Novels Now

The subliminal mind has many dark, unhappy corners, after all. Imagine something loosening itself from one of those corners. Let’s call it a – a germ. And let’s say conditions prove right for that germ to develop  – to grow, like a child in the womb. What would this little stranger grow into? A sort of shadow-self perhaps: a Caliban, a Mr. Hyde. A creature motivated by all the nasty impulses and hungers the conscious mind had hoped to keep hidden away: things like envy, and malice, and frustration… - from The Little Stranger, pages 353-354 -

In a small English village in Warwickshire sits a Georgian home called Hundreds Hall. It was once an elegant mansion with beautiful grounds and many servants to keep its rooms flawless. But the war has taken its toll on the people and economy of England, and Hundreds Hall is now in decline with crumbling masonry, weed-choked gardens and leaky ceilings. Dr. Faraday, the local physician, had visited the mansion as a child and his mother was once a maid there, so he is shocked at what the once beautiful home has become when he is called out to see an ailing servant girl. He quickly befriends those still living at Hundreds Hall: the elderly Mrs. Ayres and her two adult children… Roderick (who is crippled from the war), and Caroline. Within a short period of time, strange things begin to happen – scorch marks appear on the walls, the telephone rings in the middle of the night and then goes dead, and the family dog acts out of character. Are these events caused by a ghost, as Betty the young servant girl believes, or something far more sinister?

Sarah Waters’ newest novel is Gothic in style. Set in post-war England sometime in the the late 1940s and narrated by a questionable narrator (Dr. Faraday), the story unfolds slowly at first but then picks up about mid-way through the book. Waters takes her time to carefully develop her characters and introduces the theme of class differences early on when it becomes evident that Dr. Faraday has never relinquished his dismay at being the son of a maid, and the Ayreses (despite their current bleak economic situation) will always consider themselves a family of means.

As in all good Gothic novels, Hundreds Hall becomes a character in the book. The descriptions of the house’s decline, its dark and gloomy halls and closed off rooms with peeling or mildewed wallpaper, seems to be a metaphor for the economic decline of the times. Beneath its crumbling exterior, the house also holds family secrets and tragedy.

Waters gives clues as to the malevolent presence in the house, but it is not until the end that I was certain of its origins…and then I was thrilled by Waters’ deft manipulation of her story. As with all of her work, Waters’ writing is sophisticated and satisfying, and filled with descriptions which capture the historical time of the story.

My only complaint, and it is a small one, was the slow pace at the beginning of the book. Waters takes her time to set the stage and introduce her characters, and at times I grew impatient for some action. Once events start to happen, however, the pace picks up. I found myself reading straight through the last 150 pages with barely a break.

Readers who have liked Waters’ previous books and who like a good Gothic mystery, will most likely find The Little Stranger an enjoyable, albeit disturbing, read.

The children mingled with the adults, and spoke and were spoken to. Children in these families, at the end of the nineteenth century, were different from children before or after. They were neither dolls nor miniature adults. They were not hidden away in nurseries, but present at family meals, where their developing characters were taken seriously and rationally discussed, over supper or during long country walks. And yet, at the same time, the children in this world had their own separate, largely independent lives, as children. – from The Children’s Book, page 31 -

The Children’s Book by A.S. Byatt is a huge, sprawling multi-family saga set in Britain at the end of the nineteenth century and into the early twentieth century. Olive Wellwood, a children’s author, lives with her husband Humphrey and their seven children (ages zero to 13 years) at Todefright – a huge mansion whose grounds edge the forest. Olive writes each child their own story – fairy tales which have no end.

They were like segmented worms, with hooks and eyes to fit onto the next moving and coiling section. Every closure of plot had to contain a new beginning. There were tributary plots, that joined the mainstream again, further on, further in. Olive plundered the children’s stories sometimes, for publishable situations, or people, or settings, but everyone understood that the magic persisted because it was hidden, because it was a shared secret. – from The Children’s Book, page 89 -

The stories Olive writes parallel reality. The secrets she alludes to also exist outside of the books, lurking in the dark corners of Todefright waiting to be discovered.

There are several other families which comprise Byatt’s ambitious novel. Benedict Fludd, a barely sane potter, hides his perverse fantasies about his two daughters, while Fludd’s wife escapes reality by sinking into a drug induced state of complacency. Humphrey’s brother Basil and German wife Katharina are raising the beautiful Griselda and rebel Charles (ages 11 and 14). Prosper Cain, a museum owner and widow, also has two children – the independent minded Julian (age 15) and conflicted Florence (age 12). Finally, there is Phillip who is found wandering in the basement of Cain’s museum and is taken in by Benedict Fludd when he realizes that Phillip is a budding artist (later, Phillip’s sister Elsie joins the cast).

Despite the sheer number of characters introduced, Byatt does an admirable job at developing them – giving them distinct personalities, strengths and weaknesses. I did stop reading early on in order to create a character chart, but found that by the time I got 100 pages into the novel, I no longer needed to refer to it. Later I found this terrific list of characters on Wikipedia.

Byatt uses the historical and political backdrop of the Women’s Suffrage movement in England, Socialism and the inside workings of the Fabian Society, and the build up to WWI to frame her novel which begins in 1895 and ends just after WWI in 1919. Byatt skillfully shows the transition from the Victorian Age to the Edwardian age.

It was a new time, not a young time. Skittishly, it cast off the moral anguish and human responsibility of the Victorian sages Lytton Strachey was preparing to mock. The rich acquired motor cars and telephones, chauffeurs and switchboard operators. The poor were a menacing phantom, to be helped charitably, or exterminated expeditiously. The sun shone, the summers broiled and were brilliant. The land, in places, was running with honey, cream, fruit fools, beer, champagne. – from The Children’s Book, page 431 -

During this time, the reader follows the lives of the children as they grow into young adults, make mistakes, search for their identities, go off to fight in the trenches, and begin their own families. Olive’s eldest children (Tom and Dorothy) take center stage as characters from the Wellwood family. Tom is Olive’s favorite child and is stuck in Olive’s fantastical world of boys without shadows and underground tunnels – he roves the woods and lives in a dreamworld. Dorothy wishes to be someone more than someone’s wife and sets her sights on becoming a doctor. One of my favorite Wellwood characters is Hedda, whose spunk and determination eventually leads her to becoming a Suffragette. The reader also comes to know Julian Cain well…a boy who early on recognizes he prefers the company of men to that of women and is not afraid to acknowledge his sexuality. I especially felt myself drawn to Imogen – the eldest Fludd daughter – who manages to escape her wretched father and make a life for herself.

At the turn of the century, the young were about to be adults, or some of them were, and the elders looked at the young, with their fresh skins and new graces and awkwardnesses with a mixture of tenderness, fear and desire. The young desired to be free of the adults, and at the same time were prepared to resent any hint that the adults might desire to be free of them. – from The Children’s Book, page 252 -

Interspersed throughout the novel are snatches of Olives stories which provide insight into the background of the characters…and the secrets. It seems every character has a secret: infidelity, sexual identity, incest, and political aspirations. As each secret is uncovered, another aspect of the characters is revealed – a bit like peeling off the layers of an onion.

In case you have not already figured it out, I loved this book. I loved its density. I loved the character development. I loved Byatt’s gorgeous use of language and the care she took in getting the historical details correct. I especially enjoyed the fairy tales and the theme of not growing up which weaves through the story (Byatt references Peter Pan in this novel and the idea of staying child-like forever is played out in the book). I found the historical background on the Women’s Suffrage movement in England to be fascinating…and yes, Byatt’s female characters are immersed in the drama and conflict of that time.

“It is a terrible thing to be a woman. You are told people like to look at you – as though you have a duty to be the object of … the object of … And then, afterwards, if you are rejected, if what you … thought you were worth …is after all not wanted … you are nothing.” – from The Children’s Book, page 357 -

They were troubled, as intelligent girls at the time were troubled, by the question of whether their need for knowledge and work in the world would in some sense denature them. Women worked, they knew, as milliners and typewriters, housekeepers and skivvies. They worked because they had no means, or were not pretty or rich enough to attract a man. - from The Children’s Book, page 358 -

This novel is so intricate and far-reaching, it is hard to do it justice in a review. This was my first experience with Byatt’s writing and it has made me eager to read more of her work. But, if you just read one novel this year, let it be The Children’s Book…a wholly satisfying and enjoyable read from start to finish.

