different from when they were both thirteen? Because, even though they’re twins, perhaps they don’t show each other everything about themselves, no matter how much they might like to believe that they do. Perhaps the young Noah is still hiding inside older Noah? And perhaps the young Jude that Noah sees isn’t really who she is either. We’re all good at putting up shells for people to see, after all.

This is a book about secrets, the things we say and do to try and protect both ourselves and those around us from getting hurt – except this act usually winds up doing the hurting, constraining our lives and our hearts. This is a book about how love takes many forms and how art takes many forms, and how souls can touch one another but still need to have their own space to grow. Noah and Jude and the other characters that take our hearts in this story – Guillermo, Dianna, Ben, Oscar, Brian – are all living in a form of suspended animation, and each of their intertwining relationships plays a crucial role in the story and the stories they have told one another: Noah and Jude, Noah and Brian, Jude and Brian, Noah and Dianna, Noah and Ben, Jude and Dianna, Dianna and Guillermo, Noah and Guillermo, Jude and Guillermo, Jude and Oscar, Oscar and Guillermo. Which gives just a taster of how many different things are going on in the story.

Wonderful.

The Sea Tiger by Victoria Turnbull

The sea tiger is, well, a sea tiger. His best friend is a young mer-child, Oscar, and the ocean-world is their playground. They explore and play and always do everything together. Really, though, the sea tiger is as much a parent to Oscar as he is friend, looking after him on their adventures, and taking it upon himself to make sure Oscar makes new friends too.

I really wanted to like this book because the illustration on the front cover is lovely and because it’s called, you know, The Sea Tiger. It just sounds really interesting and appealing. The first time I read it, though, I really wasn’t sure. But the second time I read it, I formed a whole new opinion: that it is as nice as I wanted it to be.

The story doesn’t do very much in itself, but the intention behind the story is quite beautiful, and it’s somehow sad and happy all at the same time. Oscar and the sea tiger do lots of wonderful things together, exploring their ocean world, the sea tiger taking care of and looking out for Oscar at every turn. But it feels sad too because why doesn’t Oscar have any other friends? Is he just shy? And where are his parents? I think the first time I read The Sea Tiger, I overthought it, where as the best way to read it is to take each page at a time and think about what is happening there, rather than what the big, grand picture might be or a plotline to come.

The images are really quite beautiful, with a lot to look at and think about, and Victoria Turnbull has created in them a real underwater feel. The pictures are certainly unusual and distinctive, simultaneously magical and surreal. I especially liked the singing turtles, represented by musical notes flowing across the page; the page with all the floaty jellyfish; and the squid-and-seashell hot air balloons at the end. The only thing that grates a bit is the fact that Oscar does whatever the sea tiger does - he doesn’t seem to have a mind of his own and I’m not sure what this says. Obviously kids learn by example and need to have someone to care for them and guide them, but developing your own mind is also important!

But maybe I’m analyzing it too deeply. I’ve read other reviewers comment on this being book about a beautiful friendship, which it certainly could be interpreted as such, but for me it’s such a nice, quiet sort of a book, that it actually doesn’t really need to be ‘about’ anything except the joy and beauty of being alive.

William and the Missing Masterpiece by Helen Hancocks

William – international cat of mystery (whatever, exactly, that means) – has been called to Paris to solve an art theft: the Mona Cheesa. Can he succeed where the local authorities have failed, and find the culprit? Quick enough he finds some clues the police seem to have missed – or dismissed, perhaps – but what do they mean? While he mulls it over, he’s distracted by a strange, heavily cloaked individual walking down the street (minding their own business, to be honest) and decides to stake them out. What are they up to, going in and out of the shops on the high street so brazenly? (er, yes, that is my sarcastic voice).

The most interesting thing about William and the Missing Masterpiece for me are the illustrations. They are not, perhaps, the sort of illustrations that you might normally see in a children’s picture book – which tend more towards the cutesy cutesy variety – but are slightly more reminiscent of the sort of artwork that might adorn the walls of the museum from which the Mona Cheesa has been stolen.

