Review by Jasper Sygrove of "The Cherry Tree Theory" by Rich & Rox Pink

The Cherry Tree Theory is a beautifully written and deeply reflective book, which uses the real-time revival of a once-dying cherry tree as a powerful metaphor for personal growth and healing. After moving in together, Rich and Rox Pink revisit some of the darkest chapters of their lives, while pouring their love into nurturing a rich, fruitful garden. The Cherry Tree Theory creates a moving parallel between nature’s resilience and the human capacity to recover, adapt, and thrive.

The metaphors woven throughout the book are thoughtful, relatable, and leave you with plenty to reflect on. From setting healthy boundaries to rebuilding after difficult experiences, the lessons feel authentic and nuanced. The story gently reminds us that growth is rarely linear, but with patience, care, and perseverance, it's possible to create the future we've always hoped for.

While everyone's experiences are different and not every story will resonate with every reader, the underlying message is universal: there is always light at the end of the tunnel. I finished this book feeling inspired, motivated, and more optimistic about embracing life's challenges. This is a heartfelt, uplifting read that lingers in your thoughts long after you've turned the final page.

If you're curious but not quite ready to dive into the book, Rich and Rox Pink have also created a short companion episode as part of their podcast series "Late Bloomers," with each chapter summarised in 60 seconds or less. It's a brilliant introduction that offers a flavour of what's to come, without giving away the heart of the journey.

About the reviewer
Jasper Sygrove is a 27-year-old trans content creator, music producer, and cosplayer, with a lifelong passion for all things nerdy. From TV shows and movies, to video games and books, Jasper loves discovering and discussing the stories that leave a lasting impression. As a new reviewer, Jasper is excited to share honest, thoughtful reviews, and connect with others who enjoy exploring the worlds of entertainment and storytelling.

Review by Jonathan Wilkins of "Monstrum" by Lottie Mills

I read Lottie Mills’ debut collection Monstrum in a couple of sittings. The stories are that good! They explore what is monstrous, and what we may perceive as otherness. They challenge the reader and society to re-examine all of our deep rooted assumptions. Every single beautifully crafted story is an eerie, gripping and alluring message to our world. And each is unequivocally strong in its own right, unique but connected through the theme of disability and the monstrous, because Mills shows us that being different doesn’t mean we are worse than what might be perceived as the norm. It might be that Monstrum isn’t for every reader, but it is worth every reader having a go. 

"The Mirror" shows a young girl doing the shopping for her supposedly monstrous mistress. Through her small acts of kindness, she makes the relationship work and rejects this conception of monstrosity. There is an implied sexual relationship in the story, and a poignant ending. 

"The Changeling," the opening story, sticks with the reader long after they finish and we can see why it was a prize winner. It’s a sublime, ethereal tale about deformity and physical change, and asks what are our expectations of what we see as normal. The writing is evocative and clear. 

In "The Cuckoo," as the title implies, we are confronted by a strange child who infiltrates a household, and removes the protagonist from her own life with weird ease. This is psychological horror story demonstrating the terror of being replaced, unseen, unprotected. 

"The Body" features a particularly belligerent attitude towards disability. It is set in a world where you can ask for, or purchase a new body. The main character in this story finds it difficult to let go of her old body and struggles to cope with the physical changes that come with a new non-disabled body. When she uses her old wheelchair, it is a particularly discordant moment. She finds that her new, whole body no longer has the muscle memory her original one had, and she is forced to relearn much of what used to be  habitual, her own "normal." Mills never takes the easy way out. She examines how this is not an easy solution and the myriad struggles that it brings with it. The main character is confronted when others find out about her original disabled body, and the complex relationship she now has with the new body.

Mills has shown the reader a world where inhumanity often comes from the ordinary, and where we can see kindness and warmth in those that we have been taught to fear. The result is a beautifully strong collection of stories that are heartbreaking at times as well as being intellectually rigorous, and written in prose that is so pure that it is almost perfection. Monstrum is a critical, politically sensitive piece of disability literature disguised as gothic nightmare, grotesque theatre. Mills invites us into her darkness, and we cannot escape, demanding we see the beauty, potential, power and provocation flourishing there. It is a dazzling, remarkable debut.

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.

Review by Anupriya Sisodia of "The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo" by Taylor Jenkins Reid

 

She didn’t just appear on my reading list. She stormed in, a living scandal in emerald silk, lips unapologetically red. 