Highly recommended.

Cassandra understood the media cycle well enough to know that Callie would disappear within a day or two, that she was a place-maker in the current story, the kind of footnote dredged up in the absence of new developments. Callie had been forgotten and would be forgotten again. Her child had been forgotten, left in this permanent limbo – not officially dead, not even officially missing, just unaccounted for, like an item on a manifest. A baby, an African-American boy, had vanished, with no explanation and yet no real urgency. His mother, almost certainly the person responsible, had defeated the authorities with silence. – from Life Sentences, page 12 -

Cassandra Fallows is casting around for her next book idea after having published two highly successful memoirs and one floundering novel, when an evening newscast brings up a name from her past. Calliope Jenkins had shared an elementary school classroom with Cassandra. She was later held for seven years in prison for refusing to reveal the whereabouts of her infant son…who is still missing and presumed dead. Now released from prison, Calliope provides the perfect backdrop for another memoir of sorts for Cassandra. Cassandra returns to her childhood home in Baltimore to try to get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding Calliope and her son, and ends up reconnecting with her old friends. What she discovers are buried secrets about her own life, and another perspective on what constitutes truth.

Laura Lippman takes her time in developing her characters in Life Sentences, switching back and forth from the past to the present, and giving the reader multiple perspectives of Cassandra’s life. Cassandra is not wholly likable (she has a tendency to go to bed with other women’s husbands and seems oblivious to how her literary portrayal of the people in her life might impact them) yet I found myself wanting to give her a chance at redemption. Part of the conflict in the novel is internal – that which lies within Cassandra herself. Although her goal was to write a book and not rethink her life, Cassandra ultimately is forced to deal with her own weaknesses, learn another way of seeing the world, and revisit her version of the truth.

Lippman apparently used to write straight forward mysteries and suspense novels, but in Life Sentences the mystery takes second stage to the deeper issues raised in the book. Using the historical backdrop of the civil rights movement in Baltimore and the assassination of Martin Luther King, Lippman explores the difficult subject of race relations. Cassandra’s unfaithful father leaves her mother to marry a black woman. Cassandra’s childhood friends are all black (she is white) and the division between them (and their later anger around Cassandra’s memoir) centers largely around unspoken race issues. One huge event in Cassandra’s life (when she is attacked by a group of white girls in her school) takes on a different meaning when seen outside of Cassandra’s narrow view and is explained from the viewpoint of a black friend who witnessed the attack but did nothing to stop it.

Another huge theme in the book is that of memory and perspective – how two people can experience the same thing and yet remember it differently. As Cassandra tries to mine her past for her next book, she discovers her memories about important events vary significantly from that of her friends.

Ultimately Lippman gets to the mystery and provides an answer for her readers, but she arrives there after a meandering journey through the lives of her central characters. And that is perhaps my only complaint with the novel – it moves a bit slowly at times. This is not a book a reader will plow through in one sitting. Despite this minor complaint, I can recommend Life Sentences to those readers who enjoy their mysteries character-driven vs. plot driven.

Please visit my TLC Book Tour post which includes a guest post by the author.

Thomas Cromwell is now a little over forty years old. he is a man of strong build, not tall. Various expressions are available to his face, and one is readable: an expression of stifled amusement. His hair is dark, heavy and waving, and his small eyes, which are of very strong sight, light up in conversation: so the Spanish ambassador will tell us, quite soon. It is said he knows by heart the entire New Testament in Latin, and so as a servant of the cardinal is apt – ready with a text if abbots flounder. His speech is low and rapid, his manner assured; he is at home in courtroom or waterfront, bishop’s palace or inn yard. he can draft a contract, train a falcon, draw a map, stop a street fight, furnish a house and fix a jury. He will quote you a nice point in the old authors, from Plato to Plautus and back again. He knows new poetry, and can say it in Italian. He works all hours, first up and last to bed. He makes money and he spends it. He will take a bet on anything. - from Wolf Hall, page 25 -

Hilary Mantel’s sprawling, Booker Prize winning novel Wolf Hall is set in England during the sixteenth century. Narrated by Thomas Cromwell, it is an intimate look into the life of King Henry VIII and the cast of historical figures who surrounded him. More importantly, it is an examination of the clash between the Roman Catholic Church and the royalty – a battle of wills and politics that turned deadly for many as King Henry sought to divorce Catherine of Aragon (who could not give him a male heir) and marry Anne Boleyn.

Since Christ did not induce his followers into earthly power, how can it be maintained that the princes of today derive their power from the Pope? In fact, all priests are subjects, as Christ left them. It is for the prince to govern the bodies of his citizens, to say who is married and who can marry, who is bastard and who legitimate. – from Wolf Hall, page 435 -

This tumultuous time in history was defined by the struggle between Catholic power and Protestant will; a time when players could change sides in an instant and the charge of treason meant certain death. The Protestant Reformation, headed by Martin Luther, plays a large part in Wolf Hall and leaves one to wonder which side Cromwell was really on. It is a complex and complicated history into which Mantel drops her characters. Readers who lack adequate knowledge about English history in the 1500’s  may find themselves lost in a sea of details and characters (many who share the same first name); and find themselves struggling to get through this densely written tome.

Mantel writes her novel in the present tense – an interesting choice for historical fiction, but one which I think worked to her advantage. She also picks the perfect protagonist to drive her story. Cromwell is an interesting historical character. In Mantel’s book, he is richly imagined…a man who is is able to sidle up to the King of England and play one man against another in order to ensure his place in history, while at the same time is a loving family man who grieves so much for his wife and two young children (who die from illness), that he never re-married. The stark contrast between empathetic father and manipulative, driven lawyer helps define the internal conflict of the novel.

It’s beautiful, he says, not wanting to spoil his pleasure. But next time, he thinks, take me with you. His hand skims the surface, rich and soft. The flaw in the weave hardly matters. A turkey carpet is not an oath. There are some people in this world who like everything squared up and precise, and there are those who will allow some drift at the margins. He is both these kinds of person. He would not allow, for example, a careless ambiguity in a lease, but instinct tells him that sometimes a contract need not be drawn too tight. – from Wolf Hall, page 187 -

But it is no use to justify yourself. It is no good to explain. It is weak to be anecdotal. It is wise to conceal the past even if there is nothing to conceal. A man’s power is in the half-light, in the half-seen movements of his hand and the unguessed-at expression of his face. It is the absence of facts that frightens people: the gap you open, into which they pour their fears, fantasies, desires. – from Wolf Hall, page 294 -

Another strength of Wolf Hall was Mantel’s sardonic sense of humor which comes through in pithy dialogue between the characters. Cromwell’s observations of Anne are priceless…and Mantel reveals the ridiculousness of some of the royalty, as well as the Church.

Despite this and her excellent characterization, Mantel chooses to use an ambiguous pronoun. Her use of “he” (to identify the narrator) instead of “I” consistently confused me. I often found myself going back to re-read a passage in order to understand who was now speaking or acting. Often the “he” in the sentence did not match the subject which made it all the more confusing. Mantel’s disregard for this grammatical “rule” took away from the story for me. I found myself often setting the book aside in frustration. I could not completely immerse myself in Cromwell’s complex world. I felt as though I were reading a book, rather than falling into a story.

I wanted to love this book. Passages where Mantel let her gifts as a writer shine, left me feeling that this book should have read better. I should have flown through it in record time, exclaiming at the scope of what I had read. Instead, I found myself relieved to have finally finished the book after nearly three weeks of slogging through its pages.

Many readers are raving about Wolf Hall…I suspect most of them had a good understanding of English medieval history and so could sort through the ambiguity of Mantel’s prose. Sadly, I am not one of them. Although I admire Mantel’s writing ability, I have to admit, I really did not enjoy this book. Mantel is apparently going to be publishing a sequel to Wolf Hall. I think I will skip it.

Some might like this book.

