Max Barry’s Company is his third novel, and it’s one that helps position him as one of the more prominent Australian satirists working today. Barry is known for his previous books Syrup and Jennifer Government, both touching on themes of consumerism and corporate greed, and Company continues in this vein.

The context of Company should be instantly recognisable to virtually anyone who’s ever, well, been employed. Barry’s insider research was apparently conducted whilst working at global computer company Hewlett Packard, while my own painful and extended brushes with bureaucracy were courtesy of a global publishing company that will remain nameless. The book is absurd, of course, and it relishes in its over-the-top depiction of company culture, but perhaps the most disturbing thing about it is that it’s so easily recognisable. The drawn-out battles and line-drawing over a missing doughnut, whose numbers are carefully rationed by catering; the rabid attention to which coat hook or car parking space belongs to whom purely out of convention and I-was-there-firstness; the complete bewilderment of the employees when asked to explain exactly what their role is without relying on a tautology or circular logic; the ‘just because’ acceptance of bizarre and ever-changing policies from above. I’ve been there. We all have.

Company follows the stellar rise of new graduate Jones, Zephyr Inc’s newest staff member. Jones is not especially slow off the mark, and it doesn’t take him long to realise that things at Zephyr are atypical even for a large business. The always-absent receptionist drives a sports car that seems well beyond her salary range; the lift buttons are numbered in reverse order to encourage staff to aspire towards a position on level 1; and due to some creative accounting, Jones’s salary has been written off as a stationery purchase. However, unlike most employees at Zephyr (as well as those in the real world), rather than accepting the status quo, Jones is determined to find out exactly what’s going on at the company, and while he’s at it, find out exactly what it is that the company does.

Barry is most at home when he’s digging his claws into corporate life and sending up much-ridiculed IT and HR personnel, and readers will find that it’s these areas of the book that are strongest. Characterisation is generally pretty weak, with most characters existing largely to be tormented and mocked, and even main character Jones being fairly flat and having, it should be said, a fairly easy time of it in terms of the plot challenges thrown at him. However, if you can forgive this, and the somewhat weak conclusion to the book, you’ll find that there’s much in Company to love—or at least with which you can identify. I’m tempted to leave a copy at reception, myself!

Purchase Company

Other books by Max Barry you might like: Syrup, Jennifer Government

As you might have realised, I’ve developed a certain love of cosy mysteries. I’ve been devouring a wide range of them, opting for those with a wide range of different protagonists and themes, and enjoying the way that they offer an insight into a variety of strange an esoteric habits and hobbies.

Brush with Death is a welcome addition to my quickly growing collection. Its opening pages immediately show that the author has significant familiarity and confidence with both art and history, which is no surprise given that Hailey Lind is actually the nom de plume of two sisters, one of whom is an artist, and one of whom is an historian. Well, that’s one mystery solved.

Brush with Death is the third in a series about hilarious protagonist Annie Kincaid, an erstwhile forger turned art restorer who seems to specialise in getting herself into a variety of difficult situations, apparently often involving murder, stolen art, and of course, men.

The novel has a slightly old-fashioned, shabby-chic-meets-Scooby-Do feel to it, which I really enjoyed. It’s full of rubber mask-wearing hooligans, complex love dodecahedra (or other similarly complicated shapes), and a variety of raucous characters, all of whom are larger than life. Annie is a smart-mouthed heroine, but not in the obnoxious way that seems to dominate many other cosy or chicklit novels. She’s sassy but fallible, and she’s fully aware of her foibles–not that this awareness helps mitigate them in any way.

Poor Annie is doing her best to make ends meet on the legitimate side of the art world, but trouble seems to follow her. During a late-night fresco restoration session at a San Francisco cemetery, she meets graduate student Cindy Tanaka, but the introductions are set a little awry as the two are knocked down by a masked thief. To complicated matters further, Cindy mentions to Annie that she feels something might be amiss with the cemetery’s copy of Raphael’s famous La Fornarina–she has her suspicions that what is thought to be a copy might not be after all.

A curious Annie begins asking around to see whether Cindy’s suspicions might be correct, but as usual, things begin to get complicated. Particularly Cindy winds up dead and Annie finds herself stuck in the middle of some complicated relationships and some wealthy and influential individuals.

Brush With Death is a great read. It’s fun and witty, and feels well-rounded and well-researched. Each of the characters is nicely drawn, and Annie in particular is realistic and easy to empathise with. While the mystery is a little thin in places, the book offers a nice insight into the art world, and a great escape from the real one. I certainly whipped through this one in a single sitting!

