Set against the backdrop of Thatcher era UK political landscape, this is a moving coming-of-age mystery. A heartwarming tale of friendships and first loves that captures the essence of Yorkshire in the time of the Ripper murders.

Child death, suicide, racism/slurs, domestic violence, discussion of CSA, sexual assault.

Twelve-year-old Miv is panicking. Life has been complicated since her mom got sick, and now her dad is talking about wanting to move their family away from the town Miv has lived in her whole life—because of the murders. Young women are dying, everyone is afraid, and no one knows who the culprit might be.

But as far as Miv is concerned, leaving Yorkshire and her best friend Sharon simply isn’t an option, no matter the dangers lurking round their way; or the strangeness at home that started the day Miv’s mum stopped talking. Perhaps if she could solve the case of the disappearing women, they could stay after all?

So, Miv and Sharon decide to make a list: a list of all the suspicious people and things on their street. People they know. People they don’t. But their search for the truth reveals more secrets in their neighborhood, within their families—and between each other—than they ever thought possible. What if the real mystery Miv needs to solve is the one that lies much closer to home?


Don't just take our word for it...

“A 12-year-old girl determines to unmask a serial killer in this extravagantly ambitious story of small-town Britain in 1979….Imaginative, impressive, and illuminating.”
– Kirkus Reviews, starred review 🌟

“Heartbreaking yet heartwarming, with compassionate characters you can’t help but root for, The List of Suspicious Things is an unforgettable book on friendship and the power of human connection. I felt like I was in 1970s Yorkshire, investigating with Miv and Sharon, unearthing the secrets of their neighbourhood. A splendid debut.”
– Costanza Casati, international bestselling author of Clytemnestra and Babylonia

“What could be more magical than a writer who can flip from hilarity to darkness and back on the same page? Jennie Godfrey does this and more in The List of Suspicious Things, all told in a voice that is as authentic as it is unforgettable.” — Jenny Jackson, New York Times bestselling author of Good Morning America Book Club pick Pineapple Street


Taste the very first page

It would be easy to say that it all started with the murders, but it actually began when Margaret Thatcher became prime minister.

“A woman in charge of the country just isn’t right. They’re not made for it,” my Aunty Jean said on the day the election results were announced. “As if the last lot weren’t bad enough. She’s the beginning of the end for Yorkshire, an’ I’ll tell you why an’ all.”

She was bustling about our small kitchen, vigorously rewiping surfaces I had already wiped. I was seated at the table, in my brown-and-orange school uniform, shelling peas into a colander on the chipped yellow Formica top, popping fresh ones into my mouth whenever she wasn’t looking. I wanted to point out that, like Margaret Thatcher, Aunty Jean was also a woman, but Aunty Jean hated being interrupted mid-flow and it was just the two of us, meaning there was no escape from her opinions, of which there were many. So many, she began to list them.

“Number one,” she said, her wiry gray curls bobbing along as she shook her head, “you take one look at that face, and you can see what power does to a woman: it hardens them. You can just tell she’s no heart, can’t you?” She took a wooden spoon off the draining board and wagged it at me for emphasis.

“Hmm,” I mumbled.

For a moment, I considered just nodding occasionally while secretly reading the book I had open, a corner tucked under the colander to keep it flat. But though Aunty Jean’s hearing was less than sharp, her other senses were razor-like, and she would have smelled my inattention like a hunting dog.

“Number two. She’s already taken milk away from poor children’s mouths and jobs from the hands of hardworking men.”

I knew at least part of this was true. The rhyme “Thatcher, Thatcher, milk snatcher” was still heard in our school, years after she had taken away the little bottles of disgusting lukewarm milk we used to have to drink there daily.

“Three. These bloody murders every five minutes. That’s what Yorkshire’s famous for now. Dead girls.”