Review Category: Books

Jen Williams has previously won the British fantasy award for her novels The Ninth Rain and Bitter Twins, both part of her Winnowing Flame series. Reading her thriller/horror novel The Hungry Dark, we couldn’t help feeling that she probably should have stuck with fantasy writing. While we have to admit that the preface is rather exciting and sets the scene well for a supernatural horror (by including a small reference to Greek mythology). During the eerie and suspenseful preface, this writer could not deny that I was rather optimistic about the rest of the book. However, when I turned the page onto chapter one that optimism was stolen from me.

The book’s narrative focuses on a psychic who has lived a terrifying past, filled with ghostly figures, and frightening events. For years, nothing of the kind occurs again until she finds the dead body of one of the many victims of a series of murders. From there, more and more sinister events start to happen.

If you are a fan of endless character development and a small amount of action, this is the book for you. However, If you are expecting an ominous horror novel with a few big scares, you probably want to look elsewhere.

The narrative was an endless cycle of character development, with the main character rambling on about something irrelevant to the progression of the plot. When something exciting did happen, like the discovery of a murder or a sighting of a ghost-like figure named ‘the headful ones’, the timeline would immediately switch from 2024 (when the book is set) to 2004.

Along with a long-winded way of writing the book, Williams also uses cliched writing techniques that any creative writing students will have been taught to avoid early on. During one of the few exciting moments in the novel, she uses the overdone ‘it was all a dream’ cliche, which any avid reader will be sick of reading by now.

While personally not liking the majority of the book, it did remind us slightly of The Turn of the Screw by Henry James. In both of these novels, there are characters that you can’t help being suspicious of, and also, there is a formidable ambience.

Our final criticism of this book is the way Williams structures the suspense and excitement (important aspects of any horror), all of which are closer to the middle of the book rather than building to a climax.

On the positive side, Williams writes the action-packed parts of the book in a way that is likely going to be enjoyable for most readers. She combines the right amount of suspense, fear and jump scares. These parts gave us the motivation to continue reading the book, which we wouldn’t have otherwise had.

Feminine witchiness meets the dark core of war in Syd Moore’s newest novel The Grand Illusion – the first part of a trilogy focusing on the occultism of the Nazi regime and the shadowy, semi-mythological methods used by the British forces in the 1940s to stave off the impending German invasions. Based in semi-truth, edging itself around the borders of reality and fiction, Moore’s novel considers the sweeping surroundings of the mysterious ‘Operation Cone of Power’- the inclusion of non-military personnel with unusual skills into the armed forces in order to create a fresh defence against the underlying occultism and quasi-religious beliefs driving the Nazi forces.

Moore’s protagonist – Daphne Devine – is summoned from the glitzy world of London showbusiness along with her mentor Jonty to the shadowy underbelly of the British army; trading spooky blackout city streets to the echoing basement of Wormwood Scrubs and the sweeping grounds of Farnham Castle in order to help create the ultimate weapon against the occultism that is empowering the imminent Nazi invasion – the ‘Cone of Power’. Moore weaves a narrative that is at once fictional and not; the truths of those mysterious 1940s meetings crafted just richly enough to appear real, bolstered by facts and statistics and what has clearly been an extensive research task into the possibilities of British WWII operations. Daphne, as one of the only women and far from her showbiz life, struggles to find herself in this world of men; a running theme that Moore has, despite the historical setting of her novel, managed to chime jarringly with a modern female experience.

War is thudding in the background, a constant dull threat plaguing the work of this unlikely brigade working on their unlikely defences, and colours the whole novel with a foreboding sense of darkness and danger. Told through documents – war-room broadcasts, telegrams, calendars, and the journal-style of the main body of the novel – Moore has woven such a deep, sweeping landscape of the Second World War that the palpability of its shadow is imbibed through every word. Consistently considering the comparisons between world war and the personal war that Daphne is fighting against herself as a woman in this situation, and as someone who just wants to collect her scattered family and go home, The Grand Illusion makes a refreshing, innovative continual oscillation between the enormity of war, and the minutiae of the people committed to the machine of it.

