Fledgling by Josh Holton (Conduit, 224pp, £12.99)
“Since childhood, I’ve had episodes of panic where the world doesn’t feel real.” So begins Fledgling, Josh Holton’s arresting autofictional novel rooted in the rural Cumbrian environs of his childhood. For added distinctiveness, this opening also describes his virtually toothless, ex-convict father who combs ticks out of the hair on his legs; and the narrator’s sense – Holton’s sense – that his parents are “in on a conspiracy to keep cosmic secrets from me”. Their home is isolated and lonely: as animals take to marginal and high ground to escape human predation, so too does this family – and the book is woven with nature to a most elemental degree. Woven too with magic and the occult; with scenes of domestic chaos; and with reflections on masculinity, both toxic and otherwise. It is this last that gives Fledgling its particular power and authority. An auspicious and impressive debut. Neil Hegarty
Exhibition by Alex Hyde (Granta, 250pp, £14.99)
This is the chronicle of a relationship between two artists played out in the London and New York art scenes of the 1990s and early 2000s. One woman is an earthy Manchester street photographer, the other a patrician figurative expressionist who likes to paint herself. With a sparse first-person and “you” narration, it’s a British Gen X All About Eve revisitation complete with issues such as drugs, class, fame, obsession and the vicious competitiveness of the art world. Writing in an unadorned, accessible style, Hyde richly evokes both her characters and their milieu. Readers with first-hand knowledge of fine art will recognise well-known artists and public personages of the day. The book’s prescient denouement is a chilling nod to a whole new world. Helena Mulkerns
Something Like Happiness by Tom Newlands (Phoenix, 256pp, £20)
This second novel from Tom Newlands, whose debut Only Here, Only Now was Waterstones Scottish Book of the Year 2025, is a tender, beautifully-observed story about love and the seemingly endless obstacles it must overcome to survive. Frazer and Caitlin live in Calderknowes, a working-class town even its own council considers “a problem that couldn’t be solved”. Once teenage sweethearts, they are now parents of a neurodiverse five-year-old, their relationship buckling under the weight of adulthood. Frazer has a sentimental attachment to the mould-infested housing association flat where he grew up, but ambitious amateur boxer Caitlin is determined they move out and up. When Caitlin assaults Frazer, he doesn’t know whether to stay or leave her: “His head didn’t seem to care how his ribcage felt.” Newlands has a keen, insightful eye for detail – Catilin’s small fists “draw sad human gasps from the bag”– and this novel is at its strongest when it uses small moments to illuminate the big picture. Something Like Happiness cleverly explores monstrous behaviour without ever creating monsters. Henrietta McKervey