The Strangers by Naomi Alderman

Published by Little, Brown and Company on September 22, 2026

Like Naomi Alderman, the protagonist of The Strangers writes novels, television shows, and video games. She’s working on her new book, “the strangest thing I’d ever written, a cross between a novel and a memoir.” So much of The Strangers is an internal monolog that a reader might suspect it is the memoirish novel Alderman mentions. That suspicion is confirmed when the reader learns that the protagonist is named Naomi Alderman.

The protagonist has an issue with her weight, or at least her mother did, or perhaps society does. Alderman (the character) explains how her British upbringing as an overweight Orthodox Jew promoted a conflict between her shame at not being slim and sexy and her shame at wanting to be sexy. But the novel’s Alderman has many other issues. Her life was “extremely difficult” when she was fourteen, “at least as difficult as it is now.” She has had a series of miscarriages. She has “always had a horror of falling.” She “resists the reality of change.” She complains that “my highly productive intellectual life is sometimes a way of escaping from my emotional life.” She is lonely. Her mother died after enduring a series of strokes, the consequences of which she describes in detail. The pandemic messed with a television show she was writing. Toward the novel’s end, she tells us that she suffers from “a variety of illnesses that seemed related to stress,” including an irritated bowel. This might be more than the reader needs to know.

The reader knows all this, of course, because Alderman (the character) discusses her misery in dreadful detail. After she mentions a miscarriage to her father and he responds by changing the subject, Alderman says “‘I see, there’s no room for me to talk about my pain, is there?” If her father won’t give her that room, Alderman (the author) takes advantage of a reader who must share her pain or abandon the book. I came close to the latter choice but persevered for the sake of learning more about the book’s only intriguing characters: critters that resemble “mini mammoths” and so are dubbed mimmoths.

Mimmoths appear suddenly in England although some people claim to have seen them (or something like them) years earlier. They have a flat face and a furry body, maybe the size of a badger, with a tail that fans. The most distinguishing feature of a mimmoth is its proboscis.

Initially, mimmoths stay out of sight. Later they are observed dancing in fields and yards (or at least that’s how humans interpret their interaction). They tend to avoid contact with humans although one comforts Alderman by stroking her arm with its proboscis when she is feeling even more down than usual. She realizes that a mimmoth gave her what she has never received from a man: “the comforting absolute acceptance of its body wrapped around mine.” If that’s the case, one wonders how she so often became pregnant, but those details she does not share.

As mimmoths become more prevalent, the public debates whether they should be accepted or killed. They seem indifferent to humans and entirely harmless, so naturally some humans want to annihilate them. If attacked, they defend themselves with appropriate force, then do what they can to assist their assailants. They prove capable of outsmarting traps but they can’t outrun bullets, so they are occasionally killed, particularly in America where everyone is armed and eager to shoot something.

As time goes by, a character who might be a bit disturbed determines that killing a mammoth reduces the human birth rate within a one mile (at most) radius of the site of the mammoth’s death. When left alone, however, mimmoths spread mycelial threads in the soil that improve crop production and generally make people healthier.

I am all in favor of mimmoths and want to know more about them. Unfortunately, Alderman (the author) sacrificed plot development to flesh out the “memoirish” aspect of the novel. Frankly, her depressing life killed the fun of the mimmoths for me, as did Alderman’s (the character’s) incessant commentary on social issues that had little to do with mimmoths.

Some of Alderman’s pontificating is over the top. For example, “Calling a woman hot is the same as calling her ugly; only very young or very naive women are deceived about this. Both are ways to say: The only thing that is important about you is your looks.” This is silly. Calling a woman ugly would be rude, but calling her hot in a non-harassing way does not necessarily reduce her to a single attribute. If I say “You’re smart” to a woman, am I saying the only important thing about her is her intelligence? To compliment a woman’s looks is not to suggest that her looks are the only admirable thing about her.

