Review by Aswathy Raveendran of "Sisters of the Pentacle" by Paul Taylor-McCartney

Paul Taylor-McCartney’s Sisters of the Pentacle is the first book of The Broken Pentacle Series, and is a fascinating tale that mixes historical drama, witchcraft, time travel, and the quiet power of sisterhood. Set across three very different time periods in the same corner of Wales, the novel follows three young women who are bound by magic, prophecy, and a sacred but damaged pentacle. It’s the kind of book that rewards patient readers. It is layered, atmospheric, and full of heart. Fans of thoughtful fantasy with real historical grounding will likely find themselves pulled in.

The story shifts between 1650, 1900, and 2080, each period anchored by a compelling young witch. In the plague year of 1650, we meet Mary Harries, a twelve-year-old "Knowing One" with the gift of foresight. Tenby is locked down, bodies pile up, and suspicion falls hard on anyone suspected of witchcraft. Mary’s courage, as she helps with the dead, faces angry mobs, and confronts dark forces on Caldey Island, gives the opening section a raw, visceral edge. Her protective grandmother Nancy and a shape-shifting boy named Abe add warmth and danger in equal measure.

Jump forward to 1900, and we’re with Harriet Gordon, a sharp-witted artist living in St Catherine’s Fort. Harriet chafes against her family’s expectations and her brothers’ cruelty. Her discovery of latent powers, helped along by a mysterious ceremonial blade (an athame) and a voice from the future, brings both wonder and trouble. The inclusion of real historical figures like Winston Churchill and H. G. Wells during a dinner party is a clever touch, and it nicely highlights the tension between Harriet’s inner world and the respectable society closing in around her.

In 2080, Indigo Carmichael takes centre stage. Living in a world scarred by environmental collapse, she’s the daughter of a driven scientist whose time-acceleration technology holds both salvation and peril. Indigo’s sections feel more dystopian and introspective, tying the historical threads together through risky experiments and a desperate hope of mending what’s broken across time.

What holds these timelines together is Taylor-McCartney’s clever use of recurring symbols like the circles of power, glowing portals, animal transformations, and fragments of the pentacle itself. The non-linear structure mirrors the book’s central idea which is all about how the history isn’t a straight line but a looping, interconnected web. Some transitions in the story are seamless and some lean a bit heavily on exposition or convenient coincidences. Still, the overall effect is one of building momentum toward something larger.

Thematically, the novel has real weight. The sisterhood depicted in the story goes beyond blood. It’s about shared resilience, passed-down knowledge, and collective resistance against oppression. Each girl pushes back against the constraints of her time period. If it was persecution and plague for Mary, it was rigid Edwardian gender roles for Harriet, and technological hubris for Indigo. Taylor-McCartney handles the "grey area" of magic thoughtfully, refusing to paint it as purely good or evil. There are strong undercurrents about environmental responsibility, the cost of playing with time, and the long shadow of patriarchy. The pentacle becomes a potent symbol of wholeness in a fractured world, and the respect shown to real witchcraft traditions feels genuine rather than superficial.

The three protagonists are the novel’s greatest strength. Mary’s quiet bravery amid horror is moving. Harriet’s artistic eye and dry humour bring welcome lightness and emotional texture. Indigo, dealing with her own physical limitations and inherited burdens, adds a layer of vulnerability that makes her future feel lived in and urgent. Supporting characters like Nancy, Abe, and even the antagonistic Gordon brothers mostly ring true, though a few (particularly in the future sections) lean toward archetype. The historical cameos work better than they have any right to, adding flavour without derailing the story.

Taylor-McCartney’s prose shines when he leans into atmosphere. The plague-stricken streets of Tenby, the misty cliffs at Harrowing Point, and the sterile glow of futuristic labs all come alive. There are lyrical moments during rituals and invocations that genuinely feel magical. That said, some dialogue runs a touch expository, and a few descriptive passages could have been trimmed. Even though there are few quibbles like these, the book overall gives you an immersive reading experience.

Overall, Sisters of the Pentacle is a success. Its world-building across centuries is impressive, and the emotional core which centres around the bond between the "sisters" across time is something that would stay with you. Pacing occasionally lags, especially when lore or technology needs explaining, and the 2080 storyline feels slightly less developed than the historical ones. But these are the growing pains of an ambitious first volume in what promises to be a rich series.

