Book launch – save the date!

I’m delighted to announce I’ll be launching Plashy Fen on Saturday 10 October at Washingpool Farm Shop, Bridport, from 11am-12 noon.

It’s a particularly appropriate venue because one of the key locations in my new novel is a village farm shop, run by Derek and Maggie Galpin.

Like the Holland family who run Washingpool, my fictional couple started the business years ago, way before farm shops were a ‘thing’ and farm-to-plate food became fashionable.

Derek and Maggie were far ahead of the curve and worked as hard as a pair of oxen to get where they are now.

Things happen at the farm shop in Plashy Fen, an imagined Dorset village overlooking the sea.

A jar of olives get spilt on the parish council welcome pack that has been put on the counter. And a couple of hoity-toity incomers’ children scrump the apples on display, much to the annoyance of Derek’s sister, Lindy, who works there part-time.

Lindy is the glue that holds the disparate yet desperately connected village together.

She works at the farm shop part time, in between looking after grandchildren and studying for a back-to-nursing course.

The Holland family started their business in 1971, when Lindy would have been still at primary school.

When I first arrived in Bridport as a young reporter back in the early 80s, I remember the Washingpool market stall and shop in West Street.

The business has grown dramatically. Now, it’s an award-winning farm shop on the outskirts of town, with a restaurant,  two holiday cottages and a caravan and motorhome site, set on a 80-acre working farm produging its own Devon Ruby Red beef, eggs and an array of fruit, vegetables, flowers and potatoes.

I’m looking forward to seeing you if you can make it on 10 October. If you’ve already bought a book (it comes out on 29 September), I’ll be happy to sign it but I will have copies available.

And just a thought, if you were thinking of coming along, you could book in for lunch…

All the best.

Maddie x

Why Plashy Fen?

The title of my new novel, Plashy Fen, came to me in the middle of the night a few years ago.

I wasn’t happy with the working title I’d given it, as who the hell did I think I was, calling it Dylan’s Wake, in a nod to the author of the wonderful Under Milk Wood, which is one of my favourite books.

And anyway, early beta readers told me they thought it was going to be about the funeral party of someone called Dylan.

I’ve been writing a column for The People’s Friend for over a decade now, after the then editor emailed me out of the blue telling me she’d seen my blog, The World From My Window, and would I like to write for the magazine?

She said (and it’s etched in my mind): ‘I think you might just be the writer we’ve been looking for! I like your ability to write with humour about the minutiae of daily life, but with a touch of emotional depth, too.’

So I introduced my village to Friend readers as Lush Places, named after the fictional newspaper column by the hapless and fictional nature writer William Boot, who, through a case of mistaken identity, becomes a war correspondent for The Daily Beast.

Lush Places from Bluebell Hill

Boot is the main character in Scoop by Evelyn Waugh, which was published in 1938. It’s dated now and very politically incorrect but I loved the juxtaposition of a naïve, gentle writer in the cut-and-thrust world of horrid Fleet Street hacks out to make a name for themselves in a forgotten corner of the world.

I was redrafting my latest novel about Lush Places’s seaside sibling when the new village’s name – and book title – came to me during the early hours of the morning.

There is a line in one of Boot’s nature columns – ‘feather-footed through the plashy fen passes the questing vole’ – which has come to signify an affected style when it comes to nature writing.

I guess the the term plashy fen must have stuck with me. It’s become a bit of a personal joke and serves the purpose of making me check my prose style every now to make sure I’m not coming across as a complete jerk.

So that’s the story of how Plashy Fen got its name.

But the characters, well, they’re a different story…

The Odyssey and my Greek obsession

They might be giants…

We’re off to see the new film, The Odyssey, on Monday night.

I’m very excited – and a bit relieved too.

It’s the kind of epic that needs to be seen on the big screen but I’m currently in south west France, so where to see it as VOST (original version with French subtitles)?

The town Cahors is about fifty minutes away but there’s a cinema there, the film is on so I’ve booked tickets to see it.

It tells the ancient Greek myth of Odysseus and his epic ten-year voyage from Troy to his island kingdom of Ithaka. I know know it’s a Hollywood blockbuster treatment of the story and the characters will all be speaking with American accents, but I really don’t care.

Homer’s Odyssey is, in my opinion, the greatest story ever told but it’s one of those movies that directors have shied away from making for far too long.

Director Christopher Nolan (Oppenheimer, The Dark Night and the wonderful Interstellar) has already caused controversy among people who haven’t even seen it yet, mainly because a Black woman (Lupita Nyong’o) has been cast as Helen of Troy.

The Odyssey is, of course, a classic Greek myth – probably grounded in some historical truth but lots of it made up and embellished along the way. It’s a story.