There is a lot of storytelling in this book, too, and again it doesn’t follow the more normal picture book storytelling tropes. I mean this in a positive way, but what holds it back is the fact that the illustrations are mostly background adornment to the story, rather than working in complete tandem with the pictures (like they do in, say, the ingenious This Is Not My Hat by Jon Klassen). And in addition to this, this book is all plot, and all cleverness, the author seemingly trying to fit in as many ‘cheesy’ puns as she can (and yes, they are extremely, ahem, cheesy). What suffers as a result is character. As in, William has none. He’s a cat. He’s some sort of renowned detective. He gets a bit suspicious about things. And that’s about all I got from him.

For a book that is billed as being hilarious I honestly found it rather confusing. The plot works itself out – albeit perhaps a little too fast and a little too easily? – and the drawings are interesting, but I mostly felt like the author is expecting – or giving herself – a big pat on the back for being oh so terribly clever and funny, which ultimately left me feeling rather indifferent. But: if you like cheese and cheesy humour, perhaps this is one for you.

Darkmouth by Shane Hegarty

Darkmouth is the start of a really fantastic new series. It has cool tech, portals to another world, a house with secret passageways and hidden doorways, monsters with a serious plan (not to mention the humans), and secrets upon secrets. Oh, and a hero who’s, well, a bit accident prone…

Finn is the last in a long line of Legend Hunters. Before him came Sean the Brave, Aisling the Powerful, Conor Red Skull, to name but a few. His father Hugo was battling Legends when he was twelve years old, and now it’s Finn’s turn. This is Darkmouth, a tucked away little Irish town, the last of the Blighted Villages. The last place where the divide between our world and the world of the Legends – myths, fables – is breached.

Encountering a Minotaur on your way to the corner shop is a fairly normal sort of day in Darkmouth, though that doesn’t mean anyone likes it and the locals are getting edgy – why, after all, have all the gateways to the Infected side closed except in Darkmouth? Hugo isn’t revered so much anymore as blamed for the Legends and the trouble they cause. And soon it’s going to be up to Finn to keep these creatures – and villagers – at bay. There are lots of problems with this, as far as he’s concerned, one of which is probably the part where he’s really not very good at it.

Trying to balance his training with his schoolwork isn’t an easy task for Finn, especially when his dad can’t seem to understand that Finn really is trying to master the skills, but it’s not as easy as it sounds. And then the Hogboon arrives. He has a message for Finn, but what does it mean? Perhaps there is trouble brewing and perhaps, no matter how much he might wish, there is no escaping destiny for Finn.

Plus Emmie, the new girl at school, seems to have a particularly keen interest in the Legends and Finn’s family. Is she as innocent as she seems? What are the Legends on the Infected side planning? What is the purpose of the diamonds the Legends are sending through the gateways? Is there a traitor in their midst? Does Finn have it in him to be a Legend Hunter and can he get his dad to listen to him?

Shane Hegarty has created a fun and witty adventure with plenty to get your teeth into – or will it be getting its teeth into you? Tightly plotted, there’s lots of action, amusing repartee, and great characterization – of both the Legends and the humans! The Legend Hunter’s Council of Twelve reminded me of The Watcher’s Council from Buffy the Vampire Slayer – in other words, utterly useless, and with a pointless political agenda – while the characters twist and turn almost as much as the page-turning story does. Oh, and there are some really great illustrations too, with loads of detail and that bring the story even more fully to life. Ideal for readers of Skulduggery Pleasant or Percy Jackson, and I’m definitely looking forward to book two.

The Glory by Lauren St John

I may be well past the age for which horse stories are aimed, but that hasn’t stopped me from them loving them, and when it comes to contemporary horse stories, Lauren St John is the best. This was demonstrated in her wonderful One Dollar Horse trilogy and now cemented with her new book, The Glory.

