MB Henry All the Lights Above Us Alcove Press 2021.
Thank you, NetGalley for providing me with this uncorrected proof.
My first reaction to All the Lights Above Us was admiration for the cleverness with which M B Henry relates the political, personal, and military drama of June 5 to June 7, 1944. The narrative follows the events of the day before and following D Day in their horrors, passion, courage, foolishness, treachery, and self-deception through the experiences of five women. Flora, Adelaide, and Emilia are in Caen, France; Mildred in Berlin, Germany; and Theda in Portsmouth, England. Their stories are largely independent of each other, although Flora’s and Emilia’s stories converge in the last hours of the invasion of France by the Allies. This coming together is another intelligent device, not only providing a conclusion to Flora’s story, but adding to the characterisation of Emilia. Each woman’s story is told in short, but strong chapters, evoking their past, developing characterisation, and moving the story forward. This story is full of event, emotion, and social commentary, its impact makes it seem as though we have been with the women for far longer. As I stated at the beginning – so clever.
Other features of the novel should not be underestimated. While narrating relatively easily envisioned events that are familiar through historical works, nonfiction and fiction, M B Henry gives them additional impact through several means.
She ensures that the reader becomes aware of the discrimination against women that has brought most of the women to their current situation. While Mildred’s story does not reflect the discrimination that has impacted so heavily on Flora, Adelaide, Emilia and Theda, her persona is linked strongly to the way in which a woman may rely heavily on appearance and a male mentor to accomplish her aims. While not defending Emilia’s behaviour, Henry gives her story a background that explains the trap made for women such as her in Hitler’s Germany. Adelaide’s mothering role is complex. Although from a different country, experience, and period, like Theda she has been surrounded by arguments about what a ‘real’ woman should be. Flora is confronted daily with examples of discrimination based on her gender.
Importantly, Henry’s concern with that broader theme does not undercut her attention to developing her characters, with only three days in which to illustrate their reactions to world shattering events. Where she uses background information to fill out her characters this is done smoothly without interrupting the narrative of the present. Small events are used to highlight large issues, particularly so in Theda’s story.
Each woman’s story is carried through, from the background that has brought her to her situation on D Day, to her experiences throughout the invasion, and to completion. Possibly the tying up of ends might seem a little contrived. However, once again Henry has worked to fulfil her mission, that is, using D Day as the time in which she must tell the women’s stories and establish possibilities for each of them. These endings all ring true, considering two important features of the book. They rely on the way in which each woman has been depicted; the way in which each woman has demonstrated her strengths and weaknesses throughout the narrative. The drawing together of events assumes little beyond the initial impact of D Day, except possibly in one case where the events based on a real person suggest some likely possibilities. However, the overall impression is that Henry’s characters’ stories reflect the way in which those who welcomed the success of D Day had to imagine an end before they could go on for the remainder of the war.
The descriptions of the wounded in Theda’s hospital; the drowned parachutists observed by Adelaide; the torture and shootings to which Emilia is a witness; Flora’s experiences as a member of the resistance; and Mildred’s knowledge of her own perfidy are disturbing images. Henry has momentarily put these aside for a short time by establishing completion for each of the characters. Whatever the future possibilities, Henry has given both her characters and readers a taste of the breathing space that reflects a likely reality at the time.
With its short strong chapters, convincing and intriguing characters, and commitment to developing a short period of time into a persuasive depiction of a real event, this novel is an engrossing read.
Patricia White Rebecca BFI Bloomsbury Publishing Plc London and New York, 2021.
Thank you to NetGalley for providing me with this uncorrected proof in exchange for an honest review.