If you enjoy fantasy that takes its time, respects its traditions, and weaves real history with the supernatural, this one is worth your attention. It’s a story about healing what’s broken across time, across families, and across the land itself. I closed the book eager to see where the pentacle leads next.

About the reviewer
Dr. Aswathy Raveendran is an Assistant Professor of English at Jain (Deemed-to-be University), Kochi, India. Her research focuses on twentieth-century female gothic literature, with broader interests in sensory studies, eco-gothic narratives, and cultural memory. She is also a practising artist whose work explores themes of nature, memory, and the sensory imagination.

You can read more about Sisters of the Pentacle by Paul Taylor-McCartney on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Review by Rachael Clyne of "Killing Spree" by Jorie Graham

In the past I have found the work of this renowned US poet somewhat complex and impenetrable. Killing Spree, in sharp contrast, is spare and stark, in both words and layout. The book reads like a single epic poem covering all aspects of the disastrous period we are facing. How to do it justice in a short review? Many of the poems are thin columns covering several pages, reminding me of an image from the Matrix when streams of data pour down – known as digital rain. Graham manages through her fragmented approach and anaphoric rhythms to shower us with the impact of climate, disease, war and slaughter. We get the full picture through these fragments. Many of us, while still sheltered from the worst impacts, are bombarded daily with images of genocide, floods, fires, oppression, division and hatred. She does not shrink from an apocalyptic view.

A key poem for me is "The Falling," with the image of dice tumbling from the sky, as contagion, war, and slaughter that rain on random targets. And yet the words are more of a broad sweep, allowing us to fill the gaps with our own references and making the whole thing readable without it being a telling rant: "all the new & / improved / viruses shook out their mutations."  Graham talks of "famines, like / bunched veils, reeling with / their new contagions." She audaciously attempts to articulate her vision of the aftermath and how people will survive or not, with poem titles: "When The World Ended," "Tomorrow" and the final poem "Suddenly":

           – what thou lovest well
           remains – it says nothing
           but forgiveness.
           It says repeat after me. And I do.
          

          What have I done.

          Who will I become.

This is an impactful take on the most critical time in history.

About the reviewer

Rachael Clyne is a retired psychotherapist. Her collection Singing at the Bone Tree (Indigo Dreams) is about eco-concerns. Her Seren collection, You'll Never Be Anyone Else, explores themes of identity and otherness, migrant heritage and LGBTQ+. She's currently building a collection that comments on the world state and challenges of ageing.

Review by Martyn Crucefix of "Ethnology: A Love Song for Connemara" by Cathy Galvin

Some poems use form and language to weave gold from the ordinary stuff of life; others take extraordinary (even extreme) topics and much of the interest may lie in their subject matter; others engage with what used to be disparagingly called "local colour" – especially of place or identity – and Cathy Galvin’s debut collection is in part of this sort. Her great grandfather built a cottage on Mason Island, Connemara, after the Great Hunger (1845-52). She remembers visiting it as a child, but it now lies in ruins. Her wish is to preserve and empathise with what it represents of landscape, nature, the people, their culture and language. Her desire is contrasted to the cold impersonality of those who once studied these peoples on the edge of Europe as an inferior species, to the extent of stealing skulls from graves for closer analysis.

Much of the interest in Ethnology lies in Galvin’s representation of these (extra)ordinary lives, in learning their language, archival research, and imagining their day-to-day existence. The opening poems are rather fragmentary and one feels the "willed" pressure of pursuing her admirable aim. "Ethnology" itself is a fine poem in which an island child, having been studied by an ethnologist, recounts the kinds of human experience that he (definitely a "he") could never be party to: "I searched for seals, their singing / making me pause." Poems about Galvin's own mother, Bridget, are replete with familial emotion and are the better for it. In "Waters Break" and "Caoineadh," a freer lyricism breaks from Galvin, giving rise to a heartfelt keening or lamentation: "I stand on the granite, a flawed empty vessel // I pull you towards me, I shelter your body."

