2025 Wrap Up

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As we reach the end of another year many of us reflect on the year we’ve lived. For me 2025 has been very up and down, with a fair amount of challenges, but there’s been plenty of good too, and that’s what I’ll be focussing on here. It has been my most popular year on the blog, so a huge thank you to you, my readers, for stopping by. I hope it’s been a year of more good than bad for you and that 2026 holds good health, friendship, and excellent books.

Books

I started the year borrowing a stack of non-fiction from the local library about technology and the effect it’s having on us all. These books proved to be fascinating, anxiety inducing reads. They made me reflect on the way technology, and specifically social media, impacts human life on a much broader scale than the individual. I had previously thought mostly about the amount of time we waste scrolling, on the way it degrades relationships due to its constant pull of attention, but these books make me appreciate how much of a problem it is for humanity as a whole, and how its implications can be so much more severe than some wasted time. The Chaos Machine by Max Fisher gave this wide picture, and The Cyber Effect by Mary Aiken really focused in on the impact technology has on young people. An unsettling but important read for anyone with young people in their life. Having been convinced of the dangers of tech, I was pleased to read this recent article on The Guardian which suggests people are moving away from their digital lives in search of real connection. There’s also been a lot of talk on social media recently about how we use technology and how many are planning to shift their use in 2026 to more intentional - using technology as a tool rather than an extension of ourselves. This feels like a worthwhile, achievable aim. 

This year I have also finally cracked the spine on a few books that have been patiently waiting my attention, sometimes for years. This has been a mixed experience. Most recently, I finished City of Wonders by Eduardo Mendoza which I had eagerly anticipated. It was probably my most disappointing read of the year. This is not to say it’s a terrible book, not at all. Early on I really quite enjoyed it, but the further I got into it the more I had to force myself to go back to it. When you go in with high expectations you’re more likely to be disappointed and perhaps if I had just picked it up and read it immediately it would have left a better impression. Similarly, The Mad Women’s Ball by Victoria Mas is one I’ve been looking forward to reading. It didn’t quite hit in the way I’d expected but there was more in it to enjoy. The ideas and issues in it were easy to feel connected to even if the execution wasn’t quite as smooth as I’d hoped. A more successful anticipated read was O Caledonia by Elspeth Barker, which was not quite what I expected but wonderful nonetheless. Absorbing, atmospheric, with a protagonist that feels incredibly real. Finally, and probably the book that has been on my radar for the longest of these (since I saw A.C. Grayling talk at the Hay Festival back in 2016) was a non-fiction, The Age of Genius, which I finished up in the last days of the year, and which I found fascinating. 

The most fun read of the year was undoubtedly Just One Damned Thing After Another by Jodi Taylor, a lively time travel novel which happily is the start of a series. Regular readers will know that I read series incredibly slowly, so it is testament to how much I enjoyed this that I’ve already read book two. My favourite book of the year however, was probably Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin, a moving story of friendship, creativity, and ambition in a period where you didn’t have to be a huge company to create bestselling video games. I loved getting to know the characters, frustrating as they could be at times, and learning more about the work that goes in to creating video games, a topic I’m not particularly familiar with.

I’ve got a few books lined up to read in the early days of 2026, including getting back to Ferrante’s excellent Neapolitan Quartet with The Story of the Lost Child. A non-fiction I picked up a few months back which is drawing my attention, A Life of One’s Own by Joanna Biggs should be an early finish. I’m also considering finally picking up a copy of Mantel’s epic Wolf Hall. As ever, I’d love to hear what you’ve been reading and loving recently.

Exhibitions:

It’s been a year where I’ve embraced my love of art. A reliable favourite was the Broderer’s Exhibition. They exhibit every few years and the work is always stunning. A real testament of what can be done with needle and thread. I also particularly enjoyed Dangerously Modern: Australian Women Artists in Europe 1890-1940 at the Art Gallery of New South Wales, on until 15th February 2026. The artists were almost all new to me and I loved their artwork. It was also interesting to learn about their travels and the influences they took back to Australia with them. I regret not buying the exhibition guide. Not a temporary exhibition, but an art gallery I also enjoyed on my travels was the National Gallery in Athens, well worth a visit.

Moving away from art for a moment, an exhibition at the Science Museum in London, Versailles: Science and Splendour really caught my attention. I enjoyed it so much I wrote a whole review of it. Sadly, it’s now closed.

