Eleanor Black. Photo / Supplied
After a bit of lockdown brain-fog induced stop-starting, I have just finished The Newcomer by Laura Elizabeth Woollett, the last two-thirds of it in a frantic three-day block, squeezed among the homeschooling, work, dog walks and lying around feeling defeated. And, I really, really loved it.
Like the excellent Before
You Knew My Name, by Jacqueline Bublitz, this murder mystery centres on the victim, in this case troubled young Sydney seeker Paulina. Newly arrived to "Fairfolk Island" (a thinly disguised Norfolk Island) she is a polarising figure, a "mainie" who desperately wants to be accepted by locals yet soon forges a reputation for being unreliable, unpredictable and even dangerous.
While Paulina's murder is the book's biggest misdeed, it is chilling to see just how many people on the island do her harm. I haven't read Woollett's previous books, The Love of a Bad Man and Beautiful Revolutionary (based on the Jim Jones' cult), but I will soon remedy that.
Since the pandemic began, I have fallen into a crime genre wormhole, which I think has something to do with the satisfaction of resolving complex problems in my downtime when I can't even stay on top of our household milk consumption in the real world. Next up: Tell Me Lies, by J.P. Pomare.
Besides crime, I am into reading personal essays at the moment. Top of my stack is Nina Mingya Powles' vibrant collection, Small Bodies of Water, which I can't wait to lavish more time on, closely followed by Ann Patchett's These Precious Days. I recently read and loved Megan Dunn's Things I Learned At Art School and I'm hoping she is working on a part two.
