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Father Alberto and the Flying Girl
In a backwater parish somewhere in medieval Europe, new priest Alberto finds himself protecting those deemed insane. Yet Alberto must also contend with the vicious Abbess – and the terrifying Inferrant Brethren, with whom he has history...
Under the reign of the Abbess, the Abbey of Saint Particular imprisons the mad – and therefore godless. Only once each year are the inmates set free for a day, on the drunken Feast of the Holy Fool. Idealistic Alberto is given the thankless task of returning them to the dungeons once the day is over, but soon starts to see that he could help the ‘fools’ and even learn from them.
There is just one who escapes his grasp: the Flying Girl, a mysterious child who leaps from tree to tree, refusing to speak sense or stay on the ground.
As Alberto grows braver in his defiance of the Abbess, everything comes to a head when the Inferral are called. A terrifying brotherhood of religious inquisition and torture, they are come to rid the parish of evil. The Flying Girl must be caught once and for all - and Alberto’s unorthodox kindnesses put him more and more at risk...
Bold, vivid and blackly funny, Father Alberto and the Flying Girl is a fiercely imaginative story about kindness, society and so-called madness; about getting things wrong - and hope.
Under the reign of the Abbess, the Abbey of Saint Particular imprisons the mad – and therefore godless. Only once each year are the inmates set free for a day, on the drunken Feast of the Holy Fool. Idealistic Alberto is given the thankless task of returning them to the dungeons once the day is over, but soon starts to see that he could help the ‘fools’ and even learn from them.
There is just one who escapes his grasp: the Flying Girl, a mysterious child who leaps from tree to tree, refusing to speak sense or stay on the ground.
As Alberto grows braver in his defiance of the Abbess, everything comes to a head when the Inferral are called. A terrifying brotherhood of religious inquisition and torture, they are come to rid the parish of evil. The Flying Girl must be caught once and for all - and Alberto’s unorthodox kindnesses put him more and more at risk...
Bold, vivid and blackly funny, Father Alberto and the Flying Girl is a fiercely imaginative story about kindness, society and so-called madness; about getting things wrong - and hope.
384 pages, Hardcover
First published June 25, 2026
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
October 8, 2025
Simply outstanding. I can’t wait to read it again and discuss it with everybody when it’s published.
October 8, 2026
Utterly spectacular. Written in a voice so distinctive and rare. The story of Father Alberto contains multitudes… comical and truly very funny, but also very profound. A testament to kindness and humanity, faith and freedom. And a misunderstood horse called Zanzibar.
September 30, 2026
A distinctly odd historical novel set in a mediaeval convent-cum-asylum, and as quirky as
Between Two Fires
, albeit without the escalating supernaturalness of the latter. It has that Dickensian trait of presenting you with fairly unbelievable characters (borderline caricature) and still making you care about them deeply. The mad horse in particular...
October 8, 2026
I LOVED EVERY SINGLE THING ABOUT THIS BOOK. A genuine, flawless five-star read and quite possibly one of the most original novels I've come across. Full disclosure - it was the title and the cover that drew me in....Long review ahead!
Apparently, all it takes to achieve literary perfection is a medieval village full of lunatics, a murderous amount of religious hypocrisy, one exceptionally kind priest and a flying girl who refuses to come down to earth.
Set in medieval Europe in the 1400s, Father Alberto is a kind-hearted, bumbling priest tasked with caring for a group of people deemed mad, godless and unfit for society. Under the tyrannical rule of a vicious Abbess, he begins questioning the treatment of these so-called fools, especially when a mysterious girl who refuses to stay on the ground proves rather difficult to contain.
First, the writing. My goodness, the writing.
Timothy X Atack has somehow written a novel published in 2026 that genuinely feels as though it was written in the 1400s. The vocabulary, phrasing, rhythm and dialogue are so convincingly medieval that I frequently forgot I was reading contemporary fiction. I had to keep a dictionary within reach, but rather than finding this laborious, I felt a little smarter with every sentence I read and every word I looked up. An unexpectedly educational experience and I was absolutely here for it.