Every element of The Grand Illusion is richly and devotedly crafted – Moore’s characters are deliciously three-dimensional with shadowy inner lives and hubris, her settings are detailed into a sense of solid reality, and her complex plot twists towards and away from readers almost naturally, leaving them in the same darkness about the truths of the occult and the operations of war as those who would’ve been actually involved in the 1940s. Daphne’s friendships feel real, the dialogue is terse and funny, and the large cast of characters oscillate around each other like a well-oiled machine, puppeteered in this strange life of friendships, animosities and the threat of war as the guests of the British Army. Romance is more than just a character development point for the female characters, and flies in the face of typical historical-novel romance cliches as Daphne takes control of it herself, and Moore weaves the very core of it into the most striking and important elements of the plot itself. To tie her characters to her plot so tightly is a testament to the skill of Moore’s constructive processes.

Despite being military-based (to an accessible and enjoyable level, humanised by the conflicting experiences and thought processes of her protagonist), the novel is excitingly, darkly witchy. Sacrificial imagery and cliff-top rituals in the dark lend a sense of twisted esotericism to a novel that feels otherwise very masculine and unwavering. The darkness of Moore’s magic illuminates the edges of the militaristic skeleton of the novel and casts shadows into the dark unreachable recesses of occultism and almost cult-like religious orders. By never specifically setting out the truth of these things, instead offering multiple perspectives from different characters (ritual leaders’ blind faith versus the mocking disbelief of the infantry soldiers), Moore allows a reader to make their own decisions on whether the core of The Grand Illusion is purely fiction inspired by a stray occurrence in the depths of WWII, or something more secretive and real. To take such a shred of inspiration from an unconfirmed British operation, a subtle knowledge of Nazi occultism, and to weave a tale so rich and human in the face of evil and darkness, is such a feat of skill that the novel feels as alive in its darkness as its characters do.

The Grand Illusion is a novel of questions – demanding considerations about the nature of human power, and the sources that it can be taken from. Moore questions whether belief itself is enough, whether the power of the mind to convince itself of a reality is the true nature of magic. Following the ‘Cone of Power’ ritual in the 1940s, Nazi Germany changed its course from their planned invasion of Britain to the failed ‘Operation Sea Lion’ – the invasion of Russia which ultimately lost them the war. Moore questions not only the ritual itself, but the nature of it; is magic simply an untapped human skill? Does human consciousness and understanding of reality have latent, untapped power to change fate and the future? Her protagonist Daphne – fighting a fresh personal fight against male dominated spaces, against what romance can mean as a woman unwilling to give herself entirely to a man, against the state and the information it holds about her past and her family – is constantly aware of the swirling, shifting fates around her, and through this strikingly human figure Moore asks readers what elements are out of her control, and how would life be different if she were to discover that, actually, they never were. The spectre of war has brought out the power of humanness in her characters, and Moore is refreshing in her use of this; they are not only pawns in a game they don’t understand, but richly technical, real-feeling human beings whose strange surroundings and occupations have often humorous or frightening impacts on the reality of their lives.

The novel ends with an intentional lack of understanding of the occult, more a mere suggestion that the power to change the future has always lurked in the shadowy corners of human understanding. Daphne is summoned again, back to the war machine to work on something else – assuredly the setup for the sequel. War still lingers, threatening and bleak, while the warm snippets of the earlier romance colour Daphne’s recollections. The novel’s plot forms a question, and Moore’s characters are operatives in its answer. By the end of The Grand Illusion there are so far none, but instead a quietly solid promise that these powers have so many answers to yield and experiences to colour that the following two novels will be as richly structured, tightly plotted, extensively detailed, and lyrically composed as their explosive opener. Moore has not only captured the unknown, but has made the mundane seem like a fresh battleground of promise in a way that has made The Grand Illusion genuinely innovative and exciting, enjoyably shadowy, and strikingly human from the moment that Daphne arrives to the moment that she and readers part.

THE GRAND ILLUSION is available from April 4th

Click cover to pre-order through Amazon.co.uk

Analeigh Sbrana’s Lore of the Wilds is a twisty, cosy female-fronted fantasy romance with a deliciously rich setting and impressively thorough worldbuilding. These sprawling fantasy landscapes are inhabited by all manner of quintessential fantasy creatures and tightly created characters – Sbrana has created an expansive, immersive world in which to play out the deftly tied strands of her plot and the subtle real-world social commentary that runs through it all. The first part of a duology, the novel expertly weaves a plot rich and complex enough that, by the end, the stakes and setup of the second are already high and dense.

Lore of the Wilds opens in the fantastical Duskmere; at a glance an idyllic woodland setting, yet reveals itself early on to be essentially a prison for the humans of the novel, who are held without any magic or understanding of the world by the controlling and all-powerful fae race. Sbrana alludes to these deep political undertones through her main character, the titular Lore. Lore is a young black woman, well aware of her own mind and worth, who runs a cosy apothecary and helps the running of Duskmere’s orphanage while fighting to change the psyches of those around her with her understanding that Duskmere is sheltered, unreal, and there is more to life than that which the fae have allowed the humans to experience.

