Widowland, People Person, and More October Reading

 

Fiction

The idea of Widowland, by C.J. Carey, is interesting. The book is set in Great Britain, 13 years after Britain agreed to be ruled by Hitler's Germany. Women have been divided into several castes that define how they live their lives. King George and his family have disappeared, and King Edward (he of Wallis Simpson fame) is about to be re-crowned, an event that will end some aspects of the British-German agreement (including protection of British Jews). The protagonist Rose works rewriting literary classics to reflect the new views of women's roles. All that is interesting. But then the book goes off the rails when Rose receives a special assignment to investigate whether a group of widows (a disrespected caste) is responsible for anti-regime graffiti. That could also have been interesting but it just didn't work (e.g., why would Rose have been chosen for this assignment, for which she had no discernible skills?). Disappointing. 

People Person, by Candice Carty-Williams, is an entertaining but completely unbelievable story. Dimple has four half-siblings (same father; the five have four different mothers) whom she has met exactly once, when she was a child and their narcissistic father decided they should all meet. When her ex-boyfriend falls in her kitchen, hitting his head on the counter and apparently killing himself, she calls her eldest sister, who brings the rest of the crew alone to help dispose of the body. The rest of the book is about the five of them helping Dimple and building a family relationship. I found this so unlikely as to be a fantasy--but perhaps I am just a bad person. 

The Every, by Dave Eggers, is a sequel to The Circle, a cautionary tale about what can happen when your life is lived entirely in public via social media. In The Every, the Circle (essentially a combination of Google and Facebook) has merged with an on-line digital retailer named for a South American jungle, and the merged company's cultural influence is even greater than in the The Circle. A technocritic named Delaney decides to destroy The Every from within by getting a job there and proposing terrible ideas that will ultimately bring about economic failure. But the ideas are not only adopted by the company, they become wildly popular, albeit with some bad effects. The book is more satirical and less frightening than its predecessor, perhaps because the plot isn't strong and aspects of the company's practices and culture seem so ridiculous. But I enjoyed it.

Up until a couple of years ago, I had never read much Stephen King--but I've picked up several of his books recently and I do admire his writing skills while occasionally wondering how his brain works. Billy Summers is interesting because it's a story in which the main character is a hired killer (although he only kills truly bad people, so there's that)whomt I sometimes found myself liking. Then I remembered there was a lot not to like about the man--but he was dealing with so many worse people so maybe that meant he was all right. At any rate, Billy was a fully realized character. I don't know if Stephen King actually knows how assassins work, but the details mostly seemed plausible. Somewhat uncomfortably enjoyable.  

Mysteries/Thrillers

What She Saw, by Diane Saxon is evidently the third entry in a series featuring D.S. Jenna Morgan. I listened to it because it was free on Audible and, while I didn't hate it, was glad I hadn't used a credit on it. It opens with a man murdering his family members and setting his house on fire. One of his daughters survives and hides in a neighbor's barn. Why she thought she should hide is not entirely clear,  and it's kind of a distraction from the narrative about the work of the police. On the other hand, it's key to the climax, so maybe that's why. Probably won't read any more of the series. BTW: What She Saw is the title of multiple books. 

The Guilt Trip, by Sandie Jones, which was advertised as a mystery but seemed more of a domestic drama, had me wishing someone would die a lot sooner than they did--and I wouldn't have cared which character it was. In sum, the narrator is happily married until she goes to her brother-in-law's destination wedding and becomes convinced her husband is having an affair with the bride. She spends the weekend melting down, arguably too late, until she figures out what's really going on. Not recommended.

In Righteous Prey, by John Sandford, Lucas Davenport and Virgil Flowers take on a band of bitcoin billionaires who have decided to become vigilantes, killing "assholes," sending out press releases on their kills, and maintaining a Dark Web presence. Interestingly, Virgil's presence seems to prevent Lucas acting like the vigilante he himself has become in other recent books. The story is entertaining enough but is a clear set-up for a sequel, which I generally find annoying. 

I'm not a fan of Harlan Coban, but Gone for Good was available on Libby, so . . . I checked it out. It revolves around a 15-year-old crime that might have been committed by the protagonist Will's brother, Ken, who has been missing ever since. Now, with a new crime at hand and evidence that the brother may be alive, Will must figure out what is going on. If it sounds similar to my description of Alex Finlay's The Night Shift, that's because there are similarities. But The Night Shift is better. 

The Last to Vanish by Megan Miranda is not a particularly great mystery about a series of disappearances from a North Carolina inn. For me to think something is a great mystery, it has to have interesting twists -- but give the reader enough information as they go along to think the twists make sense at the end. The twists in this book are so out of left field that they don't seem believable. However, I did learn about an interesting concept from the book: trauma tourism. Trauma tourists go to places where bad things have happened and wallow in the horror. I guess this is really a thing!!

The Judge's List by John Grisham is one of those books that starts out strong--a woman whose father was murdered believes she has identified the killer--a sitting judge in Florida. She takes her evidence to Lacy Stoltz, an investigator with the Florida Board on Judicial Conduct. Since the Board doesn't generally handle murders, Lacy initially refuses to take the case--but the law demands that they look into every complaint, so she begins an investigation. Around the time the judge figures out he is being investigated, I thought it broke down and became a typical "chasing the bad guy" scenario. And the ending--truly hated. 

Cajun Kiss of Death, by Ellen Byron, won the Agatha Award for 2021, Byron's second win for the Maggie Crozat series in four years. The series is set in a small Louisiana town and is just way too cutesy for me--even though people are dying, being stalked, getting food poisoning, etc. all around. I thought it might be interesting because it was all about food--a chef was murdered, other chefs/cooks were suspects, there were recipes at the end. But nothing redeemed it for me. 

Nonfiction

Although I don't live in Broomfield any more, I'm still in a Broomfield-based book group and interested in the town's literary goings-on. This year, the One Book One Broomfield selection is The Honey Bus: A Memoir of Loss, Courage and a Girl Saved by Bees, by Meredith May. As one might guess from the title, there's a lot about bees and the beekeeping grandfather who taught Meredith about the habits and wisdom of the bees. Sadly, others in her life were less supportive--her mother barely leaving her bed for years after she was divorced from May's father and her grandmother--perhaps from some guilt complex--defending her daughter when she abused Meredith and her brother. I guess the book is well done for what it is, but I found the bees as a model for human community overdone and the family dysfunction of a piece with so many other memoirs that it failed to provoke the outrage it deserved. Again, perhaps I am just a bad person.

