Just What Kind of Mother Are You? by Paula Daly

This was a total “keep-me-riveted-to-my-seat” thriller! And the secret is that the central character, Lisa Kallisto, is so utterly plausible. She’s everywoman – it’s impossible not to relate to her, as she juggles work, marriage and motherhood, not entirely successfully. And meanwhile she envies women like Kate Riverty, who seem to manage everything so effortlessly, and still manage to be glamorous and sophisticated.

And then the unthinkable happens – Lisa takes her eye off the ball, and Kate’s teenage daughter Lucinda goes missing on her watch. How do you tell your best friend you’re responsible?

Lisa’s guilt is palpable as she desperately to make amends. It could happen to anyone, and that’s so terrifying – life can implode without warning. But the more Lisa tries to pick up the pieces, the more the life of her friend Kate shatters in ever smaller fragments. And meanwhile, there’s a predator on the prowl….

The denoument of this novel is brilliant and not at all what I was expecting. There are red herrings galore, and lots of moral murkiness to wallow in. And the perspective of the abductor adds a level of terror that mixes with the ordinariness of the other character’s lives to make it even more chilling and realistic. We never know who people are truly thinking, so how can we trust anyone? How many liars and abusers hide in plain sight?

A gripping, thought-provoking and disturbing story. Recommended! Rating: ****

Corgi, 2014, ISBN 9780552169196

A Girl is a Half-formed Thing by Eimear McBride

I was first attracted to this by the seventies-style cover, which cheekily introduces a rosy apple at the bottom; only if you look closely do you see that the apple is starting to go bad. It’s a good metaphor for this story which is raw and bitter, but leaves you wide-eyed as if drunk.

It’s told by a young girl whose brother has a brain tumour; with all the family attention focused on him, no one notices her, leaving her ripe to be picked by a predator. As she navigates puberty and adolescence she learns that her sexuality is her only currency, and her only power. But that power is an illusion, and she’s heading straight for catastrophe.

The most striking thing about this debut novel is the narrative style. The sentences are short and the words are often in the wrong order, grammatically incorrect and with conjunctions missing. The result is a raw, dislocated narrative – very intense, as you get a sense of her emotions punching through her thoughts:

“I know that look that vicious look of him to me now. And the usual inner throb in me. Knives in heart in lungs come a spoon scoop me out. Scoop me out for what he want. But I go past him still. Feel the busy silent want of me. Know. I know that, see that, know it now. How strange my baptise renders me. His want me. Fuck me if he could and I and I and I and I. I have that. And I do not. Do not need. Have something else I need to do. There’ll others. Some others. Some day more who want me I want to fuck them too. Thanks uncle for sage introduce. I left him dripping in the door. Ha. He did not get me after all.”

It’s certainly not an easy read, and one that I will definitely re-read – full of subtexts and hints and resonances that you don’t fully appreciate the first time round. But it’s utterly compelling, creating a unique voice, and the sense of being trapped inside her head is overwhelming. I think this novel justly deserves the prizes it’s won, and Eimear McBride is a novelist to watch.

Faber and Faber, 2013, ISBN 9780571317165