I was thrilled to receive this thorough interpretation of Rebecca, a film with which I have grappled, and the novel with which I became reacquainted during a tour of Cornwall visiting locations with which Daphne Du Maurier was associated. A visit the Daphne Du Maurier Literary Centre in Fowey dedicated to her and her writing provided me with a wealth of information to which I shall gladly add this book. I have also read Sally Beauman’s afterword to the Virago Modern Classics with great interest. Rebecca, the novel, and Rebecca, the film, have been interpreted in Patricia White’s book. However, I must be honest and acknowledge that I feel more sympathetic to Sally Beauman’s commentary on the novel than I do with the glimpses White provides of her interpretation of the Du Maurier original. At the same time, I feel that it is possible to consider the film and the novel separately, and in doing so, find White’s understanding of Alfred Hitchcock’s portrayal of Du Maurier’s work, persuasive.
White’s use of authors familiar to me through women’s studies’ interpretation of texts was a pleasant feature. These include Tania Modleski, Teresa de Laurentis, Susan Gubar and Sandra M. Gilbert, Alison Light, Laura Mulvey, Mary Ann Doane, Desley Deacon and Janice A. Radway. It was also interesting to see the links made with Phantom Thread, the 2017 film – setting me thinking about that again. Of course, there are also the familiar film world images looming as large as Hitchcock, Gone With the Wind, David O. Selznick, the cast and crew members of Rebecca, discussions about casting, lighting, sets, the British Director transported to America and its impact on both, the impact of Hollywood morality on the novel’s clarity about de Winter’s guilt and Mrs de Winter’s complicity – all the paraphernalia of the world of film. Most importantly, there are so many pertinent photographs. I cannot labour this point too much: each image is integral to the written text, drawing the reader into the film world of Rebecca, and away from what they might think about the novel. This book is essentially demanding that we enter the film, and interpret the world thus presented as the real Rebecca realm.
Patricia White deals deftly with the role of the second Mrs de Winter by referring to her as ‘I’ throughout. She argues well for that device – I has no ‘fixed identity except in “the present instance of discourse”’; she is not the only Mrs de Winter; she declares ‘I am Mrs de Winter now’. White declares: ‘I call her I. I do this to signal the identification the viewer is encouraged to feel for this character and to echo the theme of possession’. She makes a strong and detailed case for the lesbian theme that she feels underlies the women’s relationships in the novel and was ever present in Hitchcock’s film. The way and why of the current de Winters’ ability and necessity to evade the impact of the culpability for Rebecca’s death in the film version is explained, not only in outlining necessary compliance with the Production Code Administration but discussing the way in which the film dealt with these requirements.
Could Rebecca the film be studied and interpreted without recourse to Patricia White’s Rebecca? I think that it would be difficult. There are insights that White lays out and must be examined, whatever the decision on whether these conform with a viewer’s own interpretation of Rebecca. As well as the overarching value of this part of the text there are also the delightful pieces of information conveyed through notes between the participants in bringing the film to fruition. An indifferent researcher would not have found these or recognised their value in drawing the reader into the story of filming Rebecca. Although the bibliography was not available in this uncorrected proof, the citations demonstrate the use of a range of material that is encouraging to the academic reader.
Further comments on Daphne Du Maurier’s work.
I have had the good fortune to read The Daphne Du Maurier Companion edited by Helen Taylor (Virago 2012) since reading My Cousin Rachel many years ago. I recall feeling uncomfortable at the self satisfied men in the novel, Ambrose Ashley and, after his death, his nephew, Phillip. Rachel, is an enigmatic figure, perhaps her character intensified by ones own limited imagination and world knowledge. At least that is the excuse I use for my 16 year old self on my first reading of this novel. Rachel’s adviser, Rianaldi can be read as sinister in comparison with the two English men. But is this du Maurier’s intention? Is he, as Sally Beaumont in the Companion, suggests part of a male conspiracy that women have to endure, as Rachel has to endure/manipulate/ murder – which is it? her husband and then her cousin by marriage?
A review of the current film version of My Cousin Rachel appears to suggest that there is an answer to this question in the film. If so, the film is taking great liberties with du Maurier’s work. There is no answer in the novel. That is its compelling feature and why, upon re-reading the novel, I have given it 5 stars. It is a novel that benefits from using imaginative and investigative skills while attempting to go beyond ones own cultural and sexist prejudices. du Maurier is not the writer of romantic or gothic novels who was fortunate to have some of her work treated by a directorial giant but a thoughtful writer, well beyond the prejudices and small mindedness of her era – a giant herself.
