When Will There Be Good News? by Kate AtkinsonWhen Will There Be Good News? by Kate Atkinson

When Will There Be Good News?

byKate Atkinson

Paperback | August 4, 2009

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International Bestseller

When Will There Be Good News? is the brilliant new novel from the acclaimed author of Case Histories and One Good Turn, once again featuring private investigator Jackson Brodie.

Thirty years ago, six-year-old Joanna witnessed the brutal murders of her mother, brother and sister, before escaping into a field, and running for her life. Now, the man convicted of the crime is being released from prison, meaning Dr. Joanna Hunter has one more reason to dwell on the pain of that day, especially with her own infant son to protect.

Sixteen-year-old Reggie, recently orphaned and wise beyond her years, works as a nanny for Joanna Hunter, but has no idea of the woman’s horrific past. All Reggie knows is that Dr. Hunter cares more about her baby than life itself, and that the two of them make up just the sort of family Reggie wished she had: that unbreakable bond, that safe port in the storm. When Dr. Hunter goes missing, Reggie seems to be the only person who is worried, despite the decidedly shifty business interests of Joanna’s husband, Neil, and the unknown whereabouts of the newly freed murderer, Andrew Decker.

Across town, Detective Chief Inspector Louise Monroe is looking for a missing person of her own, murderer David Needler, whose family lives in terror that he will return to finish the job he started. So it’s not surprising that she listens to Reggie’s outrageous thoughts on Dr. Hunter’s disappearance with only mild attention. But when ex-police officer and Private Investigator, Jackson Brodie arrives on the scene, with connections to Reggie and Joanna Hunter of his own, the details begin to snap into place. And, as Louise knows, once Jackson is involved there’s no telling how many criminal threads he will be able to pull together — or how many could potentially end up wrapped around his own neck.

In an extraordinary virtuoso display, Kate Atkinson has produced one of the most engrossing, masterful, and piercingly insightful novels of this or any year. It is also as hilarious as it is heartbreaking, as Atkinson weaves in and out of the lives of her eccentric, grief-plagued, and often all-too-human cast. Yet out of the excesses of her characters and extreme events that shake their worlds comes a relatively simple message, about being good, loyal, and true. When Will There Be Good News? shows us what it means to survive the past and the present, and to have the strength to just keep on keeping on.


From the Hardcover edition.
Kate Atkinson was born in York in 1951, where her parents ran a surgical supplies shop, and spent a lot of time reading as a child. She’s even commented that being an only child and learning to enjoy her own company, combined with her love of books, probably helped prepare her well for the solitary life of the writer. Atkinson then att...
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Title:When Will There Be Good News?Format:PaperbackDimensions:352 pages, 8.01 × 4.99 × 0.96 inPublished:August 4, 2009Publisher:Doubleday CanadaLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0385666837

