My mum used to mark a J in the inside cover of library books with a soft pencil, to show that my dad had already read them. Dru Ann Love's record of what she reads evolved into an award-winning, guest-infested daily blog. Where do you sit when it comes to reading notes? Do you keep a record, write reviews, make annotations in the margins . . .?
I like writing reviews of books and I like posting them on Instagram,
with a beautiful photo of the book. As I hit ‘post’, it feels like I’m throwing
a bouquet of freshly picked flowers into the air, one which the book’s author
will catch with joy.
A few years ago, I stopped saying ‘review’ and started
saying ‘recommendation’. I’m not analysing, I’m simply saying, I found a book
you might like. I don’t write negative reviews. That’s not my job. I think
it’s easy to write negative stuff, it’s harder to explain why the work
resonates with you, where it sits in the literary canon, and what is shows us
about the human condition, or the world we live in. I often research the subgenre
if it’s unfamiliar to me. It helps me understand the author’s intent, and achievement.
Below is a book rec I wrote recently. As
I say in my piece, it was love at first sight… everything I learned about the
book intrigued and seduced me. And when I finally read it, I was utterly
enamoured. The writing is elegant, the author poetically describes the lavish miserable
decadence of the Tasmanian wilderness, and challenges long held assumptions
about Tasmanian history and people. At it’s core is a dark mystery, a cold case
that will never be resolved.
From my Instagram, 4 October 2025:
Book rec: Very occasionally you find yourself falling in love with a
book that you haven’t read. Its a rare phenomenon but it happens. Right now
I’m in the delightful state of love at first sight for My Heart At Evening by
Konrad Muller.
The romance began when I saw on Instagram the author doing events at Tasmanian
bookshops. I was intrigued. A debut novel, set in Tasmania, with that
exquisitely enchanting title…
And then I discovered that the novel is about Henry Hellyer, an architect who
took his own life in 1832 at Highfield House, Stanley. That hooked me because
earlier this year I visited Highfield house. In an upstairs bedroom,
overlooking the ocean, I read Henry’s suicide note and the witness statements
provided after his death. The statements were lavishly and strangely worded and
read like the people had colluded. There were inconsistent details in other
reports. I asked the house manager if she thought he took his own life and, to
my surprise, she admitted that she personally didn’t believe he did. It seemed
perhaps Henry Hellyer’s mysterious death was Tasmania’s first documented
anti-gay crime. I was intrigued. This book is about that man.
I bought my copy at Petrachs in Launceston yesterday. It’s one of the most
divinely produced books I’ve ever held. The cover is thick, and the spine feels
seamless. Inside the cover is indigo to match the blue gentian flower on the
cover. The blurb is short: two enigmatic, poetic observations.
Those blurbs! To die for! ‘A glossy black cockatoo of a book…’
Everything about this book feels otherworldly. Even the publisher sounds
intriguing, like a character in a curious old novel:
‘Based in Lutruwita/Tasmania, Evercreech Editions publishes the boldest,
strangest, and most necessary voices we can find. We value deep thought and
burning intensity; work that is formally striking, emotionally resonant, and
politically alive. Emerging writers, overlooked classics, and essential works
in translation—if it is stunning and urgent we want to print it.’
It was so satisfying I returned to Petrachs this morning to buy a second copy for my sister.
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