Blending the quintessential fantasy tropes of secretive political tensions, ties to family and honour and a sense of duty, Sbrana’s novel opens with its stakes very clear and its protagonist determined. As catastrophes begin to plague Duskmere and Lore is pulled away to work in the castles of the fae, these early-start plot strands begin to slink around each other in a manner pleasantly intriguing. Black female protagonists are typically underrepresented in the fantasy genre, so straight away Sbrana’s novel feels fresher, more powerful for giving an unwavering voice to those who the tropes of fantasy often don’t forefront while comedically drawing attention to the subtle differences and difficulties that Black characters would face in fantasy settings. It is a subtle suggestion, a quiet attention to detail that opens an entirely new dimension of fantasy.

The magical element of Lore of the Wilds comes into play while Lore is cataloguing the fae library; not quite understanding the nature of it or why fae have it and humans don’t, she is tasked with finding the magical tomes and bring them back to the castle authority. The grand, sweeping setting of the library with its stained-glass windows through which Lore watches the seasons slowly pass and dusty misalignment that she progressively cleans and fixes makes the vastness of the castle and her task seem human and small enough to deal with. Sbrana humanises the political tensions, the lack of understanding, and the shimmer of magic through her deliciously three-dimensional protagonist. Lore searches for magic for the fae, while nurturing a realistic and rebellious drive to find answers and power for herself in order to set her people free. Tied to those she has left behind in Duskmere and faced with the promise of understanding, Lore becomes at one with the setting and drive of the novel, often alone for great stretches, and as a protagonist becomes deeply comfortable and enjoyably relatable, with a subtle suggestion of feminism driving Sbrana’s construction of her.

Lore is aware that, as a woman, she faces additional difficulties, even more so as a Black human, and yet, does not particularly seem to let it affect her or her work. It is an interesting suggestion that female protagonists don’t change the fundamental concepts and tropes of fantasy novels, rather just offer a fresh lens to view them through. There is an enjoyably innate femininity to Sbrana’s style as well. Written often in a lyrical style and given to stretches of imagination and dreams, Sbrana’s writing is richly complementary to the subject matter, and means that when strands of hidden magic start to call for Lore by name, it seems realistic and reasonable even when it is left pleasantly intriguing and inexplicable. This first phase of the novel strikes a harmony between the insurmountable and confusing, and the strength of the humanness.

Whilst living at the castle and facing human-fae racial tensions and concern for the ongoing struggles in Duskmere, Lore meets the initial romantic interest, Asher – a fae guard tasked with watching over her and ensuring her own task is completed. Asher, while not necessarily initially very friendly, adds a dimensionality to the novel that balances perfectly with the excessiveness and fear associated with Lore’s task of cataloguing the library for magic. Sbrana sets Asher and Lore up almost straight away on a quintessential ‘enemies-to-lovers’ path; while appearing to dislike each other on the basis of race and station, taut dialogue, comically clashing personalities, charming self-denial and tenuous flirting suggest immediately to a reader that this is not the case. Lore and Asher are continually drawn together almost against their will – Asher is tasked with taking her to the market, watching over her during an autumn festival, and making sure she is comfortable to work. Again, the lyricism of Sbrana’s descriptive authorship and often startling richness of her settings give a sense of high fantasy to even the mundane exchanges between the two, with descriptions of magically-infused festivities beneath the moon and bustling, sensually rich market trips giving depth to their interactions and allowing their romance to blossom in a way that feels ultimately natural despite the initial ridiculousness of them bonding. Sbrana ensures that Lore never falls into the trap of a romanced protagonist and forgets the depth of the strands holding her there – even preoccupied with Asher, Lore remains driven by her work and drive to free her people and retains an impressive three-dimensionality that ensures a reader is never alienated by her behaviour or personal reasonings.

Lore’s personal drive and suspicion of the fey is ultimately the key factor in the eventual escape that she and Asher have to make from the castle, newly armed with magic and a deeper understanding of fey villainy and the need to save her people. Sbrana’s fantasy worldbuilding is showcased as the two travel across perilous mountains, tend to their wounds around campfires in caves, and see off bandits seeking to return them and their magic to the castle. Lore develops the magic she can wield, still not understanding it, while Asher teaches her to fight. Their romance builds as they travel, heating up their tiny sleeping quarters and smouldering over campfire discussions. The magic begins to blossom as well, revealing ties to Lore’s ancestry and the cycles of the moon and stars through the night sky. Lore of the Wilds continues to have an enriching, delicate femininity informing the harsher tropes of the novel; an interesting and powerful balance and unique allure.

