The Hired Man, by Sandra Dallas*****

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The Hired Man is the newest novel by badass writer Sandra Dallas. This work of historical fiction is set in Oklahoma during the Dust Bowl, and our protagonist is Martha Helen, a teenager whose family decides to take in a drifter after he saves a local boy during a dust storm.

My thanks go to NetGalley and Macmillan Audio for the review copy.  This book is for sale now.

Martha Helen’s tiny rural community is hard pressed. The year is 1937, and even without the dust storms that cause crop failures across the prairie, times would be lean. Small luxuries that were once taken for granted are now saved for special occasions, at least for the fortunate, and have disappeared for many unlucky families. Domestic abuse is on the rise, as is alcoholism. And so, when Otis Hobbs, a drifter searching for work, saves a small child that went missing during a terrible storm, Martha Helen’s grateful mother insists that he be allowed to stay. Local law says that newcomers must move on if not employed, so Martha Helen’s family hires Otis to help on the farm in exchange for room and meals; he lives in a dugout on their property and eats with the family.

Their neighbors don’t like it! Though there are a handful of supportive townspeople, most have deep seated fear and loathing toward “tramps,” as men that wander in search of work were known. Rumors abound. Any small thing that goes wrong is immediately chalked up to Otis. And when Martha Helen’s best friend Frankie is found raped, murdered, and dumped, out come the pitchforks, the tar, the feathers.

Author Sandra Dallas is an established writer, but I had only read one of her novels prior to this one, which is impressive. Every stereotype and trope is deftly avoided, and the result is a highly engaging narrative, told in the first person, with characters that are nearly corporeal. I thought I knew how this story would end; I did not. Oftentimes when an author decides to end a book with an unexpected twist, they have to contort the plot in awkward ways in order to shoehorn in their surprise ending. That’s not so here. The ending is a complete surprise to me, and the twist at the end leaves me with my mouth hanging open with astonishment. What…? But, how could….oh. Yeah. It totally works!

This is one of the rare times I have only the audio galley, and since I am primarily text oriented, that’s often a dicey proposition, but for once, it worked out beautifully. The plot is linear, and between that and the great skill of narrator Jesse Vilinsky, I always understand what’s happening.

Highly recommended to those that love the genre, particularly women.

Death in Mud Lick, by Eric Eyre*****

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The place is Kermit, West Virginia, population 382. Big pharma dumped millions of opioids here regularly with impunity—until this investigation was complete, anyway—causing deaths by the score. Death in Mud Lick tells how the tiny West Virginia Gazette and its stalwart journalist, Eric Eyre, blew the whistle on this outrageous practice and, in time, held the pharmaceutical firms responsible.

My thanks go to Scribner and NetGalley for the review copy. I’m years late, partially because I knew that this was going to be a grim tale. It’s for sale now, and though it is as grim as I feared, it’s also inspirational.

Kermit had just one pharmacy, but that was all it took. The parking lot was always jammed with cars from out of state; vehicles poured in from South Carolina, Ohio, Kentucky, and Virginia, among others. There was free popcorn for waiting customers, and patrons who picked up prescriptions sometimes strolled out of the shop and went directly to someone else’s car, where they would hand over the bag of pills and collect money. Nobody was held accountable, and in fact, opioids served as a local currency. You could buy gas with opioids; you could use them to tip your waiter. Nobody batted an eye.

Given these statistics, how was it that nobody was ever busted for this? Perhaps it was such an integral part of the local economy that it was accepted; then again, there were real doctors writing these prescriptions, and they were ridiculously easy to get.

Eyre won the Pulitzer for his coverage of this crisis. He continued his investigation even after he received a diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease, though it slowed him down some, inevitably. His narrative reads almost like a thriller, and all of us owe him a great deal. There are still plenty of addicts out there, sadly—you probably know at least one, and I certainly do—but the trajectory has been checked, and it’s all because of the free press.

I highly recommend this book to you. Thanks, Eric.

The Red Queen, by Martha Grimes**

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What a shame. I was initially delighted to see a new installment of this long running series, but something has gone badly wrong here. Nevertheless, my thanks go to NetGalley and Grove Atlantic for the review copy. This book is for sale now.

