67 books like All Our Secrets

I started this book for the unlikely main character–Sister Holiday, a chain-smoking, tattooed, queer nun–but it was the mystery that kept me reading. I always love it when a writer can make me feel like I am the one on the line, like I am fighting for my life or to prove my innocence. This book did just that.

I found I was holding myself tightly as Sister Holiday investigated but just kept finding more evidence against herself. The snippets of her past life made me feel for her more and more, taking the character from an unlikely hero to someone I cared deeply about. I can’t wait to get my hands on the second in the series.

The opening of this book had me hooked. It was late at night, I’d just finished another novel, and I opened this book, intending to read just a few pages. I quickly realized it was going to be a late night. I loved the tension and mystery created in the writing, and the dynamics between the characters had me cringing for them.

The descriptions of the teen girls had me flashing back to dance classes. Most of the action takes place on an airplane, and I loved the way the author set up a sense of claustrophobia. The characters not being able to escape each other as pressures rose really added to the tension. I highly recommend it as a fast-paced, tense read.

I love that this book focuses on the “who,” not the “what.” Most often, with mysteries, the focus is on learning about the perpetrator of the crime. In this one, I loved that the real mystery is in discovering who the victim, Alice, was. I especially love that we get to hear her story in her own words, as a second narrator telling her history after her death.

The other part of the story–events after Alice’s death and the discovery of her body–is told by another compelling character, Ruby. I’m normally wary when I see the words “strong female character,” but these are two strong, beautiful women whose heartbreaking stories held me captive in these pages.  

This is one of those books that’s hard to talk about without giving too much away because the magic is in the twists and turns. At a certain point in reading, I closed the book, letting out a little “oh no” because I’d just realized what was coming, and I was both dreading it happening and couldn’t turn the pages fast enough to get to that scene.

This is very much a car crash-in-slow-motion story. I hated the antagonist. I also knew I probably would have been drawn in by her charisma if I’d met her in real life–beautiful malice is the perfect term to describe her. This book was one that I felt physically, carrying it around for several days afterward as I relived moments in my head.

This book was my introduction to Australian literature. I loved its eloquent evocation of a world totally new and mysterious to its characters. Although I was vaguely familiar with Australia’s penal colony past and with the destruction wrought on Aboriginal lives and culture, this book brought it home. I deeply appreciated the way it took me into the minds of men and women, most of them well-meaning but ignorant, and showed me how they missed the point of where they were and how to thrive there. The tragedy of that ignorance resonates with me, since I see it all around the world. 

In early Australian colonial times, the colony in New South Wales was short of hard currency. Rations of pretty much everything were tight, and life was tough. To provide some measure of relief, rum rations were issued to the local population, even to convicts, which soon led to a vibrant underground trade in rum as an alternate currency. The illegal rum trade was monopolised by the colony's military officers to the extent that none of the early governors could even make any dent in curbing the practice.

I love this book, as Matt Murphy vividly describes many of the outrageous incidents associated with the illegal rum trade, the substance abuse, and the wide-ranging consequences. A colourful character himself, he focuses on the people who bring his stories alive—many of them colourful and irreverent. I find history told through the stories of people most compelling. The book goes beyond the historical… show more.

This is a gripping, suspenseful, atmospheric mystery set in colonial Australia with an enigmatic pairing of a convict and a housekeeper who investigate a series of murders in the penal colony of New South Wales.

It has an intricate plot that keeps the reader guessing and is built upon a historical foundation that adds authenticity to the tale. The brutality of the transportation system contrasts with the humanity and tenacity of those who rail against it. 

As my stories all have a colonial Australian focus, with a commitment to accurate history, this book rings a bell for me. There is much about the background, the atmosphere, the setting, and the language that resonates with me, and it is a cracking good read to boot. 

Rather than writing the life of just one person, Pybus scours fragmentary church, legal, military, and prison records on three continents to create what might be called a cumulative biography.

Pybus reconstructs the lives of individuals in the diaspora of men, women, and their families who embraced Britain’s offer of freedom to anyone who fled rebel enslavers to join its forces during the American Revolution.

Among them were men formerly enslaved to George Washington and Patrick Henry.

Evacuated by the withdrawing British forces at the end of the war, the continuing quest for freedom of Black Loyalists brought them to Canada, Britain, Africa, and Australia.

Set in a world where there’s water everywhere from the rising sea levels, but fresh water is a much-needed commodity, I loved that this story was about family. There’s a lovely mix of characters who are still kind – still human – and those that are out for survival and control, which kept me wanting to read to see if the main character, Baz, would find his family again. And I loved that there were places I recognised – it’s always nice to have those ‘I’ve been there!’ moments. 

A librarian friend recommended Lesley Muir’s explosive exposé of the scandal and corruption that underpinned the development of Sydney’s transport networks in the late Nineteenth Century. Spanning the decades immediately preceding Australia’s Federation, Shady Acres uncovers, as Elizabeth Farrelly says in her introduction, "the perennial crookedness of Sydney’s planning." As I immersed myself in 1890s Sydney for my own novel – and with my story and characters focussed on these very men who sat in the New South Wales’  parliament - I found the book provided the sort of rich vein of detail that allowed me to really bring this time and these people to life.