ISBN - 13:9780385666831

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Reviews

Rated 5 out of 5 by from Liked it Kate Atkinson has this amazing ability to write genuinely real and complex characters into her plots, especially this one. If you love well rounded characterization you will want to read this book.
Date published: 2017-09-23
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Enjoying the series #plumreview Looking forward to the second book in the series and was. It disappointed.
Date published: 2016-11-06
Rated 4 out of 5 by from This is in the Jackson Brodie series but can easily stand alone. There are several intertwining stories, again each good on its own. I loved the complexity of the many layers and how they ended up combined. This was very well written, as are most by Kate Atkinson. I immediately turned back to Kobo to see if there was a next Jackson Brodie, as I've read some others.
Date published: 2014-01-27
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Just wonderful! This was a great crime fiction story. Just the right amount of twists and turns to keep you interested throughout the whole book. I totally recommend giving it a read!
Date published: 2014-01-22
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Jackson Brodie at his Best This is Jackson Brodie at his finest. Well, actually it's not. He is in fact rather broken and definitely not 'fine'. It started out as a simple plan, take the train to the Yorkshire Dales, complete a small 'job' , and then take the train home before anyone noticed he was gone. It didn't turn out anything like he planned. Dr. Joanne Hunter's day didn't turn out as she planned either. Thirty years earlier her mother, sister and baby brother had been murdered by a stranger, and today she learned that the murderer was now out of jail. Reggie's goal for the day was to meet with her tutor, have a small dinner and get in lots of studying. She did get two of three items accomplished before her world was turned on the end. It didn't take many pages before I found myself captivated by Reggie. She had so many stumbling blocks in her road of life, but she continued to pick herself up and and push forward. Please Ms. Atkinson, don't leave me hanging, I need to know more about Reggie and how she fares in the future with her life and her studies. Will she meet up with Detective Chief Inspector Louise Monroe again, or will it be with Jackson Brodie himself. This third Jackson Brodie novel kept me on the edge of my seat reading. I couldn't put it down till I knew that Reggie would be safe. Oh yeah, I did have concern about Jackson and Louise, but they are adults and I had to give them credit that they would land on their feet, though perhaps I should worry a bit more about Jackson.
Date published: 2011-04-08
Rated 4 out of 5 by from bestseller -- gripping crime thriller When Will There Be Good News by Kate Atkinson When Will There Be Good News is a literary crime novel by Kate Atkinson. This bestseller is published by Black Swan and its ISBN is 0552772453. It is a tale concerned with fate, loss and memory. Her story’s theme is irrecoverable loss of love ones and how our past is part of our present thus begging the question when will there be good news? It has a brillant opening and suspense is built up from the very beginning. 6 Year old Joanna witnesses her mother, brother and sister been slaughtered by a total stranger while out for a walk. She obeys her mother and runs into the long grasses where she escapes Decker. Even the family dog is killed. We meet Joanna again 30 years later when she is a successful doctor married with a child. She employs a 16 year old Nanny Reggie. Chief Inspector Louise Monroe informs Dr. Hunter that Decker is been released from prison he has served his time. Next, Dr. Hunter disappears and Reggie is the only one concerned about her disappearance. She dutifully informs the gaurds, her husband swears she is safe, away for a while. Louise Monroe meets up with her friend the ex-cop turned PI Jackson Brodie. There are many characters and digressions well intergrated into a gripping suspense novel. It is a complex novel but a great suspense read. Her fans and crime writers will not be disappointed. I recommend this thriller. Reviewed by Annette Dunlea author of Always and Forever and The Honey Trap.
Date published: 2009-07-23

