To some extent Full Circle is a departure for Chris Hammer (Summit Books, an imprint of Simon and Schuster, Australia, 2026; cover Luke Causby/Blue Cork; cover image ID 31944674 Rad100/Dreamtime.com).

Set in the rarefied air of the uber wealthy in Sorrento, Victoria, and the heady world of high finance and its potential for white-collar crime, the story centres on dynasties, revenge and deadly secrets. Two wealthy families vie for top dog status, and the stock market is the weapon of choice, while violent murders are also seemingly de rigueur.

Hero of the tale is Travis Somerland, erstwhile undercover cop, wracked with self-loathing and guilt following the death of his lover. He goes to work as a driver for filthy rich Felix Clapton on his property Montechino and is soon embroiled in a power struggle to bring down rival family the Murtries – the very family who has murdered his girlfriend and ruined his life.

We jump back 16 months for a second point of view by Judy Bleuski, a backstory that fills in some holes in our understanding but equally creates more puzzles.

It is soon obvious that money is the means to many ends, including bringing down one’s rivals – the having of it, the losing of it, the making and annihilation of fortunes through financial trading sleight of hand and skulduggery, though nothing strictly illegal, but that mercilessly sweeps the little people up in its wake.

With characteristic command of his metier, Chris Hammer takes us back and forth in time and cunningly braids together the various plots, subplots and backstories to a conclusion that still leaves questions hanging in the air. His fascinating cast of characters demands our constant attention, horrified though it is for the most part.

What is clear in this work is that money delivers power and together they corrupt even the most apparently incorruptible. The casual wearing of wealth and the assumption of entitlement it lends are ugly and ruthless.

As usual, held by Hammer’s supreme craftsmanship, we cannot look away.

An insightful psychological study of human behaviour and the complexities of family.

In She Lied First (HarperCollinsPublishers, Australia 2026; cover Maya Abraham; cover images Jimena Roquero/stocksy.com /5852005; ohlamourstudio/stocksy.com/4516591; shutterstock.com), point of view is not merely the dominant storytelling technique – it is indeed a large part of what the book is about.

Dinuka McKenzie has deftly controlled her readers’ understanding of events in this thrilling psychological work by carefully filtering what we learn from the first to the last page.

Sisters Devika and Kalyani are in a constant dance of truth and lies. Devika is determined to escape the controls and expectations of her mother Rupa. Kalyani is desperately seeking connection and love, a sense of belonging.

Their lives become entwined in a most troubling way as they grapple with the moral question of what truths we should tell those we love the most. It is in both their interests to keep secrets, but therein lies the path to the fatal outcome of this tale.

Another perspective is provided via Nate, the main male actor in the book. Devika’s efforts to reveal what she believes to be his toxic behaviour are a major distraction for the reader – again our view fluctuates the more we realise how narrowly we are allowed to see Nate at first. As with the other characters, he does not necessarily cover himself with glory, but is eventually somewhat redeemed.

Rupa is another interesting one. Because so much of what we believe about her comes from Devika, it is only as we learn her history from her own point of view that we once again realise how skewed our view of her has been.

Sri Lankan cultural issues inform so much of Rupa’s behaviour, and the generational conflict between mother and daughter creates ongoing tension. In part, this provides the opportunity for subtle commentary on racism and Australian society in general.

This book is an insightful psychological study of human behaviour. It is also a study of the complexities of family, matters of the heart (and body) and the constraints placed on us all by obligation and, indeed, love.

It’s a very clever mix of tightly controlled obfuscation and ripping yarn – engrossing fiction, unsettling until the last climactic revelation.