The Richard Jury series was wildly successful for decades; I first began reading it in the 1990s. I was pleased to see the familiar characters, particularly Wiggins, the hypochondriacal assistant to our protagonist, as well as Jury’s friend Melrose Plant—with a brief showing of Plant’s domineering and pretentious Aunt Agatha—and Cyril the Cat, the feline that makes Jury’s boss apoplectic, yet is never truly banished. And that’s about all of the joy I found here at all.

Was there an editor involved at any point in this process? Because it sure doesn’t look like it. What a miserable jumble of elements. I couldn’t tell who was coming and who was going. At first I thought it might just be me, so I backtracked, but…nope.

I had access to an audio galley, and if there had been anything here to save, the reader probably could have done it, but the reader couldn’t rewrite the book.

Diehard fans, stay away from this thing. It will break your heart.

A Good Person, by Kirsten King***

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A Good Person is the debut novel of Kirsten King. This is one of those rare times when I decide to read a book based largely on the cover. My thanks go to NetGalley and Putnam for the review copy; this book will be available to the public March 31, 2026.

Lillian is lonesome. She has few friends and no love life. When she spies Henry in a coffee shop, she decides to change all of that, and she propositions him; from there develops a relationship that Lillian’s friend Jamie regards as a “situationship,” meaning a hook-up situation, but Lillian is determined will become true love.

That’s not really how it shakes out, though.

The thing about Lillian is that she’s abrasive. In fact, she’s a walking, talking ball of snark and negativity. She doesn’t like most people, and they feel the same about her. But when Henry says he doesn’t want to see her anymore, she does and says rash things, and unfortunately, some of it unfolds on social media. When Henry is found dead, she is an immediate suspect. And while I find Lillian to be about as toxic a main character as I’ve found in many years, I can’t help but root for her to be exonerated, because whatever else she is, I am certain she’s no killer.

Because of the hilarious looking cover, I expect this book to be humorous in a dark sort of way, but I am mistaken. In fact, it proves to be darker than I am up for. A little more than halfway in, I find myself counting the pages. The ending has an interesting twist to it, and King has crafted a credible anti-hero. The narrative unfolds in the first person, and that makes it darker still. Foreshadowing is deft and in just the right amount.  But while there are some nice moments, I can’t say I enjoy this novel, nor can I recommend it.

The Creek, the Crone, and the Crow, by Leah Weiss****-*****

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The Creek, the Crone, and the Crow is the newest novel by Leah Weiss, author of If the Creek Don’t Rise and All the Little Hopes. It’s her best one yet. My thanks go to NetGalley and Sourcebooks Landmark for the review copy; this book is for sale now.

Kate is a teacher, and she’s spent ten years as the sole instructor in one of the last one room schoolhouses, located in the tiny Appalachian hamlet of Baines Creek. But they say bad things come in threes, and that is certainly true for the people of Baines Creek, and for Kate as well. First, people from the state sweep in and declare that the schoolhouse must close and its pupils be bussed to a larger school. This is devastating, because locals use a folk dialect that will get them teased by more worldly children that are integrated into the larger society. These kids learn differently, and most parents are so afraid of what will happen that they resolve not to send their children anywhere at all. School’s out…period.

Next, Birdie, the elderly healer and wise woman of Baines Creek dies, leaving all of the homemade books she’s created for decades to Kate. Kate is bewildered. Why her? What to do with them? And Birdie was such a key part of the village that her loss is felt keenly.

And then little Loretty, a child that was being instructed by Birdie, and who is believed to have the same second sight that Birdie had, goes missing. She’s so young, and no one has any idea where she may have gone. Search parties are organized almost continuously, but there’s not even a clue where she may be.

Our second main character, Lydia, is a psychic whose gift vanished when her parents died. She travels to Baines Creek in search of Birdie, who she believes may be able to help her regain her gift. But first Birdie refuses to see her, merely saying that it isn’t time yet; then Birdie dies! However, Lydia’s presence is fortuitous, because she has ideas about all of those handmade books, and so she and Kate work together.