Read from the Book

IIn the PastHarvestThe heat rising up from the tarmac seemed to get trapped between the thick hedges that towered above their heads like ­battlements. ‘Oppressive,’ their mother said. They felt trapped too. ‘Like the maze at Hampton Court,’ their mother said. ‘Remember?’ ‘Yes,’ Jessica said. ‘No,’ Joanna said. ‘You were just a baby,’ their mother said to Joanna. ‘Like Joseph is now.’ Jessica was eight, Joanna was six. The little road (they always called it ‘the lane’) snaked one way and then another, so that you couldn’t see anything ahead of you. They had to keep the dog on the lead and stay close to the hedges in case a car ‘came out of nowhere’. Jessica was the eldest so she was the one who always got to hold the dog’s lead. She spent a lot of her time training the dog, ‘Heel!’ and ‘Sit!’ and ‘Come!’ Their mother said she wished Jessica was as obedient as the dog. Jessica was always the one who was in charge. Their mother said to Joanna, ‘It’s all right to have a mind of your own, you know. You should stick up for yourself, think for yourself,’ but Joanna didn’t want to think for herself. The bus dropped them on the big road and then carried on to somewhere else. It was ‘a palaver’ getting them all off the bus. Their mother held Joseph under one arm like a parcel and with her other hand she struggled to open out his newfangled buggy. Jessica and Joanna shared the job of lifting the shopping off the bus. The dog saw to himself. ‘No one ever helps,’ their mother said. ‘Have you noticed that?’ They had. ‘Your father’s country fucking idyll,’ their mother said as the bus drove away in a blue haze of fumes and heat. ‘Don’t you swear,’ she added automatically, ‘I’m the only person allowed to swear.’ They didn’t have a car any more. Their father (‘the bastard’) had driven away in it. Their father wrote books, ‘novels’. He had taken one down from a shelf and shown it to Joanna, pointed out his photo­graph on the back cover and said, ‘That’s me,’ but she wasn’t allowed to read it, even though she was already a good reader. (‘Not yet, one day. I write for grown-ups, I’m afraid,’ he laughed. ‘There’s stuff in there, well . . .’) Their father was called Howard Mason and their mother’s name was Gabrielle. Sometimes people got excited and smiled at their father and said, ‘Are you the Howard Mason?’ (Or sometimes, not smiling, ‘that Howard Mason’ which was different although Joanna wasn’t sure how.) Their mother said that their father had uprooted them and planted them ‘in the middle of nowhere’. ‘Or Devon, as it’s commonly known,’ their father said. He said he needed ‘space to write’ and it would be good for all of them to be ‘in touch with nature’. ‘No ­television!’ he said as if that was something they would enjoy. Joanna still missed her school and her friends and Wonder Woman and a house on a street that you could walk along to a shop where you could buy the Beano and a liquorice stick and choose from three different kinds of apples instead of having to walk along a lane and a road and take two buses and then do the same thing all over again in reverse. The first thing their father did when they moved to Devon was to buy six red hens and a hive full of bees. He spent all autumn digging over the garden at the front of the house so it would be ‘ready for spring’. When it rained the garden turned to mud and the mud was trailed everywhere in the house, they even found it on their bed sheets. When winter came a fox ate the hens without them ever ­having laid an egg and the bees all froze to death which was unheard of, according to their father, who said he was going to put all those things in the book (‘the novel’) he was writing. ‘So that’s all right then,’ their mother said. Their father wrote at the kitchen table because it was the only room in the house that was even the slightest bit warm, thanks to the huge temperamental Aga that their mother said was ‘going to be the death of her’. ‘I should be so lucky,’ their father muttered. (His book wasn’t going well.) They were all under his feet, even their mother. ‘You smell of soot,’ their father said to their mother. ‘And cabbage and milk.’ ‘And you smell of failure,’ their mother said. Their mother used to smell of all kinds of interesting things, paint and turpentine and tobacco and the Je Reviens perfume that their father had been buying for her since she was seventeen years old and ‘a Catholic schoolgirl’, and which meant ‘I will return’ and was a message to her. Their mother was ‘a beauty’ according to their father but their mother said she was ‘a painter’, although she hadn’t painted anything since they moved to Devon. ‘No room for two creative ­talents in a marriage,’ she said in that way she had, raising her eyebrows while inhaling smoke from the little brown cigarillos she smoked. She pronounced it thigariyo like a foreigner. When she was a child she had lived in faraway places that she would take them to one day. She was warm-blooded, she said, not like their father who was a reptile. Their mother was clever and funny and surprising and ­nothing like their friends’ mothers. ‘Exotic’, their father said. The argument about who smelled of what wasn’t over apparently because their mother picked up a blue-and-white-striped jug from the dresser and threw it at their father, who was sitting at the table staring at his typewriter as if the words would write themselves if he was patient enough. The jug hit him on the side of the head and he roared with shock and pain. With a speed that Joanna could only admire, Jessica plucked Joseph out of his high-chair and said, ‘Come on,’ to Joanna and they went upstairs where they tickled Joseph on the double bed that Joanna and Jessica shared. There was no heating in the bedroom and the bed was piled high with eiderdowns and old coats that belonged to their mother. Eventually all three of them fell asleep, nestled in the mingled scents of damp and mothballs and Je Reviens. When Joanna woke up she found Jessica propped up on pillows, wearing gloves and a pair of earmuffs and one of the coats from the bed, drowning her like a tent. She was reading a book by torchlight. ‘Electricity’s off,’ she said, without taking her eyes off the book. On the other side of the wall they could