Books in brief: Tom Joad and Me, The Revenge Club, A River Dies of Thirst

Tom Joad and Me by Owen O’Neill (Thirsty Books, £16.99)

Tyrone man of many talents Owen O’Neill sets his debut novel within the Irish-in-London experience of the 1970s, with his semi-autobiographical protagonist, young spunky Emmett McCrudden, shaking off the stifling temperature of Troubles-torn Northern Ireland, to head to the cool metropolis with ambitions of reinvention, and respite from his ragtag family. Working as a brickie isn’t radical, but it’s an authentic stamp of the times, and O’Neill captures the flavour of the sites, digs and era. Changing his name to Steinbeck’s hero Tom Joad is McCrudden’s real spiritual release though, and his nixer working for a music zine unlocking the thing that changes his, and countless other lives forever: 70s rock. A tale of searching and longing that will strike a chord with anyone who has lived something similar. NJ McGarrigle

The Revenge Club by Kathy Lette (Head of Zeus, £14.99)

When erstwhile college bandmates, now hitting their mid-50s, reunite over dinner, their rose-tinted glasses start to slip. This reliably chick-lit group includes a supermodel who gave up a glamorous life to raise a family; a hard-nosed political commentator who is about to be ousted by a young male colleague; a bestselling author who no longer embodies the zeitgeist; and a Hollywood make-up artist kicking against her industry’s blatant inequality. Their various successes have been bounded by ageism, sexism, sudden career dead-ends, cheating husbands and casual fat-shaming. Revenge is now their goal. The resulting romp is not so much chick-lit, more like no-longer-spring-chickens-lit – if the theme song from Nine to Five has just popped into your head, you can sing it, sister. Claire Looby

A River Dies of Thirst by Mahmoud Darwish, translated by Catherine Cobham Saqi Books, £12.99)

A River Dies of Thirst finds celebrated Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish taking stock of the 2006 Israeli invasion of Gaza and Lebanon. These poems are by turns surreal and laser-focused, demonstrating a late style that was uncompromising and vital. Anxiety permeates everything, from an observation of a mosquito which conjures the ever-present spectre of Islamophobia, to overt confrontations of the threat that faces the poet and his people: “…he’s a steel/ mask on an idea – he is featureless, eyeless, ageless and nameless./ It is he who has chosen to have a single name: the enemy.” (The Enemy). Since the original publication of these poems in 2009, the conflict that haunts Darwish’s work has only worsened, rendering any existential dread in the poems immediate and real. These poems are more essential today than ever. Jessica Traynor