Nicholas Fogg The Tudor Theatre 1576-1642 Pen & Sword, January 2026.
Thank you, Net Galley, for providing me with this uncorrected proof for review.
Nicholas Fogg has brought so much to the history of the Tudor theatre in its golden age. Visiting The Globe on the South Bank, or Stratford-Upon-Avon and attending the Royal Shakespeare Theatre are pleasures not to be missed. But how much more alluring they are after having read The Tudor Theatre. For this book, as much as it gives the Lord Chamberlain’s Men and Shakespeare their due, is far more. So many playwrights, forms of theatre, types of building or space, locations, audiences, patrons, and acting groups come alive. So too, do the entrepreneurs who saw the theatre as a business proposition – some excelling at making it pay, others failing miserably. One story is that of a businessperson with brewing interests combining this with the needs of theatre goers by providing sustenance for thirsty audiences. It is stories such as these that demonstrate Fogg’s attention to detail, enthusiasm for his subject, and his determination that readers of this book will become likewise involved.
The book cleverly meshes speculation, for example drawing the possibility that Shakespeare observed or was involved in theatrical scenarios described by Fogg, and vigorously researched material. The connections between the familiar and largely unknown information are not only enlightening but makes the reader an audience, part of the world of the Tudor theatre. Chapters invoking the sumptuous nature of the Tudor theatre jostle with those such as the ominous ‘Where the Infectious Pestilence did Reign’ and a familiar understanding of theatre in this period, ‘Inconveniences and Misrule’. Ending with a chapter that discusses the authorship of plays of the period, goes into detail about some of the works, reflecting the ideas on the stage and the social environment.
The Tudor Theatre 1576-1642 is a delight. Combining the familiar with the less well known, speculation based in research that brings the Tudor theatre and Shakespeare’s world to life, and a remarkable array of sources Nicholas Fogg has produced a significant work. There are detailed notes, a bibliography, an index, and a host of illustrations.
Dr Christopher Herbert Jane Austen’s Favourite Brother, Henry Pen & Sword | Pen & Sword History, May 2025.
Thank you, NetGalley, for providing me with this uncorrected proof for review.
Christoher Herbert’s history employs one of the most useful strategies when dealing with a subject for whom the material is sparse. In this case, there is an abundance of material about Jane Austen who has been the subject of so many biographies. However, Herbert does not rely solely on this, adroitly using his independent research and bolstering it with material that sets the context for events that are not recorded. He also uses the more conventional way of contributing to research when dealing with a writer – studying the author’s work for clues. In this case, both Jane and Henry Austen’s writing. This is a work of substance, accessible writing, a broad history of the time and social mores, and an intriguing insight into Henry and his family, including Jane for whom it becomes clear, Henry was indeed her favourite brother.
There are wonderfully comic passages – the discussion of studying at Oxford and Cambridge in the period was delightful. Less attractive is the recognition of the family’s slavery connections. However, these topics and a multitude of others, including reference to Austen’s novels, provide a picture of the father of these two affectionate siblings. Valuable information about the way in which the siblings were raised and educated and the ideas that permeated their lives, is also afforded though reference to Cassandra Leigh’s background. A Thomas Gainsborough painting also provides information about the society in which the siblings were raised – a society in which Jethro Tull’s invention was a part, for example. Although wider changes in society may not feature in Austen’s novels, Herbert provides a picture that demonstrates her choice of background was one of many available to her.
Herbert’s detailed Austen family background then makes way for details about Henry and the profession and life he chose. A rebellion? A well-considered change in direction? Henry’s essays are deployed to help answer these and other questions about Henry’s life. Again, comic touches are laid side by side by more serious aspects, keeping the narrative lively and accessible. Although Herbert concludes that questions remain about Henry Austen, this work shows that his commitment to publication of Jane Austen’s work is a defining feature of the relationship between the two. It also, within the constraints Herbert acknowledges, is an absorbing study of a period, a family, and a sibling relationship.