“Raven is the patron saint of the Tlingit. He’s responsible for bringing the sun and the moon and water and almost everything else, to the earth.” – from Raven Stole the Moon, page 24 of the ARC -

“Do you understand, Ferguson? Raven didn’t just give us the sun, moon, and stars. He had to steal them from someone else.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Stealing is an act of evil. But giving is an act of good. So was Raven good or evil?”
Ferguson felt a little dumb for having to be led to the answer.
“Both.”
“Both. Exactly. You now have a complete understanding of the Tlingit religion.” – from Raven Stole the Moon, page 46 of the ARC -

Jenna Rosen used to have a wonderful life – married to a man she loved, raising a little boy who meant the world to her. But a fateful trip to Thunder Bay, a lavish resort in Alaska, steals away everything. Bobby, Jenna’s five year old son dies in a drowning accident and Jenna feels responsible for his death. Her way of dealing with the guilt is to turn to alcohol and prescription drugs. Her husband, Robert, turns his grief to anger and directs it mostly at Jenna. Two years after Bobby’s death, Jenna  impulsively leaves Robert and boards a ferry from Seattle to a tiny town in Alaska where her grandmother once lived…looking for answers in  the cold and remote wilderness of Alaska.

Jenna’s journey for closure quickly becomes a terrifying ordeal where Jenna must not only sift through the legends and beliefs of her ancestors, but must face the devastation of her marriage.

On its surface, Raven Stole the Moon is a supernatural thriller which brings to life the Tlingit (pronounced Klink-it) legend of the Kushtaka – otter people who steal the souls of the dead. The Kushtaka are shape-shifters who can appear in whatever guise they desire to trick people into going with them. Jenna almost immediately encounters the Kushtaka upon her arrival in Alaska … and Stein amps up the tension and fear, successfully driving the story forward.

But to classify Raven Stole the Moon as just a thriller would be wrong. There are deeper issues embedded in the novel: how does a parent survive the loss of a child? And how does a marriage evolve or devolve in the aftermath of such an event? What role does religious faith play in recovery? How does someone forgive themselves for a tragedy for which they feel responsible? These questions resonate through the story. Jenna appears to have no religious faith until she discovers the religion of the Tlingit which puts her on a pathway to self-discovery and provides closure for the loss of her son. Her journey is not just a physical journey, it is a spiritual one.

As the sky regained its color and the birds awoke, Jenna stood naked before the world, wondering what was real and what was imagined, trying to fathom an absolute truth, a set of values assigned by some kind of higher being that she could live by, a belief system that would give her the answers she wanted and that she could depend on to survive more than a few thousand years. – from Raven Stole the Moon, page 227 of the ARC -

I read this novel in just under three days. The story pulled me in and made me want to continue reading to find the answers. I loved the German Shepherd who makes an appearance as Jenna’s spirit guide. I admit to being terrified at some of the scenes when Jenna was being pursued by the Kushtaka. That said, the writing is not perfect. At times the dialogue felt stilted and I longed for more development of some of the supporting characters. I did not always understand Jenna or her motivations.

Raven Stole the Moon is Garth Stein’s debut novel – released initially 13 years ago, it is now being re-released by Harper Collins after the success of his bestseller The Art of Racing in the Rain. I loved The Art of Racing in the Rain which I read last year (read my review). There are many differences between the two novels – perhaps most obvious the level of the writing. Stein has certainly grown as a writer in the 13 years between books. Despite some of the flaws in the prose, Raven Stole the Moon is still a worthwhile read, especially for those interested in Native American legend. The strengths of the book are its engaging storyline and the theme of recovery through spiritual awareness.

Oh, sweet, sweet Jesus, is this how it will be? Day after day after day, is this how it will be? Because if it is, then surely she will die here. There has not been a second when she has not been prodded by or spied on by somebody, starting from the moment they shook her awake that morning, and she had felt so sick and dizzy she could barely focus, her head filled with tumbling nightmares, and she had opened her eyes onto this fat bearded woman’s face, thrusting itself into hers, telling her to thank the Lord for bringing her safely through the night, and glory be to Him for this, her first day in Santa Caterina. – from Sacred Hearts, page 36 of the ARC -

Sixteenth century Italy was a time in history when young women found themselves being forced into convent life against their will. The price of wedding dowries was so high that Italian aristocratic families could choose only one daughter to be married off – any other daughters in the family were sent to convents where the cost to marry them to Christ was affordable. By the turn of the century (1600’s), the Roman Catholic Church pushed through a counter-reformation movement through cruelly restrictive measures instituted at the convents across Italy – including walling up windows, redesigning churches so that the nuns were hidden from the congregation, ending family visitations, and the confiscation of personal items such as furniture and books.

Sarah Dunant’s latest novel is set amid this tumultuous time and is a glimpse into convent life through the eyes of a sixteen year old girl and an older nun who has spent most of her life imprisoned behind the convent walls of Santa Caterina.

Suora Zuana is forced to become a nun when her father, a well-known doctor, dies. At the opening of Sacred Hearts, she has lived more than sixteen years beneath the veil and has established herself as the dispensary mistress. She is a good nun, but her heart belongs to the science of healing. Her joy is found within the infirmary walls where she researches the herbs and remedies from her father’s massive tomes, and brings healing to the sisters of the convent. So when Serafina, the teenage daughter of a wealthy Italian aristocrat, arrives at Santa Caterina screaming out her protests, Zuana empathizes with the girl and seeks to help her adjust to the isolated life of a nun.

Sacred Hearts is narrated from the alternating viewpoints of Zuana and Serafina. It explores convent politics, including the shifting balance of power…and examines the complex relationships between the sisters which include both trust and betrayal. Serafina’s high spirit and willful personality are challenged at every turn, especially when she hatches an escape plan to be reunited with her lover outside the walls of Santa Caterina.

Dunant brings to life the beauty and the horror of convent life in this historical novel.She examines the ambivalence which women felt when faced with the isolated existence of a spiritual life.

Oh, but there is beauty in here, too, Zuana thinks: the richness of the earth, the warmth of the bricks, the coolness of the stone. Beauty, space, and, once you stop wanting it to be different, peace, a relief from the madness outside. If someone were to open the doors now, what point would there be in walking out into the world? Where would she go? Who would she be? The house where a young woman called Faustina grew up is home to another family now, while the city that surrounds it is a maelstrom of people who neither know nor care about her. That infinitesimal space in the world that was once hers has long since disappeared – and to appreciate quiet one must accept less excitement. – from Sacred Hearts, page 223 of the ARC -

I found the contrast – as well as the similarities – of the main characters compelling and fascinating. Dunant’s decision to write her novel from the point of view of both a young girl entering the convent against her will, and that of an older nun who also rebelled at being forced into convent life, but now had come to accept it…creates the tension in the novel.

And yet, and yet…this young woman with her sense of fury and injustice has somehow infiltrated Zuana’s life. That Zuana likes her is undeniable, despite her spirit and her truculence – or perhaps because of them. No doubt she sees something of herself in her; the curiosity as well as the determination. And it is true that had she married, had she become a wife instead of a nun, her own child might indeed now be Serafina’s age. How would she feel about her then? It is a painful question. While Santa Caterina has been a good home to her, would she choose to give a daughter up to such a life? And if not, does that mean she is willing to risk bringing down the convent to help her? – from Sacred Hearts, page 340 of the ARC -

Although the first part of the book was a bit slow, it was necessary to introduce the characters who would later play a deciding role in the outcome. Once I reached the mid-way point of the novel, I found it impossible to put down. Dunant successfully ramps up the drama and conflict and ends her story with a bang.

I read this book for both the Women Unbound and The Social Justice challenges – and it was perfect for both. This is a book about women’s rights (or the lack of them) – women who had no power and whose lives were carved out by their fathers. Women in the sixteenth century were bought and sold by men and rarely had a say in their futures. It is also a novel which touches on religious freedom. Women forced into convent life were expected to accept their fate and devote their lives to God – they became brides of Christ and had to give up any dreams of children or a mortal husband. Girls like Serafina had no religious freedom – and if they protested or attempted escape, the consequences were often dire.

Readers who are interested in historical fiction which center around women’s rights and freedoms, will find Sacred Hearts a fascinating read. Full of beautiful imagery, drama and church politics, this is a novel I can recommend.

