Category: Reviews

Born in 1866, Emilia del Valle Claro is brought up by poor but hard working parents in San Francisco’s Mission District. She is determined to escape the expectations of a woman of her time and class, and starts to write popular crime novels under the name of Brandon J Price. Using the same male identity she writes a crime report for the local newspaper and manages to persuade the editor to commission regular articles from her. A task that is facilitated by her contacts in the poorer part of the city.

But there is a second strand to Emilia’s life. Her father is not the much-loved man who raised her, but a Chilean aristocrat who seduced and then abandoned her mother. She is brought up simultaneously to despise Gonzalo Andrés del Valle and to believe that she is owed an inheritance from him.

When civil war breaks out in Chile Emilia endeavours to secure a commission to report it for her newspaper. This becomes a way to satisfy both her lust for adventure and her curiosity about her Chilean relations.

The novel follows the twists and turns of Emilia’s life, some more probable than others. We see her travelling to New York and then to war torn Chile, where she spends some time on the front line with government troops, and then helping in a military hospital. At a time when women’s lives were heavily circumscribed she takes frequent lovers and ventures into places where even hardened men would hesitate to go.

Emilia del Valle is the latest of Isabel Allende’s feisty and intrepid heroines, who appear so frequently that we have to wonder how far there is an autobiographical element. Certainly Allende’s firsthand knowledge of Chile and its political upheavals informs the novel, as does her more recent knowledge of the United States.

One of the pleasures of this book is the broad sweep of society. In both Chile and the United States we mingle with the poor and the dispossessed, the immigrants and the gold seekers, the soldiers and the labourers. In New York we meet pygmies in a sideshow, a spiritualist and an exotic dancer. But we also encounter nuns and priests, and mix freely with the very top echelons of Chilean society.

Emilia herself seems to move effortlessly through society. She is limited by her sex but this also gives her opportunities such as being able to talk freely to miners’ wives. This – together with her journalistic experience – enables her to give a birdseye commentary on late 19^th century America and on the even greater extremes of wealth and class in Chile.

The result is a rich tapestry of one woman’s life and of the social, economic and political fabric of two countries at a particular point of time. A very enjoyable read.

My Name is Emilia del Valle, Isabel Allende (trans Frances Riddle), Bloomsbury, 2025, 9781526683359

It is 1912 and Elinor Coombes, wealthy and clever but unsophisticated, finds herself trapped in a loveless marriage with an impoverished aristocrat. The only solace in her life is her infant son Teddy, but her access to him is limited and she dreads the day when he will be sent away to school against her wishes.

She is granted a brief respite when her father secures tickets for an Atlantic voyage on a new luxury liner, The Titanic. For a few days she is able to enjoy the company of her son and the absence of her critical in-laws. But then disaster strikes: her father and her husband are among those who have perished and she has to decide what to do next.

Landing in America Elinor realises she has a choice. She could return to England where her in-laws would claim a legal right over Teddy, or she could assume the identity of a missing passenger, and disappear in New York.

She decides to plunge herself and her son into an unknown world of poverty and back-breaking work. Despite the hardships she is happy in her new life, until she discovers that she needs to keep looking over her shoulder to make sure her secret is safe.

This is a page-turning story as Elinor faces a series of setbacks in her life, learning who she can trust and who she cannot. The reader cheers her on when she tries to stand up for herself but the relief is only ever temporary. Even when she seems to find a solution to her problems, it soon becomes apparent that new obstacles have surfaced.

The Lost Passenger shines a light on the way that members of the English aristocracy were trapped in a system that made none of them happy. And it contrasts that life with the determination of those who make their own way in the world: first Elinor’s self-made industrialist father, and then the budding entrepreneurs of New York.

But really this is a story about courage, self-awareness, and the willingness to take the chances that are offered to you. It may contain the odd cliché, such as the information learnt in an overheard conversation, but that doesn’t stop it being an enjoyable and satisfying read.

The Lost Passenger, Frances Quinn, Simon & Schuster, 2025, 9781398520684

The year is 1546 and in an English village a dying man has commissioned the building of a chantry chapel where prayers will be said for his eternal soul. The building of the chapel – and the inevitable disruption to the existing church – dominates the lives of the village and of his household. As does the long period of his dying, leaving his wife – the narrator of this novel – in a type of limbo.

Grieving for the loss of her child, and overshadowed by the spectre of her husband’s first wife, she is forced to ponder what fate will hold for her when she becomes a widow.

All of this takes place at a time when the old certainties are fading. The Reformation is in full force: the old religion has been banned but its rites and rituals have not disappeared. There is a climate of fear but also of change and emboldenment. Will the narrator – symbolically unnamed for much of the novel, and painfully aware of her own lack of agency – finally be able to step out from the shadows?

