After loving Jennie Godfrey’s debut The List of Suspicious Things, I did wonder whether her second novel would strike the same chord. I am very happy to say that it did more than that. I absolutely adored it. From the moment I stepped into Delmont Close in the summer of 1985, I felt that familiar tug of nostalgia. The music, the fashion, the sense of a neighbourhood watching itself as much as it watches others. It all felt wonderfully vivid without ever slipping into caricature.
The story unfolds over a single day, the day of Live Aid, and the structure works beautifully. Hour by hour, we move between the residents of the close, though the narrative focuses most closely on Rita, Steve and Hannah. Each of them is carrying something heavy. Worries they cannot voice, fears they have learned to hide, and the quiet ache of trying to appear fine when they are anything but. Godfrey reveals their secrets slowly, offering glimpses rather than grand revelations, which kept me turning the pages with a growing sense of curiosity.
The barbecue itself is the perfect backdrop. A gathering that looks cheerful from the outside but is threaded with tension. Some neighbours glide through the afternoon with ease while others feel like they are performing a version of themselves that does not quite fit. I loved how Godfrey captures that feeling of being in a crowd yet painfully aware of your own inner world. The mix of personalities is eclectic and often entertaining, but beneath the chatter there is a simmering sense that something is about to shift.
What worked especially well for me was the balance between warmth and emotional depth. There are light moments, funny observations and the kind of neighbourly interactions that feel instantly recognisable. But there are also more serious themes running through the book. Domestic strain, shame, the weight of expectations, and the quiet damage caused by secrets kept for too long. Godfrey handles these with tenderness and honesty. Hannah in particular stayed with me. Her sense of not belonging is written with such care that it becomes quietly devastating.
I also have to mention the map at the beginning. It is such a simple addition but it brings the close to life and makes the community feel even more real. It reminded me that just because you know who lives on your street does not mean you know who they truly are.
Readers who enjoy character driven fiction, nostalgic settings, and stories about the hidden corners of ordinary lives will find a lot to love here. If you liked Godfrey’s debut, this feels like a natural and even richer progression.
In the end, The Barbecue at No 9 is a tender, absorbing portrait of a community on the brink of change. I finished it with that hollow little ache that comes from leaving characters who felt real. Jennie Godfrey has done it again.
With thanks to Penguin Random House SA
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