Just finished The Behaviour of Moths by Poppy Adams, shortlisted for the Costa last year. Excellent, well written story narrated by an unreliable, mentally strange old woman who was an expert on moths. I didn't believe anyone could make this dry subject interesting, but the author does so in her tale of sibling rivalry, all set in Dorset in a virtually empty, isolated Victorian gothic mansion. As the narrator looks back on her dysfunctional family life - her sister has suddenly reappeared after 45 years away - there's no standard romance, very little sex, and, despite the flashbacks, no rock'n'roll, but do read it and tell me what you think. I'm not sure the novel even needed the melodramatic ending.
A good choice for a book club, though the squeamish may not care for some aspects of moth harvesting. In my childhood, it was fashionable to collect butterflies which did, I admit, involve asphixiating them with chloroform in a jam jar, but we didn't think anything of it at the time.
I'm sure I'll read this intelligent novel again one day, but I'll probably skip a little of the moth stuff next time, because I have a feeling I may have missed other nuances.