Purchase Brush with Death

Other books by Hailey Lind you might enjoy: Shooting Gallery; Feint of Art

Forthcoming reviews: Company by Max Barry (mainstream)

Simon Levack’s debut novel, Demon of the Air, the first in his Aztec series, earned him a number of accolades and awards, and having spent much of Sunday firmly ensconced in the Levack’s recreation of Aztec Mexico, I can see why.

Demon of the Air is set a mere two years before the arrival of the Spanish conquistadors, and already there is a quiet murmur amongst the Aztecs in relation to various sightings of these strange pale-skinned people. This particular temporality proves essential to the mystery that follows, and also sets up Levack’s following novels in a clever manner—after all, this is certainly not a context that could be considered benign or dull.

In fact, this is where much of Demon of  the Air’s readability stems from. Levack does an admirable job of setting up the Aztec culture and environment, doing so in a fairly seamless manner given the amount of information to be introduced. The book is smattered throughout with various tidbits about Aztec life, and these glimpses into the culture are fascinating (although given that many of them discuss matters of sacrifice and self-harm, they are also sometimes rather gruesome). There are a few moments, though, where the sheer amount of information the reader needs to digest becomes overwhelming, and unfortunately one of these is the opening of the book. Fortunately, after a bit of initial floundering, it’s possible to get into the swing of things, and it only picks up from there.

Demon of the Air opens in media res with main character Yoatl, at his master’s behest, helping commoner Handy carry a bathed slave off to his sacrificial death. There are a few issues with the sacrifice, however, the first being that the bathed slave is a rather sorry looking thing, which is most unusual for a sacrificial victim. The second is that the slave is already dead after leapt to his death whilst making a proclamation about “the big boat”—and having a dead victim never bodes especially well for sacrifices.

Unsurprisingly, the deceased status of Yoatl and Handy’s sacrifice is found out, and Yoatl is called before none other than the Emperor Montezuma to solve both the mystery of the victim’s somewhat untimely death, as well as what the victim was on about when he mentioned the big boat. Montezuma, of course, had been privy to the growing rumours about the arrival of a group of light-skinned men, and is determined to see if these events are related.

Yoatl finds himself swept up in a strange array of events that loop about each other in as fun and as intricate a manner as a three-year-old’s first attempt at tying a shoelace. People are double-crossed, then double-knotted (if you’ll forgive the extension of the simile), and all sorts of mysterious events, both past and present, come to the fore. Interesting, much of Demon of the Air does not hinge around what is ostensibly the major mystery of the bathed slave’s death, but rather around the various events of Yaotl’s life that have led to him falling from priestly status to that of a slave. For me, it was this element, as well as some of the highly entertaining dash-and-grab scenes that carried the book.

While it does run a little long in places, Demon of the Air is a great read that will keep you up all night reading—if only to find out about Aztec fashion and chocolatey delights. I’ll definitely be on the lookout for the next in the series.

Purchase Demon of the Air.

Other books by Simon Levack you might like:  City of Spies; Shadow of the Lords; Tribute of Death

Forthcoming review: A Brush with Death by Hailey Lind (mystery).

Here’s a quick round up of a few book giveaways I’ve seen online recently:

Bookhugger: The April Competition. (UK only)

Tor Heavy Metal Pulp Giveaway (US only)

Carol Higgins Clark Giveaway

Alexey Pehov Shadow Prowler Giveaway (US only)

Ian Tregillis Bitter Seeds Giveaway

Mark Watson Giveaway

More Tor Giveaways

Hodder Famous Faces Giveaway

Louise Bagshawe Desire Giveaway

If you’re running a giveaway, and you’d like me to post it here, just drop me an e-mail or leave a comment.

My current wish-list:

Ooh, and these:

I’m working on a review of Demon of the Air (which is a great historical mystery), and am finishing up reading A Brush With Death, so I’ll have a review of that ready for you shortly, too.

The Shadow of Malabron is the first in a trilogy by new-ish author Thomas Warton (not to be confused with the Nobel Laureate of the same name). It’s an uneven offering, and one about which I’m a little ambivalent.

The book starts with an interesting prologue of sorts that hints at something fable-like to come, and sets up what seems as to be an intriguing and novel idea. Unfortunately, as is often the case with prologues, the book turns its attention elsewhere, and the reader is soon looking on as young teen Will Lightfoot bickers with his widower father and young sister as they embark upon a camping trip.