Lore and Asher arrive eventually, romance built to a point of possessiveness following a steamy kiss one night and the stakes higher than ever now they are fugitives, to Asher’s home town, where they take refuge in the ‘Exile Inn’, run by an old family friend. They join forces with Asher’s old friends Isla and Finndryl – a pair of fey twins who embody one of the political tensions between light fey and dark fey – Isla is a beautiful, comedic light fey, while Finndryl is brooding, unfriendly, and intimidating with his huge dark wings and ability to use magic. Finndryl is similar to the way Asher was described earlier on in the novel, suggesting that Sbrana’s prioritisation of her female characters has left the male ones slightly one-note, given to the ‘sexy bad-boy’ trope to increase the romantic intrigue, for it seems immediately that Finndryl dislikes Asher and has an interest in Lore and her stolen knowledge. In this sense, the eventual love-triangle seems inevitable.

The Exile Inn forms the setting for the next phase of the novel, where this found-family of humans and fey collectively work out a course of action for saving Duskmere from the tyranny of the fey, and to return the Exile Inn to its former glory. Again, Sbrana has humanised a sweeping, insurmountable task with a smaller, more human one and uses it to develop her characters – their interactions are amusing and charming as they drink together into the night, cook in the Inn’s kitchens, and visit the dense, sprawling markets of the town. Lore and Asher’s romantic tensions and the blossoming friendship she shares with Isla give the harsh realities of the novel a quainter, more exciting human edge, as does the improving fortunes of the Inn itself as a result of Lore’s attempts to restore it to its halcyon days. At the Inn, the plot builds on multiple levels – magically, as Finndryl teaches Lore the source of magic and how to wield it; politically, as Lore uses this magic to scry in the sweeping forests to see her people and learns that they are held captive in the castles of the fey, and romantically; Asher is away holding off bandits, and the attention of Lore switches slowly to the dimly lit evenings in the basement poring over magical documents with the previously aloof Findryll. There is a hint of the earlier enemies-to-lovers trope, with Finndryl softening slowly just as Asher did in the castle.

The pace of the book begins to lose itself somewhat here, becoming slightly swamped in the depth and complexity of its own plot. Where earlier Sbrana’s sweeping fantasy was able to develop under its own natural speed, inching across terrain and deepening between characters, it becomes almost frantic when Lore manages to plot out, break into, break back out of, and return home from the Fey Queen’s castle to rescue her old friend Grey in the space of a single chapter. The Fey Queen had up until this point not been part of the lore, and doesn’t seem to return in a meaningful way once Grey has been rescued. The suddenly rapid pace of the novel, combined with the depth and richness of Sbrana’s worldbuilding clash heavily enough to impact on the reader’s ability to suspend their disbelief in the fantasy of the novel. The Fey Queen element of the story is equally rich in magic – Grey is a human held in alchemical thrall, Lore executes a complex journey and plan to reach the castle and employs her magic to hold herself away from the Queen and rescue Grey, but the almost frenetic pace of it all occurring makes it difficult to properly immerse a reader, and to feel the full weight of these occurrences. It is almost a shame, since the rich background of the Fey Queen keeping human pets is a deeply interesting and spooky element that could have been elevated to the same sweeping high fantasy of the magical library. It seems as though Sbrana has discovered a need to have Grey in the forefront of the plot and has achieved his presence by any means possible. Once they return, it is similarly glossed over by Finndryll and even Grey himself, even though in the timescale of the novel, Lore had been gone for two weeks or more. It adds a sense of urgency and drama to the steadily tightening plot, however, and is interesting when considering the subtly feminist suggestions that Lore represents that she is the one to rescue a man from a castle, rather than the expected other way around.

Grey joining the group at the Inn coincides with Asher’s return, and elevates this cosy, tight-knit found family. Readers become fully immersed in the interpersonal tensions and friendships, in the confused romantic feelings of Lore, and, in the forefront, the now imminent attempt to save the humans of Duskmere from the fey. The plot and occurrences of the novel has been steadily darkening as Lore comes to understand the true reaches of the fey tyranny and the possibilities of a magic that she doesn’t understand – war is building in Lore of the Wilds, but so is the humanity that has propelled this mismatched group into it in the first place. Powerful ideas of freedom and duty swirl around stolen moments of steamy romance and soul-searching questions of origin and purpose.