This is a wonderful story, the sort to sink into and lose oneself. For me, the only distraction has to do with setting. For the longest time I am unable to understand what time period we’re In here. Cell phones and personal computers, no; microwave ovens, yes. And Lydia’s niece comes to visit, and she’s described as a Goth, so that makes me think of the late 1980’s or early 1990’s. But then it’s revealed about halfway in that it’s 1978. What? There were no Goths in 1978. Fearing that perhaps my memory is betraying me, I look it up, and nope. Goth culture began in the UK in the early 80s, and it spread to the U.S. a bit later. I harrumph and move on.

The setting of Baines Creek is gloriously resonant, and indeed, all of Weiss’s books have been set in Appalachia. There are underground tunnels and moonshiners’ caves, and I won’t give details that would spoil, but there are a couple of caves in particular that are important to the story and tremendously memorable. The ending, which is always important, but more so in a story like this one, is pitch perfect. Highly recommended.

The Tree of Light and Flowers, by Thomas Perry****

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The Tree of Light and Shadows is the eleventh and final entry in the iconic Jane Whitefield series by Thomas Perry.  My thanks go to NetGalley and The Mysterious Press for the review copy. This book is for sale now.

For those unfamiliar, Jane Whitefield is a Seneca Indian woman with a past avocation of helping people that need to disappear. The person in question might be a woman running from an abusive relationship; an innocent person that’s inadvertently run afoul of the mafia or some other dangerous group or individual; or someone that has been wrongfully convicted of a crime. Jane combines her Native tracking skills with modern methods of blending in or hiding away. However, in recent years she’s given it up, eschewing the danger for a normal life with her husband, who is a physician, and their baby girl, May in Amherst, New York.

However, the universe has other plans for her right now. Clare, a young Indian girl who has stabbed her rapist, has learned that she is wanted for murder. The dead man was Caucasian, and he moved in powerful circles. Knowing she is unlikely to get a fair shake in an Oklahoma courtroom, she heads for New York to find the distant relative that she’s heard will help people like her.

At the same time, a Russian woman named Magda has been hired by someone with a vendetta to find and kill Jane.

The dual storylines are deftly handled, which doesn’t surprise me, since our author is Thomas Perry. But there is one misstep that happens early on that niggles at me for the rest of the book. When Clare finds Jane, Jane decides the girl is too young to be established on her own, so she tells her husband that she wants Clare to remain with them. Clare will go to school and help with the baby. And then—here it comes—she runs out to do errands and leaves the baby with Clare! Would someone as seasoned and astute as Jane leave her infant daughter in the care of someone that might be attacked by people from her past, and do so before the girl has been in her home for even 48 hours? I find this so jarring that I am unable to entirely forget about it for the duration of the novel.

Nevertheless, the book holds my interest, and I look forward to my session reading it each day. When the conclusion is near, I can’t walk away from it until I see how it ends. This doesn’t happen often. I am lucky enough to have been given access to both the audio and digital review copies. I haven’t been able to learn who the narrator is, but whoever he is, he’s good.

I just read of Perry’s sudden death while writing this review. He was such a force within the world of mystery writers that I can hardly believe it. While this book wasn’t the best thing he ever wrote, it is still quite good.

The Astral Library, by Kate Quinn*****

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“Here there be dragons.”

The Astral Library by Kate Quinn is not to be missed. My thanks go to NetGalley and William Morrow for the review copy; this book is for sale now.

Kate Quinn is a well-established author, but I didn’t encounter her work until 2024, when I read and reviewed The Briar Club. I loved that novel so hard that I was dismayed to see that this new one was not historical fiction. Fantasy? (Heavy sigh!) Oh, all right. Fine. I’ll read it anyway.

My initial impression was that this was a lazy way to build a plot. Place 1, place 2, place 3 and so on. Ho hum. But like Quinn’s version of Boston Public Library, this book is not what it seems to be on the surface. There’s also an important social message about censorship and book burning that’s built into the plot, and I don’t care how much others may hate seeing “politics” in a novel; this is a message thoughtful readers can get behind. The librarian in charge of the special section is a magnificent character, as is the fashion designer that befriends Alix. As for Alix, I love that she is plus-size!

It was a good decision.

Our protagonist is Alix Watson, a young woman that’s recently aged out of the foster care system. Her mother abandoned her when she was still small because her new boyfriend “wasn’t into the whole kid thing.” She left Alix with a couple of frozen meals and went to California.

