What a delightful, funny, touching book. I loved Mr and Mrs Ali - their bickering, their wisdom, their compassion. This was a magical depiction of a way of life that is so foreign and yet so familiar.

'Oh, it is still a big family and they all live together, too,' said Mr Raju. Their faces fell.
Mr. Ali nodded and suddenly remembered. 'Ha, ha!' he said. 'There is one important detail I forgot to mention. His mother is no more. She has gone to heaven.'
He pointed a finger up towards the sky.
Mr Raju was still frowning, but his wife brightened up.
'You mean...' she began.
'That's right, interrupted Mr Ali, 'your daughter won't have a mother-in-law. You know what they say: a woman without a mother-in-law is a very fortunate daughter-in-law.'

Mr Malik has a secret. In fact, he has several that the narrator reveals only when we need to know them. Generating compassion and even concern for him, each new revelation tells us more about this unassuming, gentle man. Our appreciation of his worth grows through the pages of an entertaining and endearing story. There must be a happy ending - but who for?

It is a little-appreciated truth that a bad hairstyle neither reflects nor affects the heart within. Passions burned as fiercely in Mr Malik's breast as in those of other men.
For the last three years Mr Malik - brown, short, round and balding though he may be - has been passionately in love with Rose Mbikwa.

Cross the thresholds of time, space and perception with this magical mystery tour de force, combining elements of Celtic and Greek mythology. The journey of discovery becomes a quest for purpose and self-realisation, as well as a detective story for a missing person. You may find yourself experiencing a sudden yearning for a holiday in Greece!

In that case he must be standing exactly where Aled had stood, eight or ten days ago, looking through his eyes at an artifact that Briggana herself might have seen, might have touched. He had found them both. The three of them were reunited, he thought, aware of the thudding of his heart. They were together, but of course only in place, separated by the veils of time, a medium experienced as fluid but which hardens into an opacity as impenetrable after a few hours or days as after fifteen hundred years. Only memory can see through time, move in it with open eyes. Without memory we can only circle endlessly round the present moment.

Spinster Valeria, 68, approves of nothing and nobody until she falls for the village potter but she has a feisty rival in Ibolya, 58, the inn-keeper who flaunts her breasts to increase beer sales! This love triangle is the talk of the village until the arrival of an ambitious chimney sweep further complicates matters. Light, highly entertaining and proof that you are never too old for love.

Her neighbours! The most immoral, unreliable, uninformed, uninspired, and insane group of has-beens, alcoholics, paedophiles, perverts, unwed mothers, sissies, and Gypsies she had ever known. Her thoughts on this point were not exaggeration. She had lived in the village her entire life. She knew the village's citizens for what they were -a shiftless group of malcontents, maladroits to the last scruffy-necked man, overweight woman and unclean child.

This very funny first novel reads not quite like its heroine, 24 year-old Nina, would sound but definitely as she might write her thoughts down; describing her struggles with the perennial problems of life, work (none), men (ditto) and (traditionally minded) parents. It should be filmed: but only if the budget stretches to including Nina's big Indian adventure.

The rules of the road were that there were no rules! You had to dodge the other road-users to get to your ultimate destination, having to deal with with all the numerous obstacles that got in the way. There was no road safety system in force like in England. Oh God. It was all a bit much to take on board, especially for us first-time visitors.

This is an off-the-wall tale of an unusual flock of sheep, trying to find out who killed their beloved shepherd. A lot of the fun comes from the sheep's limited perspective on human behaviour and motive, which, combined with a sheeplike short attention span, somewhat handicaps their amateur sleuthing. The story is a dotty but maddeningly compelling read for those times when you feel like something light and amusing to chew over!

Othello told them about a strange garden, and how George had been buried in a box. A murmur ran through the flock.
"They don't have a pit there, but the dead don't just decay either. it looks like a garden, not a vegetable garden, but a garden anyway, and all very tidy. And do you know what they said about that garden?" Othello looked round at them, his eyes sparkling. They said it belonged to God".
The sheep stared at each other in horror. Fancy planting dead people in your garden! They liked God less and less.

This is a book just begging for a film treatment and after a few pages you may find yourself mentally casting the main characters. It covers two decades of a will they/won't they, bittersweet relationship - a feel-good 'romcom', with the emphasis on comedy, like a British version of When Harry Met Sally. If you enjoyed that film (and who didn't?) you will love this, but be prepared for tears as well as laughter.

'Don't I know you?'

'Your face certainly rings a bell.'

'Yours too. You look different though.'

'Yes, I'm the only woman here who's drenched in sweat,' said Emma, plucking at the fabric beneath her arms.

'You mean "perspiration".'

'Actually, no, this is sweat. I look like I've been dragged from a lake. Natural silk my eye!'

'Sort of an oriental theme, isn't it?'

'I call it my Fall of Saigon look. Chinese technically. Of course the trouble with one of these dresses is forty minutes later you want another one!' she said, and had that feeling, halfway through the sentence that she would have been better off not starting it. Did she imagine it, or did he roll his eyes a little? 'Sorry.'

'That's okay. I really like the dress. In fact me love it long time.'

Don't switch off if you usually don't read science fiction. Essentially this is a romantic comedy and, although futuristic, has the flavour of a Regency romance. One of a number of books featuring Miles Vorkosigan, it stands on its own but could draw you into reading the whole series.

'You, my dear, have a very eligible offer.'
'Offer of what?' Rosalie wasn't likely to be bringing her a new garden design contract. But surely she couldn't mean -
'Marriage, what else? And from a proper Vor gentleman, too, I'm pleased to report. So old fashioned of the man, he sent a Baba all the way from Vorbar Sultana to your Da in South Continent - it quite bowled the old man over. Your Da called Hugo to pass on the particulars. We decided that after all that baba-ing rather than do it over the comconsole someone ought to tell you the good news in person. We're all so pleased to think you might be settled soon.'