At best, fuzzy thinking like this might have a place in an essay or academic lecture targeted at a like-minded audience. It might even fit within a memoir, where authors feel free to express every thought that pops into their heads. In The Strangers, a book that has at least the trappings of a novel, pontificating too often interrupts the flow and does little to advance the story. The novel’s middle is bogged down by Alderman’s relentless commentary about how the world is horribly unfair to her. And Alderman is given to observations like “While we are alive, things will change” and “we are going to go on being alive until the very day we die” and “we do not walk through the world clean and unpained,” shared with the reader as if they are profound insights rather than obvious truths.

This is not to say that I disagree with all of Alderman’s many asides. When she blames “Andrew Wakefield – the inventor of the completely debunked theory that vaccines cause autism” for “the deaths of so many children around the world,” she has a valid point. Still, this observation — although tangentially relevant to a story that involves speculation about the harm that might be caused by mimmoths — does little to advance the plot.

Perhaps more compassionate readers will appreciate Alderman’s story for its telling of the emotional angst she experiences. I enjoyed both The Power and The Future, two science fiction novels that I appreciated for intelligent, “outside the box” storytelling. I felt cheated out of the possibility of an interesting story about mimmoths — a story Alderman all but abandons — because Alderman preferred to write a relatively dull, self-pitying story about herself. I admired Alderman’s prose style and was captivated by the sporadic efforts she made to build a world inhabited by mimmoths, but in the end the story is too much Alderman and too little mimmoth.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

High Side by Jaime Oliveira

Published by Amazon Original Stories on September 29, 2026

Motorcycle enthusiasts who want to make time for a short story might be attracted to “High Side.” I don’t know if this nonsensical tale of motorcyclists robbing banks will appeal to any other audience.

Billy Miller raced motorcycles until he had a high side crash (“That’s when your rear tire slips, hooks, and launches you over the bars like a slingshot.”). The crash ended his racing career. He went to work as a mechanic in his father’s garage. His father died but Billy is still there.

Billy’s older brother Cole left home because he “stopped winning races” and “Dad stopped being a dad. At least to Cole.” Now Cole is back. He’s “putting together a crew” to rob banks in the southwest. Their scheme is to hit banks in small counties where police departments have no helicopters. Cole figures they can outrun police cars on their high-speed bikes. A tractor-trailer will haul the bikes from job to job so they can’t be identified on the open road.

And that’s the story. Cole and Billy and a crew of barely described criminals rob some banks. Two women are part of the crew so Billy naturally gets involved with one of them. Near the story’s end, a job — the inevitable “big score” — goes wrong. Will Billy escape? What about Cole? Or Billy’s new squeeze? The real question is whether, in such a threadbare story, a reader will care.

The plot takes its only twist when the reader learns that one of the crew is an informant. The informant reports to Lennox, an FBI agent with all the personality of a soggy tea bag. The informant's identity will likely be obvious to the reader. Billy discovers that one of his crew members is working for the FBI but inexplicably proceeds with the heist anyway. That makes zero sense, but logic plays no part in the story.

“High Side” is supposedly “in development as a blockbuster film at Paramount Pictures.” Well, okay, it has gun battles and explosions and cheesy romance so it might make a ton of money. It would have to be better than the story, which I suppose was originally written as a treatment for the film. It still reads that way — the bones of the story are there, but they are covered with little flesh. Given the absence of well-rounded characters, the predictable plot, and the sloppy storytelling, I can’t think of a reason for crime fiction fans to read “High Side.”

NOT RECOMMENDED

London Station by David McCloskey

Published by W. W. Norton & Company on September 29, 2026

Some of the most interesting spy novels expose the ineptness of political hacks who substitute their questionable judgment for that of career intelligence professionals. London Station imagines that a far-right American president has placed “a businessman with zero intelligence or national security experience” in charge of the CIA.

Bobby Jerome was running a family business, B.J. Lenore, “the largest residential homebuilder in the United States,” before the president made him director of the CIA. Jerome brings in two former B.J. Lenore executives: Harry Kellman as Deputy Director of Operations and Stu Bricker, “a slave-driving workaholic,” as Special Assistant to the DDO.

