“It’s the panic that gets you. Makes it hard to trust what you’re seeing.”

Tall gums. Tasman National Park, Tasman Peninsula. May 2021.

Force of Nature by Jane Harper

Much like The Dry, I found this one a gripping little police procedural with a small cast of characters, an intriguing mystery and a suitably claustrophobic setting. Like the earlier novel, the landscape is at the forefront of generating tension. This time around, the dark, cool temperate rainforest of Victoria's east replaces the dry and arid plains of the northwest. However, ghosts of the past remain.

Events move at a cracking pace, and the narrative jumps backwards and forwards across multiple perspectives. Then, finally, the story moves back towards the explanation as to exactly what happened out there in the bush. Harper has chosen a particularly odious bunch of corporate women within which she centres her mystery. Suffice to say, there are plenty of candidates from this small bunch with whom we'd enjoy some comeuppance.

The book deftly treads the line between exciting, engaging and pacy and doesn't outstay its welcome. The villains are suitably villainous, the wounded damaged (but not entirely beyond repair). Our hero Aaron Falk remains aloof but charming and is slowly working his way towards healing. We even get the slightest hint of romance in the air to spice things up. The perfect palate cleanser after a run of the heavier stuff!

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ 1/2

Comments

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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