The third section of the collection is dotted with allusions (to Hughes, Heaney, Murphy, Synge, Friel – though most are linked variously to the Connemara landscape), yet it also contains a marvellous address to the personification of the ruined cottage itself: "Crossing your threshold, time after time, / I believed your buried mouth, / its falling walls and gaping hearth, had lost its tongue" ("Belly of the House"). The personal is political here as the point is made that these "marginal" lives – this is how the educated, observing "elites" (Galvin’s word) viewed the "peasants" of Connemara – were rich in language, culture and passionate life. The same idea contributes to Galvin’s concluding keening for her own son (who died in 2021). Her grief and sense of guilt are almost unbearably painful to read. After an autopsy, she buries his heart on the ancestral island, and we sense her anger that his difficulties in life were never taken seriously enough by the "elite" authorities, such as the DWP, the medical MDT, and those administering PIP payments, the termination of which "set him free / to die alone." If the poems struggle at times to compass the flood of feelings, this remains a book rich and painful in its portraits of lives lived over a century or more.

About the reviewer

Martyn Crucefix is the author of eight original collections of poetry, most recently Our Weird Regiment (Shearsman Books, 2026). His most recent translation is of Jurgen Becker’s Foxtrot at the Erfurt Stadium (Shearsman, 2026).

You can read more about Ethnology by Cathy Galvin on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

 

Review by Anna O'Sullivan of "Humankind: A Hopeful History" by Rutger Bregman

In Humankind: A Hopeful History, Rutger Bregman critiques society’s accepted view that humans are innately selfish and immoral beings, instead arguing with candid optimism that we are intrinsically kind. He dismantles ideas of human nature, famous psychological studies and real-world events, exposing misinformation that has been long accepted into the fabric of our society, giving reason to believe humans are hardwired for selfishness. By the end, this brilliant book completely transformed my view of human nature, and gave me a sense of hope about the goodness of people. 

I was captivated from the beginning, and especially interested in the chapters that critically examine famous psychological studies by Zimbardo and Milgram, which I studied as a Psychology A-Level student. I also had a pessimistic view of human nature, as these studies have worrying real-world implications, and demonstrated what harm humans are capable of. Seeing the studies through Bregman’s refined lens, with the inaccuracies exposed, gave me an entirely new perspective, and made me wish this book had been published a few years earlier. Alongside this, Bregman uses history, biology and anthropology to build a strong argument for the goodness of people. It was eye-opening to learn about the ways in which humans have fostered values of co-operation and kindness – saving strangers in a crisis or putting others first – in contrast to the darkly depressing media we are used to consuming on a daily basis due to availability bias. This can skewer one’s perspective of society, as it did mine. 

Now more than ever, this insightful book is an essential read. Just as the media continues to add fuel to the fire of cynicism, so too does the circulation of fake news and misinformation. In one of the book’s chapters, Bregman delves further into the true story of the murder of Kitty Genovese in 1964 – a story which brought a spotlight over the bystander effect when a flood of articles claimed that "38 witnesses" had stood by and done nothing as she was murdered. A refined analysis of this tragic event found that this claim was yet another example of fake news. Bregman demonstrates how mistrust in others can and will lead to negative impacts in politics and the economy.

Humankind was outside my typical comfort zone of non-fiction, and it surprised me by becoming a new favourite. The writing is extremely accessible, explaining complicated ideas in an engaging way. It had the ability to change my mind and make me believe more in the innate goodness of the people around me. 

About the reviewer
Anna O’Sullivan is a University of Leicester graduate with a BA in English and MA in Modern and Contemporary Literature and Creative Writing. She enjoys travelling, and recently returned from five months of backpacking across Latin America. Anna’s predominant passion is books; she is an avid reader, BookToker, attendee of literature events and employee at Hachette UK.  

Review by Rowan Gromocki of "Stag Dance" by Torrey Peters

A gender apocalypse, cross-dressing lumberjacks, a boarding school romance, and a Las Vegas sexcapade: Stag Dance was a blind pick in a local bookstore. I knew little about the author and was lured in by the chaotic cover and blurb. I was half expecting a light, smutty read. What I found were three short stories and a novella, each unique but tied together by themes of gender performance, the human need to be desired, and social hierarchy. 

"Infect Your Friends and Loved Ones": set in a gender dystopia, the opening story brought to mind The Handmaid’s Tale and The Power, but with a more futuristic and sci-fi backdrop. A frustrated trans activist releases a rather original form of biowarfare: a contagion that halts the human production of sex hormones, making society reliant on HRT and fertility treatment to survive. What I found almost satisfying was observing how every member of society is forced to confront their identity and make decisions about their body in a way that trans people do every day. I appreciated the creativity and research behind the writing, as grotesque genetically modified pigs are bred and traded so that humans can pump themselves with testosterone and estrogen. I enjoyed the way Peters set up the apocalypse, following the dating lives of trans men and women and detailing the fatigue of having each moment "monitored and mocked," which led to the start of the pandemic. I almost wish this book had been a standalone piece so that she would have had the space to build on the world further.

