Read more about it at her website.

In so doing he initially confused me, not because I failed to understand his intention but because as a writer I couldn’t see the market from a publisher’s point of view. Clearly I enjoyed it and I could envision many adults doing likewise, yet initially I could see this being a book publishers often reject as seeing ‘no market for this sort of thing’. This isn’t a book for children, although it is a book that children of a certain age could read and probably gain from reading; however, I agree with the author that an adult will likely read this in a very different light to that of a child and this makes ‘The Book of Lost Things’ perhaps one of those novels that requires re-reading at a different stage in your life, possibly for the young adult and then as a mature one. I was pleasantly surprised to come across such a book because of the writing ‘rule’ that dictates if the lead in a book is a child then it is a children’s book.

This is most definitely a book for adults to enjoy, not solely because of the surprisingly bloodthirsty content. It’s amazing how many of us forget how dark, foreboding, and just plain bloodthirsty those old fairy tales that we grew up with and loved so well actually were. I didn’t need the book’s additional sojourn through the world of fairy tales to know that in some versions of Sleeping Beauty she awakens while giving birth, or the wicked queen in Snow White is made to wear red-hot iron ’slippers’ to dance in until she dies, just as I know that in Cinderella birds fly down to pluck out her stepsisters’ eyes. Fairy tales have always held great interest for me and have influenced my work. indeed, my erotic romance ‘Rose Light’ is a retelling of ‘Cinderella’, abate one where I had to heighten sexual content to satisfy the publisher but one which I intend to one day restore to its original form for another market. So nothing about the content of Connolly’s book surprised me. I was amazed to find a book published that kept to the traditions of these stories and celebrating their content, of change, of choice, of triumphant, abate in an often gruesome way.

Ultimately the strongest depth and substance to the book is grief and loss and how it changes us, becomes a part of who we are and, like stories, influences our lives; yet overall because this is a ‘fairy tale’, it resonates in the way all good stories should.

When I very small, my reading material was “Pooh” and then Enid Blyton’s “Mr Meddles Muddles”, “Mr Pinkwhistle” or “Mr Twiddle”. I was also very fond of her “Wishing Chair” series and to this day I own a copy of “Mr Galliano’s Circus” (although I used to call him Mr Galeeno as I couldn’t get my tongue around the pronounciation). I wanted to be young Jimmy Brown and run away to the circus. In a more enlightened time and as an adult I couldn’t imagine anything worse (I am not a supporter of animal circuses) but I understand it was the running away on an “adventure” part that I loved so well. From there I went on to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, although I always preferred “The Great Glass Elevator”. Yes, there was a second book! I adored the Vermicious Knids far greater than the Oompa-Loompas.

There was no stopping me. I loved “The Water Babies” namely because it touched my sense of fair play. Every child should hear of Mrs Doasyouwouldbedoneby or Mrs Bedonebyasyoudid. One Hundred and One Dalmatians a disney film? I read the book by Dodie Smith and went on to read the sequel. Yes, once again there is a follow-up people seldom hear of called “The Starlight Barking.” Likewise, read “Bambi” the book by Felix Salten and you’ll never see that story the same way again. As a child I lent it to an aunt and insisted she read it. After much nagging she begrudingly sat down one day and only stopped when she realised it had grown too dark to see. She was that lost in the story.

Then it was “Ballet Shoes” and “What Katy Did”. My most unusual children’s book has got to be “Snowflake” by Paul Gallico. Mine is tatty, gone orange and lost its cover, though I can remember the cover to this day: pale blue and white with a white snowflake with a child’s face in the centre. Snowflake is ‘born’, falls in love with ‘Raindrop’, goes on a journey and finally returns to her creator. It’s the first book that made my heart ache.

Later came Oscar Wilde. His “Happy Prince” story made me sob. Once I was old enough we started on the classics. It’s amazing to me in this day that classic literature is termed as stuffy. Maybe it’s the classic moniker that has done the harm. They weren’t classics when I was young; they were just books. I started with Heidi but was soon on to Gulliver’s Travels, Treasure Island, Robinson Crusoe, Oliver Twist, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. These were my world. They were my friends. They never failed me. They always took me adverturing with them and I feel it’s a sad world where children don’t read these books today.