Favorite Passages

He knew there should be a balance between the taking and the giving a person does in one lifetime. That a good relationship, between bees and humans, or two middle school classmates, or between a mother and daughter, needs to start from a mutual understanding that the other is precious.

    --Meredith May, The Honey Bus

People liked the idea of a strong leader--they didn't much care what that leader stood for. What citizens wanted above all things was a quiet life. They didn't mind shrinking their horizons. They didn't object to not travelling, as long as nobody else was travelling either. They wanted an orderly life with everyone knowing their place. Plenty of rules, the more of them the better.

    --C.J. Carey, Widowland

Good Memoirs: In Love and Going There

So I have mentioned ad nauseum that I am not a fan of memoirs, but two very good ones were highlights of my late September reading. Other than those two books, most of what I read since I last posted just made me grumpy although I should say I did actually enjoy a couple of light beach reads.

Fiction

I was surprised to enjoy Golden Girl, by Elin Hilderbrand, because I had read a few of her books and never been too impressed. There's a fantasy element here that was actually entertaining--Cape Cod author Vivi is killed in a hit-and-run early in the book; a heavenly guide allows her to watch over her family for a few months and intervene with three "nudges." Who wouldn't want to do that, especially if you were a mom leaving three children behind? For me, the question of who killed Vivi wasn't that important (I guessed early on!) but getting the kids straightened out did engage me. Fun beach read (or, if you're me, fun listen on my morning walks).

Another fun though not deep read is The Bookish Life of Nina Hill, by Abbie Waxman. It's basically a rom-com but it's set in a bookstore (score) and trivia contests (funny) with family drama involving the heroine learning she has a large extended family she knew nothing about. Not very realistic but another fun late-summer read.

Mysteries/Thrillers

The Overnight Guest, by Heather Gudenkauf, has a Room-esque element, as well as the popular trope of having a true crime writer as a protagonist.  The writer Wylie Lark writes about cold cases and, rather creepily in my opinion, is staying at the Iowa farmhouse that was the scene of the crime she is trying to solve. Who would do that? Seriously? The story is told in three narrative threads: Wylie's present-day research, events around the time of the crime in 2000, and brief snippets about a child and mother trapped in a basement by the child's father. The three threads come together in a way Gudenkauf clearly intends to be surprising but just felt highly unlikely to me. Didn't love. 

The Island, by Adrian McKinty, is one of those thrillers in which people do something really stupid and spend the rest of the book trying to escape. Here it's a woman and her two stepchildren trying to escape from a crazy Australian family's island. It's basically an extended chase scene that I grew weary of.

Continuing my grumpy commentary, Do No Harm, by Christina McDonald, is a stupid story about a doctor who, upon learning her child has leukemia and needs an expensive treatment not covered by her insurance, becomes a drug kingpin pretty much overnight. And she's cavalier about any harm (substantial) she is causing; at points, the author seems to be arguing that opioid deaths are the price we have to pay for people getting some relief from chronic pain. Also stupid is the fact that the two local cops investigating opioid deaths are the doctor's husband (despite the fact that her brother is a known drug dealer) and a woman involved romantically with a doctor who has already been arrested on drug-related charges. Conflict of interest much?  Unsure why I finished this book. 

Lonely pregnant woman befriends another apparently lonely pregnant woman at a prenatal class. Second pregnant woman starts stalking first pregnant woman though first pregnant woman doesn't seem to notice. Weird doings ensue. Way too much explication at the end of the book. That's Greenwich Park, by Katherine Faulkner.

Slight break from grumpy negativity: The Night Shift, by Alex Finlay, is actually a decent mystery. On New Year's Eve 1999, someone attacks the employees of a Blockbuster, killing four (three teenage girls and the manager) and leaving one girl alive. Fifteen years later, the employees of an ice cream shop are attacked and, again, three teenage girls are killed and one survives. Are the two crimes linked? Could the suspect in the first crime, who escaped and has not been seen since, have returned? Is his brother, now a public defender, somehow involved? Is the survivor of the first crime? Pregnant FBI agent Sarah Keller has to put it all together. While I had suspicions about the person eventually revealed to be the killer early on, I still enjoyed the book. 

Like other well-established mystery series, Linda Castillo's Kate Burkholder series has gotten a bit tired. Perhaps because it strains credulity that there could be so much violence among the Amish in Kate's small Ohio community, The Hidden One involves the discovery of the body of a long-missing Amish bishop in Pennsylvania instead of Ohio. Kate and the suspect were close as teenagers and the elders in the community ask her to investigate. Of course, she is threatened and of course she solves the case. Not terrible but not great.

YA

I can't remember who recommended The House in the Cerulean Sea, by T.J. Klune to me, but they sold it as a sweet fantasy/queer love story about children with special powers who suffer discrimination but feel safe in the residential orphanage/school where they live. I found it mildly interesting but predictable. Then I read that the author said he had been inspired to write the book upon reading the terrible news stories about the horrific treatment of Native Canadians at residential schools. For the second time in this post I ask, seriously? To trivialize and misrepresent that experience through a treacly fantasy story is despicable.

Nonfiction

In Love: A Memoir of Love and Loss by Amy Bloom is the moving and instructive story of her husband's decision to seek aided suicide when he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. It turns out that this is not an easy thing to do if you are expected to live longer than 6 months. Bloom and husband Brian Ameche (who seemed like something of an odd couple and yet clearly had a happy marriage) eventually landed on Dignitas, a Swiss company, as the route to a dignified death rather than "the long good-bye." Bloom reflects on the early signs of Brian's dementia, recounts the process of getting approved as a Dignitas client (grueling), and describes their trip to Zurich for Brian's planned death--and she does it all beautifully. 