This is a beautifully written and multi-faceted novel. The structure of the story is built around the traditional book of days, combining the church calendar with a personal journal. But it is also shaped around the physical presence of the church: the building, its symbols, and the graves of generations of people who have been buried there. This is a world in which religion is part of the fabric of everyday life.

Cold, hard stone permeates the story. This is the substance of the church and of the tombs of the dead. It carries traces of the past, with “ghost of an arch and a window blocked up long ago”. But for Simm, the master mason, “stone is a living thing”, to be coaxed into the shapes and forms of nature.

In one sense the people of this world are – like the stone – both living and dead. Life and death are intertwined. The dead continue to affect the living, and the living are invited to anticipate their own deaths, even to the extent of having their likenesses taken for their eventual tombs.

It is left to individuals to find joy in the moment, in the consolations of nature and of everyday life. As the narrator writes her book of days she records the changing of the seasons and the minutiae of the everyday world. Every saint’s day has its rituals, bound up with ancient custom, and she notes that “we must all of us find our truth in plain, familiar things”.

But change is inevitable, the permanence of stone an illusion. Life is a matter of adapting and accepting. As we are told, after an unusually tumultuous episode, “the times are on the march and it behoves us to listen to the drumbeat”. A short but enjoyable and thought-provoking novel.

The Book of Days, Francesca Kay, Swift, February 2024, 9781800753495

It is the year 72 CE, and Olwen, the headstrong daughter of a local chieftain, has been promised to the Roman governor of Britannia as part of a peace treaty. Together with Quintus, an enslaved Roman, she flees the army camp and sets off towards the coast.

Olwen is fierce and warrior-like, and has a strong affinity with the land and its creatures, while the multilingual Quintus is intelligent but lacks the killer instinct. Despite their differences Olwen and Quintus soon form a strong bond and together they battle the countryside, its hazards, and the pursuing Roman soldiers.

But will their relationship survive, and can Olwen ever return to her people? Or must they aim for the western shore, and hope that they can escape to freedom across the sea?

Tim Pears is known for his lyrical descriptions of the countryside and this is clearly what he does best. In this novel he has lots of rich description of plants, animals and local lore, mostly seen through the eyes of Olwen. He also builds up a picture of early Roman Britain: the scattered settlements, the foraging for whatever food comes to hand, the mistrust of strangers, and the fear engendered by the invaders.

There are also druids, shamans and secret rituals. And Olwen connects with the past through the stories of her ancestors. This is very much a place where the natural and the supernatural are intertwined.

I have to admit that I didn’t always find the main characters or their relationship entirely convincing. It wasn’t clear why Olwen chose Quintus to escape with her, and I felt that they fell in love much too quickly (especially as you get the sense of Olwen leading the way, and of Quintus not having much choice in what happens). I also thought that Quintus could have been developed more fully as a character. Given that he is portrayed as intelligent and thoughtful, I would have liked to have seen him making plans rather than blindly following.

However, anyone who wants to immerse themselves in the atmosphere and countryside of ancient Britain will enjoy this short novel.

Run to the Western Shore, Tim Pears, Swift, 2023, 9781800752979

17^th century Europe wasn’t the best place for an independent, unconventional woman. It was even more problematic if she had a love of the sea, and a burning desire to sail in her own ship. Louise Reydon-Joubert, the central character of The Ghost Ship, faces these problems, and more. She is haunted by her family’s past, and troubled by the issue of how to spend – and defend – a large inheritance. At the same time she is drawn into an illicit love affair…

Set in France, Amsterdam and the Canary Islands, the novel follows the fortunes of Louise and of Gilles Barenton, a young wine merchant. The times are turbulent, and so is Louise’s life, and she soon finds herself at the mercy of forces she cannot control.

The sea is an appropriate metaphor here. Much of the novel takes place on board ship, where murder, storms and pirates mirror Louise’s inner torments. So perhaps it is no surprise that she should hatch an audacious plan to counter the growing slave trade that is enriching ship-owners but terrorising their crews.

The Ghost Ship is the third is a series, but can be read as a standalone story. This was a period of history that I knew little about, but I was drawn in right from the first page. The book is full of lovely rich descriptions, so that it is easy to visualise yourself in 17^th century Paris or Amsterdam, or being tossed about on the high seas.

Although it is partly based on stories of two female pirates of the time, the preface acknowledges that the main premise of the novel is unlikely. It certainly seems fanciful but, in the hands of this author, it is skilfully handled. You can find yourself believing that events might have unfolded in just such a way.

This is a book that keeps the reader guessing until the very end. If you enjoy a page-turning adventure full of historical detail you will enjoy The Ghost Ship.

The Ghost Ship, Kate Mosse, Mantle, July 2023, 9781509806911