The Knight Watch by Thomas D Lee

The Knight Watch

Thomas D Lee
Orbit, 23 June 2026
Available as: HB, 562pp, audio, e   
Source: Advance copy
ISBN(HB): 9780356518558

I'm grateful to Nazia at Orbit for sending me a copy of The Knight Watch  to consider for review.

SO grateful! Two years ago I loved, loved, loved Lee’s debut novel Perilous Times, which brought King Arthur and the Knighrs of the Round Table into a near-future, dystopian Britain. The book was a breath of fresh air, exploring the idea of an ancient hero and his war band sleeping, returning to "save" the country and what that might mean in a present where both "save" and "country" are deeply contested, and evolving, notions. It also poked gentle fun at a childhood classic I love, and is written in vivid, fresh language away from the conventions of fantasy (and indeed urban fantasy)

So I was keen to read Lee's next book, not exactly a prequel, but set earlier than Perilous Times, during the Second World War and also featuring the Knights. (As you will know if you have paid attention to the Matter of Britain, Merlin lives life backwards, so in a sense we’re emulating him). 

The short version: The Knight Watch is just as good, perhaps even slightly better, and now I need to go back and reread Perilous Times so thanks Thomas, this is doing my TBR state no good at all.

Like its predecessor, The Knight Watch riffs off the tropes and concerns of the classic legends. For example, there are echoes of the common theme where a questing knight is beguiled by a monster, posing as a fair damsel. While in the original stories this, naturally, posed dangers mainly to our chaste hero’s honour, in The Knight Watch it’s a bit more the threat to their sense of purpose, their desire to keep on keeping on. 

That in itself is a big theme for a book whose heroes (and heroine) have been resurrected countless times. When they die, they return to sleep under their own tree, until called to clamber out of the mud because Britain has need of them. This can become wearying, and each deals with that in their own way. Some drink. Some just abandon the questing life. To varying degrees, they have rumbled the way in which they are being used by their boss, Marlowe (yes, Christopher) to further imperialism or colonialism. All, if pushed, will admit that their whole setup - the original warband gathering tribute for a petty chieftain in sub-Roman Britain - isn’t actually the shining example of virtue that later tales painted. (Evan if Tristan, for one, feels affinity for the high Midde Ages ideal).

So it’s a somewhat disenchanted band who are called together to play their part in the Second World War. Lee has fun here exploring the different roles. Lancelot flyies a Spit, a dead ringer for Biggles  with his fighter-pilot bravado (and also in recalling the Great War, flying Camels and the Red Baron - a pointed comparison since James Bigglesworth was of course another hero continually resurrected and reinvented to take on the nation's enemies. Galehaut is a conscientious objector, driving ambulances, Agravaine something of a spiv. Kay has joined Special Forces. And Isolde - yes, Isolde, do keep up, she's part of this too, do keep up, only don't mention Tristan, her ex, Tristan and Isolde are so over (a fine romance, yes, but as we see things told from her point of view, it soured quickly, a few centuries ago, though unfortunately, he's not moved on and to her annoyance, keeps trying to 'win' her back (that's men for you) - and Isolde is working for the Resistance in France where she may just have found herself a girlfriend.

Now, though, the venerable war band be about to shout their last hurrah. There are ways to kill even the unkillable, magics stronger than Merlin's, and with their constant quest for ancient knowledge to pervert, the Nazis - aided by a sorceror-for-hire whom Marlowe, perhaps unwisely, refused to deal with - plus some old enemies of Caer Moelydd, may be about to turn the war band into a weapon of their own.

Almost everyone’s fallen out. Agravaine is just annoying. Isolde and Tristan aren't speaking (well, she's not). The events which led to the fall of the Round Table aren't given in detail but sketched in against a background of Late Antique Britain, and it's clear that deep scars remain - the Knights haven't for centuries worked as a group, they simply tend to run across each other (though there are some intense relationships). So they seem ill-prepared to meet the Nazi occult threat. (Characteristically, as they prepare to do that, Lee again echoes the medieval stories here, having the Knights gather at a requisitioned manor to feast on bully beef and drink bottled beer before they set out on their quest, being are parachuted (with splitting hangovers) into occupied France). 

There are resources to draw on. Even the dreams used to ensnare our heroes, lulling them into passive fantasies of what is lost, can be a source of strength. May, a Knight who found her true identity in 1920s Berlin, uses them to reach her comrades when they are lost. Perhaps her experience of life helps her to see straight when they don't, to resist beguilement (and, her lost paradise, the permissive world of Weimar Germany, is possibly so antithetical that the enchanters find it hard to sustain). There is magic. There are Sten guns and grenades. And, in an action filled climax channelling so many classic war films, there is a castle filled with Nazis to be raided. Who could resist? (Lee again takes the chance to affectionately parody the classics here - for example as an exasperated German officer notes before he's despatched, the Enlganders didn't need to hijack the cable car, they could more easily have approached up the track used for supplies).

