Peaches for Monsieur le Cure by Joanne Harris

The popular wisdom is that it’s often a mistake to revisit earlier successes. Try telling that to Joanne Harris.

Just once in a while you read a book that is so good, so well-written that you can’t leave it behind, and you find that long after closing the final pages the characters are still intruding on your life, slipping into your thoughts throughout the working day. Many of Harris’s novels seem to have that effect on me, but possibly none more so than this one.

This is an absolute gem of a book, deftly plotted and beautifully constructed. The pace is measured and never rushed as Harris confidently interweaves the narratives of her main characters. With an interesting twist it could be argued that Vianne Rocher is not truly the main protagonist this time around, as the plot spirals around Father Reynaud as he struggles to deal with the influx of Muslim Maghrebins into the sleepy village of Lansquenet. Set around Ramadan (in itself a clever echo back to the Lenten setting of “Chocolat”) Vianne’s return to Lansquenet with her daughters Anouk and Rosette finds the village trying to cope with women wearing the niqab and the appearance of a mosque.

The book raises a number of questions about the nature of communities and the prejudice with which outsiders are viewed. However, as you would expect, it does so with a subtle touch rather than a heavy hand. Harris neatly encapsulates the main themes of the book with the phrase “everything returns” which echoes throughout the story, layering the plot threads into an integrated whole.

For anyone following the trajectory of Harris’s writing career this novel stands alongside Chocolat in representing the zenith of that curve. I am in awe of her talent and fervently hope that she is drawn back into her shed to write whilst her muse remains such a fascinating enchantress.