hear the horrible animal noises that meant their parents were friends again. Jessica silently offered Joanna the earmuffs so that she didn’t have to listen. When the spring finally came, instead of planting a vegetable ­garden, their father went back to London and lived with ‘his other woman’ — which was a big surprise to Joanna and Jessica, although not apparently to their mother. Their father’s other woman was called Martina — the poet — their mother spat out the word as if it was a curse. Their mother called the other woman (the poet) names that were so bad that when they dared to whisper them (bitch-cunt-whore-poet) to each other beneath the bedclothes they were like poison in the air. Although now there was only one person in the marriage, their mother still didn’t paint. They made their way along the lane in single file, ‘Indian file’, their mother said. The plastic shopping bags hung from the handles of the buggy and if their mother let go it tipped backwards on to the ground. ‘We must look like refugees,’ she said. ‘Yet we are not downhearted,’ she added cheerfully. They were going to move back into town at the end of the summer, ‘in time for school’.‘Thank God,’ Jessica said, in just the same way their mother said it. Joseph was asleep in the buggy, his mouth open, a faint rattle from his chest because he couldn’t shake off a summer cold. He was so hot that their mother stripped him to his nappy and Jessica blew on the thin ribs of his little body to cool him down until their mother said, ‘Don’t wake him.’ There was the tang of manure in the air and the smell of the musty grass and the cow parsley got inside Joanna’s nose and made her sneeze. ‘Bad luck,’ her mother said, ‘you’re the one that got my allergies.’ Their mother’s dark hair and pale skin went to her ‘beautiful boy’ Joseph, her green eyes and her ‘painter’s hands’ went to Jessica. Joanna got the allergies. Bad luck. Joseph and their mother shared a birthday too although Joseph hadn’t had any birthdays yet. In another week it would be his first. ‘That’s a special birthday,’ their mother said. Joanna thought all birthdays were special. Their mother was wearing Joanna’s favourite dress, blue with a pattern of red strawberries. Their mother said it was old and next summer she would cut it up and make something for Joanna out of it if she liked. Joanna could see the muscles on her mother’s tanned legs moving as she pushed the buggy up the hill. She was strong. Their father said she was ‘fierce’. Joanna liked that word. Jessica was fierce too. Joseph was nothing yet. He was just a baby, fat and happy. He liked oatmeal and mashed banana, and the mobile of little paper birds their mother had made for him that hung above his cot. He liked being tickled by his sisters. He liked his sisters. Joanna could feel sweat running down her back. Her worn cotton dress was sticking to her skin. The dress was a hand-me-down from Jessica. ‘Poor but honest,’ their mother laughed. Her big mouth turned down when she laughed so that she never seemed happy even when she was. Everything Joanna had was handed down from Jessica. It was as if without Jessica there would be no Joanna. Joanna filled the spaces Jessica left behind as she moved on. Invisible on the other side of the hedge, a cow made a bellowing noise that made her jump. ‘It’s just a cow,’ her mother said. ‘Red Devons,’ Jessica said, even though she couldn’t see them. How did she know? She knew the names of everything, seen and unseen. Joanna wondered if she would ever know all the things that Jessica knew. After you had walked along the lane for a while you came to a wooden gate with a stile. They couldn’t get the buggy through the stile so they had to open the gate. Jessica let the dog off the lead and he scrambled up and over the gate in the way that Jessica had taught him. The sign on the gate said ‘Please Close The Gate Behind You’. Jessica always ran ahead and undid the clasp and then they both pushed at the gate and swung on it as it opened. Their mother had to heave and shove at the buggy because all the winter mud had dried into deep awkward ruts that the wheels got stuck in. They swung on the gate to close it as well. Jessica checked the clasp. Sometimes they hung upside down on the gate and their hair reached the ground like brooms sweeping the dust and their mother said, ‘Don’t do that.’ The track bordered a field. ‘Wheat,’ Jessica said. The wheat was very high although not as high as the hedges in the lane. ‘They’ll be harvesting soon,’ their mother said. ‘Cutting it down,’ she added, for Joanna’s benefit. ‘Then we’ll sneeze and wheeze, the pair of us.’ Joanna was already wheezing, she could hear the breath whistling in her chest. The dog ran into the field and disappeared. A moment later he sprang out of the wheat again. Last week Joanna had followed the dog into the field and got lost and no one could find her for a long time. She could hear them calling her, moving further and further away. Nobody heard her when she called back. The dog found her. They stopped halfway along and sat down on the grass at the side of the track, under the shady trees. Their mother took the plastic ­carrier bags off the buggy handles and from one of the bags brought out some little cartons of orange juice and a box of chocolate finger biscuits. The orange juice was warm and the chocolate biscuits had melted together. They gave some of the biscuits to the dog. Their mother laughed with her down-turned mouth and said, ‘God, what a mess,’ and looked in the baby-bag and found wipes for their ­chocolate-covered hands and mouths. When they lived in London they used to have proper picnics, loading up the boot of the car with a big wicker basket that had belonged to their mother’s mother who was rich but dead (which was just as well apparently because it meant she didn’t have to see her only daughter married to a selfish, ­fornicating waster). If their grandmother was rich why didn’t they have any money? ‘I eloped,’ their mother said. ‘I ran away to marry your father. It was very romantic. At the time. We had nothing.’ ‘You had the picnic basket,’ Jessica said and their mother laughed and said, ‘You can be very funny, you know,’ and Jessica said, ‘I do know.’From the Hardcover edition.