It's an explosive climax that marries the gory realities of a post-Roman warband with the WWII films and books I grew up on, so is a win for me. 

This is a book that does a very clever thing - it leans in to, and embodies, classic stories, myths and simplifications about our history, while being very aware of the realities. Of the War itself: 'You must be glad, to have an enemy like Hitler... he makes you look so much more noble in comparison'. This is a Britain that still doesn't accept gap people, still less trans people, an Empite that is busily looting its subjects. And even the verve with which numerous Nazis are despatched in the finale should be compared with the opening sequence in which Arthur and his Knights sack Caer Lloyw, massacring the citizens. 

The Knight Watch is entertaining to the end (I loved the epilogue, where it seems that one of the band may have gone on to inspire James Bond - another English fictional archetype who has lived more than once) but also has both heart and bite, it's an intelligent fantasy with an urgent message.

I'd strongly recommend this book.

Review - Until We Drown by Ava Morwood

Until We Drown

Ava Morwood (Alison Littlewood)

HarperNorth, 9 April 2026
Available as: HB, 352pp, audio, e   
Source: Author
ISBN(HB): 9780008724665

I'm grateful to the author for sending me a copy of Until We Drown to consider for review.

At time of writing this review, there is a debate going on (or at least there is if you follow these things) about a Guardian article which seems to be saying that too many horror films are being made. I think the article is basically somebody saying, they don't like horror. This is at the same time, absolutely fine because we all have our likes and dislikes and absolutely not fine if it come from a place that horror is somehow lesser, because that approaches sneering at what other people like, and that's always sad.

I was reminded of this context because reading Until We Drown I was aware that it was horror but I was exercising all kinds of readerly muscles besides the "oooh, scary" set. Sadness. Annoyance at a prickly character. Exasperation (won't you all just TALK to each other!). Worry at where this was going. All the best books do this to me, and it didn't, of course, surprise me in the least. Horror is much, much more than "oh there's a monster/ bloodstained slasher in the cave". Even Scooby-Doo was more than that. 

So, in Until We Drown we have, essentially, a family drama, at the centre of which is the relationship between Ellie and Ethan. Ellie is the narrator, telling us both about her life and her marriage. Ethan appears a bit hapless at first, suffering, like the kids, from being uprooted from a cheerful seaside home to the darker atmosphere - in many ways - of the Peak District, about as far as you can get in England from the sea. That is, until we learn that it's his trespasses that have led to the move. He still sulks, however.

But. But. We also learn that Ellie's drive to get away from the sea goes beyond Ethan's failings, it links to an incident when she was 14 and saw a young boy drown. Ellie's been burdened with guilt ever since, convinced that everyone around her is judging her. Whether or not they are is never clear - what is clear is that nobody ever talked to her about this very traumatic experience, a pattern that repeats in this novel as everyone has secrets from each other, including, eventually, teenage son Zack. (I exclude 4-year old Libby, who couldn't keep a secret to save her life).

So there's already tension between Ellie and Ethan, which Morwood conveys very well, even though it's mostly unspoken, or redirected. You just see little ripples on the surface of the pond, signs of something big and nasty moving in the depths. 

Then things begin to go wrong, in disturbing ways. Libby's whole mermaid obsession rubs her mum up the wrong way, reminding her of Ethan's straying (I should say, these past events are told gradually through chapters headed by"A memory" or "A postcard", so initially the picture isn't clear). Ellie's dismayed to discover that landlocked Derbyshire has plenty of mermaid traditions of its own. Ellie tangles these stories with the mermaid classics - Disney and Hans Christian Anderson - and notes the subtext, the female not allowed a voice, the prince who always gets what he wants. 

Oh, and also, Ellie has a kind of foresight or second sight inherited from her gran, which gives her insights, to a degree, but also sends her down rather frightening rabbit holes as she struggles to understand what is going wrong.

There is, then, an element of the supernatural but - to quote MR James - "We do not know the rules". Ellie has been trying to suppress this uncanny aspect of herself and it's not something she is willing to turn to for help. Indeed that's a running theme here - Ellie is very much alone, she has to work things out for herself, making this book a very stressy two-hander between her and Ethan. (In hindsight, others have been trying to help or at least warn her, but that's missed until the last minutes).