"The Chaser": the narrator sneaks into a laundrette, steals a silk nightdress, and allows his gender-questioning roommate, Robbie, to wear it for him. What I found saddening was  Robbie realising it was purely an act of lust and that their connection would never leave the confines of their bunk beds. Watching their relationship unfurl, I found myself left in two minds about whether the narrator only ever sees Robbie as a fetish, or if external judgment is stopping him from pursuing a romantic relationship. What I found especially compelling was watching the narrator become the target of Robbie’s jilted emotions, and I was surprised to see the narrative take such a disturbing turn.

"Stag Dance": a sexually frustrated band of axemen throw a dance where some may attend as women. This triggers an awakening in Babe Bunyan, a giant, brutish-looking man who I couldn’t help but root for, as he begins to yearn to be treated with softness and care by the other men around him. For me, this novella portion of the book felt a little drawn out and awkwardly placed in the middle, but I did not expect myself to be so invested in the hypermasculine world of lumberjacks.

"The Masker": this was a short and wonderfully uncomfortable read. Sally, an older trans woman who feels she has "earned" her womanhood through years of surgery and social sacrifice, finds her identity is exposed and threatened by Felix, a raunchy masked cross-dresser who saves his hyper-feminine sissy persona for kinky nights away from his wife and children. Through their clash, and throughout the book as a whole, I found that Peters artfully reveals many intimate anecdotes and reflections on the transfeminine experience.

About the reviewer
Rowan Gromocki is a graduate of the University of Leicester, holding a BA in Journalism and an MA in Media, Culture & Society. Their postgraduate dissertation explored evolving social standards through the lens of historical fashion and etiquette magazines. Rowan has worked in both the beauty industry and for charities aimed at raising literacy worldwide. Outside of work, they are an avid reader of gothic and historical fiction, particularly the works of Daphne du Maurier and Sarah Waters, and enjoy attending music festivals.

Review by Callum Deppe of "Talking to Strangers" by Malcolm Gladwell

Talking to Strangers is an exceptionally engaging and thought-provoking non-fiction book. Gladwell takes you on a journey through various real-world stories that tie together to make the overarching point that we understand strangers much less than we think we do. The book challenges the natural inclination to trust strangers and overestimated belief that we can accurately judge a stranger's character, intent and emotions.

I really enjoy how Gladwell takes seemingly unrelated real-world stories and brings them together, incorporating his own thoughts and illuminating their significance. He tells each story in such a riveting and accessible manner that the book feels like storytelling rather than an analysis. Most of the stories I hadn’t heard before, which was interesting to engage with in and of itself, but even for those familiar with the stories, Gladwell expresses a fresh perspective that you likely won’t have thought or heard before. I was particularly interested in the stories of spies and espionage.

This profound book leaves you with the motivation to interact with strangers with more humility, and brilliantly demonstrates the risks of assuming you fully understand the people around you. These messages are particularly important in today’s world. I would highly recommend this book to anyone. 

About the reviewer
Callum Deppe is a University of Leicester graduate with a BSc in Psychology. He enjoys a multitude of sports including football, cricket and golf, taking his dog on long walks and reading insightful non-fiction about the world around us. Callum works as a Social Work Assistant.

Review by Jonathan Wilkins of "A Thousand Souls" by Catherine Tudish

When I was sent this book, I was due to attend a tedious round of tests. My wife, who was accompanying me, hijacked the novel, and she enjoyed it so much I asked her for a short review:

"Loved this book; read it in one day. It was an easy read as it was written so well and each chapter was one part of the whole. By that I mean that this is the story of a small town and each chapter relates to those living there and their stories. It deserves a wide audience as it could easily be a best seller. I’ll certainly be recommending it to my friends."

