The Humans

Matt Haig's new novel The Humans is a wonderfully warm and uncynical assertion of humanity. Its humour and pathos, ability to tell us everything about ourselves without ever getting earnest, overwrought, cheesy or hectoring and its lightness of touch make it one of the most human books about being human you'll read.

It starts with an alien. An alien is on a mission. And I don't want to give too much away but there's a reason this alien has taken over the body and life of maths professor and errant husband/father, Andrew Martin and there's a reason why this alien is sending frequent reports back home and there's a reason why this alien has an interest in the work of Andrew Martin. Regardless of his position, and through the particulars of learning to fit in, working out why we are constructed the way we are, the inter-relationships between families and friends and the taste of crunchy peanut butter, Andrew Martin becomes the best possible person he can be.

Haig's writing is peppered with insight and delicate observations, and he is as funny as he is consistent in his pursuit of making the ordinary seem wondrous and extraordinary. A bit like Brian Cox, for writers. A wonderful book.