More of a surprise to me was how much I enjoyed Going There, by Katie Couric. I've never been a huge Couric fan, but it was interesting to read how her career developed in an era when women journalists were subjected to various forms of discrimination and misogyny. And she does not hold back in calling out a lot of people who acted badly, especially at CBS during her 5 years there. The story of her first husband's illness and how she brought all her research skills to bear on trying to keep him alive was moving; her insight later that she had spent too much time trying to help him live and not enough helping him prepare to die was devastating. Years after his death, her daughter's research into her family's "Southern-ness" brought out some things about Jay's attitudes that were challenging, and I respect her for bringing them into the light. On the other hand, I have some doubts about her response to #MeToo and Matt Lauer. Although she acknowledges Matt did some terrible things, I felt she still has trouble accepting that these things happened (and that perhaps she should have known). In fact, she admits to being "tone deaf" or wrong a number of times throughout the book--and I felt in many of these cases she should have known better even as these things happened. So I'm still not a huge Couric fan, but the book is interesting and I recommend it. (And I was sorry to hear this week that she has been in treatment for breast cancer since June--the disease has definitely been a scourge on her loved ones.)

Partisans: The Conservative Revolutionaries Who Remade American Politics in the 1990s, by historian Nicole Hemmer, is most notable in (1) pointing out that, although the right loves to quote him and pretend a reverence for Ronald Reagan, his optimistic view and willingness to compromise made him different from the conservative movement that he helped to launch (and actively disliked by some of its denizens), (2) reaffirming the influence of the right-wing chattering class, in part on television but maybe more effectively on talk radio and the internet, and (3) drawing a direct line from Pat Buchanan to Donald Trump. Donald Trump was not as new or surprising as we may have thought--he was the successful incarnation of the hateful and racist ideas that Buchanan had advocated for and eventually brought into the mainstream of the Republican Party, which, as Hemmer says, "gave up on governing in 2014" (I might say it was before that, when they announced their goals were for Obama to fail and be a one-term president). It's about power, more specifically, white power (she didn't say that specifically--but I am saying it). 

Favorite Passages

All happiness is fleeting, but I see now that there is fleeting and then there is the true and wall-like impossibility of ever experiencing this kind of happiness again, even once, even next week, let alone a year from now. Doors are closing around us, all the time.

"You should be with a guy who doesn't mind that you're smarter than he is, who doesn't mind that most of the time, you'll be the main event," he said. "You need to be with a guy who supports how hard you work and who'll bring you a cup of coffee late at night. I don't know if I can be that guy"--he broke into tears--"but I'd like a shot."  We married.

    --Amy Bloom, In Love

Empire of Pain and Other Late Summer Reading

You know the feeling when you read a book and you realize how ill-informed you truly are? That's how I felt reading Empire of Pain, which I highly recommend. 

Fiction

A few months ago, I decided to join the University of Illinois alumni online book group, which reads and discusses a book every quarter. There was a great series of discussions about Hidden Valley Road (a book I loved). Being over Isabel Allende, I then skipped reading A Long Petal of the Sea. This quarter, I was somewhat disappointed with All the Lonely People, by Mike Gayle. It's a pleasant enough book about an elderly Jamaican Brit, Hubert Bird, a widower who is estranged from his son and whose communication with his daughter is confined to weekly Facetime calls, in which he describes an active but totally fictional social life. When she announces she will be visiting in a few months, he decides to start making some friends so his stories won't be lies. The contemporary story is intercut with the story of Hubert's earlier life and the discrimination and challenges he faced as an immigrant in Britain. The book is okay, but I felt like it could have been so much more. Rather shallow in comparison to  many other novels about the immigrant experience. 

I read We Are Not Like Them, by Christine Pride and Jo Piazza, right after reading Fiona and Jane (see below), which was interesting because both books are about best friends. Like the interracial pair of writers who penned the book, Riley and Jen are best friends of different races. They grew up together in Philadelphia, where Riley was ensconced in a solid African American family and Jen, whose single mom was somewhat irresponsible, relied on Riley's family, especially her grandmother, for stability. Riley grew up to be a successful television journalist, while Jen is married to a cop. When Jen's husband shoots a black teenager and Riley covers the story, their friendship is severely tested. Their alternating perspectives reveal the betrayals both felt. While some of the explications of their feelings felt a bit obvious and the happy ending somewhat unlikely, I still enjoyed the book and hope the team of Pride and Piazza will work together again.

I must admit I struggled with Assembly, by Natasha Brown. It's a short novel but it's told in vignettes that I found hard to piece together. In addition, because the author doesn't name many characters, it's sometimes hard to figure out who she is talking about. We do know the protagonist is a black Brit who works in finance, has a white boyfriend whose family she is about to visit (with dread), and has cancer. Her company sends her out to schools to talk with young people about her success (touting the company's diversity), but she knows she is lying to them, as she doesn't talk to them about the reality of the micro and macro aggressions she suffers from colleagues. When diagnosed with cancer, she decides to regain agency by deciding not to have any treatment, choosing death over a life in which she has no control. 

So a second "theme" (besides best friends) in this batch of books was the #MeToo movement. Vladimir, by Julia May Jonas features an older academic whose husband John has been accused of inappropriate sexual relationships with students. The accusation is true, but his wife, the book's narrator, defends him because none of the relationships occurred after the college banned such goings-on and she and her husband had an open marriage. As John awaits his hearing, our narrator is under pressure herself--students feel uncomfortable around her. She has what I would call a breakdown, more or less kidnapping a new younger professor, the titular Vladimir (this isn't a spoiler because we know from the beginning that she has Vladimir chained somewhere). I have seen the book described as the first "camp" take on #MeToo. I just found it creepy. 

Surprisingly, I much preferred Jennifer Weiner's That Summer. I'm not generally a fan of Weiner, but I enjoyed her tale of a woman who, many years after being raped by a boarding school boy as a teenager, decides to seek out the boys who harmed her. She herself isn't sure if she's seeking revenge or simply some kind of acknowledgment. She finds herself facing a dilemma when she cultivates the rapist's wife as a means to get to him--and finds that she likes both the wife and their daughter. Entertaining, while still exploring the damage done by the "boys will be boys" attitude. 

The Man Who Lived Underground is a previously unpublished novel by Richard Wright. It opens with Fred Daniels, a Black man, walking down a Chicago street, counting his pay and thinking about his pregnant wife. He is picked up by the police, tortured into confessing (having worked on a Chicago Public Schools curriculum about the police torture of the 1970s and 1980s, I know this description, while horrifying, is not overdone), and then escapes into the sewer system. It's a gripping narrative that is well worth reading, made even more interesting by its publication with an essay by Wright, "Memories of My Grandmother," in which he discusses his thinking as he wrote the book. What he was thinking as he wrote didn't parallel what I was thinking as I read, but it definitely shed light on his intentions. Highly recommended.