In A Thousand Souls we have a collection of fourteen stories intervolving the lives of three generations in the isolated American town of Neptune, Vermont. The fourteen stories in Tudish’s beautifully crafted book intertwine the lives of three generations of Neptune as they inevitably touch the outside world. We read of a boy born of an illicit romance travelling to South Carolina for a first-time and meeting with his  father. We encounter a widow and friend who solve the mystery of a missing girl. The local sheriff breaks up a drug operation, only, in a nod to current American affairs, to get arrested for helping undocumented workers evade ICE. The frustrated wife of a mail driver presents him with a nude portrait of herself. A magical section sees a shy girl lose her stutter when she speaks to a black bear. In another chapter a boy has strange nightmares that appear to represent the memories of a stranger’s tragedy.

As in any small town, loyalties and traditions are tested through loss, betrayal and day-to-day living. The town’s characters epitomize the belongingness that comes from a close-knit rural community.

These  charmingly written,  wryly observed, delicate stories give us a view of life that is relatable, conveying the costs of interrelationship and kinship as the years pass. All of them demonstrate how seemingly ordinary lives can take unforeseen and unpredictable twists and turns.

About the reviewer
Jonathan Wilkins is 69. He is married to the gorgeous Annie with two wonderful sons. He was a teacher for twenty years, a Waterstones’ bookseller and coached women’s basketball for over thirty years before taking up writing seriously. Nowadays he takes notes for students with Special Needs at Leicester and Warwick Universities. He has had a work commissioned by the UK Arts Council and several pieces published traditionally as well as on-line. He has had poems in magazines and anthologies, art galleries, studios, museums and at Huddersfield Railway Station. He loves writing poetry. For his MA, he wrote a crime novel, Utrecht Snow. He followed it up with Utrecht Rain, and is now writing a third part. He is currently writing a crime series, Poppy Knows Best, set at the end of the Great War and into the early 1920s.

You can read more about A Thousand Souls by Catherine Tudish on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Review by Siobhian R. Hodges of "Scablands and Other Stories" by Jonathan Taylor

Each story  in this collection was uniquely captivating, and the various lengths created an overall pace that matched the book's genre, a kaleidoscopic symphony of its very own. With such a busy life (like most of us have) and not nearly enough free time as I'd like, the book was perfect for me to dip in and out of. It may sound clichéd but Scablands and Other Stories truly was the type of book that I could not put down.  

Every night for the past week, I found myself wanting to read "just one more story" - like my daughter regularly asks me at the end of one of her Disney bedtime stories. Being an adult, however, I was able to make my own (hypocritical) decision and would continue reading Taylor's book long into the night, enjoying the fully immersive worlds and (mostly) endearing characters.

I especially loved "A Sentimental Story," "Heat Death," and of course "Scablands" - the final story that will stay with me for a long time, just as, I imagine, the memory of Mr Chandler will stay with the boy-who-is-no-longer-new.

Thank you to the author for this collection of bittersweet escapism. I'm looking forward to reading more of your work!

 

About the reviewer
Siobhian R. Hodges is a Leicestershire multi-genre writer, author of the supernatural thriller Killing a Dead Man and coming-of-age anthology Untitled Decade. She has an MA in Creative Writing and was shortlisted in 2021 for the Page Turner Book Awards. She lives with her graphic designer husband, their two chalk-and-cheese children, and their dog-like cat.

Review by Millie Jackson of "Everything I Know About Love" by Dolly Alderton

Everything I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton is an internationally bestselling memoir following Alderton’s experience of growing up, adapting to adulthood and navigating love, loss, friendship and the hardship of work. Resembling the likes of Bridget Jones’s Diary, Alderton's memoir recounts personal anecdotes and stories alongside lists, recipes and observations to create a book that has resonated greatly with contemporary women of all ages. 

I absolutely loved Everything I Know About Love. It pulled me in from the first few pages; I ended up reading it so quickly because I was engaged the entire time. What stood out most to me was how honest and personal it felt. The book is open and relatable, and I felt connected to both Alderton and the stories she shares.

The book captures friendship, growing up, heartbreak, love, and the uncertainty of your twenties. So many moments were relatable – whether funny, emotional, or awkward, and that made the reading experience comforting and genuine. I also loved the balance of humour and vulnerability throughout the book.

Overall, this book felt like listening to a close friend tell stories about life in the most entertaining and heartfelt way possible. Everything I Know About Love is an essential read for all women navigating the challenges of adulthood. 

About the reviewer
Millie Jackson graduated from Oxford Brookes University with a BA (Hons) degree in Social Work. She is passionate about supporting others and currently works for a local charity. In her spare time, Millie enjoys spending time with animals, especially dogs, along with arts and crafts, reading, and playing video games.