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Nicola Griffith is likely to most people, or at least to readers of this blog, known as the author of the sf-novels Ammonite and Slow River, but her latest novel is a historical one. It takes place in seventh century Britain, centring on the historical figure of Hilda of Whitby, a Christian saint. In Hild, Griffith envisions what Hilda's childhood might have been – the book begins when Hild is three years old and is the first instalment in her journey towards sainthood of a planned trilogy.

Before Hild's birth her mother, Berguswith, dreamt of her child being a great jewel shining light over the world and Hild learns from an early age that she is, as her mother explains to her, the light of the world. Berguswith teaches Hild to be ever watchful and attentive, in order to be able read and understand people and to understand what is happening in the world around her. After she has been widowed and her children orphaned, Berguswith places her daughter in King Edwin's court, making her his seer. The young Hild uses her knowledge of the world and people to prophesy everything from weather to victories for him, securing her own and her family's safety and future. But the world around them is changing: small kingdoms are merging, King Edwin reaches for more power and more land and foreign priests begin to arrive, bringing with them a new religion called Christianity. In this power struggle Hild becomes an important player, using her influence and uncanny abilities to weave together political alliances, ensure victories and defeat in battle and shape even life and death.

Hild is above all a gorgeously written and richly imagined novel. Griffith's extensive research combined with her storytelling abilities has created an absorbing read that brings this, to me, little known period to sprawling, glorious life. Ironically enough, considering that the novel is historical fiction, it many times reminded me of why I used to like epic fantasy so much with its massive amount of characters and storylines, the obligatory frontispiece of a map, and all the political intrigues and bloody battles. While the novel does not include any strictly supernatural phenomena (even though it, upon occasion, flirts with the supernatural), it does introduce many words and concepts that are new to most readers and Griffith manages to make what is often an unfamiliar world intelligible to me more deftly than many fantasy authors.

The main focus of the story, however, remains on Hild – not only as the king's seer, but also as a small girl growing into a young woman learning to navigate power, femininity and sexuality in a frequently difficult world. To the reader, Hild comes across somewhat eerie but at the same time as thoroughly human; while gifted with unusual powers of perception and constantly caught up in the intrigues and battles over the British isle, she is above all struggling to keep herself and her loved ones safe in the midst of King Edwin's ever-changing court.

Admittedly, I'm still hoping for more science fiction from Griffith, but in the meantime I will gladly contend with the promise of two more Hild-novels.

To me, spring hasn't really arrived until I have managed to get my paws on the latest Harlan Coben standalone. This has become a ritual of some ten odds years: me reading Coben while watching the White Witch slowly yet mercilessly thawing. Ever the stickler for a good ritual, me, it goes without saying that I've already read this year's standalone, Missing You. This time, the protoganist is – somewhat gasp worthy given the general, um, guyness of Coben's oeuvre – female, but despite this, things are very much recognisable in Coben land. NYPD detective Kat Donovan – good cop, loner, heartbroken over the death of her father year back, fan of the plonk – begrudgingly finds herself on an online dating site one booze-fuelled night. Out of the blue, a very familiar face appears. It is that of Jeff, her fiancé who broke her heart some eighteen years ago. Soon Kat finds herself up to her ears in a sordid affair where the bad guys prey on the most vulnerable of hearts. Meanwhile, details of her father's murder come spinning back with a vengeance. What does it all mean? Well, I will let you find out for yourself. Suffice it to say that you're in for a bumpy ride... again. Otherwise it just wouldn't be Harlan Coben writing.

Coben's books are as eerily similar as they are unputdownable. I always devour them, racing through the pages in a near-bulimic fashion. Later, the last page turned, the first spring flowers detected out in the garden, I always find myself thinking "was that in the last one, or am I thinking about another Harlan Coben novel?". Flawed but sympathetic protagonists, twisty events, mobsters and kidnappings are abundant in the darkly alluring world of Coben – as are, in the latest two books, remote farmhouses where evildoings take place. I sort of saw the ending coming here – parts of it, anyway – but that didn't stop me from having a grand old time all the way through. I tend to judge a book's page turning qualities by the amount of time spent in the bath reading it. In the case of Missing You, I went through nearly 200 pages in the bathtub, ending up all cold and wrinkly. Perhaps last year's standalone, Six Years, was slightly better but take it from me: Coben definitely still has it.

ALSO RECOMMENDED

This Is Where I Am (Karen Campbell)

I was a massive fan of Campbell's dark and gritty Glaswegian police novels starring Anna Cameron and must admit to a certain degree of alarm when I learned that she would be changing genres entirely. No need to fret: this is as exquisitely written and atmospheric as anything she has written, with plenty of Glaswegian grit, albeit with a lighter, more heartwarming delivery. This story of the unlikely friendship between recently widowed Deborah and asyulum seeker Abdi deserves all the praise that's been coming its way. More than anything, this beautifully realised tale breathes hope. We all need a bit of that these days, don't we?

