Tennis Lessons

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Since her mother's death, Lily has withdrawn from the world, trapped between grief and anger. She has to break out of this damaging cycle - but how? This book follows both Lily and Siobhan who live in the same building. Lily perceives Siobhan to be living a wonderfully happy life and takes an interest in her as a distraction from the grief of losing her mother. But Siobhan’s life is not as happy as it seems, she’s caught up in an affair for a few years and is struggling to continue living that way. I think the longest sequence in the book involves a history exam, a Wetherspoons pub and a roundabout. It results in a climax to a number of things that have happened to her and I thought it was just an amazing piece of writing - chaotic and on the edge. Misfit

This is the voice that rings in your ears. Because you never say the right thing. You’re a disappointment to everyone. You’re a far cry from beautiful - and your thoughts are ugly too. For me the strongest parts were when she was among her own peers, whether that was with her best friend or the people she outwardly were her friends but were her tormentors. Many teenage girls know about that balance, and whether the reader knows about this first hand or through observation these relationships felt painfully real. Moreover, I challenge anyone not to relate to how it feels to have a joke not land or say the wrong thing at the worst time, as this character so often experiences.

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Upstairs, Siobhan is consumed by her affair with a married man. Her days revolve around his sporadic texts and rare visits. She barely notices the strange girl who lives below and dawdles in the foyer. Overall, it was a great exploration of character as there wasn’t much in terms of plot. But I loved the writing style and how their pasts were explored, especially Lily’s through mundane memories and conversations with her mum. These moments were witty and full of emotion and that’s what won me over. But Lily is keeping a close eye on her neighbour, whose life seems so much better and more fulfilling than her own. When resentment evolves into something darker and more urgent, she decides to teach Siobhan a lesson... A real person, asking for empathy, is always going to stay unknowable, because no matter how hard you try to comprehend their pain, you'll always be limited by the mechanisms of your own experience”

The point, it seems, is not to create a linear story with a believable plot (though there is a certain amount of this), but rather to create a beautiful, symmetrical formation. Images, metaphors, ideas and characters speak to each other across time and space. There are recurring lines and motifs (the ee cummings line “Not even the rain has such small hands” is one example), and although Lily and Siobhán are separate people, at times they seem to share an overlapping consciousness. Lily wondering “if living will ever ... reveal some new facet that isn’t so unbearable”, is not dissimilar to Siobhán feeling “so inescapably joyless that living seems an unnecessary expenditure of energy”. Lily, recently moved to a flat in Belfast after the death of her mother, is struggling in her isolation. When she encounters Siobhan, a girl who lives in the flat upstairs, Lily perceives her as someone who has a happier, fuller life than her own. Lily fantasises about them forming a friendship, being out for a drink together, but she cannot see any way to bring this about.

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The so-called “pathfinders” were one of the lesser-known elite units of the second world war, but, as Will Iredale reveals in this mesmeric account, their contribution to Britain’s victory was vital. Their dangerous, often deadly task was to fly ahead of allied bombing raids into Germany and drop flares illuminating the key military targets. Iredale skilfully interweaves details of the brave pilots’ lives with a weighty account of British military strategy, which, as this book details, was risky and successful. Upstairs, Siobhán is consumed by her affair with a married man. Her days revolve around his sporadic texts and rare visits. She barely notices the strange girl who lives below and dawdles in the foyer. All of these aspects coalesce to create a text that is rich and absorbing, and point to a writer coming into her own, assured in what it is she is trying to do. For the reader, this is thrilling and engaging. We are carried along by the prose; we trust it knows where it’s going. Niamh Donnelly