A moving, funny and poetic story of twin sisters in the Neasden of the 70s. The 'oneness' of the twins, their mother's African origin, their father's stifling upbringing shape their identity and their lives. Evans paints such vivid scenes that you'll feel you are living them.

On the outside of their front door Georgia and Bessi had written in chalk '26a', and on the inside 'G + B', at eye level, just above the handle. This was the extra dimension. The one after sight, sound, smell, touch and taste where the world multiplied and exploded because it was the sum of two people. Bright was twice as bright. All the colours were extra. Girls with umbrellas skipped across the wallpaper and Georgia and Bessi could hear them laughing.

This book opened an inner dialogue in my mind: how we still define ourselves by our relationships even in the process of changing and wrecking them forever; how honesty might validate our attitude to emotions out of control; how the wisdom of children enables us to handle the demands of adulthood. You don't have to like Gina that much to find aspects of her soul in your own.

There is something so open about a hotel bed, the duvet kicked away; it was like a plinth, or a padded stage, and the shapes we made there were more sweet and anguished for seeming abstract, as we fitted together our jigsaw love, one way, or another, ending up one evening at dusk, with me spooned around the the curl of his body on the bare sheet; his eyes, when I lifted my head to check, burning with the impossibility of it all.

This is a beautiful book. So easy to read but with a deceptive depth. If you’ve ever wanted to run away and find yourself, you’ll enjoy this story of a young woman who does just that, with surprising results.

The bus let me out at the turnoff to Masi. The town, from what I could see, was to the north of the bus stop, on a sloping hill. I started down the road, past the modest one-story houses. Most homes had a car in the driveway, a simple strand of Christmas lights outlining a door. Through one lit window, I saw twin girls practicing cartwheels.



I had thought that I'd be looking for a person, not a place, but now that I was here, I found myself walking slightly faster downhill, towards the clearing. I assumed it was the Alta River, though now it was covered with snow. I approached the river, and the road took a turn. I followed it, passing larger two-story houses, and, on my left. A white wooden church. It was the first building I’d seen in this town that wasn't a home--there appeared to be no restaurants, stores, bars.

A gritty and quite bleak novel set in Tennessee during the 1940s. It's a beautifully written story but there's violence and realistic dialogue, so not one for the faint hearted. It's quite difficult to follow all the threads of the plot, so it's probably best read over as short a period of time as possible.

He had not been in these woods since he was a child. Time seemed to have stopped here. He half waited for the rattle of trace chains, the ring of the axe, the slow turning wagon wheels against the earth. This used to be an old houseplace, his father had said. The year the tornado came through the storm just picked it up off the foundation rocks and carried it away, no one knew where.

Enter the hectic life of a foreign correspondent in modern-day Africa, as she charts the continent's vast catastrophes - a background to the more intimate tragedy being enacted in her own home in Kenya. The writing is descriptive and you will hear, see and smell Africa. All characters are well drawn and the dialogue between the two protagonists is sharp and amusing. Beauty and horror combine in a passionate and emotional story.

'What are you doing?' I yelled. She stared at me, eyes as hard as flint. 'Me, I am washing the dirty clothes. You?'



Reeling in confusion, I looked at my watch. 'Isn't it Sunday?'



'No.'



'What day is it?'



'Friday.'



'No!'



'Yes.' We looked at each other as if through binoculars. 'Now,' she said with a loud sign, 'Michael called. He says you call him back.'



'Where?' Mercy raised both eyebrows. 'Where should I call him?' Up went the eyebrows again. ... The world could snarl and bite all it wanted: the woman from River Road stood nearly six feet tall, had the arms and legs of a boxer and the face of an angel.

Narrated by the wife and four daughters of Nathan Price, a fierce evangelical Baptist who takes his family and mission to the Belgian Congo in 1959, this is a brilliant story. Each of the daughters has a voice which is completely their own and you see this world through their eyes. I cannot recommend it highly enough, a must read!

Man oh man are we in for it now, was my thinking about the Congo from the instant we first set foot. We are supposed to be calling the shots here, but it doesn't look to me like we're in charge of a thing, not even our own selves.

This is a lovely gentle novel. The writing has a certain lilt to it, that I was pleased to imagine echoed the rhythm of life on a Pacific Island paradise. Visit Tahiti in the company of Materena, professional cleaner, champion listener, and Mum whose children are growing up and just about to fly the nest.

These days, Materena can't say anything to Leilani without Leilani finding the little beast. For example, when Materena says the reason Rita can't lose weight is because of her problems with hormones, Leilani says, 'Auntie Rita eats too much'....

When Materena complains of her hands being so used up because of all the cleaning they do, and dares tell Her Highness that she wouldn't mind another job because cleaning is so lonely sometimes, Her Highness says, 'Get another job. Don't just complain about it. Make a change. Take control of your life!'

A cross-cultural love story with contrasts demonstrated in both characters and places. Written in a calm, thoughtful style but with an unpredictable ending, it left my mind buzzing long after I finished reading.

It was part of her remit to work for other departments if they needed her. This was how she met Rae when he sent her articles from Arab newspapers, in the aftermath of the Gulf War. The first time she went to see him, he surprised her by not being rushed for time, not distracted by other things ... he told her about the time he lived in North Africa and asked her about her name, an unusual name ....

People spoke about him: his students, his secretary, Yasmin. It was through him that Sammar met Yasmin.

Even if you only have a passing aquaintance with Bible stories, you will have heard of Jacob (12 sons) and Joseph (coat of many colours). But what about the women in their lives? This hugely enjoyable novel lifts the tent flap and invites you in. Massively successful with reading groups.

We have been lost to each other for so long.
My name means nothing to you. My memory is dust.
This is not your fault, or mine. The chain connecting mother to daughter was broken and the word passed to the keeping of men, who had no way of knowing. That is why I became a footnote, my story a brief detour between the well-known history of my father, Jacob, and the celebrated chronicle of Joseph, my brother. On those rare occasions when I was remembered, it was as a victim.

Set in Afghanistan from the fall of the monarchy to the rise of the Taliban, a powerful story of childhood friendship shattered by the events of a single afternoon. Heartbreaking, enthralling, brilliant ... all of this combined with moments of gut-wrenching suspense left me reeling with emotion.

It happened just the way I'd imagined. I opened the door to the smoky study and stepped in. Baba and Rahim Khan were drinking tea and listening to the news crackling on the radio. Their heads turned. Then a smile played on my father's lips. He opened his arms. I put the kite down and walked into his thick hairy arms. I buried my face in the warmth of his chest and wept. Baba held me close to him, rocking me back and forth. In his arms I forgot what I'd done. And that was good.