When I started The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugou, I expected nothing more than glamor, gossip, and old-Hollywood fantasy: a familiar, dramatic, romantic escape. I thought I knew exactly what I was getting into, but I was completely wrong. The book gave me all that, plus an entertaining glimpse into scandalous fame, and then surprised me by delivering crushing sorrow and dazzling hope in equal measure. 

From the very first lines, Evelyn Hugo caught my attention with a magnetic, almost dangerous grip, a presence so dynamic I could feel her reaching off the page, refusing to let me go. She was never soft or gentle, and not always easy to like. Still, I found myself rooting for her, even when sometimes her choices left scorched earth behind. She never begged for love. She was ambition incarnate, sharp, strategic, stubborn, brave, and sometimes selfish in ways that cut uncomfortably close to reality.

What drew me in even more was her strong desire for control. She wanted fame, freedom, love, security, and power in a world where women paid a price for ambition. Her life was full of choices that blurred the line between right and wrong, and the book didn’t offer easy answers; it just simply laid bare the consequences. Evelyn felt less like a fictional character and more like a real Hollywood legend, both adored and judged, sculpted into an icon before being seen as a person and never truly understood. 

Evelyn shares her life story through interviews with journalist Monique Grant, and this storytelling style is one of the novel’s greatest strengths. The format made everything feel startlingly real and personal, almost like hearing a confession you weren’t supposed to hear, but there you were, sitting across from Evelyn Hugo herself, mascara slightly smudged, voice calm but dangerous, as she finally decided to tell the truth she buried for decades. With magazine clippings and flashbacks, the story started to feel like real history. It truly seemed as if Evelyn Hugo could have existed in Hollywood, or that someone like her did, and I was learning the truth behind years of glamorous, messy rumours.

Despite the title, this story isn’t really about the seven husbands. Each was just a mirror, a season, a chapter in Evelyn’s life, never the main focus or a big romance. Some marriages were planned, others were for convenience or were performances for an industry trying to control her. But none ever defined or truly possessed her. They simply revolved around her, showing the many versions she had to create to survive in a world that expected women to give up pieces of themselves to succeed.

Spoiler alert: the true heartbreak in the story was Celia St. James. Their love story blindsided me and left me deeply moved. Their passion was a wildfire: wild, beautiful, intense, all-consuming, and utterly devastating. They kept coming back to each other, even though pride, fear, and timing kept pulling them apart. Every reunion sparked hope, every parting left a hollow ache. It was a love so desperate, so human, that it haunted me. Love was a knife, and the world never let them put it down, reminding me that love alone was never enough to save us, especially in a world that never played fair with women. 

Then there is Harry Cameron, who was one of Evelyn’s husbands and a steady and loyal friend to her. A calm in her storm. His kindness and friendship grounded her, so when he died, the grief was overwhelming. I remember staring at the page, shocked, because his loss hurt far more than I ever expected.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo is dazzling, sharp, heartbreaking, and unflinchingly honest. It made me laugh, feel pain, and even brought me to tears. Most of all, it showed me that people are never just one thing. We are a storm of contradictions. We all have wounds, dreams, hope, and heartbreak. And this book never lets Evelyn Hugo be easily defined or caged by labels. She is grief, ambition, raw longing, defiant love, and relentless survival all at once. By the end, the woman in emerald silk refused to be just a headline. She demanded to be remembered as a person: flawed, fierce, complicated, and unapologetically herself. 

And long after I closed the book, she stayed with me. I know she always will.

About the interviewer 
Anupriya Sisodia is a published romance fiction author, pursuing an MA in Creative Writing at the University of Leicester. She is an avid reader who loves writing stories with realistic, relatable characters who embark on emotional and exciting journeys toward happily-ever-afters.

This review was awarded an "honorable mention" in our 2026 Student Book Review Competition, held in conjunction with the Centre for New Writing at the University of Leicester. 

Review by Olivia Peachey of "A Short Stay in Hell" by Steven L. Peck

Once I finally had the chance to read Steven L. Peck’s A Short Stay in Hell, I devoured the whole 100-pages-or-so in an evening. Peck’s existential tragedy did not disappoint.

