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Gregory David Roberts creates an extraordinary sense of place. The heat, traffic, monsoon rain, food, poverty and constant press of humanity make Bombay feel less like the setting of the novel than its most commanding character. When Lin is walking through its streets with Prabaker, living among the residents of the slum or trying to understand the customs of Prabaker’s village, the book has an energy and warmth that explains why it's remained so important to so many readers.

Set against the cold, deserted landscape of Belport Island, the novel alternates between Kate, whose husband fails to return from a supposed medical conference, and Abby, whose ordinarily dependable husband has begun behaving suspiciously. White creates tension through accumulating inconsistencies rather than constant action: unexplained absences, discarded clothing, carefully maintained lies and the unnerving possibility that neither woman truly knows the man she married.

Kathy Lette’s The Sisterhood Rules is a loud, bawdy and surprisingly tender novel about twin sisters separated by a betrayal neither has managed to escape.

At its centre is Franny Stone, a woman driven by an almost physical need to keep moving. She's crossed countries, abandoned homes and repeatedly left the people she loves, but her latest journey is different. Believing that the Arctic terns may be undertaking their final migration, Franny travels to Greenland and attaches tracking devices to three of the birds. She intends to follow them south to Antarctica, where she'll fulfil a promise connected to her husband Niall.

One of the easiest mistakes we make is assuming history changed because somebody signed a law or delivered a famous speech. It rarely happens that neatly. More often, it changes because ordinary people begin asking questions they weren't supposed to ask.

Private investigator Reid reluctantly returns to the town he once vowed never to see again after being hired to investigate a fatal car accident. What begins as a routine insurance enquiry quickly expands into something far more complicated, with missing teenagers, old scandals and long-held resentments intertwining until it becomes impossible to separate coincidence from conspiracy.

Although the mystery is compelling, this is really a novel about grief. Not simply the grief of losing a child, but the grief of losing certainty.

One particular moment in the caves—a sudden rockfall—had me holding my breath, waiting for the resolution. It’s in these moments that the land reveals its "magic and its menace". Morrissey reminds us that the outback isn't just a backdrop; it’s a living, breathing entity that demands respect.