In writing Cult Classic, it seems that Sloane Crossley was trying to inject a sci-fi element into her story of a woman who has had too many boyfriends that she is still thinking about as she prepares to meet her fiance. The sci-fi piece has several of those old flames cross paths with her. For me, neither the sci-fi element or the basic story worked--though Crossley does turn some interesting phrases ("I'd done nothing wrong except, perhaps, to lay the groundwork for wrongdoing"). Not recommended. 

I've seen Reputation, by Lex Croucher, described as feminist and compared to Jane Austen. I'd say it's more like a Georgette Heyer with female debauchery. 

Short Stories

Fiona and Jane, by Jean Chen Ho, is a collection of linked short stories about two best friends. Both girls are Taiwanese American, though one was born in the U.S. and the other was an immigrant. The stories begin when the girls were young and jump forward into adulthood. I particularly liked the story in which Jane visits her father, who has moved back to Taiwan, and learns that he is gay, involved with a man whom he knew years before he left for the States. This revelation threads through other events in her life, including her friendship with Fiona and her sexuality. While I did enjoy some of the stories, because they are about the same two characters, I wished for them to add up to more as a whole. The book was very positively reviewed in the NYT and elsewhere. 

Mysteries/Thriller

Cold, Cold Bones is one of the better recent entries in Kathy Reichs' Temperance Brennan series-- perhaps because she doesn't seem compelled in this book to instruct us on some arcane aspect of forensic anthropology. She is still trying to educate us--this time about issues faced by veterans, including Tempe's daughter Katy, but it fits in the story and isn't overwhelming. The story is one of revenge, although it takes a while for Tempe and Skinny Slidell (who is now in business with Tempe's significant other Ryan) to put together how a series of grim events--starting with a human eyeball with GPS coordinates etched into it being delivered to Tempe's back door--are linked. Entertaining.

So I was wrong about Dalton and Casey having a baby in Kelley Armstrong's next book in the Rockton series. Instead,  A Stranger in Town brings us an incredibly complicated story of murder and manipulation linked back to Rockton's early days, as well as a suggestion of another future direction--it appears Rockton will be closed and Dalton and Casey will start their own hidden community. Or is this, too, a false lead?

American Girl, by Wendy Walker, is a murder mystery featuring longstanding conflicts between the powerful and powerless in a small town. The protagonist is presented as being autistic, but the characterization is incredibly lazy--the girl is good at math and likes order but in no other way does she seem autistic. Nor recommended.

Lola, escaping from a dead-existence in London, heads to Paris to stay with her half-brother in The Paris Apartment. But when she arrives on his doorstep, he has disappeared. As she tries to find him, she discovers that all is not as it seems in the fancy building where he lives. The author inserts French phrases throughout, then translates them into English. Of course, many of these conversations would be entirely in French since the setting is Paris. Kind of wondering if that technique actually makes many readers feel more ensconced in France. Overall, just okay.

Nonfiction

 As I mentioned above, Empire of Pain: The Secret History of the Sackler Dynasty, by Patrick Radden Keefe, was an eye-opener. Although I am aware of the opioid crisis and the protests against Purdue Pharma and the many cultural organizations bearing the Sackler name, I really had no idea of the criminal perfidy of the Sackler family across at least three generations. They knew what oxy was; they marketed the hell out of it, including selling it to known pill-pushers; they corrupted FDA officials; they sucked all the money out of the company after it became clear the company was going to be hit with huge penalties. They were/are horrible human beings. The fact that the revelations of their criminality has posed a dilemma for the many institutions to which they donated huge sums of money suggests that perhaps people should be more discerning when they ask the wealthy for donations. Highly recommended. 

Favorite Passages

A 2016 study found that purchasing even a single meal with a value of $20 for a physician can be enough to change the way that he prescribes. And for all their lip service to the contrary, the Sacklers didn't need studies to tell them this.

OxyContin was, in his view, entirely beyond reproach--a magnificent gift that the Sacklers had bestowed upon humanity that was now being sullied by a nihilistic breed of hillbilly pill poppers.

    --Patrick Radden Keefe, Empire of Pain (I could put a lot more quotes here--just read the book!)

Happy (Left on Tenth) and Sad (Red Comet) Lives

A family reunion in mid-August seems to have kept me from doing a mid-month post, but the reunion was fun as I have some entertaining relatives!  A few books this month made me reflect on happy endings, which are definitely good in a memoir but can feel entirely out of place in a novel that has been successfully building dread for a couple hundred pages. 

Fiction

Any Other Family, by Eleanor Brown, is an interesting look at family. It features three sets of Denver parents who have adopted the children of one biological mother and made a big effort to function in a way that the four children feel like siblings. They are all on vacation together when the biological mother announces she is pregnant again and is hoping that the couple who adopted her youngest child will take this new baby as well; but that mother is struggling with mothering one child and is not interested in adopting another. The story of the tensions that occur on their shared vacation as they try to solve the question of who will take the new baby is interspersed with their backstories and statements from prospective parents for the new baby from outside their family circle. One of the mothers is incredibly overbearing and hard to take--but I still enjoyed the unique perspective on family until the ending, which  was disappointing and somewhat killed my positive feelings about the book. 

The Husbands, by Chandler Baker, is kind of a reverse-gender treatment of the classic satirical horror story Stepford Wives, in which women with controlling husbands "convert" them to supportive, domestic gods. But Chandler Baker is no Ira Levin and the book neither amused nor thrilled me. Since Baker also wrote the "MeToo" novel The Whisper Network, it's clear she hopes to illuminate women's issues, but I just didn't think this one worked. 

I absolutely loved Bruce Holsinger's The Gifted School, but The Displacements bore little resemblance to that satire set in Boulder (although there is a family dysfunction element that is common). In The Displacements, a hurricane of unprecedented ferocity is bearing down on Miami. Except for father Brantley, a surgeon who is the incident commander at his hospital and thus cannot immediately leave, the well-to-do Larson-Hall family--mother Daphne, stepson Gavin, and children Mia and Oliver--evacuate. Their evacuation is a disaster, and the family ends up in a displaced persons camp in Oklahoma, unable to leave because they have no ready resources and Brantley is inaccessible. Things go from bad to worse at the camp, where we meet small-time crook Tate and his addict sidekick Jessamyn, who undertake a variety of scams at the camp, as well as Rain, the FEMA employee in charge of the camp. There's a prevailing feeling of chaos and devolution that seems all too possible, making the relatively upbeat ending feel out of place. Despite that, I liked the book and recommend it.