The historical immersion is extraordinary. Everything from the clothing, food and weather to the architecture, social hierarchies, religious customs and everyday language feels meticulously considered. Atack builds an entire world through the smallest observations, giving it such authenticity that I could practically smell the streets and feel the cold through the walls. There is a remarkable confidence to the writing, as though he hasn't just researched this period but actually lived through it.
And then there's the humour. COMEDIC GENIUS.
The dialogue, the characters, their internal observations, the absurd situations they find themselves in. Every element of this book is funny in its own peculiar way. The comedy feels completely organic to the world that has been created. Some of the funniest moments come from the most ordinary exchanges.
Father Alberto is such a loveable protagonist. Ever kind, ever honest, ever hopeful and frequently to his own detriment. He's wonderfully bumbling, occasionally exasperating in his innocence and so entirely pure in his intentions that I wanted to climb into the pages and protect him. His goodness is both his greatest strength and his greatest vulnerability, which makes him an especially compelling character in a world where cruelty is often mistaken for righteousness.
His relationship with the Abbess had me laughing. She is so diabolical. I absolutely loathed her, wished all manner of grisly ends upon her and enjoyed every encounter between them. Her contempt for Alberto and his well-meaning innocence make for some spectacular exchanges. But beneath the comedy is a fascinating contrast between two people supposedly serving the same God, whose understanding of what that service entails couldn't be further apart.
Actually, the characterisation throughout was wonderful. Every single character is introduced and developed with such precision that even those who appear briefly feel like fully formed human beings with histories, motivations and entire lives beyond the page. I could happily have read another book from any one of their perspectives - that is how richly Atack has imagined them.
What I found particularly clever was how seamlessly he tells the story through Alberto's perspective while still giving us such a strong understanding of what everyone else might be thinking or feeling. Even events that take place in his absence are woven into the narrative without disrupting its flow. The story spans a wonderfully judged period of time, allowing the characters and their circumstances to evolve naturally. I frequently had no idea where the plot was heading, but I was so invested in this strange little world that I would have followed Atack anywhere.
And then there are the themes - there was so much to unpack.
The examination of organised religion is particularly powerful. Atack exposes its historical corruption, the suffering inflicted in its name and the ways religious authority has been manipulated to control the vulnerable, further personal ambitions and justify extraordinary cruelty. The disadvantaged are especially susceptible to those who claim divine authority over their lives, and the book explores that imbalance with (at times devastating) clarity.
But what makes this exploration so intelligent is the continuous contrast with Alberto's own faith. His devotion to God manifests in kindness, compassion, service and an almost stubborn belief in the goodness of others. Through him, Atack captures something beautiful about genuine spirituality and the extraordinary things that faith and love of God can inspire. The distinction between religious institutions and personal faith is central to the story and I found myself returning to it constantly.
Alberto's unwavering optimism also shaped my experience of reading the book. Even as increasingly horrendous atrocities unfolded, I found myself holding on to hope because he did. His belief in humanity became something I wanted to believe in too. There's a quiet power in writing a character whose moral compass influences the reader's emotional response so profoundly.
Equally fascinating is the novel's treatment of madness, witchcraft and heresy. What exactly constitutes insanity? Who gets to decide? How much of what was considered madness centuries ago was simply difference, disobedience or behaviour that threatened the established order? And how much have our definitions genuinely evolved? The book raises uncomfortable questions about humanity's tendency to label, categorise and control what it cannot understand. Particularly when those labels conveniently serve the interests of people already in power.
Which brings me to the Flying Girl herself.
For me, she represented freedom. The future. The divine feminine. The unruly, the unchainable, the wild and beautiful parts of humanity that refuse to be confined. There is something incredibly moving about a character whose very existence challenges the need to explain, diagnose or domesticate everything that falls outside our understanding. I loved the symbolism of her, particularly within a society so consumed by obedience, conformity and control.
What I admired most was Atack's ability to explore all these enormous ideas while telling a genuinely entertaining story. The absurdity and humour coexist with real darkness, the historical commentary feels relevant centuries later and the philosophical questions arise naturally through the characters and their experiences.
