Everything I’ve read recently

A Ukrainian novel, Sapphic Space Lit, a Christmas romance, and the mother of an addict steals her daughter away

I’ve just finished edits on a novel and I’ve been preparing some posts for the coming months—new fiction, archival fiction, and a new series called Classic Reads where I delve into my shelves to share book recommendations from the 1800s, mid-20th century, and (my debut era) the 2010s. Thanks for sticking with me through the last year. In 2024, I posted to Substack every week. This year, I’ve been editing the first novel in my trilogy, taking that manuscript to agents, writing a memoir pitch for said new agent, strategising(!) since I’m now a mid-career as opposed to baby author, and then a whole other novel, alongside the daily difficulties of baby loss grief. I haven’t been posting here much at all and, then, I’ve been really scratching my head at what I’d like to share. That’s all about to change, with lots lined up for Substack. I’m pretty happy with what’s coming, and I hope you will be too.

But first, here’s everything I’ve read in the last month or so.

To the Moon and Back by Eliana Rampage

Addictive and heartfelt, To The Moon And Back rocketed into my all time faves booklist. It’s rare that we meet, and love, a character as complex as Steph, who is tough but so raw; self-centred but somehow also truly unaware of other people.

The novel is a singular reading experience because of the multitudes it contains—it’s the epic story of a queer Cherokee woman’s long, cold years of single-minded dedication to become the unlikeliest astronaut; a gorgeous and sexy sapphic romance; the very human and tender story of Steph’s long ago-bruised heart. Plus, the falling in love/love scenes were ridiculous tearjerkers that made me root for Della and Steph.

I’m so interested to see how this book will be released as I read it as a proof. It melds genres, apt for readers of The Martian but also, oddly enough, I think something like Cleopatra and Frankenstein and Blue Sisters and Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow are good comparisons—it’s chewy and relational in that way.

I’ve enjoyed recent genre-blend books. Like Both Not Half by Jassa Ahluwahlia (memoir-in-the-present meets information meets philosophy) and The Awakened (literary but, also, cult but, also, spiritual) by Kelechi Okafor, both of whom we had on the podcast in Season 1.

I truly loved this book. Tore through it in days. Out April 2026 from Doubleday.

Loved and Missed by Susie Boyt

Recommended to me by bookseller Jo at Pages of Hackney, this is a book about Ruth, a woman whose daughter is an addict and who does not want her help. Love her daughter as she might, Ruth can’t do anything for her. With all the love in her heart, she can barely ask for a hug, knowing as she does that it’s often rebuffed.

When her daughter has a baby, Ruth takes it away. This is the kind of ‘hook’ on the jacket, but it’s not as it sounds. The novel is not in any way a thriller. Its tone is gentle and keening and aching, like a long minor note played on a violin.

Loved and Missed is a contained story of a little life and yet it’s about the deepest form of humanity, which is motherhood, and everything that entails.

I know that might be controversial if you’re not a mother. But maybe it won’t be. I have a dear friend who has never wanted to be a mother, who is quite clear that she knows it’s a love that binds you; that constitutes a kind of giving up or sinking under that she doesn’t want to experience. She once said to me, I much prefer my conditional relationships. I love that about her. She’s a very clear-eyed person.

She prefers choice, and to be a mother is to not have as many choices, because the humanity you have for your child is like a step that must be taken before all others, and that is what this book is about.

For non-mothers, it can also be read as a book about grief and love; specifically loving someone you can’t help and the grief of leaving life without being able to tie all the loose ends into knots.

For me, it was nice to read a book that speaks with such authority about those situations in life which we cannot change, that require the whole of our humanity to meet, and, however difficult they are to carry, must be carried, daily, for they are the circumstances of our lives and we each have only one.

It’s difficult after baby loss to relate to characters who have trouble in love, for instance. It feels like reading about much younger people.

I will die in a foreign land by Kalani Pickhart

This was a (requested) birthday gift. We were wandering around Waterstones, my parents and I, and my mum instructed me to find a couple of books for my birthday. I slipped this off the shelf thinking—yep. That’s the one for me.

It makes sense, if you know me. I’m easily bored by books that don’t say anything. I really need to feel an author’s intention behind the book; really hate to feel like someone just wrote this for the ego-trip of being a writer.

For this reason, I enjoy documentary and learning about reality. I enjoy detail. Appreciate meat on the bones of my books. Anchor me with truth and facts, and tell me what people might do inside their walls.

This was set around the Maidan protests, in 2014, and follows several characters that take part in the protests in various ways—a doctor, an activist, a pianist, and an ex-miner who comes from Chernobyl area.

It was incredibly touching and I appreciated how it explored the idea of a life where you only have a few options and you can’t change terrible things that are almost impossible to live with. Like Loved and Missed, I felt it had that maturity to it.

This wasn’t written by a Ukrainian. I’m not a purist when it comes to own voices stories, as I think that, when well-intentioned, they can do much to move the needle, particularly if they can relate a misunderstood story to a readership connected to them (e.g. here, Pickhart brings this story to Americans, and asks for empathy for Ukrainian protesters).

Pickhart seems to have done a lot of research and written an accurately about the protests, including lists of names of those lost. It’s not a Ukrainian first hand account, or a novel with that kind of depth that might come from belonging to said country, but I thought it covered several very interesting perspectives, and was a well-written, moving, and formally inventive book. No pages skipped. Would recommend.

Make you mine this Christmas by Lizzie Huxley-Jones

A Christmas romance? Well, it’s November… This was written by a client of my new agent, and recommended to me to read to help tackle the pacing of a romance storyline in my football book (so close to giving you some news on that, by the way!).

I found it incredibly well written. It flowed so smoothly from one scene to the next and was absolutely chocolate-y, do you know what I mean? It just did what it said on the tin, and no more, which I really appreciate.

You might imagine I would accuse romance of being written for the ego trip (re: my comments in the I will die in a foreign land review above), but no! I’m very pro- books that seek to entertain. Life is hard. We need literary popcorn.

Romance writers particularly can’t be accused of being self-indulgent—they’re sticklers (or should be) for a well-timed plot, no farting about with fluffy language for its own sake, and, obviously, snogs and sex scattered in an intentionally-paced way.

All of which Make You Mine This Christmas delivers. The premise: Haf, our very funny bisexual Welsh narrator, meets Christopher, who is basically posh and rich and very nice. They’re not into each other, but they both need a sidekick for Christmas, so Haf pops to the Cotswolds to pretend to be Christopher’s girlfriend.

After a meetcute in a train station bookshop with a hot, also posh, woman called Kit, Kit—WOOPS!—turns out to be Christopher’s sister. And they’re all staying in the same house, with Kit and Chris’ parents, this Christmas. I won’t spoil the rest—this would make a great Xmas present for your cosiest bisexual pals.

More from me soon—Abby xo

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