(If you want to know about the ‘real’ Helen, I thoroughly recommend the excellent book, Helen of Troy by Bettany Hughes.)

I suspect the ranting against the film tells us more about the people complaining and their lack of imagination than it does about the director’s casting choices.

And anyway, in Homer’s Odyssey, Helen doesn’t have much of a part to play – that’s all done and dusted in The Iliad (which was reflected in the film Troy, with Brad Pitt as Achilles and Sean Bean as the wily Odysseus rather than Matt Damon who takes the lead role in this latest film).

Greek mythology has been told and retold ever since ancient ‘Greek’ tribes first sat round a fire and listened to a storyteller taking them on a magical journey.

My first brush with Greek mythology was through Enid Blyton’s Tales of Long Ago, a literary gem (not) but, as a child, I loved it. The stories sparked an obsession with the ancient Greeks, leading me to quietly convince myself that Jason and the Argonauts was the best film of all time.

I loved this film!

Much later, as a confirmed landlubber, I learned how to sail so I could act as Mr Grigg’s first mate and potter around the Ionian just so I could feel part of ancient Greek mythology or at least its landscape.

He’d bought a share in a yacht called Nestor, the elderly warrior who features in both The Iliad and The Odyssey, in partnership with the aptly-named Odysseus Sailing.

Sailing towards the wild pig island of Atokos. I’m not sure where from, it could be Ithaca.

We – and family and friends – had many happy weeks over the years on this boat, until she sank in 2020 in a rare medicane – a tropical-like cyclone – called Ianos. She had been tied up to a jetty in Kioni, Ithaka. Luckily, we weren’t on her at the time and neither was the family that chartered her. But Nestor was unsalvageable.

Before then, in 2012, not long after Mr Grigg retired, we let our house in Dorset and went to live in Corfu for a year, close to the beach that lays claim to being the one where a naked Odysseus washed up and was taken in by Princess Nausicaa.

Sunset over Corfu.

Thanks to a laptop and an internet connection, I could carry on working and swan around during my coffee break, imagining myself in a diaphanous gown like a Greek goddess.

Blatant plug alert, I wrote a book about our twelve month adventure: Good Morning Corfu: A Year on a Greek Island. (Living the dream was great but not quite like I imagined. Be careful what you wish for.)

The view from our house in Corfu.

Later, we renamed our new rescue dog Artemis after the goddess of hunting, wild animals and nature and then wondered why she’d wander off in the olive groves at the first opportunity.

We’ve gone up the River Acheron (near Parga) towards the entrance to the Underworld. We ducked under a fence to visit the then-closed Necromanteion and imagined Odysseus summoning up the spirit of the blind prophet Tiresias to tell him how to get home.

We’ve visited the oracle at Delphi, the royal tombs at Vergina – the site of ancient Aigai, final resting place of Philip II, the father of Alexander the Great – and trudged up Mount Olympus almost as far as the Plateau of the Muses but were thwarted by deep snow.

We went on a cheap coach holiday to Turkey just so I could visit the site of Troy. We went on a similar tour to Sicily mainly for the Greek temples.

Mr Grigg knows I get much more excited wandering around a hot amphitheatre than going to a fancy restaurant.

In 2011, I even studied classics and ancient history at graduate level as a mature student. This was a mistake, to be fair, as I really struggled with learning ancient Greek. I was in over my head, the other students at Exeter University were way too clever and I realised with a heavy heart that I wasn’t up to it and that academia was just not my natural neighbourhood.

But I still love anything to do with Greek mythology. I’m particularly taken with modern interpretations and retelling, particularly novels by women like Margaret Attwood (The Penelopiad), Pat Barker (The Voyage Home) and Natalie Haynes (A Thousand Ships), and also Claire North and The Songs of Penelope trilogy.

My favourite poem is Ithaka by C P Cavafy, a metaphor for savouring life’s journey. I read it at my nephew’s wedding last year.

The Odyssey is an adventure story. It’s full of monsters, trials and tribulations, desire, determination, courage, folly and the burning need to get back home. There is something in it for everyone. And that’s the whole point.

The story has been – and will continue to be – presented in so many ways. This fantastic tale is kept alive by the retelling and reshaping.

There is no ‘right’ interpretation.

I hope I will enjoy this almost three-hour film on Monday. I’m sure I will as long as the seats are comfortable. I’ll just suspend my disbelief, immerse myself in a powerful soundtrack and let the story take me to Ithaca.

May book reviews

I’m ploughing my way through another long book, which I’m enjoying but haven’t finished yet.

It’s The Calamity Club by Kathryn Stockett, who wrote The Help. It turns out her latest novel, which has just been published, is longer than I first thought.