I genuinely loved this book. The prose, pacing, characterisation, atmosphere, originality, humour and emotional depth are exceptional. Every character mattered, every detail felt purposeful and the whole experience was an absolute pleasure from beginning to end.
Five stars, without hesitation. A complete literary triumph, and a book I suspect I'll be talking about for a very long time.
You'll love this if you've ever suspected that the people running the madhouse might be the maddest ones in it.
Apparently, all it takes to achieve literary perfection is a medieval village full of lunatics, a murderous amount of religious hypocrisy, one exceptionally kind priest and a flying girl who refuses to come down to earth.
Set in medieval Europe in the 1400s, Father Alberto is a kind-hearted, bumbling priest tasked with caring for a group of people deemed mad, godless and unfit for society. Under the tyrannical rule of a vicious Abbess, he begins questioning the treatment of these so-called fools, especially when a mysterious girl who refuses to stay on the ground proves rather difficult to contain.
First, the writing. My goodness, the writing.
Timothy X Atack has somehow written a novel published in 2026 that genuinely feels as though it was written in the 1400s. The vocabulary, phrasing, rhythm and dialogue are so convincingly medieval that I frequently forgot I was reading contemporary fiction. I had to keep a dictionary within reach, but rather than finding this laborious, I felt a little smarter with every sentence I read and every word I looked up. An unexpectedly educational experience and I was absolutely here for it.
The historical immersion is extraordinary. Everything from the clothing, food and weather to the architecture, social hierarchies, religious customs and everyday language feels meticulously considered. Atack builds an entire world through the smallest observations, giving it such authenticity that I could practically smell the streets and feel the cold through the walls. There is a remarkable confidence to the writing, as though he hasn't just researched this period but actually lived through it.
And then there's the humour. COMEDIC GENIUS.
The dialogue, the characters, their internal observations, the absurd situations they find themselves in. Every element of this book is funny in its own peculiar way. The comedy feels completely organic to the world that has been created. Some of the funniest moments come from the most ordinary exchanges.
Father Alberto is such a loveable protagonist. Ever kind, ever honest, ever hopeful and frequently to his own detriment. He's wonderfully bumbling, occasionally exasperating in his innocence and so entirely pure in his intentions that I wanted to climb into the pages and protect him. His goodness is both his greatest strength and his greatest vulnerability, which makes him an especially compelling character in a world where cruelty is often mistaken for righteousness.
His relationship with the Abbess had me laughing. She is so diabolical. I absolutely loathed her, wished all manner of grisly ends upon her and enjoyed every encounter between them. Her contempt for Alberto and his well-meaning innocence make for some spectacular exchanges. But beneath the comedy is a fascinating contrast between two people supposedly serving the same God, whose understanding of what that service entails couldn't be further apart.
Actually, the characterisation throughout was wonderful. Every single character is introduced and developed with such precision that even those who appear briefly feel like fully formed human beings with histories, motivations and entire lives beyond the page. I could happily have read another book from any one of their perspectives - that is how richly Atack has imagined them.
What I found particularly clever was how seamlessly he tells the story through Alberto's perspective while still giving us such a strong understanding of what everyone else might be thinking or feeling. Even events that take place in his absence are woven into the narrative without disrupting its flow. The story spans a wonderfully judged period of time, allowing the characters and their circumstances to evolve naturally. I frequently had no idea where the plot was heading, but I was so invested in this strange little world that I would have followed Atack anywhere.
And then there are the themes - there was so much to unpack.
The examination of organised religion is particularly powerful. Atack exposes its historical corruption, the suffering inflicted in its name and the ways religious authority has been manipulated to control the vulnerable, further personal ambitions and justify extraordinary cruelty. The disadvantaged are especially susceptible to those who claim divine authority over their lives, and the book explores that imbalance with (at times devastating) clarity.
But what makes this exploration so intelligent is the continuous contrast with Alberto's own faith. His devotion to God manifests in kindness, compassion, service and an almost stubborn belief in the goodness of others. Through him, Atack captures something beautiful about genuine spirituality and the extraordinary things that faith and love of God can inspire. The distinction between religious institutions and personal faith is central to the story and I found myself returning to it constantly.