Travel

2025 started with being stranded on a mountain road in the Cairngorms in a snow storm. A dramatic start, but a beautiful one nonetheless. Our journey back from Scotland allowed us to finally visit Whitby, somewhere that has been on the to-visit list for well over a decade now. It was every bit as lovely as I’d hoped, as well as being bitterly cold. I’d love to go back and spend a bit more time exploring.

I make no secret of finding winter a difficult season (although have tried this year to really embrace all the seasons and what they have to offer) and so visiting a sunnier country toward the end of winter is always an aim to bridge the gap to Spring. This year I was lucky to be able to visit Greece for the first time. We spent almost a week in Athens before heading over to Aegina for a few days of island life. I absolutely loved Athens. It felt relaxed during the day and vibrant in the evenings. Visiting in March meant the weather was warm and sunny during the day and cooler in the evenings. Planning your days to avoid the heat was not a consideration, and the city smelt gorgeous as the orange trees were in blossom. Outside of the city the mountains were covered in wildflowers, a truly beautiful time to visit. Aegina was fairly quiet, tourist season not having kicked in, but in Aegina Town there was plenty open and we explored the ancient ruins around the island as much as possible. A day trip to Agistri was a quiet one, with almost everything being shut, but we enjoyed a pleasant walk, and managed to find an open restaurant for a delicious lunch.

UK weather not being on our side for trips this year, we had a very rainy camping trip in Wales. Putting up your tent in torrential rain and trying to sleep in a lightning storm might not be the most appealing but we saw some beautiful places. The National Botanic Gardens of Wales were lovely despite the weather. We could definitely have spent more time there than we allowed for it. The gardens at Dyffryn were also particularly beautiful, and we enjoyed an evening stroll around the pretty seaside town of Penarth. 

A trip to Gran Canaria was a nice change of pace for people whose holidays are usually pretty full on. We came back feeling more relaxed than any other holiday we’ve been on. That’s not to say we didn’t get out to see the island however. A dolphin watching tour allowed us to see a pod of dolphins in the wild, and a day in Las Palmas provided the culture hit we often seek. A beautiful city with interesting museums and galleries, and a particularly nice beach. A day trip took us into the centre of the island, showing us the variety of landscapes and an insight into the history that has changed it from the lush island it once was. The botanic gardens in Maspalomas made for a pretty stroll on a sunny afternoon. I enjoyed seeing plants that you never see in the UK, and those that you only see in greenhouses here growing outside, and thriving for being in their natural habitat.

An unexpected trip to Australia in October meant seeing the country in Spring for the first time, and with it the beautiful purple jacaranda trees in bloom. We were also incredibly lucky to see dolphins playing in the waves at Palm Beach. We enjoyed the Saturday markets around Sydney and the bookshops of Glebe (a good secondhand bookshop making the otherwise very expensive books of Australia more affordable). We were fortunate to be there during the Sculpture by the Sea trail in Bondi so checked that out, and of course, wandered round more botanic gardens. 

2026 will probably be a quiet year for travel as our bank accounts recover from 2025, but as we had to shift a trip to Belgium for the Australia visit we know we’ll be going there. Any recommendations of what to see and do very welcome. 

O Caledonia, Elspeth Barker

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O Caledonia opens with an atmospheric description of the place of sixteen year old Janet’s recent death. She has been laid to rest away from the family plot in the local graveyard, a fact they are not entirely unhappy about, fearing ‘Her restless spirit might wish to engage with theirs in eternal self-justifying conversation or, worse still, accusation. She had blighted their lives; let her not also blight their deaths.’ It becomes clear in this opening chapter that Janet was not well loved, except by her bird, Claws, who committed suicide after her loss. Her family no longer talk about her, and the gossip of locals soon moves on. The rest of the novel takes us back through Janet’s short life, where we will discover that she did not deserve the disdain she received merely for not fitting in with convention.

Living in a remote castle in Scotland, Janet enjoys the space and the animals, but when her parents turn it into a boys school she finds herself under constant threat of harassment. An outcast for her gender, she attempts to show that she is as courageous as any boy, with limited success. She also develops tactics to avoid the unwanted advances of the others students. This danger from boys is present at multiple times throughout the novel, and feels like something her inattentive parents should have taken into consideration when filling her home with adolescent boys. 

