Primrose Hill

by Helen Falconer

The best novel about growing up I've read in years. The desire to do good, to make the world a better place, comes up hard against the powerlessness of adolescence in an adult world. And those long hot summers in London!


Josie wouldn't come downstairs, not even for the police. They didn't really mind, they didn't want to stop - they kept looking at their watches as they spoke, like they'd rather be telling pedestrians the time. One scaghead terrorizing another scaghead? Just another day to them. They'd only come round because someone'd complained about the noise. They weren't that bad. They didn't hassle Danny about the carving knife - they called him 'son' and advised him not to take the law into his own hands. But they didn't take him under their wing, and when they left a loneliness: an emptiness without answers and without action.


The Buddha of Suburbia by Hanif Kureishi

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