The work is predicated on the idea of a Hell (indeed, I found the novel through a list of unique fictional Hells) that is neither eternal nor violent – in fact it provides everything its inhabitants need. It also contains, however, endless rows and floors of bookshelves: this Hell is a Library of Babel, with one of every book that has been written and could ever be written – meaning more books than there are atoms in our universe. Those within the library can only leave once they find a book that contains their complete life story, without spelling or grammar errors.

The book does not humour the goal of finding one’s life story in this library as a narrative end-goal. Rather, it’s how the humans trapped in this Hell act, and how the story is structured, that reveals the narrative’s true purpose – a meditation on the meaning of eternity, and the effects of such endless monotony on a human’s psyche. The novella sees its protagonist, Soren, reflect from billions of years in the future, establishing that everything he goes on to describe in his first weeks, centuries, and millennia in Hell are from aeons in the past. The initial hope the human prisoners feel in the first days are tinged with doom, which plays out in slow-motion as Peck jumps around Soren’s long, long afterlife.

As the novellas catches up with Soren’s present reflections, he reveals that he has done less in millions on billions of years than he did in a thousand with the people he loved and lost to the bookshelf mazes. The detailed description of human innovations, societies, cults, expeditions, celebrations, etc. fall away as the book nears its close, fulfilling the awful terror spelled out by its introductory pages; the book opens with a man in utter defeat, and pulls the reader along the journey that got him there without a single unnecessary detail, only a careful erosion of hope on a scale like infinity – even if Soren’s life does not even scrape infinity, a fact terrifying by itself.

With its deft use of structure and stark, uncomplicated prose, A Short Stay in Hell is as worthy an interpretation of Hell as any.

About the reviewer
Olivia Peachey is an English undergraduate at the University of Leicester. She’s written professionally for sites such as Game Rant and Dualshockers while focusing on writing poetry in her free time, much of which has also been published online.

This review was awarded an "honorable mention" in our 2026 Student Book Review Competition, held in conjunction with the Centre for New Writing at the University of Leicester. 

Review by Rim Asma Khalifa of "And the Mountains Echoed" by Khaled Hosseini

Khaled Hosseini is an author who doesn't just tell a story but writes about lives marked by tragedy. I have recently come to enjoy his book And the Mountain Echoed, which follows the relationship between Abdullah and Pari, two inseparable siblings who care deeply for each other, with no mother and a father who struggles to give them a life in Afghanistan. Abdullah will always bring a smile to Pari's face, even if it's a small feather that brings her happiness in the journey of loss and fate.

This book differs from Hosseini's other works, as each chapter follows a different character from a different perspective, exploring their fragmented lives and how they connect to the main plot. This gave insight into how others perceive themselves and how they feel about the varied challenges they face. One character I found myself feeling particular empathy for was Parwana (Abdullah and Pari’s stepmother). She was a character I didn’t like initially; in fact, her actions made me think she was horrible. However, reading about her childhood and the major decision she made weighed heavily on the rest of the book.

Moreover, I greatly enjoyed the sibling relationship that Pari and Abduallah shared. It reminded me of my brother a lot and how he cared for me. The writing conveyed his deep affection for his sister and his longing for a better life for her. Abduallah is not only a selfless character but also one who matured even at a young age. The situation he faces is disastrous, but Hosseini always makes it clear that hope lies with these characters.

Overall, this book tells a deep story that will make you long for more. It captures love, relationships, family, and pain that will make you cry for the characters' lives.

About the reviewer
Rim Asma Khalifa is an undergraduate BA English student from the University of Leicester. She enjoys reading, shopping, and crafting story ideas.

This review was awarded an "honorable mention" in our 2026 Student Book Review Competition, held in conjunction with the Centre for New Writing at the University of Leicester. 

Review by Aamani Bommareddy of "Vicky Angel" by Jacqueline Wilson

"I shut my eyes but I can still hear her. I put my hands over my ears but I can still hear her. I can run and run and run but I’ll never be able to get away from her." Jacqueline Wilson’s poignant children's novel Vicky Angel follows fourteen-year-old Jade Marshall as she navigates life after her best friend Vicky’s death; but burdened by feelings of guilt and unable to accept the reality of Vicky’s cruelty towards her, she begins seeing Vicky’s ghost, who wreaks havoc on her life and relationships. With simple and effective writing, Jade’s (painfully relatable) voice is allowed to shine through the narrative; and all her innermost thoughts and emotions, in their truest and ugliest forms, are laid bare.