Alberto's unwavering optimism also shaped my experience of reading the book. Even as increasingly horrendous atrocities unfolded, I found myself holding on to hope because he did. His belief in humanity became something I wanted to believe in too. There's a quiet power in writing a character whose moral compass influences the reader's emotional response so profoundly.
Equally fascinating is the novel's treatment of madness, witchcraft and heresy. What exactly constitutes insanity? Who gets to decide? How much of what was considered madness centuries ago was simply difference, disobedience or behaviour that threatened the established order? And how much have our definitions genuinely evolved? The book raises uncomfortable questions about humanity's tendency to label, categorise and control what it cannot understand. Particularly when those labels conveniently serve the interests of people already in power.
Which brings me to the Flying Girl herself.
For me, she represented freedom. The future. The divine feminine. The unruly, the unchainable, the wild and beautiful parts of humanity that refuse to be confined. There is something incredibly moving about a character whose very existence challenges the need to explain, diagnose or domesticate everything that falls outside our understanding. I loved the symbolism of her, particularly within a society so consumed by obedience, conformity and control.
What I admired most was Atack's ability to explore all these enormous ideas while telling a genuinely entertaining story. The absurdity and humour coexist with real darkness, the historical commentary feels relevant centuries later and the philosophical questions arise naturally through the characters and their experiences.
I genuinely loved this book. The prose, pacing, characterisation, atmosphere, originality, humour and emotional depth are exceptional. Every character mattered, every detail felt purposeful and the whole experience was an absolute pleasure from beginning to end.
Five stars, without hesitation. A complete literary triumph, and a book I suspect I'll be talking about for a very long time.
You'll love this if you've ever suspected that the people running the madhouse might be the maddest ones in it.
June 30, 2026
Well. That was sad.
I just finished it and I am feeling unsettled and a bit hollowed out?
It was great, and it ended exactly how it had to end, but... what an absolute bummer. Which was the point, i think, but still, oof.
It was beautifully written, engaging, well-paced and occasionally laugh-out-loud funny (the guy crouching in the reeds watching for a trap to spring being annoyed because it looked like he "was constantly at stool" make me hyuck loudly), and also deeply sad.
The world-building was minimal but very effective. It seemed like a parallel universe mirroring the- ok, I'm not sure if it was the Spanish Inquisition or their witch trials in the 1500s, but something like that? It worked because it was just different enough that the more fantastical elements didn't come off as incongruous. The social commentary was relevant but not overbearingly obvious, and it never felt like the reader was being condescended to.
I think it was a good book.
That said, I also don't feel qualified to give an educated judgement, so, you know, grain of salt.
Edited to add, published reviews are mentioning the book's strangeness, but to me it was like a thin veneer of weirdness in order to make more palatable the underlying themes? I mean, systemic abuse of the mentally ill still happens, both in institutions and in the wider community; people still persecute the Other, and religion is still being misused by folks for their own gain at the expense of others. Yeah, the fools exhibited very strange behaviors (like the titular girl who was intent on figuring out how to fly), or the whole subplot of Zanzibar the killer horse (which was brilliant and kind of made me cry at least twice, if I'm honest), but otherwise? All too tragically normal.
I just finished it and I am feeling unsettled and a bit hollowed out?
It was great, and it ended exactly how it had to end, but... what an absolute bummer. Which was the point, i think, but still, oof.
It was beautifully written, engaging, well-paced and occasionally laugh-out-loud funny (the guy crouching in the reeds watching for a trap to spring being annoyed because it looked like he "was constantly at stool" make me hyuck loudly), and also deeply sad.
The world-building was minimal but very effective. It seemed like a parallel universe mirroring the- ok, I'm not sure if it was the Spanish Inquisition or their witch trials in the 1500s, but something like that? It worked because it was just different enough that the more fantastical elements didn't come off as incongruous. The social commentary was relevant but not overbearingly obvious, and it never felt like the reader was being condescended to.
I think it was a good book.