The notion of setting up camp in a new and unknown place, of course, is a harbinger of things to come, and soon Will finds himself in a motorcycle accident that lands him in what is apparently known as the Perilous Realm, a sort of parallel story-world. The name of the place is apt, as Will finds himself being hunted down by the Night King. As is frequently the case in this sort of quest-based epic fantasy, Will is befriended by a motley assortment of allies, and with them, he sets out to find his way home.

There are a few good moments in The Shadow of Malabron that point to Warton as a writer to watch. There are some neat turns of phrase scattered here and there throughout the novel, as well as some great moments such as the library that is physically constructed from books. As a whole, though, the novel is competent but nothing notable: it goes through the motion of a standard epic fantasy without daring to step off this oft-travelled path in search of something new for readers to enjoy. This is a shame, as Warton clearly has some talent as an author, and a more creative take on the premise could have resulted in something quite interesting.

As it is, The Shadow of Malabron is a fast read that many young readers will likely enjoy, but that many adults will find themselves comparing with classics such as The Lord of the Rings and other well-known quest-based novels.

Purchase The Shadow of Malabron.

Other books by Thomas Warton you might enjoy:  Salamander; Icefields

(I’m not sure if this book is by the same Thomas Warton, but it sounds fabulous, and I’d love to get my hands on it)

Forthcoming reviews: Demon of the Air by Simon Levack (mystery); A Brush with Death by Hailey Lind (mystery).

13 Reasons Why opens with main character Clay receiving a box of cassette tapes. It seems innocuous enough, although it does bring to mind scenes from German novel The Reader by Bernhard Schlink, as well as the connotations associated with chain letters. However, Clay soon finds out that what is on the tapes is far from innocent.

The tapes have been sent through an as-yet anonymous chain of Clay’s classmates, having originated with Hannah Baker, a young girl and, as we find out, an almost-girlfriend of Clay’s, who has recently committed suicide. The tapes detail, over 13 sides, the people, and their actions, who have contributed to Hannah’s death.

It’s a chilling premise, and one that author Jay Asher says was inspired by a visit to a museum, where he was given an audio device that would tell the story of each of the exhibits. The result was, of course, a fragmented series of notes and stories that were nevertheless interrelated, and it is this mood that characterises 13 Reasons Why. In the book, Hannah has recorded a tape for each of the individuals she sees as culpable, but because they are narrated as though for that person’s ears only, the story is painfully fragmented and inchoate to begin with.

We watch as Clay feverishly plays through the tapes, desperately trying to figure out the role he has played in Hannah’s death. It’s almost frustrating to find out that Hannah holds him up in high regard, and as largely blame free. Similarly, Clay spends relatively little time reflecting on whether this is truly the case, and as he considers the instances where he could have stepped in, he puts any blame back on Hannah, thinking that he would have helped if he had known—an approach that is itself problematic.

13 Reasons Why is a challenging examination of agency and avoidance. Hannah picks out situations where others intervened or acted in ways that fundamentally affected her. Some feel far more significant than others, but the effect is one of a snowball, with the cumulative effect of these actions resulting in Hannah’s final cry for help, which goes unheeded. What is most challenging, though, as well as ultimately supremely frustrating, is that Hannah appears to be looking for a way out from the outset. She assigns the others agency, but at the same time sees herself as having no agency of her own, describing her death as the result of their actions, and therefore unavoidable. She puts herself in the hands of others, relying on them to see the signs that she is struggling, and then terrorising them with blame for her death when they do not. While I don’t want to imply that those Hannah accuses of atrocious behaviour are innocent, for in many cases they’re far from it, there are instances where she seems to be deliberately misreading a situation to enhance her own suffering, and these sections are difficult to read.

While undeniably a challenging and painful read, the book teeters on the precipice of melodrama, and unfortunately often stumbles, resulting in scenes that don’t quite ring true, particularly given that they’re meant to be the spoken diaries of a teenage girl. The book does, however, offer a thoughtful examination of the snowball effect of others’ behaviour, and how even the smallest action—or inaction—can have a profound effect on someone’s life, particularly when they have opened themselves to being influenced in such a way. It addresses issues of agency and vulnerability, of cruelly plotted revenge, and of risk avoidance achieved through passing on blame and fault to unwitting participants. It’s a gruelling read, and one that leaves a sour taste in your mouth, but certainly one that you’ll find yourself wanting to discuss and reflect upon once you’re done.

