On the west coast of Greenland, a team of archaeologists searching for traces of lost Viking settlements receives news of a pandemic back home. As the Arctic winter approaches, their communications with the outside world fall away and they are left fighting for survival.

From Sarah Moss, the Sunday Times bestselling author of Summerwater and Ghost Wall, comes a story about the circumstances and the consequences of isolation. 'A tense page-turner . . . I gulped The Fell down in one sitting' - Emma Donoghue 'Her work is as close to perfect as a novelist's can be' - The Times At dusk on a November evening in 2020 a woman slips out of her garden gate and turns up the hill. Kate is in the middle of two weeks of isolation, but she just can't take it any more - the closeness of the air in her small house, the confinement. And anyway, the moor will be deserted at this time. Nobody need ever know. But Kate's neighbour Alice sees her leaving and Matt, Kate's son, soon realizes she's missing. And Kate, who planned only a quick solitary walk - a breath of open air - falls and badly injures herself. What began as a furtive walk has turned into a mountain-rescue operation . . . Unbearably suspenseful, witty and wise, The Fell asks probing questions about the place the world has become since March 2020, and the place it was before. This novel is a story about compassion and kindness and what we must do to survive. 'Gripping, thoughtful and revelatory' - Paula Hawkins 'This slim, intense masterpiece is one of my best books of the year' - Rachel Joyce 'One of our very best contemporary novelists' - Independent

Sisters Ally and May Moberley grow up in Victorian Manchester, surrounded by their father's decadent paintings and dominated by their austere, evangelical mother. While May poses for the artists in her father's circle, Ally devotes herself to her mother's ambitions, working hard to join the first generation of female doctors. But soon bitterness and tragedy divide the family, and Ally leaves home to escape the subtle terrors of her childhood and begin a new life in London. Bodies of Light is a profound and provocative book about family. It is a gripping story told with rare precision and tenderness.

Acclaimed author of Summerwater and Ghost Wall, Sarah Moss is back with a sharply observed and darkly funny novel for our times. 'A tense page turner . . . I gulped The Fell down in one sitting' - Emma Donoghue 'Gripping, thoughtful and revelatory' - Paula Hawkins 'This slim, intense masterpiece is one of my best books of the year' - Rachel Joyce 'Her work is as close to perfect as a novelist's can be' The Times At dusk on a November evening in 2020 a woman slips out of her garden gate and turns up the hill. Kate is in the middle of a two-week quarantine period, but she just can't take it any more - the closeness of the air in her small house, the confinement. And anyway, the moor will be deserted at this time. Nobody need ever know. But Kate's neighbour Alice sees her leaving and Matt, Kate's son, soon realizes she's missing. And Kate, who planned only a quick solitary walk - a breath of open air - falls and badly injures herself. What began as a furtive walk has turned into a mountain rescue operation . . . Unbearably suspenseful, witty and wise, The Fell asks probing questions about the place the world has become since March 2020, and the place it was before. This novel is a story about compassion and kindness and what we must do to survive, and it will move you to tears. 'One of our very best contemporary novelists' - Independent

On a day like any other, Adam receives a call from his daughter's school. Miriam, his brilliant fifteen-year-old, has collapsed and stopped breathing; her heart has inexplicably stopped.

Historian Anna Bennett has a book to write. She also has an insomniac toddler, a precocious, death-obsessed seven-year-old, and a frequently-absent ecologist husband who has brought them all to Colsay, a desolate island in the Hebrides, so he can count the puffins. Ferociously sleep-deprived, torn between mothering and her desire for the pleasures of work and solitude, Anna becomes haunted by the discovery of a baby's skeleton in the garden of their house. Her narrative is punctuated by letters home, written 200 years before, by May, a young, middle-class midwife desperately trying to introduce modern medicine to the suspicious, insular islanders. The lives of these two characters intersect unexpectedly in this deeply moving but also at times blackly funny story about maternal ambivalence, the way we try to control children, and about women's vexed and passionate relationship with work.Moss's second novel displays an exciting expansion of her range - showing her to be both an excellent comic writer, and a novelist of great emotional depth.