Cameron switched off both flashlights. But in spite of the claustrophobic dark that fell on them, Uma sensed a new alertness in her companions, a shrugging off of things they couldn’t control. They were ready to listen to one another. No, they were ready to listen to the story, which is sometimes greater than the person who speaks it. – from One Amazing Thing, page 70 -

One Amazing Thing begins in a nondescript passport and visa office where nine people are waiting to secure their travel papers to India: a black man named Cameron (who is a Vietnam Veteran), a Chinese woman (Jiang) and her granddaughter Lily, a young Muslim man named Tariq who is struggling to find his place in the world after 9-1-1, an older couple (Mr. and Mrs. Prichett) whose marriage is strained, Uma (a college girl) whose parents live in India, the visa office manager Mangalam and his assistant Malathi. Suddenly an earthquake strikes and the building collapses, trapping everyone. Immediately Cameron takes control, treating injuries, calming people and making a plan for survival. But as time slips by and water begins to fill the basement, panic and fear take hold and some turn on each other. Uma, a young woman who has learned the power of stories, suggests they sit together and share one amazing thing about their lives, something perhaps they have never shared before. The stories range from childhood abuse and loss to unrequited love and help give depth and understanding to each character who, until now, have mostly been viewed through the lens of stereotype and bias (for example, Cameron’s black skin makes some characters fearful of him being violent, and Tariq’s unkempt beard make others think he is a terrorist).

Divakaruni’s writing is fluid and at times beautiful – especially during the story-telling sections of the book.

“When had it happened? Looking back, I could not point to one special time and say, There! That’s what is amazing. We can change completely and not recognize it. We think terrible events have made us into stone. But love slips in like a chisel – and suddenly it is an ax, breaking us into pieces from the inside.” – from One Amazing Thing, page 90 -

As the characters reveal their backgrounds through one event in their life, the reader gains a deeper understanding of what motivates, frightens, and defines them. Divakaruni develops tension between the characters well, and creates a sense of urgency as the situation grows more serious and dangerous.

As a whole, however, I am not sure the novel worked as well as it could have. At times, the narrative felt like a linked collection of short stories, and the earthquake seemed like a prop in order for the characters to be revealed through story. In this way, the novel felt a bit contrived. The end of the book is abrupt and readers who like loose ends tied up will find themselves frustrated.

This is a short, quick read and I admit to being curious enough about the characters’ fates to keep reading. However, when the last page was turned, I felt oddly unsatisfied.

Divakaruni is an award winning and bestselling author of fifteen books, including the short story collection Arranged Marriage (winner of an American Book Award). Her writing is sublime and her character development admirable…and because of this, I am interested to read something else by this author even though this particular book did not totally work for me.

One Amazing Thing explores the themes of identity, class, story-telling as a way of healing, and coping in the face of crisis. Readers who like unique story set-ups and who enjoy linked short stories, might want to give this novel a try.

Kinky thought it was interesting how different parts of the country had their own lore. Where she came from, some people believed that if a man didn’t shave on a Sunday he’d never get a toothache, but if you had a toothache or a gumboil, then carrying the two jawbones of a haddock in your pocket was a sure cure. Out on the west coast, they swore you should never ask a question of a dog, for it it gives you an answer you will surely die. - from An Irish Country Girl, page 64 -

Kinky Kincaid has lived in the northern Irish village of Ballybucklebo for more than 40 years, working as a housekeeper for two harried doctors. Readers of Patrick Taylor’s Irish Country series know little about her childhood and where she grew up … until now. Kinky reminisces about when she was a young girl named Maureen O’Hanlon – first telling the neighborhood children about the Saint Stephen’s Day ghost’s initial appearance in the southern county of Cork; and later (as she makes Christmas dinner for the doctors) Kinky recalls her memories of the years growing up from a child into womanhood in that same county.

An Irish Country Girl is not just a coming of age story, but a look deep beneath the lore and magic of Ireland. The novel centers around the belief in fairies, spirits and the mystical Banshee whose eerie wail on a snowy night foretells of a death. Blessed with “the sight” (passed down from her mother), the young Maureen wants to understand her future. She is a dreamer, a determined girl who wants an education to become a teacher as well as a romantic match with the man she grows to love.

Patrick Taylor brings to life a small farming community and its eccentric people, and reveals the life of a young girl growing up in the 1920s in Ireland. Readers unable to stretch their imaginations may find it difficult to fully immerse themselves in this realm of magical realism. But, I found the novel a fun and entertaining read. Taylor’s narrative strength is in telling the story through his characters’ eyes. At times I felt as though I was sitting rapt in front of a gifted Irish storyteller, waiting for the expected ending to a tale of intrigue.

Taylor has written a light, engrossing novel about storytellers, magic, and Irish lore. He describes the Irish countryside with  its rolling green hills and dales, its flocks of sheep, and the unexpected and sudden shifts in weather; then inserts his quirky characters and the “little people” who populate the spaces beneath the blackthorn trees, thereby creating a story which entertains and delights the imagination.

If you have not yet read Taylor’s previous books in the series, no worries. This novel can stand on its own. Taylor even includes a helpful glossary of Irish terms and phrases, as well as some of Kinky Kincaid’s fabulous recipes at the end of the book.

Recommended to those readers interested in Irish lore and magic, as well as readers who enjoy novels of small town life.

California was infinitely far away. California was gone. Even her dreams were shaped by this land – rice paddies stretched flat to the horizon, mountains and jungles, fields of green rice shoots and golden rice harvests like rippling fields of wheat, lead curtains of monsoon rain, bald gaunt hides of water buffalo, and, too, Saigon’s clotted alleyways, the destroyed tree-lined avenues, the bombed-out, flaking, pastel villas, even their small crooked apartment with the peacocks and Buddhas painted on the door. The battered, loving, treacherous people. Her heart’s center, Linh. An undeniable rightness in ending here. - from the ARC of The Lotus Eaters, page 30 -

Helen Adams is an American photojournalist who arrives in Vietnam in 1967 as a scared, inexperienced freelance photographer. A woman reporter in Vietnam is not met with enthusiasm, especially from the men who make up the news corp and the soldiers in the field. Helen is expected to cover the human interest aspects of the Vietnam War, but instead she connects with Sam Darrow – a veteran reporter with a Pulitzer prize under his belt – and convinces him to take her into the field. She continues to position herself for combat coverage even when Darrow no longer seems willing to help her. Eventually, Helen overcomes the doubts of others and secures her place among the men…but there is a price to pay which Helen never anticipated.

The Lotus Eaters is part action-thriller, and part love story as Helen finds herself torn between two men – Sam Darrow (who is most at home in the middle of a war), and Linh (a Vietnamese poet who mourns the loss of his country). It is also a story about identity and love of country, about the horror of war and about what makes us human.

The novel begins in 1975 in Saigon as frightened South Vietnamese citizens and Americans attempt to flee the city in front of the North Vietnamese takeover. Fast-paced, tense and graphic…the first forty pages had me glued to my seat. Soli takes no time to develop a sense of place and history with her characters driving the narrative. I was immediately hooked, and I wanted some back story on Helen and Linh. Soli did not disappoint. She sets the stage, then takes the reader back to the mid-sixties when Helen first arrives in Vietnam. From there, the story moves forward.

Soli writes with authority and takes the reader inside the minds and hearts of her tightly drawn characters. The war scenes, including devastated villages and patrols through the jungle, capture the emotion of war. But, what is remarkable about Soli’s writing in The Lotus Eaters is not the story of war but the story of a country and its people, and the definition of “home.” Despite the burned out fields, Soli manages to also capture the beauty of Vietnam as Helen grows to love the country.

This is what happened when one left one’s home – pieces of oneself scattered all over the world, no one place ever completely satisfied, always a nostalgia for the place left behind. – from the ARC of The Lotus Eaters, page 277 -

This is a mesmerizing novel on all levels. The Lotus Eaters is haunting, evocative and marvelously written. Helen’s growth as a character found me empathizing with her and fearing for her safety. But it was the character of Linh who really captured my heart – a man who loses family and country, and yet still finds the poetry in life.