‘The Glory’ is an invented race (unlike the Event trials our One Dollar Horse hero Casey Blue competes in) - a mammoth, long distance race across America, the like of which no longer exists today. The Glory is endurance riding taken to the edge, a ‘do or die’ experience not to be undertaken lightly, whatever temptation the $250,000 prize might ignite.

Will has to win – his father needs life-saving surgery and without the money there’s no way they’ll be able to pay for it. He’s spent the last of his savings to get here and told his father he’s gotten a job on a ranch. Alex has been sent to the states by her mother and step-father to a boarding school/prison camp for troubled teens, 'Camp Renew', following a series of mistakes and her parents' blinkered inability to try and understand their daughter properly. The school is just a few miles from the The Glory's start point, and after running away at the earliest possible chance, stealing/rescuing a horse in the process, Alex, moneyless and otherwise directionless, talks the organizers into giving her a wild card entrance.

Can these two teenagers beat the odds, survive everything the wilderness has to throw at them, and achieve their dreams? Several dastardly villains are on their tail – cheating competitors, horse thieves, and Camp Renew’s warden/headmaster Strike Cartwright among them. I hope it’s not giving too much away to tell you that they each get their comeuppance in the end – some in quite the comedy of errors – but the real worry is, how much damage will they cause along the way?

Alternating between the two protagonists, The Glory comes together with Lauren St John’s usual wit, panache and clever storytelling. The quiet relationship that gradually develops between the two characters has just a touch of engineering – as does the fairytale ending of the story – yet also feels entirely right and true and exactly the way the world should be. There is danger a-plenty, but a good number of laughs too, and St John deftly interweaves little snippets of American history into the narrative that give the story a lovely extra little touch.

The Glory is pure escapism, but its escapism at it's absolute best. I loved it.

There Will Be Lies by Nick Lake

“There will be two lies,” the coyote tells Shelby. “Then there will be the truth. And that will be hardest of all.”

Shelby lives a very sheltered life. Home schooled, the only friends she has are on the internet, and the only place her mother ever allows her to go alone is the library. She lives too much in her own world for her to be safe in the outside one, she is told, and pretty much everything she know about the world, she knows from books and her mom.

The coyote comes to her just after the accident. She is waiting on the curb outside the library for her mom to pick her up when the car hits her, and now everything is different. Now they are on the run – her dad is alive after all, her mom tells her; they’ve been hiding from him all these years and now she’s afraid that he’ll find them from the hospital records after Shelby’s accident.

But the coyote said there would be two lies, so what if this is one of them? And if this is a lie, then what is the truth?

They are running, and her mom is contradicting herself left, right and centre, and Shelby doesn’t know who her mom is anymore, or who she is, either. And when she sleeps, she slips into the Dreaming. But is this real too? The coyote is there in the Dreaming, a shape-shifter who tells her the world is going to end in eight days and the only way to stop it is if she can rescue the child who has been kidnapped by the crone. And so Shelby must navigate these two parallel worlds, figure out how she fits in to both of them and deal with the loss of both everything she knew before and the things she knows now.

There Will Be Lies is a very powerful and intriguing story. I figured out the truth pretty early on, though Nick Lake’s storytelling did make me question my theory through the twists and turns and lies that he threw out. The two worlds is an unusual – though far from unheard of – construct which brought an extra level of surreality and questioning to the book – is it called the Dreaming for a reason, or is it as real as the world we know? Or – what defines whether something is real? Because if something is happening in our heads, surely that still makes it a real experience for us, even if others don’t perceive it to be so?

It also makes me think about the nature of lies – how do we know our own truths? Those things that may take place in our heads may be considered to be real, but by that extension, can they also be considered to be true? We are all capable of lying to ourselves as well – I recently read Belzhar by Meg Wolitzer, which plays on this very same idea; the character in Belzhar has told herself something which feels true and real to her but which turns out to not be true and real in the context of the wider world.

So is the Dreaming real, or is it a metaphor for what’s happening to Shelby in the real world? Perhaps it can be both. Will the world really end if Shelby can’t rescue the child in time? How do we define ‘end’? The Dreaming also pulls on the mythology of the Child, the Maiden and the Crone: the triple goddess of wiccan and pagan beliefs, though I suspect from Lake’s story – with the inclusion of the coyote – that perhaps there is similar mythology in the Native American belief system as well. In There Will Be Lies, Shelby takes on the role of the Maiden in this myth, though my understanding of the original is that the three roles are interlinked and are, essentially one and the same simply at different stages. This makes Shelby as much the Child as the Maiden which, when you read the book, gives away a pretty big clue as to the truth Shelby is searching for. Though the coyote tells her she must kill the crone to rescue the child, here the crone is a metaphor for her mother, I think, rather than the third aspect of herself.

To save herself, Shelby needs to extinguish what she thinks she understands about her mother – or come to terms with the part of her mother that resides in her. If she doesn’t save the child, then she will not be able to accept the new terms of her life – and by accepting the new terms of her life, she is able to save the child. Sometimes, in order to make something new, you have to break apart what came before. So what goes around, comes around, and everything is interlinked.

But, though the metaphor and mythology of the story comes predominantly from the parallel world of the Dreaming, I did find that the compulsion to keep reading was generated by what is taking place in the solid world. There are obstacles and adrenaline and danger in the Dreaming, but all the metaphor weighs quite heavily and reading those parts of the story was more like walking through sand while the ‘solid world’ happenings were easier to engage with, like rushing down a fast river. Nevertheless, they all come together to form an intense, thoughtful and excellently written and excellently constructed book that certainly stands out from the crowd. Nick Lake’s writing swells with intelligence and diversity of characters.

The Dawn Chorus by Suzanne Barton

Peep loves music and singing, and so when he wakes up early one morning and hears beautiful music swaying through the trees he just knows he has to find out where it’s coming from. And when he tracks the singers down - the Dawn Chorus - their conductor agrees to let Peep audition – yay! He has to be there bright and early the next morning, but after practicing late into the night he oversleeps and misses the audition. Will the Dawn Chorus give Peep another chance?

The Dawn Chorus is a very simple story with beautiful illustrations that feature lots of different coloured birds, leafy trees and starry nights. They’re bold and clear whilst being endearing and sweet.  I also like that whilst this is a story about animals, the images of them aren’t personified, fitting perfectly with the story that’s being told, which has its basis in nature.

Peep tries really hard to get to his audition and do his best, but he just doesn’t seem to be able pull it off, despite all the practice he puts in. But we soon discover a very good reason for this: he’s a nightingale! So he’s a beautiful singer, but its just not in his nature to sing at dawn. This idea really reminds me of something I heard recently in regards to children who have learning challenges: it’s easy for others to think that because a child isn’t performing well in something that we think they should be to do, it doesn’t mean that they aren’t trying – there might, after all, be another explanation. And: they might not be great at what we think they should be great at, but they will in all likelihood be great at something else. Just like Peep.

My only criticism is that I wasn’t blown away by the text/voice in the book (reading it to myself, I found it a tad stilted somehow – perhaps just a little too careful), but what The Dawn Chorus does do is tell a straight forward story without going around the houses (like a lot of picture books are apt to do today). Suzanne Barton knew what she wanted to say, and she does so with aplomb. A beautifully put together little book that I think will be more fun to read out loud with young children than quietly to one’s adult self.

[This book has been shortlisted for the 2015 Waterstones Children's Book Prize!]

We Are All Made of Molecules, by Susin Nielsen

We Are All Made of Molecules is an excellent feel-good book. I read it very quickly because the story was so compelling and the characters so full of life.