At the height of the financial crisis in 2009, Sarah Moss and her husband moved with their two small children to Iceland. From their makeshift home among the half-finished skyscrapers of Reykjavik, Moss travels to hillsides of boiling mud and volcanic craters, and the remote farms and fishing villages of the far north. She watches the northern lights and the comings and goings of migratory birds, and as the weeks and months go by, she and her family find new ways to live.

From the acclaimed author of Ghost Wall, Summerwater is a devastating story told over twenty-four hours in the Scottish highlands, and a searing exploration of our capacity for both kinship and cruelty in these divided times.

On the longest day of the summer, twelve people sit cooped up with their families in a faded Scottish cabin park. The endless rain leaves them with little to do but watch the other residents.

A woman goes running up the Ben as if fleeing; a retired couple reminisce about neighbours long since moved on; a teenage boy braves the dark waters of the loch in his red kayak. Each person is wrapped in their own cares but increasingly alert to the makeshift community around them. One particular family, a mother and daughter without the right clothes or the right manners, starts to draw the attention of the others. Tensions rise and all watch on, unaware of the tragedy that lies ahead as night finally falls.

Anna hasn't slept in months. Stranded on a Hebridean island with two small children, she struggles to write or think without a room of her own. When her son finds a baby's skeleton buried in the garden, Anna must confront the island's troubled past, while finding a way to live with the complex demands of motherhood.

In this companion novel to Bodies of Light, Ally's husband Tom leaves, only weeks into their marriage, to build lighthouses in Japan. Ally, one of Britain's first female doctors, takes work at an asylum in Truro. With only letters sent across the ocean to sustain them, and with Ally now battling her old demons alone, will their marriage survive?

Shortlisted for the RSL Ondaatje Prize Seventeen-year-old Silvie is camping in rural Northumberland with her father and a group of archaeologists, who hope to uncover evidence of human sacrifice. As Silvie glimpses new freedoms with the students, her relationship with her overbearing father deteriorates, until the haunting rites of the past begin to bleed into the present.

The study of food in literature complicates established critical positions. Both a libidinal pleasure and the ultimate commodity, food in fiction can represent sex as well as money and brings the body and the marketplace together in ways that are sometimes obvious and sometimes unsettling. Spilling the Beans explores these relations in the context of late eighteenth and early nineteenth century women's fiction, where concerns about bodily, economic and intellectual productivity and consumption power decades of novels, conduct books and popular medicine. The introduction suggests ways in which attention to food in these texts might complicate recent developments in literary theory and criticism, while the body of the book is devoted to close readings of novels and children's stories by Frances Burney, Mary Wollstonecraft, Maria Edgeworth and Susan Ferrier. This book will be of interest to scholars and students of eighteenth and nineteenth century literature, women's studies and material culture. -- .

Acclaimed author of Summerwater and Ghost Wall, Sarah Moss is back with a sharply observed and darkly funny novel for our times. 'A tense page turner . . . I gulped The Fell down in one sitting' - Emma Donoghue 'Gripping, thoughtful and revelatory' - Paula Hawkins 'This slim, intense masterpiece is one of my best books of the year' - Rachel Joyce 'Her work is as close to perfect as a novelist's can be' The Times At dusk on a November evening in 2020 a woman slips out of her garden gate and turns up the hill. Kate is in the middle of a two-week quarantine period, but she just can't take it any more - the closeness of the air in her small house, the confinement. And anyway, the moor will be deserted at this time. Nobody need ever know. But Kate's neighbour Alice sees her leaving and Matt, Kate's son, soon realizes she's missing. And Kate, who planned only a quick solitary walk - a breath of open air - falls and badly injures herself. What began as a furtive walk has turned into a mountain rescue operation . . . Unbearably suspenseful, witty and wise, The Fell asks probing questions about the place the world has become since March 2020, and the place it was before. This novel is a story about compassion and kindness and what we must do to survive, and it will move you to tears. 'One of our very best contemporary novelists' - Independent

