Let me be perfectly clear - I was in the moment I saw Mark Gatiss was involved. Not just starring, but writing too. The man is a national treasure (well, a British national treasure). I’ve adored him since The League of Gentlemen, where he was one of the weirdest (and weirdly most loveable) weirdos. Then came Mycroft Holmes in Sherlock, some solid Doctor Who episodes, and now, somehow, Fantastic Four: First Steps. The man contains multitudes. So when I heard he was returning to the world of crime-solving - in a show called Bookish, no less - my expectations were irrationally high. And somehow, the show met them.
The premise is simple, in the best way: Gabriel Book owns a bookshop. He loves books. He reads all the books. And then he uses that vast and nerdy knowledge to help the police solve murders in post–World War II London. It’s Sherlock-adjacent, but less flashy. Less “I see all the clues in a nanosecond” and more “Let me think this through over tea with my brilliant wife.”
Speaking of which, Bookish gives us one of the most refreshingly tender relationships I’ve seen on TV in ages. Gabriel and Trottie Book - yes, that’s really her name - are the type of couple you don’t usually get in shows like this. They work side by side (literally, her wallpaper shop is next to his bookshop), respect the hell out of each other, and have a warm, witty partnership that’s as interesting as any murder plot. I won’t spoil anything, but let’s just say their relationship holds a mystery of its own, and it’s worth paying attention to.
Tonally, this is not Sherlock but bigger - on the contrary, It’s slower. More deliberate. Less about showing off how clever the lead is, and more about letting you feel clever alongside him. That’s what makes a good mystery work, by the way - the magic trick of giving you just enough to think you might solve it, while still surprising you in the end. It’s fiendishly hard to pull off, and Gatiss (with co-writer Matthew Sweet) nails it.
Set in 1946, the backdrop is a London still dusting itself off after the war. Everything is a bit broken - buildings, people, the police force - but there’s also this undercurrent of resilience. The war is over. Spirits are lifting. And crimes are apparently everywhere. Perfect time to open a bookshop and start solving murders, really.
The mysteries themselves are solid. Classic, satisfying whodunnits with just the right mix of clues, misdirection, and period charm. The season is six episodes, split into three two-parters, which gives each story room to breathe without dragging. And the supporting cast? Spot on. Elliot Levey plays Inspector Bliss like a man perpetually five seconds behind everyone else, but trying very hard. Polly Walker brings serious gravitas (and a bit of mischief) to Trottie. And yes, I may have developed a small, manageable crush on her by episode two.
Visually, the show leans into its period setting without going full sepia-toned nostalgia. It's shot with confidence - not flashy, but very sure of itself, which is more than I can say for most new shows. And the writing never talks down to you, even as it gleefully reminds you that reading a lot of books does, in fact, make you smarter.
Bookish doesn’t reinvent the wheel. But it does take a well-worn genre and remind you why it works when it works well. It’s clever, it’s cozy, it’s just the right amount of mysterious. And most importantly, it feels like it knows what kind of show it wants to be - which is a rare and precious thing these days.
If you're outside the UK, it might take a little creative thinking to track it down (don’t ask me for links, God created VPN for a reason), but it's absolutely worth the effort.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a sudden urge to buy vintage wallpaper and drink a proper cup of tea.