Purchase 13 Reasons Why.

Visit the official 13 Reasons Why website.

Forthcoming reviews: The Shadow of Malabron by Thomas Wharton (young adult); Demon of the Air by Simon Levack (mystery)

I’m probably one of many who have picked up The Many Aspects of Mobile Home Living based on a combination of its title and its Joycean cover art. And I’m glad to say that, once again, my sense of aesthetics was right on the ball. The Many Aspects of Mobile Home Living is Martin Clark‘s first novel, and it’s no surprise that it picked up a recommendation as a NYT notable book when it was first published in 2000.

What did surprise me somewhat was the book itself. While the title should have been somewhat of a giveaway, I have to admit that I was not prepared for the strange and lovely Dadaist romp to which I was subjected upon diving into this odd little volume. Perhaps it’s something to do with my years of inbuilt cynicism towards anyone in the legal profession (while at university I had to endure my fair share of ‘oh, so you didn’t apply for law?’ comments), but given Clark’s spot in the legal profession, and the the fact that this book is, arguably (pardon the pun), a legal thriller of sorts, I was expecting something a little more Grisham-esque and a little less, well, fabulous.

The Many Aspects of Mobile Home Living opens with our pot-smoking, doughnut-devouring, work-skipping small court judge hero Evers engaged in a strange encounter with an albino woman who ushers him into the bathroom with a proposal. And it is here that the flights of fancy begin. Evers’ new albino acquaintance turns out to be a woman called Ruth Esther, who offers him cash and an adventure if he finds her brother innocent in a forthcoming case. While this all seems a bit run of the mill, things suddenly veer away with surprising force, and Evers is caught up in a bizarre series of events involving chasing down millions of dollars, a set of antique postage stamps, an uncomfortable affair with an up-and-coming female lawyer who challenges his backwards ideals, the revelation that Ruth Esther’s tears may be magical and have the capability of granting wishes, and, subsequently, the suicide of his wife.

The Many Aspects of Mobile Home Living is certainly not for those who like to toe the line of narrative restraint. It gads about like a young filly in a spring paddock, darting about all over the place, and problematises just about everything you could expect in terms of plot, character, and theme. Evers is both the hero and the Greek chorus as he discusses how “confusion makes things confusing”. He’s right, but it doesn’t stop this book from being a lot of fun. While it does lag here and there, with certain plot points overwhelming the narrative with no real effect, and the wild goose chase for the missing millions being a tad unnecessary, particularly given that it necessitates a change of setting, The Many Aspects of Mobile Home Living is an accomplished, and gloriously insouciant, first novel. Only don’t do what I did and read it on the plane–you’ll disembark feeling even more disoriented than usual.

Purchase The Many Aspects of Mobile Home Living

Other books by Martin Clark you might like: The Legal Limit; Plain Heathen Mischief

I was lucky enough to score an ARC of Julian Corkle from the kind folks at Harper Collins Australia, and I have to say that after a rather woeful week in the life of Steph, this book was the exact pick-me-up I needed (save for perhaps a block of Cadbury Old Gold, but I digress).

I could be pithy and say that Julian Corkle, whose name is rather frequently misheard as Corker is exactly that—a corker of a novel. Except, of course, that I’m not from Tasmania and assiduously avoid using such language.

Julian Corkle is a Filthy Liar is a hilarious romp through family life and black-sheepedness in small town and then slightly larger town Tasmania in the 1970s. The book epitomises cultural cringe, which is something with which Australians are well-acquainted, and draws admirably on our long history of books and films revolving around the theme of ‘battler achieving against all odds’. If you’ve not seen such a headline in the newspapers recently, it’s likely because you’ve either not been reading the paper, or because you hail from some other far-flung country. For those joining us from places other than the Vegemite-hoarding, chardonnoi-guzzling, cricket-ogling land of Australia, you’ll get a general feel for what Julian Corkle is about by casting your mind back to such classy gems as The Castle, Priscilla, Strictly Ballroom, and Muriel’s Wedding. You may wish to throw an episode or so of Neighbours in there, too.