I'm sure I had read something about This Time Tomorrow, by Emma Straub, or it wouldn't have found a place on my TBR list. But by the time I got it from the library, I had forgotten it had a time travel element. When Alice Stern is experiencing angst over her 40th birthday, turns down her boyfriend's proposal, gets abandoned at dinner by her best friend who has to rush home because her baby is ill (highlighting the fact that Alice has neither husband nor children), gets drunk, and ends up sleeping on the ground in the shed behind her father's house, she wakes up to find herself turning 16. There's a lot of going back and forth between 16 and 40, with variations in her life at 40 based on things she did when she was back in the teenage years. But I really didn't care. The book lacks the magic of really good time travel stories (e.g., The Time Traveler's Wife; Recursion; Here, and Now and Then; Oona Out of Order) and I can't recommend it.

Tom Perrotta has written some wonderful novels about characters who make questionable moral choices, but I didn't care for Tracy Flick Can't Win. In case you don't recall, Tracy Flick was the character portrayed by Reese Witherspoon in Election. But Tracy is now an adult, a divorced mom and assistant principal at a suburban high school. Her principal is about to retire and she hopes to get his job, but there are inevitably obstacles. The story is told from six perspectives, which for me dilutes Tracy's story. When something dramatic happens at the end, I don't care, nor do I take any meaning from it. I've read a number of positive reviews of the book, so know that others do like it, but I can't recommend it. 

YA

My granddaughter had mentioned that she had tried more than once to get into They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera and had finally gotten far enough into the book to decide it was pretty good. So I decided to read it and could immediately see why it was hard to get into--in the first two chapters, the two main characters, teenagers Mateo and Rufus, learn they are going to die that day. That makes for a grim beginning. The central conceit of the book is that a "service" called Death-Cast lets people know early on the day they will die that it is their last 24 hours on earth (we don't learn how this service has come to be, and not too much else about society seems different). There are a variety of additional services available to "Deckers," those who have been notified they will die. One of these is a social media site called Last Friend, which allows Deckers to make a connection with someone to spend their last hours with. Through Last Friend, Mateo and Rufus connect and spend the day together, visiting people and sites important to them. Although I would have liked more explanation of how Death-Cast became a thing, I found, within the grimness, that the book celebrated friendship in a lovely way. And I enjoyed discussing it with my granddaughter!

Mystery/Suspense

To me, the most interesting thing about The Sacred Bridge, by Anne Hillerman, is that it looks like Hillerman the younger may be planning to take Jim Chee away from police work and back toward becoming a traditional healer. Don't know how that will translate into future mysteries but will definitely check out the next book to find out.

Alone in the Wild is the fifth in Kelley Armstrong's series about two police officers in a secret Canadian town established for people needing to escape from their previous lives. As with The Sacred Bridge, the most interesting facet of this title was the signaling that in the future, Casey and Dalton are likely to become parents. Since Rockton has no children, that could be an interesting development. 

A Line to Kill is Anthony Horowitz's third title in the Horowitz/Hawthorne series featuring a retired police detective and his mystery author sidekick. The first two titles felt fresh, but this one lapsed into more traditional territory and involved way too much explanation at the end. Not recommended.

I love libraries and have a love-hate relationship with mysteries so mystery about a dead woman in a library--sign me up. That's the set-up for The Woman in the Library, by Sulari Gentill. The author tells us that the killer is one of a small group of loosely connected young people who were at the library at the time of the killing. There's also a meta aspect to the story: a fictional writer is writing a novel about a fictional writer named Hannah who was part of the group in the library; a friend provides increasingly hostile critiques of chapters of the novel. Occasionally it got confusing, but it wasn't boring.

As the Wicked Watch, by Tamron Hall, is set in Chicago and features journalist Jordan Manning, who is investigating the disappearance of high-achieving African American teenager Masey James. I liked the first part of the book, which focuses on Jordan's work filing stories on why the police are characterizing Masey as a runaway when Jordan is sure she is the victim of violence. But then, when she is assigned to cover that store exclusively, she becomes more of an investigator than a journalist and the story seemed to spin out of control. Hall deals with a serious issue--violence against African American women and the neglect of such cases by both the media and police; I hope she'll stick to having Jordan remain a journalist rather than an investigator in future titles (assuming this is going to become a series).

What Happened to the Bennetts, by Lisa Scottoline, also took a turn half way through the book. The Bennetts are driving home from a soccer game one evening when they are stopped by two men in an SUV, who demand their car; when the family dog jumps at one of the perpetrators, the teenage daughter is fatally shot. One of the bad guys also ends up dead on the ground. In the middle of that night, after their daughter dies in the hospital, the Bennetts are awakened by FBI agents who inform them that mobsters and drug cartels were involved and to be safe, they must immediately go into hiding in preparation for going into witness protection. The first part of the book deals with the difficulties of suddenly being displaced, how you and the people left behind react. I really liked this part of the book. Then the father, Jason, owner of a court reporting business, decides to seek vengeance on his own--to my mind, totally unbelievable. So I liked half, didn't care for the other half. 

I feel like I can't say too much about No One Will Miss Her, by Kat Rosenfield, without giving away some of the twists. Suffice it to say it's about two couples--a wealthy couple from Boston and a not-wealthy couple from a small town in rural Maine. There are a LOT of twists, many not very believable--but still entertaining.

Girl, Forgotten, by Karin Slaughter, is a follow-up to her bestseller Pieces of Her, which became a Netflix series. The daughter from that book, Andrea Oliver, has just become a U.S. Marshall when her uncle the Senator gets her assigned to a case that involves crimes her cult leader/criminal father may have committed as a teenager. A number of things about the book really annoyed me, including: (1) a novice U.S. Marshall would never be sent out on a mission that involves her family and is a secret form her colleagues, (2) her new partner tells her that investigation is not the job of the U.S. Marshall Service--and then they spend the whole book investigating, and (3) Slaughter sets up a new confrontation with Andrea's father at the end of the book, obviously prepping us for a sequel--we've had that from other authors and it's just annoying! 