Like many arrogant political appointees who lack experience with the government, the home builders don’t understand the difference between operating a business for profit and operating a government agency for the nation’s good. But like many such appointees, they understand the concept of self-enrichment. All that gives London Station a timely feel.

The president believes that America’s allies are taking advantage of the US (sound familiar?) in their intelligence sharing. Adopting the president’s disdain for “globalism” (meaning cooperation with allies) and his philosophy that bullying is the best solution to every problem, Jerome tells the head of the Secret Intelligence Service that Britain “is taking advantage of the American taxpayer” by “freeloading” because the US contributes more intelligence than Britain, and “we can’t just keep on allowing this, can we? What sort of country allows itself to be picked apart by smaller, weaker countries?” To the surprise of no reader who pays attention to international affairs, alienating America’s allies turns out to be a bad strategy for governance.

The novel opens with CIA agent Artemis Aphrodite Procter trying to enlist a Chinese asset on British soil. In breach of protocol, she doesn’t alert the SIS of her plan and in fact pretends to be an SIS agent. Procter is embarrassed when, after her overture is rejected, she is arrested when her disguise falls off in a collision with a bicycle.

As Procter awaits her discipline, Ollie Welch, the SIS Head of Station in Tehran, urgently requests American assistance in exfiltrating a Persian agent and his ten-year-old son before the agent, codenamed WINSTON, can be killed by the Revolutionary Guard. The CIA’s Chief of Station in London, Charlie Clare, wants to follow the tradition of approving such requests, but he’s overridden — and then fired — by Jerome to make a point that Americans won’t be told what to do by the British. Things do not go well for WINSTON or for Welch when their expected exfil assistance fails to materialize.

To stick his thumb in the eye of SIS, Jerome installs Procter — the woman who just got herself arrested for conducting unauthorized spying in London — as the new Chief of Station in London. Proctor would rather be conducting operations than overseeing them but taking the promotion is marginally better than losing her job.

The novel’s other key player is Hubert Hamro. He runs Mimir, a private intelligence firm, for its billionaire owner. The president is a fan of privatization so Mimir expects to do well under his administration. Hamro pitches a disgruntled Ollie Welch on joining Mimir but Ollie has his own plans.

Much of the novel sets up the conflicts that will erupt among the major characters. The plot pits the US and British intelligence services against each other as they neglect their mutual enemies. Someone has acquired the identities of various assets in China and is selling the information to the highest bidder. It’s up to Procter to identify the villain. It isn’t much of a spoiler to note that inept political hacks are at the heart of the problem.

London Station benefits from strong characterization. Procter — a protagonist in two earlier novels — is smart, resilient, and devious. Her lust for field work sets up convincing inner turmoil when she’s given a desk job, while her foul mouth and cantankerous attitude make her an ideal character to pit against bureaucrats.

I wasn’t particularly convinced that a lower-level spy would — with no clear motivation — steal secrets from an SIS laptop or reveal secrets to her (non-SIS-approved) therapist, but accepting that plot element is the price of enjoying the story. In most other respects, the plot is credible. The story moves quickly despite the political machinations in which the large cast of characters indulge.

If for no other reason, I would recommend London Station for its tweaking of far-right antipathy to globalism and the inevitable corruption that occurs when business leaders with no government experience are given the keys to America’s treasury. That David McCloskey manages to tell an engaging story while illustrating those points solidifies my recommendation.

RECOMMENDED

No Song for the Dead by Jussi Adler-Olsen, Stine Bolther, and Line Holm

Published by Dutton on September 8, 2026

It’s been a minute since I last read a Department Q novel, only because I can’t read everything. I was impressed by the Netflix interpretation of the first Department Q novel and was looking forward to rejoining Jussi Adler-Olsen’s series, but things have changed since my last encounter with the misfit detectives who solve cold cases. New co-authors have manned the laboring oar, making it difficult to know whether Adler-Olsen wrote a word of No Song for the Dead. I credit the co-authors for keeping the tone similar to Adler’s work, even if the series seems to have moved in a new direction.

