One Moonlit Night: The unmissable new novel from the million-copy Sunday Times bestselling author of A Beautiful Spy

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It was lovely to read a novel set largely in Norfolk too, having spent many years in Norwich myself after attending UEA (where Rachel actually taught me in one of my English Literature modules!) before I moved to London.

Jesus, the people in the South talk funny, don’t they? said Moi when we went to see him the following day. Pass me that pot again. And there was poor Moi, still in bed and still spitting blood. And that was the last time we saw old Moi. The following Sunday night, Huw called round and his face was like chalk. Have you heard? he said at the door without coming in. Heard what? said Mam. Come in from the door, Huw, I said. What’s up? Moi’s dead, he said quietly. Moi? No, you’re telling lies, Huw. But I knew by his face that Huw was telling the truth. I just needed to say something, just like ages ago when I used to whistle as I went along Post Lane after dark, pretending that I wasn’t frightened of bogeymen. And we were talking to him on Monday night, I said, as though I still didn’t believe it. He was spitting a lot of blood that night, said Huw. That bloomin’ TB, said Mam. It takes young and old alike. Then I started to cry like a baby. I couldn’t stop for the life of me, though I tried my very best to stop cos I was embarrassed with Huw and Mam watching me. Moi and him were close friends, Huw said to Mam. But, of course, Huw was making excuses for me crying cos he was as close to Moi as I was. You never saw Huw crying like I did. But Huw cried, too, at the funeral though nobody saw him that time except me. It was only one little tear that rolled down his cheek and even I wouldn’t have seen that if he hadn’t wiped his eye with the sleeve of his surplice, as we both stood with the Choir at the graveside singing: My friends are homeward going Before me one by one And I am left an orphan A pilgrim all alone That’s what we sang at Griffith Evans Braich’s funeral, and Canon’s and all the others, too, but we were just singing cos we got tuppence for singing at those. It was different at Moi’s funeral cos he was our friend and the words were true. I couldn’t see anything when Hughes the Parson threw a handful of soil onto Moi’s coffin after they’d lowered it into the grave with a rope cos my eyes were just like two windows after it’s been raining."

The boy, I guess about 10 years old, has several graphic encounters, from dying to death to mental illness, that are told without prejudice or judgement, and because of that, all the more unsettling. Roaming silently amidst sadistic teachers, priests, policemen and illness, the boy is observant, but aware of his inability to alter what is going on around him. He expresses himself only in that he will not work in the slate quarry. This book is beautifully written with wonderful characters you soon care about and an involving storyline. There’s enough going on to keep you interested, but not too much that you become confused. I especially liked Maddie and could relate to her trying to bring up her children by herself, while working as an illustrator. I also loved the setting of Knyghton and the farmland around it, the nature and countryside. I also enjoyed the novel being set in WWII and following what happened to Philip too. The narrator of 'One Moonlit Night' is a boy who is around ten years old. He lives in a small village with his mother, who raises him on her own. Most people in the village are poor. The story happens at around the time of the First World War. Our unnamed narrator describes his life in the village, the adventures he has with his best friends Huw and Moi, the poverty that people experience everyday, how people are still happy and show kindness to each other inspite of being poor, the role of the church in village life, how the war impacts the life of the people and the tragedy and occasional glory it brings, how a child's life can suddenly change and be turned upside down because of things that grownups do – these and other things are explored in the book. Our ten year old narrator's voice is beautiful and charming and his friendship with his besties Huw and Moi is beautifully depicted. The narrator even falls in love with a girl who is older than him and it is beautiful and sad at the same time. I love the way the narrator's voice takes us into the mind of a ten year old boy and makes us see the world through his eyes. It is brilliant. Caradog Prichard manages to capture that time so beautifully and there are many scenes which made me smile with pleasure and there are also some scenes that made me cry.

Caradog Prichard was born and grew up in the Gwynedd slate-quarrying town of Bethesda, in north-west Wales. His father died when he was a baby, and his mother suffered from mental illness. [2] Prichard began his career as a journalist with Welsh language newspapers in Caernarfon, Llanrwst and Cardiff, before moving to London, where he spent much of his life. Rachel Gore’s latest is historical fiction, set during WW2. It is the story of a family and secrets that have been concealed for decades.

Even so, I think the book is essential to anyone that enjoys or want to know about Wales and Welsh literature. But it's not universal - if you don't care about Wales, I couldn't say the book is a necessary reading (even tough it can be fully enjoyed). During this time they are living in London but originally they met in Norwich. When the family home is ruined by the bombs Maddie decides to head to Knyghton – the family home of her husband who is presumed dead at this point. I loved how little aspects of his family home gave Maddie comfort even though she was consistently trying to piece the puzzle of his home life together. So much mystery?