Julian Corkle opens with the birth of our winsome hero, and from page one we find out that Julian, rather like a cubic zirconia from Zamels, veritably sparkles with star quality. However, Julian’s mothers support for his small screen dreams (which she facilitates by letting him style her hair and gorge himself on packets of chocolate bikkies) has to remain on the sly, as Julian’s dad, a sportswriter and all around blokey-bloke, is rather antipathetic towards a son who turns out to be more at home dressing up his tom-boy sister’s cast aside Barbies than he is on the cricket pitch.

Still, Julian can’t fight his inner sparkle, and we follow him through a pained childhood and subsequent adolescence as he seeks to both come to terms with his sexuality against a backdrop of narrowly defined masculinity, and to fulfil his star potential by making it big on the small screen.

Julian does get sidetracked here and there, and his exploits have the bizarre hilariousness of a Benny Hill sketch. The reader chuckles along as a tubby Julian decks himself out in lurid (and tight) clothing, dons a pair of glasses that he originally conceives of as John Lennons, but finds out are Nana Mouskouris, and asks quite the wrong questions of the Catholic Brothers at his school. Julian is a bumbling hero to say the least, and he suffers from perennial foot in mouth disease, which leads him into all sorts of ridiculous situations that he believes will gradually bring him closer to his chosen career as a small screen star.

Julian’s attempts at putting together a career, however, are similarly as stop-start as a crusty Holden Torana with a burnt out gear box, and upon reflection, he realises that perhaps his dream is not the same of his mother’s—rather his chosen calling is in the sartorial world, or more narrowly, within the world of male hairdressing. This is a career where Julian can exploit both his love of big hair and of chocolate bikkies, and he settles secretly into his new role.

However, so skilled is Julian at engorged bouffant and rock-hard beehives that he is soon enrolled in a televised contest for Tasmania’s biggest hair, and at last he has his moment to shine.

Julian Corkle is a fun romp that pokes fun at the many aspects of suburban Australia, with its strange priorities and its painful idiosyncrasies. While the book does hit the occasional false note as it tries just that little bit too hard to be funny, it’s designed to be a fun, feel-good read in the vein of the aforementioned cult films, and ultimately it succeeds in doing so. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Julian Corkle up on the big screen (or at least a two-part small screen feature) within the next year or so.

Purchase Julian Corkle is a Filthy Liar

Forthcoming reviews: 13 Reasons Why by Jay Asher (young adult); The Many Aspects of Mobile Home Living by Martin Clarke (mainstream; literary; humor)

I should admit that I was initially attracted to Century by its beautifully gloomy cover: all chiaroscuro shades with a stunning purple foil title. However, in this instance I can happily say that I was right to judge a book by its cover.

While author Sarah Singleton is no newcomer to fiction—or non-fiction for that matter—Century is her first foray into young adult fiction. While some authors struggle to make the transition between adult and young adult fiction, coming off as overly earnest or painfully twee and pat, Singleton seems to have found a genre that works for her.

Century is an eerie, ghostly tale that has an old-worldly feel to it. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone told me that it had been dug out of Great-great-great Aunt Edith’s (bless her soul) old leather trunk, or that it had been unearthed from amidst the forgotten curiosities lurking in a shut up attic.

The book tells the tale of young sisters Mercy and Charity, who have lived all their lives in the mansion Century, staring out at a never-ending winter. The girls’ days are dark and bleak, and their routine consists of little more than stodgy breakfasts and ill-remembered lessons. However, on one of these seemingly endless days, Mercy not only finds a tear on her pillow, but comes across a ghost in the nearby lake, and these strange discoveries lead her to realise that not all is as it seems. Mercy’s days are suddenly filled with musing and curiosity: how old is she? When was the last time she saw her mother? How long have they been living in Century? and she embarks upon a ravenous study of her family’s history.

The girls’ father, Mercy finds out, unable to cope with the death of their mother, has placed the house and its inhabitants under a spell that sees them living out the same day over and over as time passes by around them. While this plot element should seem trite and clichéd, Singleton treats it masterfully, taking us back and forth in time to show us exactly how the family came to be in such a situation. Moreover, rather than simply treating it as an inexplicable curse that Mercy must simply learn to deal with, we watch as she struggles with the losses the curse represents, and her frustration and anger at being forced away from a typical life, even though she has known nothing different.

Singleton draws together a web of fascinating incidents involving Frankensteinian experimentation, pained and unrequited love, and a family secret capable of shattering lives, and the result is a chilling, masterful tale that is surprisingly beautiful. Don’t expect a dirge, though—the ending is quite uplifting, and I found myself drawing parallels (somewhat oddly) with both The City of Ember and Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy: after watching someone trapped in darkness for so long, it’s a beautiful sight to watch them come out, blinking, into something altogether new.