Stewart and Ashley are not related, but they’re about to become brother and sister: Stewart’s dad is moving in with Ashley’s mum. Stewart’s always wanted a sister; Ashley has most definitely never wanted a brother. Stewart is extremely smart but not great at making friends; Ashley is more interested in maintaining her position at the top of the social ladder than schoolwork. Stewart’s mum died a while back and he misses her like crazy; Ashley’s father moved out after announcing he is gay and she can’t believe he spent all her life lying to her. This new family that’s being created is going to be interesting. Very interesting.

We Are All Made of Molecules reminded me at times of both Lara Williamson’s wonderful A Boy Called Hope and Holly Goldberg Sloan’s insightful Counting by 7s – but with it’s own special je ne se quoi of course. The characters are lovely, and grow brilliantly through the story – Stewart has so much to offer with his intelligence and his little insights into the world, while the changes Ashley goes through are equally as affirming.

Each chapter alternates between Stewart’s and Ashley’s viewpoints and Susin Nielsen has created two very distinct voices for each of them. Stewart is sweet and innocent, and so good-hearted. He’s decided to leave his old, exclusive school ‘Little Genius Academy’ and join Ashley’s high school. He’s not exactly clueless about the social mores, and it’s not that he doesn’t care what other people think of him – he does – it’s more that his idea of what makes him appear cool is skewed compared to Ashley’s. Can he find a way to fit in and make friends?

Ashley is hilarious – she doesn’t mean to be, but when she gets her words mixed up it’s hard for everyone not to laugh: she can’t wait, for instance, to be 16 so she can get ‘unconstipated’ (emancipated). At the start of the story she comes across as brattish and spoilt, but she knows what’s what, really, I think; it’s just that she’s so entirely focused on maintaining her social standing that her morals and empathic ability have been cast by the wayside. The question is, if she lets go of her anger and her fears, can she find what she’s lost?

And what happens when gorgeous Jared, the new boy at school, is added to the mix? Is he sent from heaven or is he just a school bully? He’s going to tangle things up even more, that’s for sure, and adds that extra, explosive quality to the story…

This is a tricky book to classify though: it’s sort of grown-up middle grade / young teen – very approachable for older middle grade readers, but some of the things that take place are more teen orientated. Jared, for instance, exerts a certain level of sexual pressure on Ashley that some parents might feel inappropriate for younger readers. Kim Slater’s Smart straddles a similar sort of boundary, and I think there’s an argument that we need more of them – readers, after all, can’t really be classified either. Personally, I would highly recommend We Are Made of Molecules to everyone and anyone aged maybe 11 to 100! It really hit the mark - or, as Stewart would say: it's quality.

Now I need to go and get two t-shirts made: one with the book's title and one that says,

"Always be yourself. Unless you can be a unicorn. Then always be a unicorn."

Think I'm a little odd? Well, you'll just have to read the book then…

Belzhar, by Meg Wolitzer

Nobody knows what to do with Jam, and she doesn’t really know what to do with herself, either, except to live in the little world of memories of her and her time with Reeve. Reeve: this beautiful boy who lived and loved and died and left Jam alone. But now her parents have decided to send her to The Wooden Barn, a boarding school for “emotionally fragile, highly intelligent” teenagers, and she’s got to get up and go to her first class, “Special Topics in English”.

It’s a legendary class, apparently, “Special Topics in English”. Jam’s roommate, DJ, is desperate know what goes on in the class, and desperately disappointed not to have been selected for it. Jam couldn’t really care less, though; she just wants to get through the day and go back to her own, private world. And at first at least, it seems like a pretty regular class to her, except there’re only four other students and the homework includes writing in a stupid diary.

Gradually Jam begins to assimilate to her new surroundings, though the grief of Reeve’s loss follows her everywhere just the same. But then, when she finally opens the journal and begins to write, suddenly she can feel Reeve’s arms around her again, she can smell him and touch him and talk to him. It’s like she’s being given another chance to be with him. Is she the only one this happens to? As the experiences of the diaries begin to create a bond between the Special Topics students, they each tell their stories and form a tight-knit group that no-one else can penetrate. But what will happen when the diaries run out of pages? Can they find a way to hold onto the places the diaries take them to? To the people and things they’ve lost? And should they?