Nonfiction/Memoir/Biography

Before I started reading, I definitely had the wrong idea about Left on Tenth: A Second Chance at Life, by Delia Ephron. I thought it was about Delia finding love in her 70s following her husband's death. For a brief time, it was about that--and what a gem of a partner she found in her second husband Peter. But then the book--actually her life--took a turn and became about her grueling battle with leukemia. She has unbelievable support from family and friends (even though she doesn't tell her friends about her illness for quite some time). Although I read a review by the novelist Joyce Maynard that suggested Ephron spent too much time praising people who had helped her, I disagree. If it hadn't been for reading about the support she got from loved ones,  reading about her illness would have been almost unbearable. Of course, she survived, which is cause to rejoice. Reading the book is an emotional experience but definitely not for everyone.

I'm not sure why I kept listening to the 45-hour Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath, by Heather Clark. Clark obviously adores Plath's work and is proud that she had access to sources that the other numerous biographers of Plath did not have. So the work is adulatory and detailed. But the only real takeaway is that Plath had serious mental health problems and chose probably the worst possible person to be her husband. I loved The Bell Jar but have never really understood her poetry--perhaps if I go back to it now, I might be able to see my way through the poems. But even if I can, I'm not sure it will be worth the hours it took to get through the biography!

Andrea Elliott's Invisible Child: Poverty, Survival and Hope in an American City started as a 2013 series in the New York Times but Elliott continued her reporting for a total of eight years, following young Dasani from age 11 through her graduation from high school. Dasani was one of eight children of Chanel and Supreme. The family lives for years in one room in a truly awful homeless shelter. They also spend time in public housing, which is a much better situation, but one her parents are unable to sustain because of an array of bad decisions. Despite the fact that there is a lot of love in the family, the children eventually end up in foster care. Dasani initially avoids foster care because she's accepted at the Milton Hersey School in Pennsylvania. Although she does well at the school, she self-sabotages (it's not entirely clear why but concern for her siblings seems to be a major factor), getting into fights and eventually being sent back to a foster care placement in New York. New York political leaders do not come off well--particularly Letitia James, who tries to somehow take "credit" for Dasani after she became a mini-celeb when the NYT story was published. Even those who want to help the family seem unable to really make a difference. As I was reading the book, I thought it was a modern update on There Are No Children Here by Alex Kotlowitz, a book that had a huge impact on me back in the 1990s--and Elliott acknowledges that that book inspired her reporting. This book reminds us that the problems of poverty have not been solved, and the innocent victims of both systemic issues and parental problems are children. 

Dawn Turner's Three Girls from Bronzeville: A Uniquely American Memoir of Race, Fate, and Sisterhood made for an interesting follow-up to Invisible Child. Turner's work provides insight into many of the events that have shaped Black Chicago, from the Great Migration to the development and then neglect of public housing, to gentrification. All of this is context for her real focus: her own story and that of her younger sister Kim and her childhood best friend Debra. Despite their involved parents, Kim starts ditching school and drinking at a young age; after she has a miscarriage as a teenager, she is depressed and drinking more and more until she dies of a heart attack at 23. Debra was always a bold girl, but she loses her way somewhere along the way. She dances in strip clubs for years and then is convicted of killing a man she was doing drugs with. She never denies killing him but claims it was an accident. She ends up serving 19 years in various Indiana prisons. In prison, she gets a degree and works to help other inmates. She also, over time, goes through reconciliation with her victim's family. Based on the title of the book and her comment that "there but for the grace of God," Turner seems to see the women's different lives as a matter of chance. As someone who is not religious and does not believe in fate, I see individual decisions and systemic conditions as more central. Despite this difference of perspective, I did find the book a rewarding and insightful read. 

One Surprising Book (The Lioness) and One I Wish Had Surprised Me (Beautiful World, Where Are You?)

 It was another two weeks of mostly inane reading, but I'm currently in the midst of a 45-hour biography of Sylvia Plath, so I'm trying to redeem myself. Meanwhile, here's what I read as July wound down. 

Fiction

I have liked many of Chris Bohjalian's books and have always thought of him as a gentle writer (is that a thing?) who does a particularly good job depicting female characters. The Lioness is a total change of pace. Set in 1964, the book tells the story of a successful actress, Katie Barstow, and her new husband, a gallerist, who take an entourage of friends, colleagues (agents, publicists), and family members on the second part of their honeymoon (do people do that?)--a safari in Tanzania. Things go horribly wrong, and Bohjalian weaves the story of what happens with the back stories of the characters. Through the back stories, Bohjalian explores racism, exploitation of various kinds in the film industry, and child abuse, among other issues. But I found it hard to even remember who the characters were because the violence on the safari--human to human as well as animal to human--felt so overwhelming (and so not expected from Bohjalian). Not recommended.

I often do not understand why certain authors become darlings in the literary world, and that is the case with Sally Rooney, whose three novels have all received rave reviews. I didn't read her first book, and I didn't care for Normal People. As for her latest--Beautiful World, Where Are You?--I found the title the best thing about the book. At the center of the book are two young women--writer Alice and her best friend Eileen--and the men in their lives. Part of the book is presented in email exchanges between the two, while the remainder is standard narrative. In her correspondence, Alice waxes philosophical on writing, the novel, modernism, and aesthetics, which is the only part of the book that even approached being interesting to me. But nothing much really happens and what does feels prosaic. Perhaps I'm too old to appreciate what is clearly a millennial novel but I think I'm through reading Sally Rooney.

The Final Case, by David Guterson, has some similarities to Beautiful World. One of its major characters--the unnamed narrator--is a writer who thinks he's done writing but still thinks about writing quite a lot. The other major character is his father, Royal, an attorney in his 80s who needs his son to drive him around after he has a car accident that suggests he should no longer be driving. The titular case is based on a real Washington case, in which an Ethiopian girl adopted by a fundamentalist family is abused and dies; the parents are charged with death by abuse, and Royal takes on the mother's case because all the public defenders are too busy. There's a lot about the case and the court proceedings, but weirdly, the book doesn't really seem to be about the case. I'm not entirely sure, but I think it's about the good and the bad of families and the power of work. I liked it better than Rooney's book--the characters are old, like me, and the case itself, though not the point, was interesting--but it wasn't entirely satisfying either. 

Mystery/Thriller

Mysteries continue to be forgettable (and too numerous):

--The Sorority Murder, by Allison Brennan. A trifecta of tired tropes: a true crime podcast, a long-held secret among college friends, and a battle-scarred law(wo)man. Not Brennan's best.