I love books with that composition - a real-life, 21st century mystery built on tangled hopes and fears, with just a dash of the uncanny. Because, really, we are superstitious creatures, prone to see connections between unrelated events, fear retribution for sins and omissions and look for taint in places and people and for bad luck. We are also inclined to bargain, to sit in the doctor's waiting room thinking "oh make this not be serious, make this not serious". All these instincts come out when we are afraid or we lack agency, which is just the situation Ellie is in, and which is the very crux of horror. That is, of nuanced, complex horror. Because nuanced, complex horror is the essence of the world we live in, not crude monsters. (Well, until the crude monsters became billionaires and got control of the world, but you see what I mean).

And nuanced, complex horror is just what Morwood serves up with Until We Drown. It is deeply chilling, heart wrenching at times. You fear for everyone here, threatened on so many levels, and yes, you sense a wickedness at work. It's a mark of the writing though that the precise nature of that wickedness isn't at all clear till the very end, nor how it might be overcome. 

A brilliant read, one I'd strongly recommend. 

(Oh and, yes - spoiler - the dog DOES survive, if that's something you would worry about, as I would).

For more information about Until We Drown, see the publisher's website here.

Review - Oaths and Offerings ed by Nathaniel Spain

Oaths and Offerings 

Edited by Nathaniel Spain
Carnyx Press, 4 June 2026
Available as: PB, 127pp 

Source: Advance cop
ISBN(PB): 9781919453200

I'm grateful to Carnyx for sending me a an advance e-copy of Oaths and Offerings to consider for review.

Oaths and Offerings is the launch anthology from new press Carnyx who are devoted to the writers and stories of Northern England - a noble venture. It’s an impressive and handsome volume printed on good quality paper and with stories to match! Described as “an anthology of folklore”, this collection showcases eight new stories, all with their roots in folklore but reflecting the various forms in which it occurs. So there are stories with a contemporary setting (Away with the Fairies, Charcoal Nils), those which are more straight folktale-inflected (Awd Goggle, The  Monster of no Seeming) and there is even the Jamesian (Cups and Rings). 

We see the difficulty faced by a newcomer from abroad settling in a rural community, the problems of redeveloping an old mining site, the troubles of a shepherd girl and the dangers of obliterating tradition - as well as the mutability of tradition! They're all extremely good examples of their forms, reflecting the diversity and breadth of Northern England and taken together, this is a very strong collection which should I think set Carnyx off to a cracking start.

The first story, Awd Goggle by Steven French, tells a tale handed down from the narrator's grandma about how, as  a girl, she saw industrialisation meet its match when an ancient, revered tree is torn down. The indirect narration introduces a sense of timelessness in the events (while hanging on to the essentials) a sense heightened by its being in Yorkshire dialect.

Of Mineral, of Bone by Emma J Lannie draws on the rich mining heritage of the North. Whether in the copper mines of Alderley Edge, the salt mines of Cheshire or the coalfields, mining has always been a superstitious trade. A dangerous business, it sought to know and placate whatever spirits or beings dwelt in the depths, able to cause catastrophe and take lives. We see such rituals in this story. But what happens when the miners leave and the mines are abandoned? There is a legacy - mineral-laden waters that can pose a hazard. A solution seems to have been found here, but Lannie leaves the reader uneasy that there may be aspects that engineers and builders haven't considered. A truly creepy, menacing story.

Modern Britain has a truly diverse range of food traditions, much of it derived from abroad and unfortunately subject to the same tedious culture wars as other aspects of life (periodic social media arguments erupt over the proper statues of chicken tikka masala, for example). In Away With the Fairies by Mae Tang, we see an incomer, Zhenyi, pushing back against her ignorant neighbour and seeking to respect local lore and tradition in new and bold ways. This one really made me smile and I think while short, is a microcosm of a larger truth, showing how tradition is not fixed but is the brilliant result of human effort and bargaining with real, active powers. 

Mother of God by Sophie Parkes makes a similar point, contrasting the busloads of tourists coming to see the quaint folk customs in a village with the hard lives of the residents. A couple of girls, left on their own by parents out at work, add their own spin to the packaged tradition on display for the visitors. This is the only story (I think) without a dash of  overt supernatural (though possibly I'm wrong about that).

Charcoal Nils by Emma Sprakarn is very much a folk tale, though a modern one. Set in Scandinavia this is the one of only two stories that doesn't take place in Northern England, though the atmosphere - the cold, the mountains - is one with the rest of the book, as is the sense of being a little at the margins. And also the theme of the ancient in the modern, in a story of revenge and the failure of the modern world with its invented rules to take account of what is real.