In Locked In (a book I didn’t read and the last one for which Adler-Olsen receives sole credit), Carl Mørck was framed for a crime and jailed. Despite his exoneration, his career with the police ended. He is now doing a book tour to promote his true crime version of the story told in the first Department Q novel, The Keeper of Lost Causes.

Gordon Taylor has been promoted to the position of sergeant with the North Jutland police. Rose Knudson and Hafez el-Assad are still plugging away, although Rose is even crazier than she used to be, a condition only partly attributable to getting herself knocked up by Gordon in a desperate sexual encounter she now regrets.

New team members have come and gone. In No Song for the Dead, Helena Henry is assigned to work with Rose and Assad. She would rather be assigned to organized crime, where she exceled in France, but the person she was replacing decided not to retire and the only available position is in Department Q. Assad is rather intrigued by Helena while Rose, who likes few people, feels threatened by her. Carl makes an occasional cameo.

The Health and Care Administration once implemented a program that allowed dementia patients to wear a broach fitted with GPS. It allowed caregivers to track them if they wandered off, but it also had an emergency button that the patient could press if she needed help. The program was discontinued but nobody told the broach wearers that the hotline would no longer be monitored. An agency employee recently discovered a recorded message left by a broach wearer. A woman is humming, a man in the background is saying “Help us,” and another man is saying “you don’t want this on your conscience.” The recording ends after the woman screams. The employee's boss, worried about the repurcussions of his decision to end the program, orders her to erase the tape and keep quiet about it.

The employee does some digging and learns that, on the day the emergency call was placed, a caretaker visited the home of her dementia patient, where she found the patient tied to a bed in the basement. The woman had nearly asphyxiated from carbon dioxide but she survived. Four days later, her husband’s body is discovered near a lake, hanging from a boat crane. The press reported the discoveries as an attempted mercy killing followed by a suicide. The dead man had recently been fired as the chairman of a private hospital, perhaps providing a motive for suicide. However, the tape reveals the presence of a third man in the woman’s home, destroying the murder-suicide theory.

The employee made a recording of the tape before she erased it. She brings it to Carl on his book tour. The recording is four years old so Carl gives it to Department Q.

The story follows Assad, Rose, and Helena as they investigate. They discover that a serial killer is at work and that the dead hospital chairman is one of the victims. What ties the killings together is for the reader to discover. The killer’s motivation dates to his dark childhood, which is standard fare for fictional serial killers.

The plot is entertaining if a bit weaker than the early books in the series. The authors develop tension in the relationships of Assad, Rose, and Helena that adds interest to the story. Helena has a dark (albeit contrived) past of her own that she reveals toward the novel’s end. All this struck me as a valiant attempt to keep a series going that had probably sputtered to an end before the new writing team was tasked with reviving it.

Series fans are likely to find some value and a bit of disappointment that this new entry feels like a factory-assembled novel. Readers who are unfamiliar with the series might be better served by reading the first few novels, as this one seems to rehash ground that was well covered by Adler-Olsen.

RECOMMENDED

Fallow by Sarah Anderson

Published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux on September 15, 2026

Fallow is a light-hearted examination of surrogacy — and more broadly, the desire of employers to avoid granting maternity or FMLA leave to women who are about to give birth. I chuckled enough to make the book worthwhile, even if its examination of the targeted problem could have been more substantial.

When Fallow begins, Natalie Gallagher is in her early twenties. Natalie doesn’t like to work. Her job history is checkered; she’s probably never earned much more than minimum wage. She scores points for her honest rejection of values like hard work, motivation, and self-sufficiency, even if the absence of those values might make a reader less sympathetic about her self-inflicted woes.