What made the story most rewarding to read, even as an adult, was Wilson’s resistance to writing characters that fit neatly into moralistic boxes, instead painting the story in the shades of grey that colour real human experiences. Jade’s mum can be neglectful and ignorant but also comes to her support, leading to some of the most heartwarming moments of genuine happiness for Jade. And although Jade’s journey with grief and mental health is complicated by the growing realization of Vicky’s ill-treatment towards her, we’re reminded to separate the real Vicky from the villainous spirit taking her form in Jade’s mind, exaggerated by guilt and poor self-esteem.

For a short novel, Wilson manages to build a set of characters so rich with backstory, that reading it feels like experiencing the real world through Jade’s eyes – in all its messiness and imperfection and warmth and wonder. So, when Jade is finally ready to move on, and Vicky Angel "flaps wings as white as swansdown, waves one last time, and flies away," we can trust that they will be there for her as she starts her new life.

About the reviewer
Aamani Bommareddy is currently an undergraduate student of Journalism and Creative
Writing at the University of Leicester, with a particular interest in literature and music.
Along with journalistic articles and features, she enjoys writing short stories. 

This review was awarded an "honorable mention" in our 2026 Student Book Review Competition, held in conjunction with the Centre for New Writing at the University of Leicester. 

Review by Charlie Black of "Homage to Catalonia" by George Orwell

Orwell delivers a gripping and insightful read in this human, politically sharp and dare I say hopeful account of his time serving the anti-fascists in the Spanish Civil War. Orwell joins a militia soon after arriving in revolutionary Barcelona. What he thinks is a trivial choice soon has ramifications as the ideologies of each faction begin to cause friction, whether for power or moral integrity.

Orwell conveys this web of ideologies well. He names the militias but gives little explanation to their allegiances at first, evoking his own confusion, since he did not even know the philosophy of his own militia until long after he joined. Further confusion is created as he travels back and forth to the many places he is posted. Orwell seems to have the lay of the land but as somebody unfamiliar with Spain’s geography I was often left disorientated. Orwell never loses sight of the human tragedy at the heart of war. In his essay "Looking back on the Spanish war," which served as an epilogue in my copy, he ends with a verse in dedication to a soldier he met in Barcelona.

Regardless of this, Orwell still offers superb analysis of the clashes between these ideologically driven militias. It is clear where his sympathies lie but he provides fair criticism to all. Orwell is, as usual, superbly articulate, often humorous, and astonishingly relevant. It is the sections of socio-political analysis, using the context of Spain to make broader statements about fascism, socialism, and class, that kept me reading. Orwell reminds us that fascism is unsustainable; it is the working class it needs but the working class it will always betray.

What caught me by surprise was how being in the mind of someone living through the lead up to the Second World War connected with me. We live in a turbulent time, and to hear from someone living through a similarly uncertain period was oddly comforting. We are not alone in our disdain for the world. It reminds us that although many then were in the "deep, deep sleep of England," as many are now, there were those like Orwell who saw what was happening inside and outside of the country and stood against it.

I would recommend anybody who is feeling anxious about the state of the world to read Homage to Catalonia, if only for the reassurance that failure does not mean the end.

About the reviewer
Charlie Black is a mature student working towards a BA in English with Creative Writing at the University of Leicester. He really enjoys fantasy and science fiction but will read just about anything.

This review won second prize in our 2026 Book Review Competition, held in conjunction with the Centre for New Writing at the University of Leicester. 

Review by Mellissa Flowerdew-Clarke of "Wilder Girls" by Rory Power

It’s been eighteen months since Raxter School for Girls was put under quarantine after its residents began dying from a mysterious illness. The Tox affects everyone differently: the headmistress’s lips constantly ooze blood; Byatt grows a second spine that protrudes from her back; Reese’s arm becomes covered in silver, reptilian scales; Hetty’s eye fuses shut, and she sometimes feels a strange sensation beneath the closed lid.

Secluded on a small island, Raxter’s remaining inhabitants rely on the navy to drop off limited food and supplies. There is never enough. Venturing beyond the school’s fence to retrieve resources is dangerous, as The Tox continues to spread through both wildlife and landscape. All the while, the girls wait for the cure they were promised.

When Byatt goes missing, Hetty and Reese venture into the infected wilderness to find her, uncovering unsettling truths about Raxter.