In case you have not yet figured it out, this is a novel which I can highly recommend…especially for readers interested in the Vietnam War era. Unlike many novels which cover this unpopular war, Soli focuses not on the politics, but on the people most impacted…and it is that which makes The Lotus Eaters unique.

Read a guest post by the author.

I wake up earlier than the others, usually around 5 a.m., to perform the one household duty I have mastered. After posting the morning’s word, emptying the dishwasher, setting the table for the children’s breakfasts, and pouring the MultiGrain Cheerios or Froot Loops or Apple Jacks or Special K or Fruity  Pebbles, I prepare toast. I take out he butter to allow it to soften, and put three slices of Pepperidge Farm Hearty White in the toaster oven. Bubbies and I like plain buttered toast; Sammy prefers it with cinnamon, with the crusts cut off. When the bell rings, I shift the slices from the toaster to plates, and butter them.

Harris usually spends half the night in Bubbie’s little bed. When I go upstairs, around 6 a.m., Bubbies hesitates, but I give him a knowing look and he opens his arms to me. “Toast?” he says. - from Making Toast, page 17 of the ARC -

Roger Rosenblatt’s 38 year old daughter Amy – a pediatrician, wife and mother of three very young children – had a heart defect which went undiagnosed until it took her life, suddenly and unexpectedly, just weeks before Christmas in 2007. Rosenblatt and his wife Ginny responded in the only way they knew how – they packed up their things and rushed to Maryland to help their son-in-law Harris raise their grandchildren. Making Toast is Rosenblatt’s memoir of the weeks and months following Amy’s death as the family struggles to make sense of their loss while moving steadily through the daily events of a life which continues without her.

Written in a series of vignettes rather than a straight forward narration, the book is non-linear in nature. At first, I didn’t like this scattershot approach which seemed to keep emotion slightly distant. It felt disconnected to me. But, as I continued to read, the style began to make sense. For what is grief but memories of the brief slices of a life lived? What is recovery if not the simple act of getting up each day and sharing another person’s life? How do we see hope for the future except through the eyes of our children or grandchildren? For Rosenblatt, who clung to his anger against God and the fact that his only daughter had died from something which affects ‘less than two thousandths of one percent of the population,’ his one consolation was that he was doing what Amy would have him do – caring for her family.

Making Toast is heartbreaking, and yet its sadness is fleeting. I found myself laughing at the simple, every day moments which Rosenblatt shares. I found myself marveling at the depth of love that he and his wife had for not only their grandchildren, but Amy’s husband Harris. The human spirit is nothing but resilient in the face of tragedy – and yet it is still amazing to see it in practice.

Rosenblatt shares his grief without telling us outright that he is grieving. Time after time he declines to listen to Amy’s voice on a telephone answering machine, so when her recorded words show up in the narration toward the end of the book, we feel Rosenblatt’s pain. This is Rosenblatt’s style – to show us moments which transcend words.

Making Toast is about patience, love, faith (and the lack of it), grief, and the slow, torturous process of recovery. But perhaps it is mostly about what it means to be a family. Rosenblatt’s simple prose and his matter-of-fact presentation is surprisingly moving in the context of the story. It is a beautiful tribute to a daughter.

Highly recommended.

The Mayo Clinic Diet isn’t a one-size-fits-all approach. Using clinically tested techniques, it puts you in charge of reshaping your lifestyle by adopting healthy new habits and breaking unhealthy old ones. – from The Mayo Clinic Diet, Introduction -

I don’t diet. Ever. I hate the idea of measuring out portions, following rigid guidelines, and being limited to a specific number of calories per day. I also know all the statistics that show that diets don’t work over the long haul.

So, I was very happy to see that The Mayo Clinic Diet is not like other diets out there. The weight experts at the Mayo Clinic have put together a book which is not only colorful and easy to read, but makes losing weight more about lifestyle changes than about hard and fast dieting.

The book is separated into three distinct parts.

The first section is a two-week “jump start” program that requires little preparation but claims to help you lose 6-10 pounds in two weeks. Essentially it sets you up to add five healthy habits (including things like eating breakfast every morning, adding whole grains to your diet and eating healthy fats), getting rid of five unhealthy habits (such as not watching television while you eat and not eating in restaurants), and adopting five bonus habits (things like writing down your goals and keeping an activity log).

The second section is a healthy lifestyle section which is focused on the long-term lifestyle changes which will help you maintain your weight (or continue to lose at a slower rate). Things I liked about this part of the book included visual representations of food servings (so you don’t need to measure out serving sizes), and a list of calorie burning activities to add to your life.

The final section of the book covers things like determining YOUR healthy weight, understanding nutrition and weight control, and barriers to weight loss (including motivational issues). There are some simple recipes and menus included in this last section as well, as well as a great section on adapting recipes for healthier eating.

All sections include colorful, simple diagrams or photos, and easy to understand language. The book has an accompanying journal to track your progress and activity.

Readers who have struggled with weight loss, or who don’t want just another fad diet, will most likely find information in The Mayo Clinic Diet which will appeal to them. Some may find it almost too simplistic, but I see that as more of a strength of the book than a weakness.

“Good race,” someone says.

“Thank you,” I say, because it was a good race. It wasn’t fast – the scoreboard referee writes my time on the board as two minutes and thirty-six seconds, exactly two minutes slower than the leading time – but it was a good race. Really good. I see Lydia’s mom. She smiles at me. I look around. No Lydia. It doesn’t matter. After this race I am sure I will be able to make the Paralympic team, sure I can keep training and trying and getting back up until I actually get that uniform[...]

- from Just Don’t Fall, page 194 -

Josh Sundquist was only nine years old when he was diagnosed with Ewing’s Sarcoma – a rare type of cancer which typically attacks the bone. In Josh’s case, he was given only a 50% chance of survival. He underwent a year of chemotherapy, spending most of that time in a hospital, and eventually lost his left leg to the disease. But he survived.

Just Don’t Fall is Josh’s story beginning shortly before his cancer diagnosis up to the 2006 Olympics. It is an inspirational story – not because Josh survived cancer and a leg amputation, but because of who he is as a person and how he got there. Raised in a conservative, Christian home and home schooled until his freshman year of high school, Josh Sundquist was surrounded by parents and siblings who loved him and a community who stepped up and gave their support when the Sundquist family needed it. Even still, the challenges were huge – financial, emotional, and physical. Josh’s mother, Linda, later was diagnosed with an incurable form of Lymphoma and his brother Matt struggled to find his own place in the world after growing up in the shadow of Josh’s cancer. Josh struggled to feel accepted by his peers as he grew from small boy into young man. Despite these challenges, Josh Sundquist had a dream. He had always imagined himself as a well known athlete, and becoming a ski racer on the Paralympic Team was the goal he set his sights on. In 2006 he skied for the United States Paralympic Team in Turino, Italy – an amazing accomplishment and a testament to courage, heart and perseverance.

I read Just Don’t Fall over a few short days and found myself completely charmed by the honest, heartfelt prose of a kid who overcame the odds to follow his dream. Josh Sundquist is funny, endearing, and genuine. In his memoir, he captures the innocent voice of his childhood which then evolves into the awkwardness of adolescence and finally into the insight of a mature young man. Just Don’t Fall is not only a story about how an individual overcame obstacles to become an accomplished athlete…it is about a family and a community, and the impact on them all with the devastating diagnosis of cancer. It is also a story of faith and doubt, and how one comes to terms with the fears and traumas of life while still believing in a larger purpose.

Josh Sundquist writes from the heart, and in doing so he pulls his readers deeply into his life. You will find yourself laughing, crying and eventually celebrating his accomplishments.

Recommended reading for those who enjoy well-written, touching memoirs with a message.

Listen to a guest Vlog by the author here on Caribousmom

It’s an old, old story: I had a friend and we shared everything, and then she died and we shared that, too. -from the ARC of Let’s Take the Long Way Home, page 1-

Years ago I read Pack of Two: The Intricate Bond Between People and Dogs by Caroline Knapp which is a memoir about Knapp’s recovery from alcoholism and the dog that helped her through it. I remember at the time being unable to put the book down for long. Knapp wrote with an honesty and insight that pulled me into her world…and her relationship with her dog Lucille resonated with me.