Dust and Shadow (Lyndsay Faye)

Loved last year's Edgar nominee The Gods of Gotham – so much so, in fact, that I was rooting for it to win, despite noble competition (Lehane, Flynn). Was delighted to find out that she has previously written a novel of Sherlock Holmes' close encounter with that most elusive of Victorian villains, Jack the Ripper, as accounted, of course, by Doctor Watson. This is, needless to say, a must-read for all fans of Victoriana. As in The Gods of Gotham, Faye manages to get the tone just right. Lovely stuff. Will be picking up the sequel of The Gods of Gotham, Seven for a Secret, asap. (It is currently looking very pretty on my nightstand.)

Good in Bed and Certain Girls (Jennifer Weiner, re-reads)

Fans of snappy, laugh out loud funny, and genuinely moving chick lit – make that lit, period – ought to check out Jennifer Weiner's work. Her later novels in general and, perhaps, Fly Away Home in particular, have a more mature feel to them, but I LOVED revisiting original Weiner heroine Cannie Shapiro – big, brazen, utterly relatable – in these two early books, to be read in the correct order starting with Good in Bed. Can't wait for her upcoming novel, All Fall Down, due out in June

PS: I will be covering the Edgar nominees this year, too, so stay tuned for that!

Who loves all humans, completely and unconditionally, with all of their faults? Some will tell you that God loves us like that. But what if we made robots, to be like us, but hardwired to love and help and serve us?

I don't think anyone has gone as deeply as Madeline Ashby into the ethics of creating what is actually a new sentient species, and make it into a servant caste. Servants with no choice but to love humans.

What is love anyway? How much is choice, how much is affliction, and how much is the craft of building and manintaining relationships?

iD is the sequel to the brilliant novel vN, about a near future where self-replicating robots live alongside humans. This is a story about love, and the differences between enslaved machines and biological masters. It is also a story about sex: how it can be an expression of affection but also a medium for power and and a kind of violence.

At the heart of Madeline Ashby's stories is the human fear of losing privilege. This is a dark theme, and touches on every aspect of human power struggle. At the same time it illuminates some very deep questions about humanity.

More than 70 years ago Isaac Asimov invented the three laws of robotics, intended to make sure that our machines never harm us.

1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
2. A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

He explored these ideas in many stories, and other authors have expanded and elaborated on these ideas. If you like Bladerunner you will notice a lot of replicant references.

We are currently seeing a lot of new interest in stories about artificial humans, and about the sometimes very close relationship between human and machine. If you find this even remotely interesting I think you will want to read these books.

After the genocide that destroyed their homeworld and wiped out most of their race, the remaining Sadiri, few and scattered, settle on the planet Cygnus Beta in an attempt to not only survive but to rebuild their society anew. By reading the blurb on the back of the cover, the premise of the novel seems, and certainly is, dark. The Best of All Possible Worlds by Karen Lord deals with decidedly gloomy themes, but surprisingly it is, in fact, a light and often humorous story centred on one of the Sadiri men, Dllenahkh, and a native to Cygnus Beta, Grace Delura, whose boring government job becomes much more interesting once she is assigned to work with Dllenahkh to help the Sadiri build their settlement on Cygnus Beta.

Not unexpectedly, these two soon take a lot more than a strictly professional interest in each other and the novel develops into more of a giddy romance story than anything else. It makes an for interesting contrast and while I have to say that Lord is certainly using these stereotypes – Grace is basically the Manic Pixie Dream Girl to Dllenahkh's tall, tortured and stoic – a lot more deftly than is the norm, I have quite frankly had my fill of these formulaic love stories.

It also seems a bit of a waste, because for the most part Lord is definitely not an author to retort to lazy stereotypes and formulaic storytelling. Her worldbuilding is impressive and interesting and a far cry from the usual white-washed and americanized futuristic societies that the SF-genre is all too saturated with. Furthermore, she handles the effects the Sadiri genocide and subsequent settlement on Cygnus Beta very well. While I normally do not mind the inclusion of a romance plot in the slightest, as long as it is done well, the fact that the love story is given precedence in the text is where most of my consternation with the novel can be found.

For me it seems a little bit like The Best of All Possible Worlds is somewhat struggling to decide what story it wants to tell. With such an interesting premise, why not focus more on the many issues this premise raises in regards to for example sexuality, reproduction, and gender politics? The Sadiri are basically settling on Cygnus Beta in order to marry women and reproduce, so those issues are very much present in the novel but never really addressed directly. That's what I had expected the novel to focus on when I began reading it, which probably is the root of the problem: The Best of All Possible Worlds is simply not the book I expected to find when I began reading it and thus it disappointed me. That is not to say that the novel does not have it merits, because it does, but it succeeded more in making me interested Lord's other works than engaged in whatever story it is trying to settle on telling.