--The Widow, by K.L. Slater. This was a freebie from Audible, so I don't feel too bad that I can't remember much about it except that a basic plot point seemed entirely unbelievable to me.

--Into the Darkest Corner, by Elizabeth Haynes. Another freebie from Audible focused on a woman who thinks she has escaped from an abusive relationship (but has developed OCD) . . . but has she? Rather predictable.

--Find Me, by Alafair Burke. Hope Miller, an amnesiac who has not known her own life story since being in an accident 15 years ago, disappears from her new home in the Hamptons. Her best friend Lindsay, a defense attorney, sets out to find her. A surprise at the end was really, really annoying.

--Insomnia, by Sarah Pinborough. This book portrays gaslighting (and the effects of not being able to sleep) really well, but I could have done without the supernatural element that Pinborough threw into the mix and the purported reason why the main character thought she was losing her mind was ridiculous.

--Blackout, by Erin Flanagan. This is a mystery with a science fiction element involving neuroscience that also deals with misogyny in academia, what constitutes scholarship in today's media landscape, rape culture, alcoholism...it's a lot. But it was good entertainment while at a water park with two 12-year-olds for the weekend.

--No Way Back, by J.B. Turner. Terrible book--wife gets killed in a complicated political scheme, estranged husband kills a couple people involved in the scheme, book ends. Obvious set-up for a sequel in which some more people involved in the scheme get killed. 

The Latecomer and Notes on an Execution

 I lose all my energy when it gets hot--even though I now live in an air-conditioned condo instead of my old god-awful-hot house. I've also continued having too much work.  So all in all, July has gotten off to a slow reading start--haven't read too much and nothing has been really great.

Fiction

I had categorized Jean Hanff Korelitz as a writer of literary mysteries/thrillers that I liked even though all the characters were unlikeable (her novel You Should Have Known was made into the series The Undoing). The Latecomer, her latest, is quite a change, as it is a family drama with no real mystery involved. The Oppenheimer triplets, born to their wealthy parents Salo and Johanna via IVF. The triplets, Lewyn, Harrison, and Sally, don't like each other and don't care that much for their rarely present father (who has become obsessed with modern and outsider artists and a documentarian creating a film about one of those artists) and their overly involved mother. When they take off for college, their mother decides to have another baby using the one leftover embryo, the "latecomer" Phoebe. Understandably, Phoebe does not know what to make of her siblings. Korelitz takes on art, the dynamics of collecting, overpriced liberal education, radically rural conservative education, racial posturing, various types of bad parenting, and more.  It's sometimes funny, sometimes thought-provoking, occasionally annoying. One stylistic thing that kind of bugged me was that it started out as a mix of first person plural and third person; then, when Phoebe was born, she became the first person narrator--but her role as the narrator of events she didn't experience or observe didn't really work in my opinion. However, I still would say the book is worth reading.

Another unusual book is Notes on an Execution, by Danya Kukafka. The book opens on Death Row, with 12 hours before Ansel Packer's execution. Packer killed four women, three when he was a teenager and his wife a number of years later. His thoughts as the execution nears are intermingled with the stories of his mother Lavender, his wife's twin sister Hazel, and one of the police officers who investigated the three early murders. The story kept me interested, but I felt like the description of the actual execution was gratuitous. And, when I finished, I felt there was a level at which the author was giving the three women some responsibility for Ansel's actions, which annoyed me. Overall, I wouldn't recommend the book.

Mysteries/Thrillers

I read three mysteries but I've already pretty much forgotten them:

• More than You'll Ever Know, by Katie Gutierrez--another take on the true-crime bloggers who decides to investigate a real case and, of course, learns what police never did. 
• The Golden Couple, by Greer Hendriks and Sarah Pekkanen--featuring a therapist who is pretty much undistinguishable from a stalker.
• Strangers We Know, by Elle Marr--FBI agent tells a woman her DNA shows she is related to a serial killer, so she goes to meet the birth family she doesn't know. Yeah, that's logical.
• Last Girl Ghosted, by Lisa Unger--an ugly but somehow charismatic dude meets women on line, charms them in person, and then they disappear.

Nonfiction/Memoir

I like chefs' memoirs, mostly because I like reading about food. Sometimes they go beyond feeding that obsession to provide life insights. This month I read and enjoyed Finding Freedom: A Cook's Story, Remaking a Life from Scratch, by Erin French. French is a self-taught cook who worked in her father's diner as a kid, dropped out of college when she got pregnant, started cooking underground dinners and eventually was able to open her own small restaurant. However, when she went to rehab, her husband fired the staff, closed the restaurant, cleaned out their joint accounts, and essentially stole her son (the husband was not the biological father). It took her years to do so, but she eventually opened another restaurant (now highly acclaimed) in her small home town of Freedom, Maine--a town she thought she wanted to escape as a teenager but eventually decided was the place for her. She also got partial custody of her son and then, when he was a bit older, he opted to live only with her. So it's a story of perseverance. But it really made me wonder why so many chefs have a history of alcoholism or drug abuse. Restaurant work is stressful and physically and emotionally exhausting--but a lot of jobs are stressful and exhausting, like teaching, for example--but I don't think that many teachers have addiction issues. Maybe they do but they just don't write memoirs about it. Just curious if anyone has any insights on this.

Favorite Passages

Pity is destruction wearing a mask of sympathy. Pity strips you bare. Pity shrinks.

    --Danya Kukafka, Notes on an Execution

So Many Books, So Little Time (yep, that's a title of a book!)

Fiction

I enjoyed and admired True Biz, by Sara Novic. It features a compelling story focused primarily (but not exclusively) on Charlie, a 15-year-old deaf girl with a faulty cochlear implant, no knowledge of ASL, and parents deeply divided about how to give her a good future. Her father wins custody and enrolls her in River Valley School for the Deaf, where she begins to thrive. Meanwhile, the school district is threatening to close the school, a fact headmistress February Waters wants to keep hidden as long as possible (February is having her own problems with a deaf mother whose dementia is worsening and a wife who suspects her of a dalliance with a teacher). While these characters' stories (and other subplots) held my interest as a reader, I was also learning a lot about deaf culture, sign language, and deaf education. I listened to the audiobook, which had a feature I hadn't previously experienced. When conversations in the book would have been signed, the author was actually signing in the background; of course, much of the signing was silent but you could sometimes hear the movement of her arms and smacks when one hand hit the other. It helped remind you that these conversations would have been silent. Highly recommended.