Belzhar is a book that is very hard to put down – first you have to keep reading to find out about Reeve and who he was and what happened, and then you have to keep reading to find out what the other Special Topics students are going to reveal. And then you have to keep reading – because, well, you have to keep reading. And then you begin to wonder: is everything really quite how it appears to be? Because when one person is telling the story, when it’s first person perspective, you only have what that person is telling you to go on. And what if what they’ve told themselves happened isn’t the whole truth?

Meg Wolitzer has created a really interesting ‘unreliable narrator’ in Jam, and an emotionally heart-pounding story – not just Jam’s story, but the other kids too. Can they each find a way to do the right thing in the end? And what if they don’t? Make sure you’ve run all your errands and done all your homework before you pick this book up – because once you do, that’ll be it for the day.

Arsenic for Tea, by Robin Stevens

Welcome to the Wells & Wong Detective Society. If you haven’t met them before, don’t worry, we can introduce you. Miss Daisy Wells, aged thirteen (very nearly fourteen), daughter of Lord and Lady Hastings of Fallingford House, and Miss Hazel Wong, also aged thirteen, daughter of rich Hong Kong businessman (but with a thing for all things English). Daisy is a very determined young lady who is used to things going her way, but who recently learnt it isn’t always a bad thing to listen to the advice of a friend like Hazel.

The Detective Society was born in Murder Most Unladylike after one of their mistresses at Deepdean School went missing – well, ok, after one of their mistresses was murdered. Daisy is President and Hazel is Vice President and Secretary. This basically means Hazel has to write down everything that happens, which, if I do say so myself, she does extremely well. So far they have a 100% success rate, but things have been quiet as far as cases are concerned recently. Until now, that is.

Now is 1935, the Easter holidays, and Daisy and Hazel have decamped from school to Daisy’s home – a traditional English mansion that is getting a little rough around the edges – for the holiday break and to celebrate Daisy’s birthday. There are lots of other members of Daisy’s family there along some other friends from school, Kitty and Beanie, their holiday governess, and a friend of Daisy’s mother, one Mr. Curtis. Except that now Mr. Curtis appears to have been poisoned. It wouldn’t have been a terribly bad thing – he really wasn’t very nice – except that now the village is flooded out so no-one can leave, and someone in the house is Responsible. Yes, with a capital R. Someone in the house is a murderer and Daisy has decided this is a perfect new case for the Detective Society. Can they solve it before the police arrive?

Robins Stevens tells a rip-roaring story. Arsenic for Tea is an adventure and a mystery, but is also about friendship and family, trust and betrayal. The world she has created is very jolly hockey sticks and terribly spiffing, yet she draws the balance between this and contemporary story-telling absolutely perfectly - it never becomes too stuffy or OTT, yet always maintains it thirties overtone. In addition to which there is an awful lot of very neat plotting – to start with, it seems as if almost every member of the household could be the culprit, but the girls gradually rule out suspects as they eavesdrop behind cabinets, go hunting for evidence, and gradually pull together all the little pieces of the puzzle.

Hazel’s voice is wonderful as she recounts everybody’s actions blow by blow, all interspersed with her own thoughts and feelings. It’s a particularly tricky case for Daisy because it seems inevitable that the murderer must be one of Daisy’s family. She really doesn’t want to have to suspect any of them, and who can blame her, but if she’s to be a proper detective she simply has to, while Hazel is reminded of the fear she felt from their previous murder case and the worries around what might become of them should the culprit discover their investigation.

All in all, Arsenic for Tea is an absolute joy. Not only such fun to read, but Stevens keeps us guessing all the way through – I only put two and two together two paragraphs before Hazel does in a classic ‘oh my god!’ moment. Amidst red herrings, multiple motives, a sagging family legacy and – fortunately – plenty of cake, there is one thing of which I can be sure: Wells & Wong are here to stay. Brilliant.