Bookclub Guide

1. “Love wasn’t sweet and light, it was visceral and overpowering. Love wasn’t patient, love wasn’t kind. Love was ferocious, love knew how to play dirty.” This thought runs through Jackson’s mind as he fingers the lock of Nathan’s hair in his pocket. How is this take on love exhibited in the novel?2. One reviewer has said that Reggie is perhaps the novel’s “most moral character.” Do you agree, or not? What does it mean to be moral in the midst of such extreme or horrific events? Is there a character you would consider to be immoral?3. When Jackson is staring at the sky and bleeding to death in the ditch, he thinks, “There were days that really surprised you with the way they turned out.” Talk about Kate Atkinson’s use of unexpected humour and understatement at dramatic points in the novel. Do you find that this technique heightens or diminishes your emotional engagement?4. How does Jackson evolve over the course of this book? At the end, what do you imagine his immediate future involves? And will Louise, or any other character here, be a part of that?5. While reading, did you ever ask yourself: “When will there be good news?” Do you get the sense that any of the main characters would have? Or are some of them just the type to just get on with living, and not dwell on notions of good or bad? What is the good news here, in the end?6. Discuss how Atkinson balances outrageous humour and day-to-day life experiences with the darkness and sadness that is so prevalent in this novel.7. Nursery rhymes, hymns and traditional poems appear throughout the novel — in Jackson’s memories of learning by rote or of his childhood, in scenes where Joanna and Reggie entertain the baby (e.g., the last page). What function do you think these rhymes serve, for the characters and for you as a reader?8. When we first enter Joanna Hunter’s perspective since her disappearance, in “Abide With Me,” we’re still unsure of where she is and why she’s missing. But we do learn that she’s considered killing the baby and then herself. Did you ever believe she would do that?9. Joanna Hunter can never escape the murder of her mother and siblings, Reggie continues to mourn the death of her mother, and Jackson considers his true home to be “the dark and sooty chamber in his heart that contained his sister and his brother.” In what ways has loss made each of them stronger? Or weaker?10. Who is your favourite character in this novel, and why? Was there anyone that you just couldn’t connect with?11. We only learn of Andrew Decker’s path through third-person accounts of his interactions with others. What do you think really happened to him? Do you believe that he broke into Jackson’s house to commit suicide?12. Many of the chapter titles echo or are taken from other stories, hymns, poems, and novels. For instance, “Satis House” is another name for Miss Havisham’s home in Great Expectations (which Reggie is reading when the thugs accost her at the bus stop), and “Nada Y Pues Nada” is taken from Hemingway’s story “A Clean Well-Lighted Place” (which is also a chapter title later in the book). What does this literary layering add to the novel?13. As Jackson tells us, “A coincidence is just an explanation waiting to happen.” In what way does this statement apply to the form of When Will There Be Good News?14. In a video interview on her website, Kate Atkinson speaks of how she doesn’t usually have a strong idea of where her stories are going when she starts writing: “If they were plotted, they would be more straightforward, like a road map. But of course they’re not, they twist about each other a lot.” Talk about the way Atkinson leaps between storylines and characters, and the effect this has on you as a reader.15. A few times, we’re told: “First things were good, last things not so much so.” How might you interpret this statement in terms of the events in the novel? Consider the theme of “innocence” as well.16. Reggie’s mum used to always say “Back soon,” or “Je reviens” — until she didn’t return, of course. And when Reggie leaves Jackson at the hospital, we’re told “Reggie was never going to be a person who didn’t come back.” Discuss the importance of “coming back” in the novel — not only to Reggie, but for Jackson (where’s Tessa?), Joanna, and even David Needler and Andrew Decker.17. Louise and Patrick, Joanna and Neil, Jackson and Tessa, even Reggie’s mother and Gary… not one of these couples seems to be worth keeping together. And while Jackson is something of a serial spouse, Louise sees herself as completely unsuited to the role. Discuss Atkinson’s portrayal of marriage here, and what it means for the various characters.