The volume is complete with illustrations and photographs, which while at times repeat those in other works of the Austens’ world, seem particularly fine even in my kindle edition. There are an index and detailed notes for each chapter.
Dandy Smith The Wrong Daughter embla books, Bonnier Books UK, 2024.
The Wrong Daughter began well – a typical domestic thriller, with potential. The prologue introduces two sisters, ten and thirteen, who are home alone with money to order pizza for dinner. They live in a safe suburb, with the shops nearby and an enticing forest behind the house. Together they shop for their evening meal and eat it in a sun-drenched field on their way home from purchasing bread, ham, and cheese – the excursion far from the home delivered pizza their parents thought they should have. When they return home, the pyjama clad girls eat popcorn and watch television. A stranger watches from the forest.
Caitlin sees Olivia kidnapped, obeying her sign to remain silent. Fearful, she does not call the prominently displayed emergency numbers. As an adult Caitlin’s every action is to redeem this failing – to placate her parents she becomes a teacher rather than study art and travel. She even contemplates marriage. Despite her reluctance to commit to a date, and her prospective in laws dislike, she uses her fiancés name. This ploy is to hide her identity as the sister of a kidnapped teenager although it is years in the past. Alongside Caitlin’s story is that of Eleanor and her brother Heath, caught in a damaging relationship with each other and their uncle.
Both narratives are absorbing as the complexity of the relationships between family, lovers, and friendships are developed. Both have loss at their centre. Loss is a particularly complex theme for Caitin and her family as they are initially impacted by Olivia’s disappearance, and then her reappearance changes the dynamic. The impact of Olivia’s return is particularly complex: there are both positive and negative aspects which must be grappled with. Her behaviour is sometimes questionable, and family and friends’ reactions to Caitlin’s concerns are not necessarily positive. This part of the book works well. Eleanor’s environment also reflects that of a captured person, gradually feeling her way to independence. As uncomfortable as some of this narrative is, while it remains a study of human relationships, it is an effective adjunct to the main narrative.
However, as Caitlin resolves to fulfill her own wishes the narrative stumbles. The twist is a disappointing and, while at times predictable, a disjointed ending to the novel. It needed significant paring back, in contrast with some of the earlier lengthy narrative that escapes censure because it has a role in exposing imperfections in seemingly positive relationships. What began as a domestic thriller with potential became mired in an additional plot that could have been sharper and more in keeping with the early empathetic emphasis on the impact and damage to the characters in keeping with the early empathetic emphasis on the impact and damage to the characters imposed by loss.
Victoria Purman The Marriage Trap Harlequin Australia, HQ (Fiction, Non Fiction, YA) & MIRA | HQ, April 2026
Thank you, NetGalley, for providing me with this uncorrected proof for review.
I regret having come late to Victoria Purman’s historical fiction, and of the many books she has published I have read only two: The Radio Hour and The Marriage Trap. They both feature a limited number of characters, none of whom is a public figure. However, each is recognisable as representing someone whose story might dovetail easily into the reader’s experience or a group whose story demands to be told. While never neglecting her characters’ individual experiences, Purman weaves around them an absorbing social, economic, and political commentary which reflects Australia’s past. In reading The Marriage Trap this has been an immediate past, with enticing reminders of events with which I am relatively familiar. For younger readers, the narrative is likely to be astonishing at times, with glimmerings of recognition that provide them with the tools to understand their older relatives and the social environment with which they grappled. The Marriage Trap is followed by an insightful acknowledgment of the political changes which have taken place since the setting of this book, which takes place from 1960 to the early 1970s.
Olive, Cathy, and Evelyn are the main protagonists; the introduction of effective birth control, ‘the pill’, is the theme. Olive is a committed Catholic, whose marriage to Len includes dealing with his mother, widow of a Methodist Minister. The weekly Sunday roast is accompanied by her unappreciated lectures on how young women should behave. Cathy is unrepentantly resistant to them; Evelyn is rather in awe. But then, Evelyn at ten is rather in awe of many things – Cathy’s boyfriend, Ringo Starr, and words. The dictionary is Evelyn’s constant companion and adds information as well as gentle humour to the narrative.