Cups and Rings by Victoria Stewart, set in Scotland, looks at those enigmatic Pictish markings mainly found on upland stones (presumably because these are less likely to have been disturbed). Nobody knows what they mean, what they were for or the particulars of who made them but here we see two different attempts at interpretation set, perhaps, a hundred years apart. And we see what becomes of the investigators. I called this one "Jamesian" above, and it has that sense of obliqueness, of time folding away - and also, perhaps, a message that sometimes it's better to leave well alone.

The Monster of No Seeming by Sophie Reck Pointon is perhaps, of the stories here, the most obviously a folk tale, taking a young girl, Isla, set to guard the sheep, on a quest to rescue her sister Netta. In the best spirit of folklore, impossible tasks have to be carried out and the quest results in learning and growth. Punctuated by occasional remarks and exchanges from the narrator, The Monster sets up both a distance from its subject (this all seems to have happened long, long ago) and a closeness (the two settings are perhaps very intertwined).

good-dark-night (Suzannah Evans Furnass) is set in a community of the future, finding its own rituals to control a harsh environment. In a world of global heating and environmental catastrophe, that means yearning for and seeking to bring back the good, dark nights.

So, this set of stories interrogate the nature of tradition - how it can be changed, and when it’s best respected; its relationship to landscape and the use of the landscape; the place of people - individuals families, the long-settled and the newcomer, in that landscaper; and much more besides.

An impressive start to the Carnyx list, and I’ll be eager to see what comes next. 

For more information about Oaths and Offerings, see the publisher's website here.

Blogtour Review - Wonderful by Louise Beech

Wonderful

Louise Beech
Pick Lock Publishing, 1 June 2026
Available as: PB, 364pp, e
Source: Advance copy
ISBN(PB): 9781068337987

I'm grateful to Anne for sending me a copy of Wonderful to consider for review, and for inviting me to join the book's blogtour.

Wonderful is published on what would have been Marilyn Monroe's hundredth birthday.

As the book opens, two women are finding new homes. In 1960s Hollywood, Marilyn is looking to buy a place that can be a retreat for her. In 2016, in Hull, Flora is moving to a flat that’s even more depressing than her last.

The book will continue to tell the stories of Marilyn and Flora, showing up similarities in their lives and also, eventually, some unlikely connections. Across the years these two women form an unlikely bond as Marilyn struggles for freedom and Flora tries to build a life, protect her sister, and overcome dark events from her early years.

Monroe, born Norma Jean and also with a troubled earlier life, has created a persona which has delivered her success as an actress, but living it is taking an increasing toll and she feels trapped. This can’t end well, as we know from tragic history, but Beech sensitively avoids cliches in giving us Marilyn’s own reflections on her life and her plans for the future. 

In Hull, Flora has also led a difficult life, quite how difficult we don’t learn till the end of the book. In her present, though, she’s focussed on the welfare of her sister, about to be released from a psychiatric ward. The relationship between the sisters, while not cosy, is very moving. Essentially they’re all each other has, their mother being around but little help. The emotional heart of the book is this relationship, one which leaves Flora little space or time for a possible romance growing with Neil, an aspiring magician who sometimes appears in the club where Flora works.

All this, and the Blessed Virgin Mary too! This perhaps unlikely figure appears to a number of women in the book, bringing a nosy journalist in her wake but also pointing to futures for some of them. Something is being built, something to support women’s autonomy and safety. Both Flora and Marilyn will play their parts.

As ever in Beech’s books, this is a story told from below, from the perspective of the underdog. Characteristically the action comes together in Hull, described as “the end of the line”, a contrast to the glitzy background of Monroe’s Hollywood (even if this has become a place she can’t set foot unless disguised) yet - across all Beech's books, a place of possibilities, growth and authenticity. Characteristically, too, this works, both on a story and an emotional level as the sheer grind of everyday life is transmuted into a struggle to understand one’s past, however dark, and realise one’s potential.

I love Beech’s books and this one fully lived up to my expectations. The book is hard reading, at times. Not everyone here is always perfect, or even always likeable. But there is a willingness to work, to build that future, that makes every page a treat.

An article I was reading the other day focussed on how resourceful Monroe was, setting up her own production company and using the law to obtain a measure of control from her studio. Beech’s nuanced portrayal captures this, as she surveys her future. 

For more information about Wonderful, see the author's website here - and of course the other stops on the blogtour which you can see listed on the poster below. 

You can buy Wonderful from your local high street bookshop or online from Hive Books, Blackwell's, Foyle's, Waterstones, WH Smiths (always Smith's, there is no Jones) or Amazon.