In this young adult novel by Rory Power, body horror is constant and vivid but rarely feels gratuitous. Instead, it reflects the girls’ loss of control over both their bodies and their environment. At the same time, there is a strong undercurrent of female resilience. The girls are not passive victims; they adapt, endure, and make difficult decisions in a world that continues to shrink around them.

The core premise of an isolated, single-gender group has drawn comparisons to Lord of the Flies. However, where Lord of the Flies suggests that human beings are inherently savage, Wilder Girls does the opposite. Here, the true monstrosity lies not within the girls themselves, but in the forces acting upon them: The Tox, the isolation, and the institutions willing to abandon them. When violence does occur, it emerges from desperation rather than cruelty, making their relationships feel both fragile and deeply human.

The novel echoes real-world histories of isolation, from leper colonies such as Spinalonga and Kalaupapa to plague quarantine islands like Lazzaretto Vecchio. It also invites comparison with the COVID-19 pandemic, when global quarantine measures sparked debates over civil liberties and collective responsibility. The ethical tension between sacrificing a few for the many is a subtle undercurrent, though the novel resists offering simple answers.

Ultimately, Wilder Girls is not just about infection or survival, but about friendship, endurance, and the struggle to remain human even as the body becomes irrevocably altered. Beneath its horror lies the fragile hope of a world beyond containment.

About the reviewer 
Mellissa Flowerdew-Clarke is an author and dramatist with a penchant for the macabre and a fascination with literary explorations of libertinism, psychopathy, narcissism, and coercive control. She is currently undertaking a PhD in Creative Writing at the University of Leicester, exploring Terror Management Theory in relation to representations of cultism and mass suicide.

This review is the winner of our 2026 Book Review Competition, held in conjunction with the Centre for New Writing at the University of Leicester. 

Review by Jonathan Wilkins of "Salt & Stone" ed. Adriana Ciontea, Maella Cottin and Sam Stone

This is a collection of emotive short stories by Cornish writers. Salt & Stone is a beautifully textured anthology that masterfully captures the rugged, dualistic spirit of Cornwall. This striking compilation explores the profound tension between the region’s shifting maritime elements, salt, and its immovable, ancient heritage, stone. It is a perfect evocation of Cornwall and its magical, mystery world that has been woven into contemporary Cornish life. We see how Cornwall breathes. We see the intoxicating beauty of the coastline and inland, working men and women at sea and at leisure, newcomers and residents who have endured over time.

Salt & Stone flourishes with its vivid description of place. This is all important and is pre-eminent in all the stories. All the writers examine the daily realities of Cornwall’s landscape and history. The "salt" of the collection is real and we can almost taste the invigorating Atlantic winds and rain as they drench the earth; we live amongst the fishing communities, and can imagine through the writer’s creative process the exhilarating beauty of the shoreline. In contrast, the "stone" elements anchor the book in Cornwall’s granite permanence, exploring the enduring legacy of old tin mine workings, megaliths, and the deep-rooted identity of the people who work the land.

What makes Salt & Stone particularly compelling is its stylistic diversity. Seamlessly transitioning between contemporary realism and folklore-infused lyrical prose, the collection ensures that every turn of the page offers a new perspective on Cornish life. The anthology excels at capturing subtle nuances, the balance between traditional heritage and modern regional challenges, the power of the landscape, the charm of the villages, all making it a deeply resonant read for both locals and outsiders.

I adored the way in "Lamorna Glass," I was drawn into the writer's world immediately and with such ease. The prose is perfect, seamlessly inviting us to take part. "Saltwater Grounding" is beautifully written: so sad yet eventually with a renewed purpose, we meet a recent widow reflecting on her life. "The Shifting of the Bar" begins with an expressive description of the local pub before delving into the mystical world Cornwall is famed for. This is an excellent modern-day fairy-tale in every sense.

It was a shame that some of the sublimely written passages were rather shorter than one would have hoped, leaving the reader wanting more. But maybe that is a good thing; we can search for these writers' other works online or at the library. Salt & Stone is a poignant, sensory tribute to Cornwall. It is a highly recommended read for anyone wishing to experience the true, unyielding pulse of the austere southwestern coast and the exhilarating inland scenery through the authentic voices who know it best. 

When you next visit, take it with you.

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.