Gail Caldwell was Knapp’s best friend. They were drawn together through their mutual love of dogs (in Caldwell’s case a Samoyed named Clementine), their similar battle with alcohol and a need that neither one knew they had at the time…to find a friend who would balance their own strengths and weaknesses.

Finding Caroline was like placing a personal ad for an imaginary friend, then having her show up at your door funnier and better than you had conceived. Apart, we had each been frightened drunks and aspiring writers and dog lovers; together we became a small corporation. - from the ARC of Let’s Take the Long Way Home, page 13 -

When later Knapp was diagnosed and quickly succumbed to metastatic lung cancer, Caldwell was faced with what seemed the impossible – to go forward with her life without her best friend at her side. Caldwell’s memoir encapsulates the years of friendship she shared with Knapp – the long walks with their dogs, the hours of rowing on the Charles River in Boston, the late night phone calls – and the grief Caldwell waded through when Knapp died. But it is also a story about the importance of friendship in our lives, the depth of love we have for others (people and animals alike), and the risk of loss when we decide to love another.

Caldwell’s prose is wise and elegant. The passages she shares about her relationship with Clementine made me laugh and cry. When she wrote about bringing her puppy home for the first time, I felt my heart clench with memory of when I first brought Caribou into my life.

After the first sleep deprived  twenty-four hours of her invasion, I sat on the  back porch with her sprawled  asleep in my lap – she has white eyelashes! I thought – and tears started streaming down my face. I had had animals all my life, but never had my heart been seized with such unequivocal love. – from the ARC of Let’s Take the Long Way Home, page 37 -

I consumed this slim book in just over 24 hours, often with tears flooding my eyes. I could not seem to stop turning the pages even though dread sat on my shoulders. This was a tough book to read in many ways – sad and heartbreaking. But don’t let that stop you from reading it. It is also confirmation of the human spirit and our strength in the face of what feels like unbearable loss. We have all had loss in our lives – people who have been ripped from our lives before their time, spouses who have walked out on us, pets who have died – and it always feels insurmountable. Caldwell’s memoir is about surviving loss and moving forward; about embracing life; and about the special friendships that come into our lives when we least expect it but need them the most. This book is about taking risks of the heart and about discovering one’s inner strength.

Maybe this is the point: to embrace the core sadness of life without toppling headlong into it, or assuming it will define your days. The real trick is to let life, with all its ordinary missteps and regrets, be consistently more mysterious and alluring than its end. – from the ARC of Let’s Take the Long Way Home, page 180 -

Let’s Take the Long Way Home is a book which will stick with me. For those readers who are not afraid to open their hearts and immerse themselves in another person’s pain, but also their joy, this book is a must read.

“[...] I have killed surgeons before – a couple of times, in fact. But I don’t know if I’m ever going to be hired to kill another surgeon again,” Koller continued. “Think about it, that would mean you would be the last surgeon I ever kill.” The assassin paused a moment, clearly deep in thought. “I have to really, really embrace this moment. You can’t record these feelings, the smell of your apartment, your fear. But if you believe it might be the very last time you do something, it’s best to approach it with deserved reverence. You might not be the last surgeon, but then again, you might.” – from The Last Surgeon, page 170 of the ARC -

A nurse, a gifted surgeon, an anesthesiologist – all professionals in the medical field – begin to turn up dead. Murders made to appear as something else – a suicide, an accident, a drowning. When psych nurse Jillian Coates is told her younger sister’s death is a suicide, Jillian begins to seek some answers. Her stubborn effort to find those answers leads her to an unlikely man – Dr. Nick Garrity, a trauma surgeon suffering from PTSD after serving time in Afghanistan. Together they begin to piece together the mystery of the disappearance of Nick’s friend Umberto Vasquez and how it relates to the death of Jillian’s sister. What they find is a cold blooded killer with pale blue eyes, and a conspiracy which reaches to the very top of the United States government.

Michael Palmer’s latest suspense-thriller has all the elements which make it a page turner – intrigue, an evil serial murderer, a growing love between the two main characters who find themselves in constant peril, and a mystery which must be unraveled to save their very lives.

If I have any complaints with the book it would be a plot which seemed somewhat improbable at times (and somewhat predictable), and an evil character who seemed just a little too evil to believe. Despite these criticisms of The Last Surgeon, I did find myself racing through the pages. Fast-paced and creepy, the novel embodies what readers generally look for in this genre – sweaty palms, a little bit of romance (to unite the main characters), and the requisite gruesome murders. Palmer does not shy away from gory descriptions…and since his killer is a sexual sadist, Palmer doesn’t spare the reader when it comes to revealing a graphic, twisted sex scene. This novel is definitely not for the faint of heart.

Readers looking for an edge of your seat thriller will find it in The Last Surgeon. As the book ramps up toward the end, most readers will want to continue to its conclusion, even if it means burning the midnight oil as I did.

Readers who enjoy genre fiction – specifically suspense-thrillers which delve into the medical and political – will most likely enjoy The Last Surgeon. Recommended for readers who like their reading gritty and fast-paced.

Like memory itself, this book wanders back and forth between old recollections and new. Food is the thread that connects them, for food has always been my lens and my prism, my eye on the world. I may write about the smell of asparagus, the color of polenta, or the taste of figs still warm from the sun, but all of it is a personal shorthand for weighing hunger and love, health and nourishment, secrets and revelations, illness and survival, comfort and celebration, and perhaps above all, the joy and gift of being alive. – from Keeping the Feast, page 6 of the ARC -

When Paula Butturini and John Tagliabue met as foreign correspondents in Rome, they had no idea what the future held for them. Four years later, married and living in Poland during a time in Eastern Europe when communist rule was falling and violence was erupting, their lives were suddenly changed. As Butturini writes: ‘A single bullet started it all.‘ Recovering from a near fatal beating in Czechoslvakia only days earlier, Butturini was stunned when she received a phone call on Christmas eve that John had been shot in Romania, an event which led to a life threatening infection, repeated surgeries and months of hospitalization…and served as the catalyst for a slide into a debilitating depression.

Keeping the Feast, Butturini’s memoir of the years following the shooting, is a stunning, beautifully written celebration of how our traditions surrounding food, and the memories and comforts those bring, can speak not only to our physical cravings, but to our souls as well.

Italy still celebrates one of the most primordial rituals of the human community, the daily sharing of food and fellowship around a family table; what better place to take ourselves to heal? – from Keeping the Feast, page 15 of the ARC -

Keeping the Feast is not just about the horror of John’s injury and his slide into deep depression…at its core, this book is about the impact of our food traditions on memory, healing, and finding quiet comfort. Butturini begins each chapter with a childhood memory around food. Her descriptions are mouth-watering, consoling, and beautifully wrought. Who among us has not turned to a favorite childhood meal to find peace in a time of crisis?

To eat a food reminiscent of some childhood treat, to eat a food that nudges strong childhood memories, is to return to the country, town, neighborhood, and family – the very dinner table where we first encountered the edible world. – from Keeping the Feast, page 165 of the ARC -

For Butturini and her husband, a return to their genetic roots in Italy, where they had met and fallen in love, was the key to rediscovering peace and recovery. The simple ritual of getting up and walking to the local market to buy fresh fruit, vegetables, bread and meat was the balm for Butturini’s psychic wounds. The act of making a healthy meal of pasta and sitting down daily to share three meals a day proved not only a calming activity for Butturini, but also just what John needed to find his way out of the dark recesses of his depression.

I found myself completely engrossed in Butturini’s story. I have long found solace in food and its preparation. The first thing I wanted to do for my sister when she was diagnosed with cancer was to make her comfort food that would heal her body and soul. Food represents so much more to us than simple nourishment – it represents our family traditions, our nationalities, and the joy of being with others around a table. Butturini’s wonderful prose captures the joy and healing food can bring to our lives.

Keeping the Feast is an honest, heartfelt exploration of one couple’s journey from depression to wholeness. Its stunning depictions of Italy (and Rome specifically) will satisfy the reader who enjoys travel writing. Butturini’s love of food and her mouth watering descriptions of it will delight those readers who consider themselves “foodies.” It is Butturini’s ability to unite all three of these subjects into a cohesive, compelling story that will have readers praising this book.

Highly Recommended.