Foster kids tend to be shuffled from place to place, seldom bonding or sticking, and so the Boston Public Library became Alix’s happy place. Now here she is, a grown woman—barely—and the library has become one of her parttime employers. She is nonplussed one day when she receives a written invitation to visit a little-known part of the library, a secret place where the books are alive and patrons may step into them—literally! Choose a story whose time and place appeals to you, and off you go.

Those looking for a coming of age story with feminist roots could hardly do better; those just looking for a darn good story will find it here. The outstanding ending pushed this one out of four-star territory and into five.  Highly recommended.

Valcour, by Jack Kelly****

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Valcour is the story of an audacious battle at sea during the American Revolution. It took place at the same time as George Washington’s attack at Trenton and was led by General Philip Schuyler, (former British officer) Horatio Gates; and a capable sea captain named Benedict Arnold. It was the name of the latter that drew my attention, given the ignominy with which his name has been associated in U.S. history and culture.

My thanks go to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press for the invitation to read and review. Perhaps they would have asked someone else had they known I’d be five years late, but I’m reviewing it now.

It’s a brave, almost foolhardy notion for the Colonies to declare independence from Great Britain, which at the time was unquestionably the greatest military power on the planet; but to fight on the water, facing down the British Navy, seems almost like a death wish. The Patriots—as those seeking independence were called—knew the area far better than the British did, but that, and their motivation, were really the only true advantages they had. And to be clear, they didn’t actually win the three-day Battle of Valcour, but sometimes it’s enough to hold one’s own and avoid annihilation, and that’s what they did.

Arnold was a brave man, as well as gifted and at the time, heroic. I had never read anything by Jack Kelly before this, and as the narrative continued to wax enthusiastically about the deeds and ideas of Benedict Arnold, I wondered, for a time, whether this book was something that was commissioned by Arnold’s descendants with the goal of rehabilitating his image. But at the end, I realized that it was not.

Arnold was a brilliant strategist, and he suffered mightily, as did all involved, during the periods of deprivation this campaign brought about. There were times when they had no ammunition; there were other times when they had limited supplies, but no food. Imagine being reduced to eating soap, which back then was made using lard! The weather, the illness—which killed more of them than combat did—and more than a year spent away from their families must have been demoralizing; yet they never surrendered, and ultimately saw independence.

So, why then, at the very end, did Arnold turn around and betray his fellow fighters to the enemy? It’s a small thing, and though the years and circumstances are different, it reminds me of the motivation of the secret source that betrayed the Nixon administration during the Watergate scandal. Both Arnold and Deep Throat were bitter men that were passed over for promotions that they expected, and had every right to expect. On February 19, Congress promoted five servicemen to the rank of major general, which was the highest rank apart from that of George Washington. Washington himself wrote to Arnold and said, “I was surprised when I did not see your name in the list of major generals.” Furthermore, this was no oversight; it was a snub dealt by small minded men playing politics. Rather than be placed subordinate to men that he had previously commanded, Arnold resigned. What else was he supposed to do? But rather than leave it there, he took one step further, and that step was betrayal.

Kelly is a capable writer, and his research passes the sniff test. Because I had delayed for so long, I checked out the audio book from Seattle Bibliocommons to accompany and speed my way through the digital review copy I’d been given. Narrator David Colacci does a fine job.

I recommend this book to those interested in the American Revolution.

The Hadacol Boogie, by James Lee Burke*****

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The Hadacol Boogie is the 25th in the Dave Robicheaux series, and in some regards, it is the best. My great thanks go to NetGalley and Grove Atlantic for the invitation to read and review. This book is for sale now.

All of the books in this series boast complex plots and resonant characters. Particularly rich is the relationship between Dave and his former cop partner, Clete Purcel, whom he has known since early childhood. In most stories, Clete is a loose cannon—the reason he is no longer a cop, but a private eye—and Dave is his moderating influence.  “For whatever reason, Clete could not resist swatting a hornet’s nest wherever he went.“  But this story presents a shift, in which Dave is not fully in control of his own behavior. I have never seen anyone else, whether writing fiction or nonfiction, refer to a “dry drunk,” which is when a recovering alcoholic, without having consumed alcohol, exhibits the behaviors of a drunk, with terrible impulse control and bouts of rage. Dave does some of that here, and Clete is the one to rein him in.