Purchase Century

Other books by Sarah Singleton you might like: Heretic (sequel to Century); The Amethyst Child; Out of the Shadows

Forthcoming reviews: 13 Reasons Why by Jay Asher (young adult); Julian Corkle is a Filthy Liar by DJ Connell (humour; mainstream)

I’ve now read several books in the Little Black Dress range, and I have to say that each one has been refreshingly different. Rather than offering romance or chicklit novels that stick to a publisher-designed formula, the LBD crew seem happy to have quite a diverse range of authors on their books. I’ve read and reviewed LBD books relating to hockey, that have involved talking dogs and angry goddesses, and hilariously naughty regency romances. With Smart Casual, I can add office romance with a mystery twist to the list.

Other than the striking cover, what really sold me on Niamh Shaw‘s Smart Casual was the mention of a mystery. I’ve become somewhat of a sucker for a mystery of late, and particularly any sort of cosy mystery. Perhaps it’s simply the case that I’m an old lady in a rather young lady’s body, but watching amateur sleuths go about solving mischief and sometimes actual crimes seems to be right up my alley. Now, with that little admission aside, bear with me for a moment while I grab my crocheted shawl and my plate of iced vo-vos. . .

I should note up front for the more lady-like reader that Smart Casual is an hilariously crass romance. Shaw lets loose with all sorts of crude mirth and ridiculous situations, many of which I recall with quiet cringing from my not so far away youth. (I’m talking about my friends’ behaviour here, of course). If you have qualms about someone contemplating whether oral sex is ‘like licking a gamey mackerel’, or about a narrator matter of factly informing you about the spermy smell in the air whilst two teens pash, then this books is perhaps not for you.

If, however, you just read that line about the mackerel out loud to your boyfriend, as I certainly did, then you’ll probably get quite a bit of naughty and lurid enjoyment out of Smart Casual.

Smart Casual‘s heroine is fiesty career girl Liv Anderson, who has patiently bided her time at  Puttock Leavitt (usually given a more colourful rhyming slang name throughout the book) waiting for the director to finally give her a much deserved promotion. Liv, dealing with the usual fun and games that comes with working in an office environment, and worse, with working in IT, is hanging by a thread, and it’s no small wonder. So when she’s passed over for the promotion and the job is instead given to a newcomer to the company, she’s rather miffed. After all, even if this newcomer is admittedly attractive, he’s a jerk. And a jerk who took her job.

Where the book goes from here seems fairly straightforward. We’ve seen it in books and movies for years, after all. But Shaw doesn’t take this route, and Smart Casual is a fun and refreshing read as a result. We watch cringingly as Liv does embark on a temporary and somewhat ill-advised dalliance with the newcomer, but with slightly more piqued interest as she notes that she’s, well, not that interested. And that this handsome man has not only stolen her job, but he has strange bedroom quirks such as licking faces. Even worse than the whole face-licking business is the fact that he seems to be up to no good: Liv suspects that he’s got some outside business interests that he’ll happily bring down Puttock Leavitt in order to promote.

Smart Casual is a great read on many levels. Liv is a witty and hilarious narrator, and while every now and then the humour runs on a little, the narrative voice is generally fast and pacy. Liv, despite falling rather heavily on the ditsy and mischievous side of the character spectrum, is likeable rather than irritating, and her easy self-reflection and honest appraisal of herself helps the reader identify with her.

In addition to a likeable main character who doesn’t suffer from the Mary Sue issues that can sometimes plague romance and chicklit novels, Smart Casual is full of great office staff caricatures. While these are admittedly over the top, they’re deliberately so, and these characters are hilarious portraits that will no doubt be instantly recognisable to any office worker. In addition to this, the mystery that Liv sets out to solve is one that’s well situated within this working environment. Rather than having a maligned boss be found swinging from his tie in the stairwell to level 8, we’re given an insider trading plot that ties in well with Liv and her career, and that she is actually well placed to solve.

Readers of sharp and snappy chicklit and romance novels, as well as lovers of cosy mysteries, will find a lot to like about Smart Casual. It’s sort of like a Jack Russell: small and with a lot of character, but once you get past the fact that it jumps all over you and tries to do the dirty with your leg, you can’t help but love it.

Purchase Smart Casual

Other books by Niamh Shaw you might like: About Time