Read a guest post by the author (with recipe!) on my TLC Book Tour of this book.

This was not an ordinary pandemic: it wouldn’t be contained after a few hundred thousand deaths, then obliterated with biotools and bleach. This was the Waterless Flood the Gardeners so often had warned about. It had all the signs: it traveled through the air as if on wings, it burned through cities like fire, spreading germ-ridden mobs of terror and butchery. The lights were going out everywhere, and now the news was fading away; systems were failing as their keepers died. It spelled total breakdown which was why she’d needed the rifle. Rifles had been illegal for years, but laws were no longer a factor. – from The Year of the Flood, page 18 of the ARC -

The year is far in the future, a time when animals are becoming extinct at a rate faster than people can document, and the level of pollution requires individuals to don nose cones in order to go outside. The government is horribly corrupt – creating weird animals like liobams (part lamb, part lion) and embedding diseases into vitamin supplements. Criminals are either executed or sent to serve months “playing” Painball, a deadly form of today’s paintball.

Welcome to Margaret Atwood’s latest dystopian novel which serves as a prequel to her previous work Oryx and Crake. The Year of the Flood takes place roughly during the same time period as Oryx and Crake, but jumps back and forth from the post-pandemic months and the years leading up to the disaster. Jimmy (Snowman) makes a reappearance in The Year of the Flood, but the main characters are two women – Toby and Ren. The novel is narrated first in Toby’s voice then in Ren’s, alternating chapters to provide significant background on not only the state of the world, but each woman’s personal story as well.

The heroes of the novel are members of a (mostly) pacifist, eco-friendly group called the Gardeners. Headed up by a Christ-like man called Adam One, the Gardeners rescue people off the streets (and from morally reprehensible lives), prohibit meat eating of any kind, document the animals being lost to extinction, and work underground to gain information about the various corrupt practices of the government. Both Toby and Ren become members of the Gardeners – Toby as a healer and eventually one of the Eves (female members who take on a leadership role in the group), and Ren who joins the group as a child.

Nobody does dystopian literature better than Atwood – and in The Year of the Flood she provides complex female characters who are faced with futuristic horrors which involve women as sexual tools for men, plenty of violence, and lots of cynicism. There is also Atwood’s signature sense of humor embedded in the story which is often graphic while exploring serious subjects such as pandemics, government corruption, and loss of our natural resources.

I love Margaret Atwood’s writing. I am always astonished by the brilliance of her prose and her ability to tell an engrossing story. But The Year of the Flood is not without its faults. I could have lived without the insertion of Adam One’s sermons and song lyrics from the Gardener’s “hymn” book. I also felt the ending was rather abrupt and left the reader wondering what the future held for the characters (in this way, it was a lot like Oryx and Crake).In some ways, I felt Atwood wrote the ending to connect the novel to Oryx and Crake – it felt a bit contrived.

Despite its faults, The Year of the Flood will appeal to readers who enjoy an engaging dystopian tale and who have read and liked Atwood’s previous work. I would be interested to see if Atwood is planning a third book in the series…and if so, where she might take her characters next.

Philosophical nothings. Yet somehow, exchanging the small terrors and joys of parenthood with Dr. Peter Kendrick did not seem like nothing. Maybe it was the gulf between their lives which, perversely, made connection seem possible. Maybe it was something else: just Peter. Either way, she had no sensible basis for believing he might phone. But she found herself dearly hoping that he would. - from Crossed Wires, page 154 -

Mina, a single mother, lives in Sheffield and works at an auto call center processing insurance information. One ordinary day she gets a call from Peter Kendrick, a Cambridge professor, who needs to report an auto accident…and something happens during the call – a connection is made. Soft spoken Peter, who laughs self-consciously, draws Mina to him in a way she cannot explain. When she later snoops into his policy and discovers he is a widower, she finds an excuse to contact him at his home after work hours. As Peter and Mina tentatively reach out to each other they discover that despite their obvious differences (not the least is where they reside), they have much more in common…most importantly that they are both parents struggling to raise their children alone.

Crossed Wires is a delightful and charming novel which caught me up in its pages very quickly. Although the story is a simple one (two people meet accidentally and develop a relationship which starts initially over the phone wires), there is a deeper meaning which radiates from the book…that of  biases and expectations impacting our impressions of others. Not only do Mina and Peter develop impressions (sight unseen) of each other which lead to some misunderstandings, but other characters also fall victim to bias and prejudice. There is a poor Irish couple referred to as “travelers” (ie: gypsies) who find it difficult to settle into Cambridge with their family because of the ignorance of their neighbors; and Mina’s ten year old daughter Sal is isolated because she is different from other children. Mina’s wayward sister is quickly judged by her family when her behavior is misinterpreted. This unexpected theme elevated this novel past a simple romantic comedy. Who among us has never been misunderstood or judged because of another’s ignorance, prejudice, or bias? How many times have relationships broken down because expectations overshadowed reality?

Crossed Wires is a character driven novel about ordinary people living their lives and muddling through; it is about connections with others and how those connections can unravel through mishaps and misunderstandings; and it is about finding someone special to share one’s life with.

Rosy Thornton has an easy style of writing and a clear understanding of not only her protagonists, but her minor characters as well. She clearly understands children – and the child characters are not only well-observed, but also lovable. The novel is set in England…and the language of the novel is very British. Given that I reside in the United States, I must admit to some difficulty understanding the descriptions of certain things…and the choice of words for various foods and activities. Despite my ignorance of British vocabulary, I still was able to easily slip into the story of Mina and Peter and enjoy this book. This is a comfort read on many levels – Thornton’s family scenes of parent and child are warm and genuine, and I could imagine the lives being lived behind the doors of the characters’ homes. The story is heartwarming and funny, and although the ending was a bit predictable, it struck just the right note for me.

For those readers looking for a light, yet engaging read, Crossed Wires is one that will satisfy. Thorton has written two previous novels (More Than Love Letters, and Hearts and Minds), both of which I would not hesitate to pick up.

Recommended.

I don’t know, maybe we’re all chaos theorists. Lovers of pattern and predictability, we’re scared shitless of explosive change. But we’re fascinated by it, too. Drawn to it. Travelers tap their brakes to ogle the mutilation and mangled metal on the side of the interstate, and the traffic backs up for miles. Hijacked planes crash into skyscrapers, breached levees drown a city, and CNN and the networks rush to the scene so that we can all sit in front of our TVs and feast on the footage. Stare, stunned, at the pandemonium – the devils let loose from their cages. “There but for the grace of God,” the faithful say. “It’s not for us to know His plan.” – from The Hour I First Believed, page 306 -

Caelum Quirk and his wife Maureen both work at Columbine high school in Littleton, Colorado – he as an English teacher, her as a part time school nurse. Their marriage is strained after Maureen had an affair and Caelum retaliated against the interloper and was arrested back in Connecticut… just before they packed up and moved to Colorado to start over. When Caelum’s aunt (who raised him after his mother’s death) falls ill from a stroke, Caelum boards a plane back to the east coast to see her. Little does he know that only days later two boys will open fire at Columbine, killing and maiming dozens. Maureen finds herself cowering in a cupboard in the library during the tragedy – and when she emerges, everything will have changed…for not only her, but Caelum as well.

The Hour I First Believed centers around the Columbine high school shootings. Wally Lamb uses the names of the actual shooters and victims in his book, but revolves this around the fictional Quirks and their families. The first half of this over 700 page book moves quickly, taking the reader through the events of that fateful day and the immediate aftermath of the tragedy. I found myself glued to the pages during this part of the novel. But then Lamb becomes rather tangential as Caelum struggles to deal with his wife’s PTSD and addiction to prescription medication leading to an accident that puts her behind bars. Caelum begins to look back and analyze his life, trying to understand his father’s alcoholism and suicide…and getting caught up in the history of his extended family  – all the way back to the civil war. Caelum’s search for understanding involves long chapters devoted to his great-great grandmother’s diary, his mother’s background and life, and a mystery involving two children.  The middle of the book slows tremendously because of these additional story lines. By the end of the novel, Lamb redeems his story somewhat – finally tying up the multiple loose ends and providing some closure for the reader.