Last night I picked up Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein”. It’s disheartening that so many still believe the creature is called Frankenstein when that is the name of the monster’s creator. Or is the creature the monster? Isn’t it more realistic to say the monster is the man who created him, or the society who hounds him? That’s the point of the book. This so-called horror story isn’t only that. It’s a morality lesson. I have read it before but not for some time. At once I fell into the richness of the language, some of which may seem superfluous in this modern age but even in Mary Shelley’s introduction doesn’t “Night waned upon this talk, and even the witching hour had gone by, before we retired to rest” much more engrossing than “We talked well into the night before we went to bed”?

One of my favourite works is the Gormenghast Trilogy by Mervyn Peake, mainly owing to its rich language. I’ve managed to entice people to watch the BBC series but even though they tend to love the story, they are disinclined toward the book. I feel it’s a pity that children aren’t raised on such rich prose. Not only are they missing out on such imaginative stories, one can’t help speculating whether it would do wonders for their verbal skills and their ability to communicate.

However, here I found myself having to set aside a few preconceived prejudices that I usually accuse others of having. There’s a horror story on my website where I place the reader in the mind of a killer…or do I? Like Charlie’s story, not all is quite as it seems but this book takes the story farther than I felt comfortable with. What would I gain from looking into the mind of a serial killer? The idea is distasteful but as a storyteller myself, I understand that stories have a way of playing with you. I also had to remember that to write such a story doesn’t make you a disturbed individual, just as a horror writer sleeps well at night confident there is nothing under the bed, and a romance writer does not have to be a nymphomaniac. I would give the book a chance, and owing to the fact it was a gift, I set it high in my to-be-read pile than I otherwise might have. I picked it up a couple of days ago and sped through it.

Disturbing it most definitely is. It’s also comical in a grotesque way. You really have to have a dark sense of humour to see it, but the comical undertones are there. The psychological aspect is fascinating as is the mystery of Charlie’s motivation. Even as this becomes slowly apparent, the ending was never clear in my mind. Would he be caught? Would he commit suicide? Did I care what happened to him? Ultimately, I didn’t care. He had killed for his own selfish reasons. However, this darkly comical twisting tale of caution for us all to be careful what we wish for was worth my time. The warps and weaves of Charlie’s mind were alarming, yet well written, carefully portrayed, and entertaining with a specific destination in mind. The only problem I foresee is what kind of book this author will write next.

“Desire, A Private Journal” is an exception. I don’t know why I bought this. I was looking for a different kind of notebook, saw this, and felt intrigued. It’s truly too beautiful to write in. The cover has a lock but it’s not just any cover. It’s padded and scripted, and feels like a rather luxurious box. The ‘book’ lies inside, fastened to its protective box. The pages are smooth, thick, and mottled. There are beautiful phrases, lovely pictures, and exquisite poems spaced throughout. This book deserves elegant script — a handwriting skill I do not possess — and precious thoughts or heartfelt poetry. This is why the book has sat on the shelf for a few weeks untouched and will remain so until I can figure out exactly what I should write in it. Anything penned for this book will need writing out beforehand so I know exactly what to say, and my hand will tremble as I try to keep the flow of my handwriting at its neatest. I feel as though I should learn calligraphy before I ‘qualify’ to get anywhere near these pristine pages.

This is a special little book that would make a lovely gift but don’t be annoyed if the person you give it to never has the heart or nerve to touch it.

Books such as “Captain’s Surrender” by Alex Beecroft is a read I love to hate. I hate that it exceeded my expectations and yet I love that I wish I had written this book. It inspires me; it makes me want to aspire and produce quality. The reader in me loves that this book became a part of my life, and will remain on my bookshelf, a keeper. I’m not parting with this one. Nope. Never.

Captain’s Surrender is the work of a talented writer, succeeding on multiple levels. As an avid reader, I plough through many books in all types of genres. I have works that are a light, entertaining read, to doorstop epics, and enjoy them all on many different levels. However, “Captain’s Surrender” is what the art of true storytelling is all about.

The story of Josh Andrews and Peter Kenyon takes place at a time in British history where the “crime” of homosexuality meant hanging. The infallible human heart would love to believe that love truly does conquer all, but when the threat of death literally hangs over your head in the form of a noose, what are two people in love to do? When two people love each other is there really such a thing as choice?

The book opens on a grotesque moment and from there your heart is in your mouth until and, possibly, long after you’ve turned the last page. That initial spark of love, of something beautiful between Josh and Peter amidst such horror is only one of the underlying themes of the book. As a writer, I’ve only touched on some of these themes and, strangely, in stories of a completely different nature and genre. I want to write a romance such as this, less explicit but just as emotionally gripping.