The culmination of the novel comes with the attempt to break the humans out of the fey castle, and is again in the twisting quintessential fantasy style, all brought together by the greater good. Sbrana leans into the darkness she has been cultivating when the group find a number of human women captive in the fey dungeons, used for fertility research and theories in what is a surprisingly sinister, almost dystopian turn to a novel so imbibed with magic. It is an ingenious and unexpected twist, and as the machinations of the plot come to fruition it is clear that Sbrana has engineered everything to point in the directions that they discover by the end. The women are held by the true villain of the novel, a plot twist that is almost entirely impossible to see coming and perfectly fantastical in its set-up without seeming contrived or unbelievable. Darkly lyrical prose and threatening dialogue twist around sweeping realisations and plot implications as the true malevolence is revealed and blossoms into its full form. The unveiling of a core, seemingly unstoppable villain in all its dark glory from the deepest, most rupturing twist of plot is a stunning end to the novel, a gut-punch of panicked questions and bitter understanding.

The ending of Lore of the Wilds is the ultimate cliffhanger, and a perfect set-up for Sbrana’s planned sequel. By the end, it is clear how every element of the novel has been half of a whole – be it the romantic tussling between Finndryl and Asher, the core and source of magic itself, or the intentionally incomplete knowledge that Lore has of her own people and background. Sbrana has given her audience just enough to understand the immediate, and with the second appears to promise an understanding of the sweeping branches of knowledge and machinery that has been driving it. Lore of the Wilds ends with shattering implications, and reels under the weight of its own twists. Rich, real characters and their deep bonds with each other bridge the chasms that darkness and evil have broken into the fabric of Sbrana’s fantasy world. Lore, despite her difficulties, remains as strong as she was at the beginning, and the found family of friends and lovers remains as tight and determined as they were at their formation.

Ultimately successful despite some very minor issues with pacing and timekeeping, Sbrana’s novel is a cosy entrance to a world that mutates and evolves into a thickness of evil that means a reader, by the time they leave, are just as weathered and worldly as her characters have become. The richly built and established world stands as a reminder that the events of Lore of the Wilds are not over, they are merely – as they have been throughout the entire novel, subtly and quietly – just brewing to fruition.

LORE OF THE WILDS is out now from Harper Collins

Click cover to order from Amazon.co.uk

Published with almost indecent haste just a few weeks after the airing of the TV episode, Esmie Jikiemi-Pearson’s novelisation of Ncuti Gatwa’s Christmas Day debut full Doctor Who episode The Church on Ruby Road breaks with recent BBC Books tradition, swerving the Target Books paperback format of more recent releases (don’t worry, Who fans, a more standard paperback is due in the summer), arriving as a big, photo-cover hardback, albeit a slim one that runs to a tight 150-odd pages.

Whilst never reaching the inventive heights of James Goss’ recent fabulously entertaining novelisation of The Giggle, the third (and best) of last year’s David Tennant/Catherine Tate 60th anniversary specials, Ruby Road is a highly readable warm hug of a book that deftly captures the fantasy-lite style of the episode itself, a featherweight story that served to introduce Gatwa’s fifteenth Doctor and his new (if temporary) companion Ruby, played on-screen by Millie Gibson. Like the best of this new generation of Who novelisations, Ruby Road takes time to delve deeper into the psyche of its lead characters, especially Ruby the foundling, and Jikiemi-Pearson adds a useful backstory to her character as she navigates her way into the weird world of this strange and lively new man who leads her into a bizarre encounter with baby-eating goblins in the sky. Gatwa’s Doctor is perhaps harder to pin down at this early stage, and he occasionally reads as a little generic, but that’s often the problem writing for a character who is so often defined by the performance of the actor playing him on screen.

What’s most interesting about the book is the fact that it leans clearly and heavily into the new direction we can expect from the series going forward with references to the events to the events of both The Giggle and Wild Blue Yonder, where the Doctor evoked an old superstition to keep the so-called Not-Things at bay and, in doing so, opened up a doorway into our Universe through which any number of supernatural/fantasy creatures are likely to crawl. Angry hardcore fans might baulk at this new look for the show but Doctor Who has always been built on change, subtly telling different types of story whilst rarely deviating from the core concept of the show established way back in 1963. Jikiemi-Pearson, working from Russell T Davies’ script, has picked up on the clues and hints laid throughout the story and set the scene for what’s to come in the next couple of years.