Gender roles are a recurring theme. We learn early on that her father believes girls to be an inferior form of boy, but that this unfortunate circumstance can be improved with education. Janet is intelligent and curious, but her bright spark is ignored. People are confused by her disinterest in babies and playing with dolls. She is equally as confused as to why it should be expected she should be just because she is a girl. Her own mother is no great advert for motherhood - Janet overhears her telling a friend she only really likes babies and finds children annoying, that it’s possible to not like your own child. Janet’s response? To feel that she has no need for a mother. And yet, there is a longing within Janet to fit in. Part of this manifests itself in a desire to be able to talk to other girls who are interested in completely different things. We see this desire reflected by her mother as they prepare for a party, wishing she could share the excitement of getting ready with Janet, that they would bond over the choosing of their outfits. Janet, naturally, does not opt for an outfit which her mother approves of, and in her resplendent purple dress she certainly stands out. She does exhibit a desire to be found attractive however - her mother once reports in astonishment that a friend has commented that Janet has a lovely face. She is flattered but instantly worries that if she ever sees her again she will change her mind so resolves to make sure she never does.

The opening chapter suggests that Janet will be difficult and objectionable, but we see throughout that she is merely a young girl doing her best. Often she is in trouble simply because she has misunderstood instructions, at other times because her passions lie in different areas. She loves animals and keeps Claws with her in her bedroom, where he protects her, but also, unfortunately, makes quite a mess. She feels deeply when animals are hurt and avoids the kitchen as there are more often than not animal corpses being prepared for food. You can see how some of her behaviours would be challenging for her parents, but she is kind and thoughtful, and her family do not give her the time or attention to really understand where she is coming from. Her closest human ally in the castle, for a time at least, is Lila. A relative by marriage, Lila’s presence in the castle was one of the terms of her father receiving it, and she largely keeps to herself. She enjoys drinking whiskey, painting, and foraging, and although they don’t necessarily talk much Janet finds comfort in her presence. 

I had saved this book for the darker months, thinking it would suit the season. It undoubtedly has touches of the gothic, but it is a much lighter book than I expected. It has been likened to a mix between We Have Always Lived in the Castle and I Capture the Castle, and I can certainly see the resemblances. You feel for Janet as she tries to navigate family life, and then boarding school, an even more challenging environment. I became so involved in her life that I would find myself forgetting that we were heading toward a bloody ending. When we do circle back to her murder it feels shocking. I went back and read the first chapter after finishing it to compare how expectations had been set and how they compared. I found Janet much more sympathetic than might have been expected. There is much in here that young adults will relate to, as well as anyone who has ever felt out of place. A wonderful, richly evocative read with an enigmatic, oft-misunderstood protagonist.

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City of Wonders, Eduardo Mendoza (translated by Nick Caistor)

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The year is 1887 and a young Onofre Bouvila has just arrived in Barcelona with enough money in his pocket to pay for one week of rent. He needs to find a job quickly or risk being thrown out onto the streets. As the city prepares for its first World Fair there are more opportunities, and he soon finds himself handing out anarchist leaflets to workers, surprising himself by how convincing he can be on a topic he’s only just learnt about. We watch as his star rises through immoral means. The city is on the cusp of huge expansion, and he takes advantage of this to make his fortune. It is an interesting period not just for Barcelona but for Europe more widely as new inventions such as cinema and flying machines come to the fore, bewildering and beguiling audiences. We learn a lot about the history of Barcelona throughout the novel, and Onofre’s story feels very rooted in reality. 

In the early chapters Onofre is somewhat sympathetic, a young man eager to work and build a life for himself, but as the novel progresses you don’t particularly root for him. There is so much detail about the political and economic landscape that his story feels almost lost in it. To begin with I enjoyed these diversions, but some were less engaging and became a distraction. His behaviour is not often admirable and sympathy for him wanes as the novel progresses, with only moments here and there where he captures the reader’s heart once more.

Onofre’s approach to romantic relationships also leaves something to be desired. His infatuation as a young man is probably one of the times where you feel most connected to him, but ultimately he takes what he wants and leaves women with experiences that change them for life seemingly without a second thought on his part. One of the women in his life becomes central to his work in the film industry, but her relationship with him does not seem to serve her well, and his attraction to her fades quickly. Ultimately he is a man who goes after what he wants without too much thought to the consequences for others.

I had really been looking forward to reading this book, and although I did enjoy the historic detail, to a point, it didn’t grip me. If you enjoy books that show the whole sweep of a life, protagonists without much of a moral compass, and a solid dose of contextual information, this might be the book for you. Sadly, it didn’t quite hit the mark for me.