Natalie needs a significant income to pay her student loans but has no desire to earn one. The highlight of her current gig in an HR call center is a guy who repeatedly calls in to complain, in lurid detail, about sexual harassment before masturbating as she repeats the details of the harassment to him. The call center job “confirmed two important truths: that there is no such thing as a good job, and that I had no interest in working. I wanted a life free of wake-up alarms. I wanted no threat of night shifts.” Natalie is lazy but her lack of ambition isn’t surprising, given the dead-end jobs for which she seems destined.

Because the call center job doesn’t pay enough to cover her expenses, Natalie also sells her plasma at the blood bank where her sister works. A nurse there shares an ad with Natalie that promises a generous salary for an applicant who has a “healthy lifestyle,” “birthing hips,” and “discretion.” Those qualifications are sufficiently vague that Natalie decides to apply.

The job turns out to be birth surrogacy. Natalie will be expected to carry another woman’s embryo to term while following a strict diet, exercise regime, and meditation schedule. She gets a bonus for a natural birth. Perks include a tenancy in a furnished luxury condo and a personal assistant who makes sure Natalie sticks to her exercise schedule and doesn’t eat or drink anything that might harm a fetus. A couple of babies will pay off Natalie’s loans. A few more will relieve her of the burden of work for years.

The corporation that hires Natalie makes surrogacy available to high-value female employees who might otherwise take a maternity leave or miss work because of a pregnancy-related illness. With no need for physical recovery, women return to work more quickly — “the goal is to reduce that critical window can from birth to office return.” This seems like an entirely plausible (albeit heartless) scheme to maximize employee productivity. I’m surprised Elon Musk hasn’t thought of it. Perhaps he’s trying instead to develop a robot that will replace birth mothers.

Natalie regards the gig as ideal. As the story moves along, Natalie has several babies. She takes to pregnancy naturally and makes use of the six month “fallow” period between pregnancies to eat unhealthy meals, party until dawn, and have random sexual encounters before she starts to get healthy again. Natalie loves her fallow period and its “three distinct phases: feast, fuck around, and get fertile.”

Natalie forms no particular attachment to the babies she delivers, although one employee spends so much time with her that Natalie believes the woman is sincere when she invites Natalie to spend summers at her home in the south of France. That invitation evaporates when the delivery, through no fault of Natalie, does not go as planned.

Natalie’s last pregnancy involves surrogacy for an executive named Jackie who is extraordinarily clingy. When Jackie loses her job, the corporation expects Natalie to make a choice that will devastate Jackie. The choice Natalie makes changes the course of the novel, starting with Natalie’s kidnapping and her forced residency in a commune. The change of direction sends the story into unexpected territory, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Sarah Anderson skewers corporate employers with her description of Natalie’s draconian contract terms and her NDAs. The novel’s satirical approach to surrogacy as a corporate benefit captures the reality that HR departments are more interested in saving money than in benefiting employees. The problems that pregnant employees encounter in the workplace are serious, but Fallow substitutes eye-rolling satire for a serious examination of pregnancy discrimination. That’s not necessarily a criticism — the novel is meant to be funny, not academic — but readers who hope for a more cogent discussion of the targeted issue might be disappointed.

Anderson also satirizes the sort of people who join communes to avoid the grasp of capitalism, then quarrel about how to make money and share labor. Living in the commune isn’t as nice as living in a luxury condo, although Natalie’s primary objection is that she’s expected to work for her daily meals. Natalie is a bit embarrassed by the sincerity of the commune dwellers, but she has no better option. Or, at least, she doesn’t want to expend the energy that leaving would require.

Fallow worked for me because Natalie, while not quite endearing, manages to make laziness seem like a virtue. Natalie’s ability to ride the waves of life as they wash over her is impressive. Her dedication to making the most of her fallow periods is almost admirable. Natalie does little to fight back when the company that hires her inevitably decides to screw her over, just as she makes little effort to escape when she is kidnapped, but she eventually realizes that she needs to make choices about her life rather than living with the choices that are forced upon her. In the end, Natalie is such a likable character that Anderson had me rooting for her.

RECOMMENDED