I’m also in the final copy edit stage of my own novel, which is being published in the autumn. Can’t say too much about it yet but I will reveal all in due course.

At the same time, I’m doing some in-depth research for a narrative non-fiction story where the ancestor I share with Ernest Hemingway will take centre stage. This is a project involving a half-circumnavigation of the world so will take a few years.

I’ve read three books this month but only one of them is worth telling you about. The other two were thrillers but not very thrilling.

So here goes. And it is a good ‘un.

Whistler by Ann Patchett *****

Contemporary fiction (304 pages). Publication date expected 2 June 2026

A chance meeting in a New York art gallery leads the fifty-something protagonist into a myriad of memories in this quietly reflective novel about family, relationships and love.

English teacher Daphne and her husband realise the elderly man who appears to be stalking them is, in fact, her ex-stepfather, book editor Eddie Triplett, who she hasn’t seen since she was nine. The encounter sends Daphne down unexpected paths, sifting through a painful period in her childhood and a dramatic incident she’s never really talked about with anyone else since.

Her conversations and interactions with Eddie – a lovely, kind man – enable Daphne to think about her past and make sense of everything that happened all those years ago and the complex layers – and people in her life – that underpin it.

It’s an astonishing novel and Patchett is an astonishing writer, who takes something so relatively simple and transforms it into a deep and meaningful story about what it is to be loved and respected. I coldn’t put it down.

Thank you to NetGalley and the publishers for an advance review copy of Whistler.

April book reviews

Three novels this month, one of which I actually bought myself rather than relying on my usual free NetGalley source.

A mixed bag in subject matter and tone but all excellent. I’ve enjoyed these books very much.

Some taut thrillers to look forward to next month, along with some highfalutin literary offerings, among them There Are Rivers In The Sky by Elif Shafak, which has been recommended by a friend.

The News From Dublin by Colm Tobin *****

(Literary fiction, short stories – 304 pages. First published 31 March 2026)

A collection of short stories of varying lengths from Colm Tobin is worth several hours of anyone’s time.

He writes so beautifully about life, love and families in a way that few authors can manage to pull off – no obvious plot, with beginning, middle and end, just a very satisfying insight into the lives and worlds of the people he inhabits.

Thoughtful, nuanced and unputdownable. It felt like I was eavesdropping on private conversations, getting to know more and more about the main character and those around them as I read on.

Thank you to NetGalley and the publishers for a copy of this lovely book.

Kendal Acts Up by Ros Huxley ****

(Romcom – 341 pages. Published July 2025)

Forty-something orphan Kendal Tudge, down on her luck and out of sync with working life in London, inherits a flat by the sea in Dorset.

Could a move down to the Jurassic Coast be the answer to all her (many) prayers? It could be – but there’s one big problem. Her late Uncle Clem’s home is a warden-controlled flat and residents have to be over sixty to live there.

So when she decides to lie about her age, Kendal’s transformative journey begins. Can she shed her irresponsible, intolerant and hedonistic skin to become a better person and live in contentment alongside her older peers?

Or will she be found out and castigated for her deceit?

Throw in a good looking warden by the name of Gary, some eccentric neighbours and new-found friends, this rom-com will have you laughing out loud and rooting for Kendal all the way.

I’m a bit biased, because I know the author, but this debut novel deserves to be read more widely. Heck, it could even become a great little television series, with Kendal Tudge as the unlikely heroine.

A well-written and ingeniously plotted debut. Let’s hope there’s much more to come.

The Things We Never Say by Elizabeth Strout *****

(Literary fiction – 224 pages. Expected publication 5 May 2026)

I am hugely in love with Elizabeth Strout and her style of writing. I adored Olive Kitteridge and Olive Again although I was not so keen on Lucy Barton until the pandemic when along came Lucy By The Sea.

Her latest novel, The Things We Never Say, introuces us to Artie Dam, a thoughful, kind and decent history teacher in his late fifties. Artie is married with one-grown up son. He is popular (in the main) with his students but finds himself increasingly out of step with a baffling world and the people around him.

Artie makes a devastating, personal discovery, having already felt, intuitively, that things are off with his life.

Set against a backdrop of divisive and an unbelievable direction in US politics, The Things We Never Say is bang up-to-date, with fears for the future and bafflement at how the world has got to where it is.

Strout writes quietly, yet beautifully, about melancholic situations which often lie beneath the veneer of ordinary, everday life in a small town.

The Things We Never Say reminded me of Stoner, the 1965 novel by John Williams – deep and impactful and with a quiet, unassuming teacher at its heart.

For me, this is Strout’s best novel yet.

Thank you to NetGalley and the publishers for an advance review copy of this novel. It will stay with me for a long time.