Redolent of everything sensual and hedonistic, chocolate is synonymous with our idea of indulgence. It is adored around the world and has been since the Spanish first encountered cocoa beans in South America in the sixteenth century. It is seen as magical, exotic, addictive and powerful beyond anything that can be explained by its ingredients, and in "Chocolate" Sarah Moss and Alexander Badenoch explore the origins and growth of this almost universal obsession. Moss and Badenoch recount the history of chocolate, which from ancient times has been associated with sexuality, sin, blood and sacrifice. The first Spanish accounts claim that the Aztecs and Mayans used chocolate as a substitute for blood in sacrificial rituals and as a currency to replace gold. In 1753, Linnaeus gave the cocoa tree the official classification Theobroma cacao, or the food of the gods. In the eighteenth century, chocolate became regarded as an aphrodisiac the first step on the road to today's boxes of Valentine delights. "Chocolate" also looks at the production of chocolate, from artisanal chocolatiers to the brands such as Hershey's, Lindt and Cadbury that dominate our supermarket shelves, and explores its associations with slavery and globalization. Packed with tempting images and decadent descriptions of chocolate throughout the ages, "Chocolate" will be as irresistible as the tasty treats it describes.

Traditional philosophical discussions of knowledge have focused on the epistemic status of full beliefs. Sarah Moss argues that in addition to full beliefs, credences can constitute knowledge. For instance, your 0.4 credence that it is raining outside can constitute knowledge, in just the same way that your full beliefs can. In addition, you can know that it might be raining, and that if it is raining then it is probably cloudy, where this knowledge is not knowledge of propositions, but of probabilistic contents. The notion of probabilistic content introduced in this book plays a central role not only in epistemology, but in the philosophy of mind and language as well. Just as tradition holds that you believe and assert propositions, you can believe and assert probabilistic contents. Accepting that we can believe, assert, and know probabilistic contents has significant consequences for many philosophical debates, including debates about the relationship between full belief and credence, the semantics of epistemic modals and conditionals, the contents of perceptual experience, peer disagreement, pragmatic encroachment, perceptual dogmatism, and transformative experience. In addition, accepting probabilistic knowledge can help us discredit negative evaluations of female speech, explain why merely statistical evidence is insufficient for legal proof, and identify epistemic norms violated by acts of racial profiling. Hence the central theses of this book not only help us better understand the nature of our own mental states, but also help us better understand the nature of our responsibilities to each other.

The study of food in literature complicates established critical positions. Both a libidinal pleasure and the ultimate commodity, food in fiction can represent sex as well as money and brings the body and the marketplace together in ways that are sometimes obvious and sometimes unsettling. Spilling "the Beans" explores these relations in the context of late eighteenth and early nineteenth century women's fiction, where concerns about bodily, economic and intellectual productivity and consumption power decades of novels, conduct books and popular medicine.

The introduction suggests ways in which attention to food in these texts might complicate recent developments in literary theory and criticism, while the body of the book is devoted to close readings of novels and children's stories by Frances Burney, Mary Wollstonecraft, Maria Edgeworth and Susan Ferrier.

This book will be of interest to scholars and students of eighteenth and nineteenth century literature, women's studies and material culture.

From the acclaimed author of Ghost Wall, Summerwater is a devastating story told over twenty-four hours in the Scottish highlands, and a searing exploration of our capacity for both kinship and cruelty in these divided times.

On the longest day of the summer, twelve people sit cooped up with their families in a faded Scottish cabin park. The endless rain leaves them with little to do but watch the other residents.

A woman goes running up the Ben as if fleeing; a retired couple reminisce about neighbours long since moved on; a teenage boy braves the dark waters of the loch in his red kayak. Each person is wrapped in their own cares but increasingly alert to the makeshift community around them. One particular family, a mother and daughter without the right clothes or the right manners, starts to draw the attention of the others. Tensions rise and all watch on, unaware of the tragedy that lies ahead as night finally falls.