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Wonderful Winter Reads

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As the nights draw in and the temperature drops, it feels like the perfect time to curl up with a good book and a nice hot drink. Especially in the lead up to Christmas I find myself craving books with a touch of magic and which evoke the beauty of the season. Here are a few I’ve enjoyed in years past. Let me know what I should be reading next.

The Toymakers, Robert Dinsdale

This book transports you to the early twentieth century and a truly magical toyshop which delights all those who visit. Papa Jack and his sons work tirelessly to create new marvels for the opening with the first frost of each winter, and although there’s sibling rivalry and the realities of living through a very difficult period in history, it is infused with a sense of wonder. Read my full review here.

Midnight in Everwood, M. A. Kuzniar

Taking The Nutcracker as its inspiration, this book will delight ballet fans, and those who love a modern fairytale with magic and decadent worlds aplenty. It is in many ways quite a dark read with controlling characters and suffering just outside of view from the luxurious castle our heroine finds herself in. I’ve got Kuzniar’s 2023 Upon A Frosted Star, her take on Swan Lake, waiting for me at the library, and I hope it will provide a similarly evocative magical world. Read my full review of Midnight in Everwood here.

The Winter Garden, Alexandra Bell

As with many on this list, this book deals with difficult topics. Beatrice loses her mother at a young age, and struggles with the guilt of not having had the chance to say goodbye. She is also plagued by societal expectations - she remains single in a world where women’s main motivation in life is meant to be making a good marriage. Unfortunately, her best friend Rosa’s life shows this isn’t the dream it’s sold as. As a child, Beatrice experienced a magical winter garden which she longs to find her way back to. Soon her and Rosa are embroiled in a competition to create the most magical pleasure garden in order to win one wish. The descriptions of the gardens are rich and tempting, making you want to create your own land of wonder. An enchanting read with a dark side. Read my full review here.

A Midwinter’s Tail, Lili Hayward

Perhaps the most stereotypical Christmas read on the list. Mina must leave her London life behind to go to Morgelyn, a small Cornish island, to look after her godfather’s cat Murr while he is absent. It takes time for her to settle into the close-knit island community, but she loves Murr, and has strong memories of a feeling of safety from her time on the island as a child. Murr is steeped in folklore, with people suspecting a centuries old spirit lives within her. With time, she comes to feel at home once more on the island and has to fight to save it. There is some romance in the book but it’s not the main focus. A lovely festive read which I’m quite tempted to re-read. Check out my full review here.

A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens

The classic Christmas story, you’ll likely have seen some version of this, but it’s worth reading the original short story. Dickens employs his talents at drawing characters that inspire emotion to make the case for a kinder, more compassionate world. Read my full review here.

The Mad Women’s Ball, Victoria Mas (translated by Frank Wynne)

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‘The Salpêtrière is a dumping ground for women who disturb the peace. An asylum for those whose sensitivities do not tally with what is expected of them. A prison for women guilty of possessing an opinion.’

Nineteenth century Paris, and the inmates of the infamous Salpêtrière asylum are eagerly preparing for the Lenten Ball, a highlight of Paris’ social calendar. Wealthy citizens covet tickets to this event, a chance to enter the asylum and see the ‘madwomen’, each hoping to see them have a fit, to require treatment. For the women it is a chance to dress up, to mix with the elite, to dream of a life outside the walls of the asylum. Outside of the preparations for the ball we see how the women are treated day to day. Dr. Charcot has allegedly made conditions better for them, but they are still wheeled out in front of roomfuls of men to demonstrate their hysteria and his treatments, sometimes with quite ghastly outcomes. A particular favourite is Louise, locked up after having been raped by a man who was meant to be caring for her, she is pretty and compliant. She looks forward to the ball, believing her love will release her from her confinement.  Eugénie is the asylum’s newest resident, locked up by her brother and father for having admitted to her grandmother that she can see and hear ghosts. Intelligent and stubborn, the staff comment that she does not demonstrate signs of madness, but once admitted it is hard to ever escape. Geneviève is a long-standing member of staff, there to look after the women. Eugénie’s arrival blows up her carefully created life, with consequences that will impact the rest of her life.

Throughout we are reminded that it is men who hold the power. In the vast majority of cases it is male relatives who bring the patients in, often simply because the women have become  inconvenient. It soon becomes clear that it is the men who have behaved badly and the women who suffer doubly as a result. There are chilling scenes where characters see their loved ones turn on them, the coldness in their gaze demonstrating that they will never see them as a full human again, all affection drained. The ease with which they will condemn them to a life of imprisonment and experimentation is truly disturbing, and more so as this fiction is rooted in fact. The women are always in a vulnerable position. They live their lives with the threat of committal hanging over them if they step out of line. Once committed they are treated as spectacles to be enjoyed. Men watch dispassionately as they are triggered into hysteria, are hypnotised, as their bodies are abused in the name of science. The reader feels the powerlessness. This is further emphasised by the fact some of the women prefer to stay, feeling safer inside than in the cruel world outside the gates, not that they are likely to ever have the choice to leave.