Editorial Reviews

“In Atkinson’s stellar third novel to feature ex-cop turned PI Jackson Brodie (after One Good Turn), unrelated characters and plot lines collide with momentous results… A lesser author would buckle under so many story lines, but Atkinson juggles them brilliantly, simultaneously tying up loose ends from Turn and opening new doors for further Brodie misadventures.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)“READER, SUSPEND DISBELIEF. Find something high-flown, and attach with care, then send your critical faculties hurtling. Kate Atkinson’s latest (darkest? bloodiest? most free-wheeling?) slice of make-belief has attitude and altitude in abundance. It pushes its luck in taking coincidence and outlandishness to levels of sheer unadulterated chutzpah, and by its stomach-curdling ending, it’s so accelerated that you’re waiting for the wheels to come off. They don’t.”—The Scotsman“It doesn’t really matter in which genre Atkinson chooses to write. Her subject is always the irrecoverable loss of love and how best to continue living once you have glumly recognised that that was what the world was like, things improved but they didn’t get better. Her gift is presenting this unnerving and subversive philosophy as a dazzling form of entertainment.”—The Sunday Times“Kate Atkinson is an absolute must-read. I love everything she writes.”—Harlan Coben“Atkinson has turned the corner from writing wonderfully rich literary novels with mysteries at their core to writing mysteries with rich literary style.”—Los Angeles Times“Atkinson’s novel is like something her detective might drink in the wee hours after knocking around the docks, something straight up with a twist.”—The Globe and Mail“The most fun I’ve had with a novel this year.”—Ian Rankin“Clever, wry and highly readable. . . . Almost every coincidence is delicious and not a little comic.”—Toronto Star “An absolute joy to read.”—The Guardian (UK)“A remarkable feat of storytelling bravado.”—Washington Post“An engrossing, enjoyable, complex novel packed with intriguing characters, vividly imagined scenes and a compelling plot.”—Times Literary Supplement (UK)“Compelling from the start”—Vogue“Atkinson unravels the plot with dexterity and insightful aplomb”—Easy Living“Atkinson’s writing is charming, and her style and wit always a delight”—Literary Review“...a brilliantly observed drama on the nature of fate, love and memory”—Marie Claire“The opening chapter of Kate Atkinson’s latest book is one of the finest pieces of suspense literature you will read this year”—The London Lite“Superb writing and accomplished plots”—Glamour“Unconventional and thrilling crime fiction at its best”—The List“An exhilarating jigsaw of a novel”—Woman and Home“…she stitches the seeming discordant plots into one big harmonious patchwork, where every stitch is a careful stitch and every patch operates both on its own merits and as part of the whole”—Scotland on Sunday“…it’s the kind of wonderful novel that simultaneously grips and transports you”—Sainsbury’s Magazine“The novel grips, excites, moves, amuses and will have you racing through the pages”—Waterstone’s Books Quarterly“This is a perceptive glimpse into the legacy of the real victims – those left behind when their loved ones are taken from them”—Psychologies“The third, the best, and hopefully not the last Atkinson novel featuring private eye Jackson Brodie.”— Stephen King, Entertainment Weekly “Brilliant…. Atkinson’s detective novels are masterworks of character-driven plots and leisurely observation. But they are primarily triumphs … of tone: sardonic, faithless, and dark as the inside of a cow. As a reader, you might come for the mystery, but you’ll return for the prose.” — Andrew Pyper, The Globe and Mail“Deliciously underhanded…. It is very much to be hoped that she keeps this gratifying series going.” — The New York TimesFrom the Hardcover edition.