Whatever your sex or sexuality, this is a great read. My only criticisms, if you can call them that, is the cover doesn’t do the book justice and being that this is a British book by a British writer, with a British setting, I should like to have seen British spellings. However, the tone hits the period delightfully, and the dialogue is superbly composed.

This read is heart-warming, thought-provoking, and immensely enjoyable. Everyone should read this book once in their lives. Not only am I glad this made it to my to-be-read pile, I’m pleased to say it is on my list as a definite re-read. I wish Alex the best for a successful career as a writer, and I will seek out all future work by this author, no matter what the genre. I’ve yet to read Alex’s “The Witch’s Boy” but I will be in the not too distance future. Do yourself a favour and surrender to a great read.

The Mirror of Love is a poem.

It’s about same-sex love but ultimately about people just being in love.

They say you shouldn’t discuss sex, religion and politics, and for the most part, I always keep that in mind. However, I do tend to state simply that Love is Love, and that’s what The Mirror of Love does superbly. Many would suppose I need to be seen to support my writing, but I’ve come far from the naïve woman who thought she would just write a story for a gay friend, never imagining that many people would want to read it. Still, my feelings have nothing to do with my writing. I truly have to stand by something I believe in when I feel this strongly. I’m no gay crusader but everything I am tells me that love is love. I only have to imagine someone telling me I’m not “allowed” to love the person that I do in fact love, and everything in my being rebels. I would fight tooth and nail, wave every flag, march in every parade. This world needs all the love it can get, now more than ever. Place yourself in the position of someone telling you that your feelings are wrong and it’s heartbreaking.

The Mirror of Love is a poem.

The Mirror of Love is a reminder.

Same sex love seems so widely accepted now that it’s too easy to forget people still face intolerance and bigotry. It’s easy for me to forget that Margaret Thatcher came to power as I was heading out into the world. This book reminded me that she promoted “a return to Victorian values.” A direct quote from an appendix of the book reads: ‘under her government, in December 1986, the leader of the South Staffordshire Council, Councillor William Frank Brownhill, proposed on the record that ninety percent of gay men should be exterminated in gas chambers.’

Many young women I knew at the time wanted to vote Thatcher into power simply because they felt a female Prime Minister could “do no wrong.”

Some see same-sex relationships as a fad, a phase, a gay friend as a cool accessory. The Mirror of Love reminds us that same sex love is nothing new – it has always been with us and always will be. People have been ostracised, tortured, murdered simply for whom they love. The stand for gay rights isn’t to stand for the act of sex between two men or two women. It’s a stand for human rights, equal rights, liberation and freedom. It’s a stand for every one of us who could face persecution or terrorism because our views or feelings do not meet with someone’s approval.

The Mirror of Love is a poem.

It’s presented in a small hard-backed book, illustrated with photographs that compliment each turn of the page. You might pour slowly over the words; you might rush through the pages at a furious rate. It may be the work of a few moments to read, but if you believe in the right to love whom your heart tells you to love, whatever your sexuality this will stay with you forever.

It’s a depiction of history, a protest, a testament. There’s something inexplicable that happens to the reader as the words flourish and begin to sink into your psyche, your heart, your bones it seems. As beautiful, as it is harrowing don’t be surprised to shed a tear.

If this doesn’t speak to the heart that heart has never loved freely, joyously, without prejudice. Every home should have a copy of this book; one should be present in every hotel room. The Mirror of Love is a sweet gem of a book and a privilege to own.

If you’re looking for a highly erotic m/m romance then Roses in December most certainly isn’t it. I wouldn’t call it non-explicit but the love scenes are sensual rather than graphic. In some ways I’m aware that this read may not appeal to everyone so you may wonder why I’m mentioning it. The reason is simply that months after reading it, I remember the story. As always, reading is very much personal preference, but for me, where Fiona Glass excels here is in atmosphere: from the looming and sometimes ominous presence of Partington Towers, to the contrasting and ever changing mood of the garden.

Not as salacious as many romances on the market, this is not erotic romance but simply a love story with a somewhat harrowing twist, and yet the promise of love and unexpected happiness remains. I truly find it difficult to explain what it is about this tale that captures your interest and stays in your memory. What I do know is that something about the style of the writing makes you remember these characters as well as the garden long after you’ve reached the end.

Roses in December is available from Torquere Press until July 2008.