None of their stories are happy ones. Geneviève has created a stable life for herself but she is wracked by grief at the loss of her sister, who she continues to write letters to long after her passing. She rarely sees her father, and although she has a vaguely kind relationship with the women, she is in a position of power over them. She advocates for them and tries to keep them safe but she is the one who delivers them to Charcot and the other doctors. Louise’s story is tragic. She retains some youthful optimism and dreams of a different life, yet the world repeatedly punishes her for this. There are devastating scenes where her complete vulnerability is abused, and you are furious at the men who have wronged her throughout her young life. Eugénie’s story is one of betrayal. She is curious and strong-willed, hoping to join a group looking in to spiritualism before she is incarcerated. The asylum attempts to break her will - she arrives strong and angry but soon fades. Her ‘gift’ of speaking to the dead is not one she ever asked for but she tries to use the knowledge it gives her for good. The world does not want to allow it. 

This is an interesting book which inspires further research into the grisly history of the Salpêtrière. It will both make you sad for the women who lived under such a regime, but also consider the state of gender politics today. Some of the techniques may have moved on, but the power imbalance and attempts at control are all too familiar. Mixing fact with fiction, Mas shines a light on a dark aspect of history. She explores the position of women in nineteenth century France, medicine on the cusp of the invention of psychology, and the sense of sisterhood among those living within the asylum. Family dynamics and obligation are vital, with a distinct lack of care shown to many of these young women. Atmospheric, upsetting, and endlessly intriguing.

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Made In America, Bill Bryson

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Bryson’s Made In America is a history of the English language in the United States, but in exploring this topic we get a potted history of everything from immigration to shopping centres, McDonald’s to film stars. Coming to this book as someone with very limited knowledge of American history, it was a fascinating romp through hundreds of years of history, and provides many interesting tidbits. In it, Bryson disabuses the reader of many commonly held misconceptions. Right from the off we learn that many Europeans had arrived in the ‘New World’ before the Mayflower set sail, as far back as the Vikings, and indeed that due to the number of fishing fleets that had been so common along the north-east coast, some English was already spoken on land when the settlers arrived. Another is that Germany’s autobahnen were inspired by America’s superhighways, not the other way round, and that LA once had the finest public transport network in America, if not the world.

We see throughout how many endeavours started with noble ambitions but were corrupted by a desire for more money. Indeed, the demise of LA’s public transport network was engineered by a State Senator who continually blocked investment in them while promoting the construction of freeways, forcing everyone on to the roads. We also learn about the utopian dream of early shopping centres, envisioned to be places where people would enjoy rest and relaxation, sitting talking to neighbours, enjoying a game of chess or a leisurely lunch. Soon they were corrupted into places to keep visitors moving, removing back rests from seats to make them uncomfortable to use for any length of time and designing foodcourts to be deliberately uncomfortable to encourage speed. 

We gain snippets of history from other countries in the process of learning more about the US. For example, in talking about the huge boom in migration in the long nineteenth century Bryson mentions that in 1807 Ireland was the most densely populated country in Europe yet by the 1860s it was one of the least. People across the globe were taking part in mass migration, and for the US this meant that between 1830 and 1850 the proportion of foreign born immigrants rose from one in a hundred to one in ten. We see the unfortunate discrimination that many were on the receiving end of, but also the way these newly arrived residents benefited the country, bringing with them new ideas and innovation. Many of the main players in Hollywood were not American-born, changing their names to sound more naturalised. This influx of migrants naturally had an impact with many languages being spoken across the country. Indeed, a form of German known as Pennsylvania German, quite distinct from mainstream German now, retains a low number of native speakers. 

We see also how many place names were changed over the years from their Indigenous names or those from Spanish and French-speaking colonists to names more easily pronounced by the English speakers. Some names were changed because words included became rude with time, or unfortunate for other reasons, e.g. Swastika. Others were changed merely because real estate developers were keen to make areas sound more appealing. What we see through the book is the way language develops and absorbs different influences. 

