The Hook Above the Counter

This is a beautifully crafted short novellette that balances intimate domestic work with the sweeping catastrophe of the Great Fire. The opening scenes — Eliza scraping soot, knotting candle wicks, the cat in the doorway — are measured and sensory; they pay off when the fire explodes into the narrative. The author doesn’t rush the transformation from candlemaker’s daughter to community leader. Instead, guidance from the shipwright and the waterman’s oars are credible supports to her agency, which I appreciated: female agency here is built on skill-sharing and hard labor, not sudden inspiration. Alderman Cricklow is effectively drawn as a bureaucratic antagonist, especially in the Wardmote scenes where civic power and petty interests clash. The rescue sequences are tense and smartly paced, with vivid details of smoke, heat, and the river’s reflective surface used as both escape and strategy. The rebuild at the end is hopeful without being saccharine — Eliza’s claim to her name feels like a quiet revolution. If I have one wish, it’s for slightly more on the neighbors’ lives before the fire — a little extra context would have made the loss and subsequent rebuilding even more affecting. Still, a confident, humane piece of historical fiction that celebrates community and craftsmanship.

Tight, atmospheric, and quietly tough: this story uses everyday labour — making tapers, counting knotted wicks, bargaining for a dozen at St. Michael’s — to ground a broader calamity. The prose is economical but rich; lines like ‘dust lay in thin furrows on the window glass’ make the lane itself feel like a character. Eliza’s arc is well drawn. She doesn’t become a miracle worker overnight; the shipwright’s guidance and the waterman’s steady oars explain how a woman in her position could realistically take action. The Alderman is an effective antagonist because his obstruction has civic causes and consequences, not just personal meanness. I also appreciated that the author doesn’t sentimentalize the rebuilding — there’s grit and negotiation in the last pages, which is historically plausible. A smart read for anyone interested in urban resilience and women in trades. The balance between small, domestic detail and the epic scale of the fire is handled expertly.

Pretty read, fast story, but it leans on a few clichés that kept pulling me out of the moment. Alderman Cricklow is basically ‘the villainous official’ without any nuance; the shipwright and waterman have exactly the generous competence you’d expect (and no messy flaws), and Eliza picks up a firehook and suddenly everyone rallies round. It’s a comforting narrative arc but borderline formulaic. Also, some historical bits felt a tad modern in tone — the prose occasionally tips into contemporary idiom when describing civic procedures, which jarred with the otherwise immersive sensory detail (the cat, the fat on the knife, the bell). The ending’s rebuilding and ‘claiming her name’ is uplifting, sure, but it reads like a tidy bow tied over very messy historical reality. If you want a quick, inspiring read about a plucky heroine in 1666, go for it. If you’re after deep historical complexity or morally ambiguous characters, temper expectations.

Loved it. LOVED it. Eliza is the kind of stubborn, clever heroine who makes you grin — especially when she mouths off about petitions while her father coughs and the whole lane smells of tallow. The bit where she ties the wicks in long ladders? Hypnotic. Also, can we talk about the river scenes? The waterman’s oars, the shipwright showing her the ropes (literally), and that moment she hefts the firehook — chef’s kiss. It’s tense without being melodramatic, and the ending where she claims her own name made me clap out loud on the train. If you like historical stories with grit, heart and a heroine who actually gets her hands dirty, read this. Seriously, do it. 👏

I finished this in an evening and I still keep thinking about the little details — the film of white fat cracking under Eliza’s knife, the cat she nicknames Mister Flint, the bell of St. Magnus like a handkerchief waved from a window. The author nails the smells and textures of 1666 London so well that when the fire comes you feel every hot gust and every terrified knock at a door. Eliza is exactly the heroine I wanted: practical, stubborn, soft where it counts. Her decision to seize a firehook and turn to the river (that scene where the waterman pulls at his oars while she shouts orders) felt both brave and believable. I loved the conflict with Alderman Cricklow — his obstruction gives the story teeth — and the rebuild at the end where she insists on her own name is quietly triumphant. Great for teens and adults who like historical fiction with heart. I’d have happily read another hundred pages of the street’s gossip and rebuilding scenes. ❤

I wanted to love this more than I did. The setting and opening details are lovely — the satiny description of tallow and the bell of St. Magnus are memorable — but the story sometimes slides into predictability. Eliza’s arc from candlemaker’s daughter to street leader feels a little too neat: she learns from the shipwright, grabs a firehook, makes bold choices, and the Alderman is conveniently obstructive in precisely the ways needed to fuel her righteous indignation. There are also pacing problems. The early domestic scenes drag on in affectionate detail, then the action accelerates so quickly during the blaze that some rescues feel rushed and underdeveloped. I wanted more grit in the aftermath — the rebuilding sequence resolves a lot faster than seems plausible. Not bad — the prose is lovely — but I was left wanting deeper complexity in the politics and a less tidy resolution.