Pregnancy, in and out of marriage, for Olive and Cathy is unexpected and the limits it imposes on them are subtly observed. Cathy’s marriage, two children and the end to her career foster her determination that Evelyn will not go into adulthood with as little knowledge as she had – and it becomes clear, as little as Olive knew about her body and ‘the change.’ For Evelyn, many years younger than her siblings, was an unwanted pregnancy resulting from Olive’s lack of knowledge, and her doctor’s incapacity to give her the information she needed. The same doctor, the agreeable old family doctor of Cathy’s childhood, becomes a sinister figure in her search for birth control as offered by the miraculous pill straightforwardly available to her non-Catholic friends.
Along side this central theme are so many other responses to the changes that were taking place in Australia in the 1960s and 70s. The Beatles’ music, and then that of the Rolling Stones and the former groups’ Australian visit are so important to Evelyn and her friends that some defy school attendance to see them. Cathy and her friends picnic with their children, discuss birth control and make the best of their lives as wives and mothers. However, Purnam provides glimmers of possibilities without retreating from a severe look at women’s lives in these years. Olive has none of these advantages, her life is consumed by marriage, her children, and, until the importance of birth control is brought home to her forcefully and devastatingly, the church.
Purnam’s characterisation is striking, her storytelling engaging and informative, and she addresses significant themes. Her historical fiction offers readers insightful narratives about Australian society at the same time as delivering absorbing books that beg to be read.
Thomas Doherty How Film Became History The Rise of the Archival Documentary in 1930s America Columbia University Press, April 2026.
Thank you, NetGalley, for providing me with this uncorrected proof for review.
This is a beautifully written narrative of an achievement that has made historical events accessible. This accessibility is reflected in Doherty’s writing, from the story about the early Russian influence on the form arising from the lack of current material to the vast amount that was available by the 1930s. By then a variety of sources were universally recognised for their value, and Doherty’s story draws us into the almost magical way in which raw material became documentaries – some propaganda, some authentic, some accepted into ‘picture houses’ and some denied to the public because of censorship. Although Thomas Doherty refers to well-known films, he also introduces largely unknown material, and in doing so makes another contribution to the knowledge about archival documentaries.
The story of documentaries becoming vehicles for exploring and reporting major political issues is not only exciting, but instructive. Doherty is a master at identifying the complications of censorship and detecting political propaganda plus contrasting it with politically astute and useful material. He also introduces vital discussion of the value of less obviously politically motivated information and its role in treating an audience to easily digested historical research. He is disarmingly honest about the way in which manipulated archival material could be manipulated to take in even the wariest researcher such as himself in a first encounter with one reenactment. The lengthy and detailed story is fascinating. It not only raises historical nature of alarm about reenactments, a well-worn debate about historical ‘truth,’ but the way in which historians work.
Example after intriguing example of the work Doherty has studied for this book follow. Once again, it is necessary to reiterate how engaging is the text, how it continues to raise ethical questions, such as the impact of digital improvements made to original footage, the role of those who conserve and restore, and provides a sound education to readers on how they might interrogate the material that has evolved to produce one aspect of American history.
There are notes to each of the chapters: a Prologue; Newsreels in the Morgue, Four years of Visible Hell in Seventy Seven Minutes, The Search for Cornelius Vanderbilt Jr.’s Hitler’s Reign of Terror (1934), Max Eastman and Herbert Axelbank’s Tsar to Lenin (1937), The Movies Turn Introspective and A Good Deal of Newsreel Content Belongs on the Marquee. In this uncorrected proof there is no bibliography. However, given the extensive notes referencing events, key figures, and ideas from diverse sources, it promises to be both fascinating and informative, reflecting the narrative Thomas Doherty unfolds in How Film Became History The Rise of the Archival Documentary in 1930s America.
Robin's Room 