'The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of true art and true science.’ Albert Einstein wrote these words, originally in German, in his book The World As I See It (1934). He went on to describe the ‘knowledge of the existence of something we cannot penetrate’ as constituting ‘the truly religious attitude’, adding he ‘cannot conceive of a God who rewards and punishes’.

The first of these quotations, and Einstein’s sentiments more broadly, are proffered in Michelle Johnston’s second novel, Tiny Uncertain Miracles. The story is set in the labyrinth of a giant public hospital, where the walls of the wards ‘had deaths fossilised in them like rubble’. Here, protagonist Marick – a guilt-stricken schlemiel estranged from his ex-wife, child, and faith – takes up the role of hospital chaplain. Marick soon befriends Hugo, a hospital scientist who believes the bacteria in his covert basement lab are producing gold. The mystery sparks an unforeseen chain of events, within and without the hospital walls. Meanwhile, a twin narrative gradually unfolds to reveal Marick’s story of love and loss.

The theme of gold at the heart of the work is extended to its presentation. The book’s production is a statement of confidence: unusually for a novel, Tiny Uncertain Miracles is packaged as a sizeable hardcover, with attractive cover artwork printed entirely in gold metallic foil over white Wibalin. The eye-catching motif of tiny, organically clustered particles repeats on the cover, in the golden endpapers, and internally as a section-break glyph. The result is an elegant volume with ample shelf presence that suggests HarperCollins means business.