The Church on Ruby Road is a well-written, affectionate book, and if it isn’t as memorable a story as previous Davies-era Doctor debuts like Rose and The Christmas Invasion (both already novelised), the book at least guarantees a very pleasant afternoon with a cup of tea and a plate of jammy dodgers as it takes us off into the next stage of Doctor Who’s infamous trip of a lifetime.

THE CHURCH ON RUBY ROAD is available now from BBC Books.

Republished for its tenth anniversary, this novel by Aiden Truss (who wrote the award-winning short film Pareidolia) reads as fresh as ever and gives a world in which the Underworld is as much of a political hotspot as the UK parliament.

Priest, one of Hell’s demons, decides he wants to experience life as a mortal for a short time. So he picks a young woman, Rose, sleeping rough after a lifetime of abuse and nasty experiences. He transfers his powers to her so he can walk amongst the human race. However, all hell is literally breaking loose in Hades, as archdemons and lesser entities are fighting it out to take control of the Underworld as Lucifer has gone missing.

While on the surface, Gape could appear to be another Bad Omens-style ‘demons on Earth’ romp, it’s actually more involving than that. Characters are intently developed and the jealousy and hierarchy evident in Hell makes for entertaining reading. The pacing has a cinematic quality, with the story switching focus from character to character. The action is described in enthralling detail and often gets very gruesome. Despite the gore, there’s also enough humour to lighten things occasionally, with the dialogue in particular standing out and darkly comedic.

If you missed the book ten years ago, now’s the perfect time to catch up.

GAPE is out now. You can purchase it here.  

Manchester is beset by strange events. People are flying, albeit briefly. Others spontaneously combust yet survive with no memory of what happened. When questioned, all they remember is having a quiet night in watching Lawrence of Arabia. And dead bodies are going missing. Who better than the skilled team from The Stranger Times to investigate? And quickly, as it seems erstwhile editor Vincent Banecroft has only a few days to solve the mystery before he is dragged off for an eternity of suffering.

You could be forgiven for wondering if author C.K. McDonnell could continue the high standards set in the previous three novels of The Stranger Times series, but fear not, as the fourth instalment, Relight My Fire, is perhaps the best since the original.

Whereas the previous two books have been rather complicated in places, with a multitude of characters with an ever-increasing number of plot threads coupled with an ever-expanding mythology, Relight My Fire is a much tighter, more centred affair. Here, we have a clear baddie, a sex-crazed witch with a penchant for reanimating the dead. The team is also together for the majority, leading to more of the entertaining interactions that were perhaps missing in the previous novel. And there is less involvement with the Founders, the powerful group that controls this world. This means there is air for McDonnell’s prose to breathe, allowing his warmth and wit room to luxuriate. The relationships between the members of The Stranger Times are by far the best aspect of these works, and with Relight My Fire, you get that in abundance. And also a ghoul named Brian.

RELIGHT MY FIRE is out now.

Following the recent book on Conan the Barbarian, author John Walsh turns his attention to one of the greatest British films ever, Robin Hardy’s 1973 movie The Wicker Man. You’d likely think there’s nothing left to be said about the bone-fide cult classic, but Walsh manages to take us through the making of the picture while shedding some new light onto the classic.

As with his previous releases, Walsh takes us through every stage of the film’s production, and there are plenty of interviews with the creatives – including the late director Robin Hardy – who tell the troubles they overcame to get the firm favourite into the world. An interesting addition is author David Pinner, who wrote the novel Ritual, which formed the basis of the story developed by Anthony Shaffer and Hardy. The interview he gives is both informative and entertaining. We also get some insight into real-life pagan rites, particularly those involving large men-shaped structures, adding more elements of reality to the tale.

Reproducing images that have been largely unseen for decades, the book provides more than enough to keep even the most hardened of fans (this writer included) satisfied. It’s arguably the most in-depth of Walsh’s ‘Official Story of’ books to date, and each page is a revelation. It also covers the movie’s rebirth (in keeping with the film’s theme), with a handy graphic detailing the varying shots in the three separate cuts of the movie and some more scenes that never made any cut and are now presumably lost.

For fans of The Wicker Man, this is a must-buy, but it’s also highly recommended to anyone who loves cinema, as it tells a universally relatable story of the struggle to get a certain vision up on the screen.