*Editorial Book Review*
“Now it’s all railways and engines and thick black smoke…”
There is a quiet confidence about "Last Coach to Quartz Hill" that I found deeply appealing. It does not hurry itself, nor does it rely on dramatic flourishes to hold the reader’s attention. Instead, Jenny Kroonstuiver builds her story with care and patience, allowing the lives of her characters to unfold against a landscape that is itself undergoing profound change. What emerges is a richly textured novel about resilience, community, and the shifting nature of belonging—one that lingers not because it demands attention, but because it earns it.
One of the most striking aspects of the novel is its sense of place. From Quartz Hill to Einasleigh, the settings are not merely backdrops but integral to the story itself. There is a lived-in quality to these locations—the routines, the work, the ebb and flow of travellers—that gives the narrative a strong sense of authenticity. You can almost hear the creak of harnesses, the murmur of conversation in the bar, and the constant, underlying rhythm of a place built on movement. As the world around the characters begins to evolve, particularly with the arrival of the railway, there is a subtle but unmistakable shift in atmosphere. Kroonstuiver captures this transition with admirable restraint, allowing the reader to feel the quiet dislocation that comes with progress without ever overstating it.
At the heart of the novel are the women of the Dutton/Attenborough family, and it is here that the writing truly shines. Bridget, in particular, is a wonderfully drawn character—practical, determined, and quietly reflective. She is a woman accustomed to managing both people and circumstance, someone who carries responsibility without complaint, yet there are moments where we glimpse the weight of her decisions. What I appreciated most is that she is never romanticised; her strength lies in her consistency, in her ability to continue when there is no clear path forward. She provides a steady centre to the novel, anchoring both the story and those around her.
Kate’s storyline offers a compelling contrast, bringing a more personal and introspective dimension to the narrative. Without revealing too much, her journey is one of growth shaped by experience rather than sudden revelation. Kroonstuiver handles this with notable sensitivity, allowing Kate’s development to emerge gradually. There is a realism in the way her character evolves—no dramatic transformations, no convenient resolutions—just the slow, sometimes difficult process of coming to terms with one’s circumstances. It is this restraint that makes her arc feel particularly authentic.
The supporting cast is equally well realised. Meg and Lillie each bring their own distinct presence to the story, and the dynamic between the sisters feels natural and unforced. Their interactions—whether light-hearted or more reflective—add warmth to the narrative and reinforce the sense of family at its core. Even the minor characters are given enough depth to feel like part of a wider, interconnected community. There is a sense that life continues beyond the page, that every individual has their own story unfolding alongside the main narrative.
Another strength of the novel lies in its treatment of historical context. Kroonstuiver does not present history as a series of grand events, but as something experienced through daily life. The arrival of new technology, shifting industries, and changing patterns of travel are all woven seamlessly into the fabric of the story. This approach allows the reader to experience the period as the characters do—not as something distant or academic, but as a lived reality that gradually reshapes their world. It is an understated yet highly effective way of grounding the narrative.
What I particularly admired was the novel’s pacing. It moves with a deliberate steadiness that mirrors the lives it portrays. There is no sense of rushing towards a climax; instead, the story unfolds with a rhythm that allows for reflection and immersion. This measured approach gives space for character development and for the emotional undercurrents to settle naturally. It also reinforces the themes of transition and endurance, reminding us that change rarely happens all at once, but rather in small, accumulative moments.
One very minor detail did give me pause, and it stands out only because the rest of the novel is handled with such care. In a brief literary reflection, there is a slight confusion between the characters of Pride and Prejudice and those from Little Women—most notably the mention of “Amy Bennett.” It is a small slip, but one that readers familiar with Jane Austen may notice. That said, it is a fleeting moment and does little to detract from the overall richness of the narrative.
There is also a quiet poignancy that runs throughout the novel, particularly in its exploration of change and memory. As familiar routines begin to fade and new ways of life take their place, there is an unspoken recognition of what is being lost. Yet this is never treated with overt sentimentality. Instead, it is acknowledged with a kind of gentle acceptance, which feels entirely in keeping with the tone of the book.
"Last Coach to Quartz Hill" is, above all, a thoughtful and deeply engaging novel. It captures a moment of transition with clarity and compassion, while remaining firmly grounded in the lives of its characters. Jenny Kroonstuiver has created a story that feels both intimate and expansive—one that speaks to the resilience required to navigate change, and to the enduring strength found in community and family. It is a novel that does not seek to overwhelm, but rather to resonate, and in doing so, it leaves a lasting and quietly powerful impression.
The Coffee Pot Book Club
Born in the 1950s, Jenny Kroonstuiver spent her childhood living on pastoral stations firstly in western Queensland and then on the Nullarbor Plain in Western Australia. She trained as a teacher and spent several years teaching in country areas of the Northern Territory and Queensland, before returning to Kalgoorlie in the 1980s. After a short-lived marriage, she raised her four children alone, continuing to work in the broader education sector. From 2004, she took up a role managing the national training system for the Australian meat industry, a role she held until her retirement in 2020. After publishing several family histories and biographies, she turned to writing historical fiction set in ghost towns of Australia.
