Anarch by Dan Abnett is a powerful and emotionally charged entry in the long running Gaunt’s Ghosts series. Set against the brutal backdrop of the Sabbat Worlds Crusade, it delivers everything readers have come to expect from the saga: ferocious combat, intricate military strategy, and, most importantly, a deep investment in the men and women of the Tanith First and Only.

At this stage in the series, Abnett has long since proven his ability to balance large scale warfare with intimate character work. In Anarch, that balance feels particularly refined. The campaign against the arch enemy known as Urlock Gaur reaches a fever pitch, and the tension is sustained across multiple fronts. Battles are vividly rendered, chaotic yet coherent, and the sense of attrition is palpable. Victories feel costly, and losses carry real weight.

What continues to distinguish Gaunt’s Ghosts from many other entries in the wider Warhammer 40,000 universe is the realism of its characters. These are not unbreakable super soldiers but tired, scarred infantry who have endured years of relentless conflict. In Anarch, their reactions to stress feel profoundly human. There is fear, frustration, dark humour, and sometimes emotional withdrawal. Leadership decisions are second guessed. Grief lingers. Bonds of loyalty are tested under impossible pressure. Abnett gives space to these responses, allowing quiet conversations and private doubts to sit alongside the thunder of artillery. It is this grounding in recognisable human behaviour that gives the novel its emotional force.

I have enjoyed every Gaunt’s Ghosts novel in the series, and Anarch reinforces why that is the case. Yet there is also a sense of approaching finality. Threads that have run for many volumes begin to tighten. Long standing rivalries and destinies edge closer to resolution. While it is bittersweet, I find myself pleased that the series appears to be drawing near to its conclusion. Abnett has sustained this epic for decades with remarkable consistency, and there is something fitting about seeing it build toward what promises to be a meaningful end rather than continuing indefinitely.

The audiobook is elevated further by the narration of Toby Longworth. Longworth has become synonymous with Black Library audio productions, and his performance here is exemplary. He captures the stoic authority of Ibram Gaunt while also differentiating the wide cast of Ghosts with clarity and subtlety. His pacing during battle scenes conveys urgency without descending into confusion, and in quieter moments he allows emotion to surface naturally. The strain in a voice, the hesitation before an order, the subdued tone of a soldier facing overwhelming odds all feel authentic. His narration enhances the sense of realism that Abnett builds on the page.

Overall, Anarch stands as one of the most compelling entries in Gaunt’s Ghosts. It is intense, character driven, and emotionally resonant. For long time readers, it offers both satisfaction and the promise of closure. For listeners, Longworth’s superb performance makes it an experience that is as immersive as it is moving.

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Review: Dead Lions

Dead Lions, the second instalment in Mick Herron’s acclaimed Slough House series, deepens both the emotional stakes and the satirical bite introduced in Slow Horses. Herron takes what could have been a straightforward espionage caper and turns it into something far richer: a tense, darkly funny, and unexpectedly moving exploration of loyalty, failure, and institutional neglect.

The novel begins with what appears to be a natural death—an old Cold War operative found dead on a bus. But in Herron’s hands, nothing is ever that simple. The plot that unfolds is, on the surface, almost implausible in its complexity: dormant Russian sleeper agents, bureaucratic cover-ups, and interdepartmental manoeuvring that border on farce. Yet it all feels oddly believable. Herron grounds the high-stakes intrigue in painstaking procedural detail and, more importantly, in character. However unlikely the wider conspiracy may seem, the human motivations driving it—career preservation, pride, fear, resentment—are entirely convincing.

That truly distinguishes Dead Lions is the realism of its characters. The disgraced agents of Slough House are not glamorous operatives but bruised professionals nursing past mistakes. Their reactions to stress feel painfully authentic: frayed tempers, flashes of pettiness, gallows humour, and moments of genuine courage emerging almost in spite of themselves. When one of their own dies, the response is neither melodramatic nor stoically heroic. Instead, Herron shows grief in awkward silences, misdirected anger, and a stubborn determination to uncover the truth. The emotional fallout reverberates through the team, lending the narrative weight and texture. These are people who feel the cost of their work.

Central to the audiobook’s success is the superb narration by Sean Barrett. Barrett’s performance captures Herron’s tonal balancing act perfectly. His rendering of Jackson Lamb is a particular triumph, by turns slovenly, sardonic, and razor-sharp, while the other members of Slough House are given distinct, lived-in voices. Barrett excels at conveying subtext; a slight pause or change in cadence suggests volumes about a character’s internal state. During moments of tension or grief, he resists overstatement, allowing the emotional truth of the scene to emerge naturally. The result is an immersive listening experience that heightens both the humour and the pathos.

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Review: Fear the Past

 Fear the Past by J.M. Dalgliesh is a gripping addition to the Dark Yorkshire series, delivering a layered and emotionally resonant crime story that lingers well beyond its final chapter. Dalgliesh continues to demonstrate his strength in crafting intricate mysteries rooted in atmosphere and character, and this instalment is no exception.

At the heart of the novel Detective Inspector Caslin who commands particular attention here. The mystery itself is deftly constructed, unfolding through a web of past secrets, present dangers, and carefully placed revelations. Dalgliesh excels at showing how history refuses to stay buried, and the case develops with a steady, compelling momentum. The interconnectedness with earlier books in the series adds meaningful depth; long-running character arcs and subtle callbacks reward returning readers without alienating newcomers. The broader narrative tapestry feels deliberate and cohesive, reinforcing the sense that every event reverberates beyond a single investigation.

The audiobook narration by Greg Patmore elevates the experience even further. Patmore’s portrayal of DI Caslin is particularly striking. His delivery is measured, controlled, and almost laconic, perfectly capturing Caslin’s analytical mind and understated authority. Rather than overdramatizing key moments, Patmore allows tension to simmer, which makes the emotional beats land with greater authenticity. His character distinctions are clear without being theatrical, and his pacing mirrors the procedural intensity of the investigation. The result is an immersive listening experience that feels both intimate and cinematic.

Overall, Fear the Past is a strong and satisfying entry in the series; thoughtful in its plotting, rich in character development, and enhanced significantly by Patmore’s nuanced narration. It stands as a testament to Dalgliesh’s skill in blending procedural precision with emotional depth.

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