Six alcohol-fuelled twenty-somethings plus one holiday equals a cracking weekend read. Down and dirty, perfectly pitched dialogue completes this addictive story of female friendship.

Manda was racing downhill in a flat-footed motion, coming closer. There was something odd about her stance and only then did they make out what the stance signified. Thrust out before her, almost at full arm-straightened length, a black dot bobbed: Amanda Tassy was carrying a pint of Guinness in her downhill flight.
'That cheating besom's carrying her pint.'

All the ingredients are here for an exotic South American cocktail of colourful characters, corrupt local politics, sex, religion, revolution and romance. Escape for a while with this magical antidote to gloomy uncertain times, into a cheerful and unashamedly sentimental story of enduring hope and steadfast love.

'You have to understand what these people want.'
'So tell me what that is,' the mayor said, defeated.
'Banana pancakes and computers,' Consuela replied. That's what keeps them here,' and she banged the table again with delight. The mayor had only to look around him to see at last that Consuela was right. Dona Consuela's Cyber Kitchen was humming. At last he understood what made the foreigners flock to the far-flung corners of the world. Consuela had the answer: pancakes and computers. These people would happily, willingly and diligently come to the depths of the remotest and primitive regions as long as when they got there they could buy a cup of milky, frothy coffee and spend the rest of their day in a dank smoke-filled room sending messages home.

Witty, acerbic, straight talking – and set in Paris. Mia, a young translator, is short on confidence and experience. For a perceptive girl, she has no idea how people around her really view her. This, coupled with her journey of self-discovery (fraught with stumbling blocks thanks to so-called friends), provides the main focus and pull of this book. Her down-to-earth, coarse humour could have come straight from my mouth! I loved it.

She looked at us. Then he put his hand into her sweater, first caressing her back then her breasts. She delicately pulled away.
She gives and she gives and she gives, he said. And she asks for nothing in return . . .
And he smiled almost tearily. Graziella smiled magnanimously.
Well you give too, darling, she said smiling.
And then she threw him a lascivious glance and laughed her famous laugh. He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth.
Fantastic, I thought. We're watching live gerontophiliac porn. Title : Idiot geriatric egotist goosed unhinged metisse interpreter.
I wondered where the evening could go from here. By now they were well into a deep soggy French kiss and were touching each other in strategic places. What was most disturbing was that every now and then Graziella looked at me and my husband and smiled.

Very funny - painfully so at times. This is so easy to read but oh so true.

'I must have been thinking about my grandmother,' I said.
'Of course you were," said their mother, 'but she's in Jesus' house now and free of pain, God rest her soul.'
Still, I was hoping to prove myself the kind of pleasant conversationalist who gets invited back. 'Where does purgatory come in?' I asked. 'I mean, under your afterlife guidelines, wouldn't she still be there?'
All the Frawleys were taking sips from their respective milk glasses or searching inside their potato skins for neglected morsels.
'Alice needs a weekend off,' said Leo.

If you have ever wondered what the 'extra' in 'extra virgin olive oil' really means then this is the book for you. Set in Tuscany it features a series of comic misunderstandings between two warring neighbours. They take turns to tell the story and you will soon learn not to trust either of them completely! Beautifully written and gently humorous this will give you a few hours of sheer pleasure.

Maj. Gen Sir Aubrey Lutterworth's 'Elements of Raj Cookery' (1887) would surely be on every insomniac's bedside table were it not so rare. He is full of cunning ways with fruit bats, python etc. and his recipes breathe a manly simplicity. 'With a sharp dhauji remove the paws of a medium-sized panda. Discard the animal. Soak the claws overnight in a crock of fresh tikkhu juice. In the monsoon months it will be found expedient to mount a guard since the smell of tikkhu fermenting is irresistible to both upland tiger and bamboo wolf.'

Roll up! Roll up! The Gorni Grannies have reserved a place for you on their tour bus. Lessons in life, love and Bulgarian Mafia dodging are comically prescribed by Lubka on this lighthearted investigation of East-West culture clash. Like the world-weary music executive who has to marshall the tour I discovered a very genuine warmth in the strong characters who inhabit the uncool World Music scene.

We stop at South Mimms to get coffee and sandwiches and I'm in the restroom when I hear the sound of hysterical Bulgarians. Screams, laughter, then more screams. It's the motion-activated faucets. Lubka's figured out how they work and she's giving the other three a demonstration.
'An! Aff! An! Aff! Vater! Stop! Vater! Stop!'
Zveta's blouse is soaked, Dora's backed herself into a vacant stall, seems to think it is the work of the Devil and by the look of Kichka's bulging pocketbook she's cleaned the place out of paper towels. This tour could turn out like a first grade field trip.

Now that he is approaching 60 Henry is looking back over the events that have shaped his life. And in doing so uncovers a cast of characters and stories brimming with affectionate humour. Henry’s early days caught up in Jewish family life are captured wonderfully as are his schoolboy reminisces.

And now Henry is in love.
He can't eat. There is an obstruction where the food should pass. He can't drink either, all fluids gathering in a dam halfway down his oesophagus. Intermittently the dam bursts, leaking acids into Henry's system. This is how you know you're in love when you're Henry's age. It feels like indigestion. So anyone observing Henry and Lachlan when they meet on the stairs would guess they were competing to see who could hit his own chest harder. Some mornings they do no more than burp at each other as they pass.