An enjoyable read in Bryson’s signature accessible and entertaining style. Occasionally lists of words feel a little tedious but for the most part it is an enjoyable read which taught me much beyond the changing uses of English in America. 

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Astonish Me, Maggie Shipstead

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1970s New York and Joan Joyce, a corps de ballet member, is watching her ex-lover Arslan Rusakov dance the star role with his new girlfriend. Joan is heartbroken, disillusioned with a life of striving for perfection and never attaining it. The baby growing in her is making her dance like never before but also rings the end of her life as a professional ballerina. We soon find her living a quiet life in Chicago with Jacob, a man who was devoted to her as a teen but whose affection she didn’t entirely return. Loyal Jacob was there for her through heartbreak and a demanding career, but now that he finally has her something feels off. He feels somewhat like she trapped him with the pregnancy, and he wonders at how his 20s could have gone without the commitment. They move to California and Joan teaches ballet. As their son Harry grows, he becomes obsessed with ballet (and, unfortunately, Arslan) and soon shows himself to have an innate talent for the art form. Joan engineered this life for him, but when it looks like her dreams for him might come true, is she ready to cede control of her son’s life to a career that spat her out?

We jump around in time throughout the novel, from the 1970s to the early 2000s. We see the fall out of Joan’s relationship with Arslan and later witness her role in his defection to the USA. The story feels rooted in true ballet history, and those familiar with it will note the similarities between some of the characters and real figures, but it feels as though you could enjoy it just as much without. Arslan’s defection and those of other dancers who follow suit are dealt with interestingly. From a relationship perspective we see how entwined Joan was with his initial escape, how essential she was to finding him somewhere to live and protecting him from the press, patiently conversing with him in English with the assistance of a dictionary. It doesn’t take too long for her to begin to feel sidelined. He takes other lovers, and she fears that perhaps seeing her dance, knowing she will never be a star, lessens her in his eyes. We never see events through his eyes but he tries to explain to her the enormity of his decision to leave the Soviet Union, the danger those he left behind would be in as a result of his escape. Joan never seems to fully comprehend this, always obsessed with their passion, his perceived rejection of her. Later in the novel we see yet more vulnerability in him behind the public facade, the dreams that never came true.

Relationships are the heart of the story. Their new neighbour in California, Sandy, befriends Joan but also doesn’t really like her, something she wishes weren’t true. She is jealous of Joan for having kept her figure after having a baby, of being the one who draws the attention of men, for the strange exercises she sees her doing in the garden. Jealousy is no stranger to Joan, who has often felt it herself toward more skilled dancers. It seems inherent in her chosen profession, the constant comparisons, the competition, the endless striving. We don’t see all that much of Sandy’s relationship with her husband directly, but we do see how she responds to the attention of others, how he is out of work but sees it as a bad thing if she works, and their eventual sad ending. It doesn’t feel like a fulfilling marriage for either of them. Jacob and Joan also don’t exude happiness. Joan expresses the feeling that she can sense Jacob falling out of love with her, while he has patiently waited for her to really love him. Their disagreement over having a second baby doesn’t help, nor does their son’s obsession with her former lover. For a relationship he felt so certain would be the one for him, believing always that eventually they would be together, it feels sad to see how unsatisfying the reality is. There is a discomfort that comes from reading these relationships, a reality to them that is not romantic but steeped in truth.

The next generation seems to repeat some of the same stories as Harry falls for Sandy’s daughter Chloe. She is very happy to spend time with him outside of school and at ballet, but as soon as they are around others she pretends they don’t know each other. He finds it fascinating to see how the other boys react to her, how they don’t really feel anything for her, just want to see how far she’ll let them go, to explore their sexuality. He also notes how her lithe body shaped by ballet makes her popular and desirable, yet for him it is a point of derision by his peers. He spends so much time with her, touching her in their dances, yet lacks of a different kind of intimacy. Their story may not be destined to play out as Jacob and Joan’s did however, as his talents at ballet may give him more opportunities, and boosts his confidence beyond what their local school has taught him to feel.

This is an interesting read with a tangle of romantic and platonic relationships. We see the tougher side of ballet and what it does to those in that world. It feels dysfunctional and harsh, yet causes obsession for many of the characters. Shipstead explores how the decisions we make impact not just our lives but those around us, and at what point our responsibility for others starts and ends. There are some genuinely moving passages, and although there are some slightly questionable plot points, overall it is an enjoyable read which brings to life the passion which makes great art at the expense of all else. A brilliant read for fans of ballet, but one that anyone could get a lot out of. 

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