Thematically, the story is about chaos vs. order, belief in a larger power vs. fate or chance, and how tragedy warps and changes a person through time. It also explores the idea of family connections and how they shape who we become.

I had a hard time rating this book. On the one hand, Lamb is an incredible writer who has a deep understanding of his characters…and is able to translate that understanding to the reader (although I will admit, I did not particularly like Caelum Quirk). On the other hand, the book was heavy with information. Even though a writer must understand EVERYTHING about his character before writing that character’s story, it is not necessary that the reader have all that information. In many ways, I believe The Hour I First Believed was overburdened with too many plot lines. What I really wanted to understand was Caelum and Maureen’s reaction and recovery from tragedy. I did not want to know all about Caelum’s family history. I actually think this novel could have been two novels… one a family saga, the other about the Quirks and how their lives collided with the Columbine shootings.

I don’t believe a lot of readers will have the patience to wade through this entire book without skimming. Even Lamb fans may find it hard to keep reading past mid-book in order to finally get to the satisfying, albeit melancholy end. The best part of the book, in my opinion, was the first half when he focuses in on the Columbine tragedy. Perhaps had Lamb more aggressively edited his tome down to a more manageable 400 or so pages, I would have walked away feeling more positive about the book. Not everyone agrees with me.

Marriages break up, I wanted to shout. Fathers can abandon their children, children can be left alone. There is  nothing in the vow that is sacred. There is no security – we are each of us alone. – from Looking After Pigeon, page 180 -

Pigeon is five years old – the youngest of three children – when her beloved father abandons them to the care of their eccentric and cold mother, Joan. Joan has named all her children after birds – Dove, Robin and Pigeon.

Still I believe, as I am sure our mother did, that the names we are given as children have much to do with the people we later become. Perhaps we do not really fly. It is done these days only safely aboard commercial airlines, and none of us have migrated far from home. Yet I am certain something of what our mother tried to impart in us at our birth is with us still, and always will be. - from Looking After Pigeon, page 11 -

After Pigeon’s father leaves, Joan packs up her children…with very few of their belongings…and moves to her brother’s home on the New Jersey shore. It is the beginning of summer and a new life for all of them. Each character will deal with their losses and fears differently. Joan will join a cult-like church and find a new lover; Dove (the eldest child) will look for acceptance in the arms of older men; Robin (the eldest boy) will find hope in reading the future in tarot cards; and young Pigeon will look for her father in the kindness of her Uncle Edward, and in the generosity of her mother’s lover Cary. Pigeon longs for an intact family. She misses the love of her father…and she hopes that he will one day return to her. Her habit of constructing paper families from the pictures of catalogs is heartbreaking.

I studied their faces carefully for my game; you could not just choose a person willy-nilly without consideration for their looks and disposition. For I was creating families and I did not take the responsibility lightly. All sons and daughters needed to look like their parents. They required friends of nearly the same age. Grandparents had to be older, of course, though still sprightly, attractive. And they all needed to share similar coloring and size. I had ten families already, had made clothes for them out of construction paper, and even provided them with pets – dogs and cats clipped from a pet supply firm. And although they were only made of the shiny catalogue paper, their lives were as intricate and involved as any real family’s ever were. – from Looking After Pigeon, page 102 -

Looking After Pigeon is narrated by an adult Pigeon who is looking back on that fateful summer when all that she had known and trusted disappeared. She wishes to uncover the truths of her upbringing, to gain an understanding of what happened so that she can move forward in her life and perhaps develop the trust she needs to connect with her significant other.

Maud Carol Markson’s latest novel is a look beneath the surface of a broken family through the eyes of the youngest daughter. Written in honest, simple prose…the book examines the impact of our earliest experiences on the development of our self-esteem, trust and world view. It also looks at our deepest fear – that of being abandoned and left to take care of ourselves. Who among us does not wish to be protected, cared for, and loved unconditionally? For Pigeon, security is wrenched from her suddenly and without explanation. She is often left to her own devices, to wander through the streets or along the beach alone. The adults in Pigeon’s life are mostly absent – either physically or emotionally – and are unreliable. Even Uncle Edward, who obviously loves and cares about Pigeon, is not always available to her.

Looking After Pigeon is a difficult story to read. It is not a terribly positive look at marriage, parenting or the family. And yet it is a thoughtful and intriguing book which continued to spin around in my head after I finished it. Despite its slim size (less than 200 pages), this is a deep book which I read slowly. I grew to care about Pigeon and empathize with what was lacking in her life. I found myself feeling anger toward the adults in her life who had relinquished their responsibilities and left her feeling vulnerable and lonely. Sadly, stories like this are found not only in fiction. Children often find themselves, in real life, alone or abandoned and without adults who make them feel safe. I think it takes courage for an author to tackle subjects like these in fiction. Too often readers want “feel good” novels and shy away from books like Looking After Pigeon.

Markson is a talented writer and Looking After Pigeon is an engrossing literary novel. Despite its serious subject matter, the book ends with a glimmer of hope for Pigeon and leaves the reader with a positive message – that despite flaws in our childhoods, we can choose to move forward and find joy as adults.

Readers who appreciate well-written literary fiction will want to read this book.

Recommended.

Read a guest post by the author here on Caribousmom.

I’ve always felt almost human. I’ve always known that there’s something about me that’s different than other dogs. Sure, I’m stuffed into a dog’s body, but that’s just the shell. It’s what’s inside that’s important. The soul. And my soul is very human. – from The Art of Racing in the Rain, page 3 -

Enzo is a dog – but he is not just any dog. Enzo is a philosopher and an observer of humans…he is a dog with the soul of a man. He lives with Denny Swift, a semi-professional race car driver, and Denny’s beautiful wife Eve and daughter Zoe. Enzo’s story begins at the end, and then rewinds to the beginning and works forward again. It is a simple story, really…the story of a family seen through the eyes of their dog; but Enzo’s insight into the human condition is what turns this simple story into something special. Like his owner Denny, Enzo loves car racing and he takes what he learns from the sport (through Denny) and uses it as a metaphor for living one’s life.

This is what Denny says. He says racing is doing. It is being a part of the moment, and being aware of nothing else but that moment. Reflection must come at a later time. - from The Art of Racing in the Rain, page 14 -

I must admit, I was very reluctant to read this book – not because I didn’t think it would be a great read (I heard Garth Stein speak last year at the San Jose Book Club Expo and immediately bought The Art of Racing in the Rain afterwards); but because I knew it would make me cry. And it did. Enzo is a wonderful character and his view of life, and ultimately of death, is tender and moving. Stein makes the reader embrace his characters. For me, it was easy to believe that a dog could think and feel as Enzo did…and so I internalized his story and it became real for me. Despite my tears, Enzo’s story is not all tragedy and sadness. There is joy, exhilaration and hope in the novel as well. There are many messages embedded in The Art of Racing in the Rain, but one of these seemed the most important: we are what we manifest.

Such a simple concept, yet so true: that which we manifest is before us; we are the creators of our own destiny. Be it through intention or ignorance, our successes and our failures have been brought on by none other than ourselves. - from The Art of Racing in the Rain, page 43 -

As Denny and his family face challenges and tragedy, this concept (’that which we manifest is before us‘) becomes a recurrent theme. Another recurrent theme is facing our darkest fears in order to overcome them. For Enzo, it is a stuffed zebra who embodies evil intent…and now I know why Garth Stein inscribed my book: “For Wendy, Beware the zebra!”

There are many beautiful passages in Stein’s novel. His writing is graceful and insightful. Enzo’s ruminations on life, on what makes a good human, and the state of our souls upon death…are simple, tender and thoughtful.

Here’s why I will be a good person. Because I listen. I cannot speak, so I listen very well. I never interrupt, I never deflect the course of the conversation with a comment of my own. - from The Art of Racing in the Rain, page 101 -

We could learn a lot by listening to our dogs, perhaps.

The Art of Racing in the Rain is a beautiful novel on many levels. Readers who love animals will certainly be drawn to Enzo. This is a novel about family, love, loyalty and spirituality. It is about overcoming obstacles and moving forward through tragedy. But mostly it is about our connection to others – whether they be beast or human. Those readers who have recently lost a beloved pet will find this a tough read at times, but it is worth the journey.

Highly recommended.