That said, I also don't feel qualified to give an educated judgement, so, you know, grain of salt.
Edited to add, published reviews are mentioning the book's strangeness, but to me it was like a thin veneer of weirdness in order to make more palatable the underlying themes? I mean, systemic abuse of the mentally ill still happens, both in institutions and in the wider community; people still persecute the Other, and religion is still being misused by folks for their own gain at the expense of others. Yeah, the fools exhibited very strange behaviors (like the titular girl who was intent on figuring out how to fly), or the whole subplot of Zanzibar the killer horse (which was brilliant and kind of made me cry at least twice, if I'm honest), but otherwise? All too tragically normal.
September 28, 2026
What a thoroughly odd but at times hilarious and others deeply moving book.
I don't think I've read anything like it before. I doubt I ever will again.
The style is unique (language especially, but the flow of the story too), the themes are well put together and I was absolutely rooting for Alberto and the flying girl by the end!
I don't think I've read anything like it before. I doubt I ever will again.
The style is unique (language especially, but the flow of the story too), the themes are well put together and I was absolutely rooting for Alberto and the flying girl by the end!
July 28, 2026
Forever grateful for the local bookshop to have put this wonderful tale on the table. A unique, mesmerizing and grounding read.
July 17, 2026
This was an extremely unique and original book to read, as well as being both enjoyable and thought provoking.
When I first saw it I was drawn to the cover, but next to that was what seemed an interesting writing style. This turned out to be both unique and engaging, and added a lot to the quality of the story. The pacing was also good, alongside a well balanced blend of humor and severity. The messaging was prominent but never felt forced, and each character provided a new tool for the author to work with. Despite the setting of medival England it still felt incredibly relevant. I also appreciated the slightly other worldly elements, which surprising worked very well and added a lot to the atmosphere.
Really loved Alberto and his narration, but also his relationship to each of the characters and what that revealed about his world. In general it was a great cast of characters, and I felt for a lot of them throughout the story. The ending was tragic but ultimately the perfect way to round out this story: a king among fools.
I look forward to seeing more from this author!
When I first saw it I was drawn to the cover, but next to that was what seemed an interesting writing style. This turned out to be both unique and engaging, and added a lot to the quality of the story. The pacing was also good, alongside a well balanced blend of humor and severity. The messaging was prominent but never felt forced, and each character provided a new tool for the author to work with. Despite the setting of medival England it still felt incredibly relevant. I also appreciated the slightly other worldly elements, which surprising worked very well and added a lot to the atmosphere.
Really loved Alberto and his narration, but also his relationship to each of the characters and what that revealed about his world. In general it was a great cast of characters, and I felt for a lot of them throughout the story. The ending was tragic but ultimately the perfect way to round out this story: a king among fools.
I look forward to seeing more from this author!
August 8, 2026
Every once in a while, I discover a book that truly feels like nothing I've ever read before, and it makes me so happy each time it happens.
This is such a book. The setting, the structure, the language, the whimsy mixed with melancholy just felt so totally unique and exciting and moving and I loved it a lot.
(Despite its uniqueness it also felt a tiny bit like if Pentiment were a book, which I also loved about it.)
Also, Zanzibar 💔
This is such a book. The setting, the structure, the language, the whimsy mixed with melancholy just felt so totally unique and exciting and moving and I loved it a lot.
(Despite its uniqueness it also felt a tiny bit like if Pentiment were a book, which I also loved about it.)
Also, Zanzibar 💔
October 17, 2026
This was fantastic.
Really heartwarming whilst also being incredibly devastating.
I feel like the tone between those two feelings were incredibly well maintained.
It was quite funny at points too.
It's so satisfying reading about Alberto figuring each character out.
Really heartwarming whilst also being incredibly devastating.
I feel like the tone between those two feelings were incredibly well maintained.
It was quite funny at points too.
It's so satisfying reading about Alberto figuring each character out.
September 3, 2026
4.5 ✨ a really unique & enjoyable read!!
September 16, 2026
Like nothing you would expect yet all so familiar. A very interesting and involving book; characters that will stay with you. Truly a gem.
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews