Joyce’s beguiling novel mingles elements of ancient lore, folk medicine, magic and 1960s bohemianism into a compelling brew. His narrator, Fern Cullen, has been brought up by her adoptive mother, Mammy, in the centuries-old traditions of the Leicestershire countryside where her ancestors have always lived. Mammy is a witch, renowned for her skills as a midwife and, on occasions, as an abortionist.

When one of the girls whom she has “helped” dies, local opinion turns against the old woman and she and Fern are threatened with eviction from their tied cottage. In her fight to prevent this, Fern is assisted by a motley crew of eccentrics, including the village schoolteacher, Judith, who is also a witch, an elderly beekeeper and warlock, William, and a group of well-to-do hippies, led by good-looking Chas, who have taken over a nearby farm.

Some of the funniest moments come when Chas and his long-haired acolytes find their self-indulgent mysticism challenged by Fern’s more down-to-earth magic. Revered by them as a “wise woman” for her knowledge of herbal remedies, she is, in turn, fascinated by 20th century phenomena such as pop music and television, of which she has little experience. The humour generated by juxtaposing these different world-views is delightful, as is the portrayal of a fast-vanishing, and now probably vanished, England, in which the outlandish and the mundane are interwoven.

64 CLARKE
by Andrew Holmes
Sceptre, £7.99

Holmes’s dark comic thriller begins with the disappearance on a station platform of six- year-old Ben Snape, last seen on a CCTV monitor being led away by a woman, after being separated from his father, Patrick, on their way to an Arsenal match. Patrick obsessively retraces the fatal journey, in the hope of finding some clue as to his son’s whereabouts, while his wife, Deborah, sinks into depression in their Kettering semi.

Caught in a hellish circle of his own is the gentle, unassuming Max, who is rebuilding his life after being released from prison and runs errands for a local gangster. This character — a fat, foul-mouthed sadist named Chick, “veteran of the Oxford Street perfume rackets” and other unsavoury scams — is worthy of Martin Amis at his scatological best. Another of Chick’s reluctant foot-soldiers is Dash, who scrapes a living selling bogus hi-fi speakers to gullible students but can never earn enough to repay his debts to Chick. Max and Dash share an address — the eponymous 64 Clarke Street — with Dash’s ambitious girlfriend, Sophie, and several consignments of speakers.

The ingenuity with which the author interweaves their respective stories with that of the Snape family is considerable and his characterisations and descriptions of the grimy reality of 21st century urban life are admirably deft. The ending is wholly satisfying: a morality tale without moralising.

THE LIMITS OF ENCHANTMENT
by Mary Nickson
Arrow, £6.99

Victoria Cunningham’s existence as a comfortably-off wife and mother in a peaceful corner of rural England is brought to an abrupt end when her husband, Richard, dies in a shooting accident. Thereafter, she learns that her perfect marriage was not what it seemed. Not only was Richard’s death probably suicide, but he was in love with someone else. Shocked by these revelations, Victoria takes refuge at her grandmother’s house in Corfu, where, with her son Jake, she tries to make sense of the past.

Facing his own problems is Patrick Hammond, who is visiting the island to find material for a book of architectural photographs. Patrick’s marriage is also a sham: his pretty but selfish wife, Rachel, is more devoted to her spoilt child than to him. Inevitably, he and the beautiful Victoria are drawn together, and from this point on it is only a matter of time before their mutual passion is fulfilled.

All this is well conveyed, with some sharp observations of the tensions of family life and some lyrical descriptions of Corfu. But enjoyable as this is, it is hard to avoid the feeling that the author has her thumb on the scales, so to speak, when it comes to her treatment of the unfortunate Rachel, who is not allowed a single redeeming feature. Presumably this is to make her desertion by her husband seem less unkind than it actually is — but it leaves an uncomfortable aftertaste in an otherwise generous-spirited work.

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