Anthem, by Noah Hawley, was definitely not what I expected since the previous book by this author that I had read was a mystery. I've seen Anthem described as a pre-apocalyptic novel, which is a new genre to me. Anyway, the book is set a few years after the COVID epidemic and begins with an unexplained rash of suicides among teenagers. One of the teens who killed themselves was Claire Oliver, the daughter of a big Pharma CEO, who overdosed on pills from her father's company. Her brother Simon struggles in the aftermath, and his parents ship him off to the Float Anxiety Abatement Center, a psychiatric facility for young people. There, he hooks up with a group of other young people, including The Prophet, who speaks to God, and a young woman victimized by an Epstein-esque character. They break out and travel across country to try to rescue another young woman. Meanwhile, the bulimic daughter of a Supreme Court nominee has disappeared from her apartment in Austin, along with her boyfriend, who it turns out is the sun of a survivalist. With other subplots I'm not even mentioning, I found Anthem to be imaginative but a bit much. 

Emily Austin has created a unique character in Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead. Gilda is an atheist lesbian with some psychological issues, including an obsession with death. She turns up at a Catholic church to access free therapy but is mistaken for a job applicant and ends up taking the job as Father Jeff's assistant. The previous occupant of the position, Grace, died under suspicious circumstances, which Gilda starts investigating. At the same time, she begins a correspondence with Grace's best friend--pretending to be Grace. She's trying to keep things going with a new girlfriend while learning the Catholic mass. Meanwhile, her apartment descends into chaos (she hasn't washed dishes in weeks and they are piled everywhere). I wanted to shake her, but I remained interested in what was happening!  

In Light Perpetual, Frances Spufford takes a unique approach. He opens with a gripping description of a World War II bombing at a Woolworth's in London, an actual bombing in which many civilians, including children, were killed. Then he asks: But what if the bombing never happened? And he tells the stories of five children who would have been killed but weren't: twin sisters Jo and Val plus Alec, Ben, and Vernon. He pops into their lives 5 years after the non-bombing (1949) and then every 15 years. Perhaps the most interesting thing is that nothing particularly special happens to them--among them, they experience mental illness, business success and failure, becoming redundant because of technology and then finding a new career, domestic violence, marriage and divorce, parenthood, and so on. Perhaps that is the point. 

I didn't care for Taylor Jenkins Reid's best-seller Daisy Jones and the Six, but it was definitely innovative, presented as a collection of oral histories from the members of a rock band. Malibu Rising is much more traditional drama of a dysfunctional family. It reminds me somewhat of Anne Tyler's recent French Braid, dipping back and forth between the parents' story and the stories of the children, which was fine until we got to a very long section of the book detailing a party at one of the children's homes. For me, reading about an out-of-control party is about as enjoyable as reading a dream sequence. Not recommended. 

Mercy Street, by Jennifer Haigh, was certainly a timely book to pick up this week, dealing as it does with abortion. Mercy Street is a clinic, where Claudia offers counseling to the clients. Claudia has an every-other-weekend lover she met on line, but she's probably closer to her weed dealer, Tim. Tim also supplies one of the regular protesters at the clinic, Anthony, who is on disability for a traumatic brain injury and whose life consists of going to mass and protesting. He is drawn into helping Victor, a misogynist who hates white women who have abortions because they're not helping sustain the race. He has started a website where he posts pictures of women going into abortion clinics, and Anthony begins sending him pictures from Mercy Street. Victor then becomes obsessed with Claudia, whom he sees in one of Anthony's photos. Yeah, it sounds like a lot--and there's more--maybe too much. But it felt real and crazy the way today's world feels. 

Mysteries/Thrillers

In The Sun Down Motel, Simone St. James combines a currently popular trope--the true crime fan, in this case a family member, who decides to investigate a case and solves it when the police could not--with a ghost story. Not a hit with me. 

An Accidental Death (DC Smith series) and Songbird (Kings Lake series), both by Peter Grainger, were pleasant enough but forgettable . . . in fact, forgotten. In contrast, Cappucinos, Cupcakes, and a Corpse, by Harper Lin was just plain dumb. Note to self: do not read any more mysteries with cutesy food titles.

Nonfiction

Musician Michelle Zauner's memoir, Crying in H Mart, made many best of 2021 lists. It focuses largely on her experience caring for her Korean American mother as she battled and eventually died from cancer. Her mother and food were her primary connections to Korean culture (her relationship with her Anglo father was somewhat distant), and she cooks manically in the months after her mother's death. I can see why people found the book meaningful, although it didn't entirely resonate with me. I would have appreciated more reflection rather than just recounting, more effort to draw meaning from her experiences--perhaps I wanted her to metaphorize (new word) herself!

I picked So Many Books, So Little Time: A Year of Passionate Reading, by Sara Nelson, out of a Little Free Library I encountered while out walking. Although I always look at LFLs when I see them, I try not to take any books because I figure they'll just end up in a stack somewhere in my house. But I actually read this one fairly quickly, although I was somewhat disappointed when I saw her goal for the big year of reading was a book a week (her book was my 120th of this year, so . . . of course, I listen to a lot of books while doing other things, so maybe that's cheating). Anyway, I enjoyed her reflections on reading "issues" that I share--having trouble giving up on books, trying not to turn against someone because they like a terrible book (or, conversely, don't like a book I love), having a tendency to be disappointed in overhyped books everyone else loves, etc. On the down side, I found her a little full of herself and her New York life (people in fly-over country are not rubes, Sara). Overall, though, I enjoyed the book. 

Favorite Passages

Preventing her abortion was all they cared about. The bleak struggle of her life--the stark daily realities that made motherhood impossible--didn't trouble them at all.

--Jennifer Haigh, Mercy Street

Food was how my mother expressed her love. No matter how critical or cruel she could seem--constantly pushing me to meet her intractable expectations--I could always feel her affection radiating from the lunches she packed and the meals she prepared for me just the way I liked them. 

--Michelle Zauner, Crying in H Mart

Allowing yourself to stop reading a book--at page 25, 50, or even, less frequently, a few chapters from the end--is a rite of passage in a reader's life, the literary equivalent of a bar mitzvah or a communion, the moment at which you look at yourself and announce: Today I am an adult. I can make my own decisions.

--Sara Nelson, So Many Books