But that isn’t the greatest thing about this story, to be honest. I’m ready to be done with mysteries involving alcoholic protagonists, and so Burke’s excellent writing skills prevent me from throwing up my hands or rolling my eyes, but the “dry drunk” isn’t a compelling part of the narrative for me. No, apart from the fact that Burke is a compelling craftsman—the Denver Post once called him “America’s best writer”—this particular novel is interesting to me because Burke has, at last, developed a female character that doesn’t fit into the Madonna-whore dichotomy that marks most of his earlier work. (An earlier exception is Dave’s boss, Helen, but it feels as if Burke is cheating a little bit there. I enjoy reading about Helen, but it’s clear that the one and only reason she isn’t dying to hop in bed with Dave, like every other female character has, or has wanted to, is because she is a lesbian.) Valerie Benoit is Dave’s new partner. It doesn’t take long for us to be aware that Detective Benoit has a thing for Dave. She’s young, he’s 60, but damn, he’s such a hot guy. At this point I’m ready to toss my reader across the room. Please, no! No! But the story doesn’t follow the trajectory that other women tend to do in Robicheaux’s books. Benoit wants Dave badly, yes, and I wish he’d left that out of this, but he didn’t. The thing that makes this story different is that Benoit is developed as a character should be; her love for Robicheaux isn’t all that we learn about her, nor necessarily the most important. And she and Dave don’t land in bed.

How cool is it for a highly successful writer to show this kind of growth when he’s past 80? I am so damn impressed, and I hope that we continue to see Benoit, not as his wife or his lover, but as a separate character with an independent identity.

I confess that I have never understood the culture of the place where this story unfolds; there are social formalities and intricacies mentioned that simply don’t apply in 2026 Seattle. I suspect these niceties also apply to the author, so it’s just as well I haven’t met him; I have no doubt I’d stick my foot in it, probably sooner rather than later.

Like the other books in this series, this one will appeal most to readers that lean a bit to the left, and that enjoy a literary mystery. There’s plenty of action here, but those that don’t want descriptive settings and allegory should probably go find themselves something else to read.

This book can certainly be read as a standalone, but it will resonate even more to the faithful that have read some or all of the series, as it does build on earlier events. Highly recommended.

More Than Enough, by Anna Quindlen*****

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More Than Enough, the new novel by Anna Quindlen, packs a great deal of intimacy into a relatively short book. My thanks go to NetGalley and Random House for the review copy. This book will be available to the public February 24, 2026.

The story arc here is not a traditional one in that there are several threads relating to the protagonist, and it’s hard to identify one as central. Instead, all of them are interwoven around a theme of knowing how to let go and move forward. Our protagonist, Polly Goodman, wants a baby desperately. She and her husband, a zoo veterinarian, have been trying for years. They’ve done blood tests, fertility treatments, and even in vitro procedures, but in the end, she comes away with an empty womb and no baby. The hardest thing is when she feeling vulnerable and someone is gentle with her: “I was one kind impulse from a kidnapping or a crying jag.”

In the midst of it all, she is momentarily distracted by the results of a gag gift given to her by her book club buddies. They present her with an ancestry kit, and the results are surprising. At the same time, she struggles with her parents. Her mother, a judge, is wedded to her career, and Polly has never been able to connect with her emotionally. Her father, whom she loves more than nearly anyone, suffers from dementia and lives in a facility. She visits him nearly every day.

And the best friend she has—one of the book club pals—has cancer, and it’s not going well.

All of these threads blend seamlessly within the narrative; Quindlen has such an engaging writing style that I’m not thinking about a central storyline because I feel as if I’m hearing from a friend. Usually I don’t enjoy reading stories about people that might be called upper middle class, because I cannot relate to them at all, but Quindlen magically bridges that gap.

I could go on, but I’m not sure I should, because I love this story enough that I want to tell you every single thing that happens, and that’s not a good idea. The one additional thing you should know, if you don’t already, is that Quindlen has a great heart for teachers and for teens, and so she portrays both in a way that is authentic and immediate. Again, I should not relate well to the private school where Polly teaches girls that come from well to do families, but Quindlen reminds me that all children have needs, and all children deserve not only an education, but an adult sensitive enough to understand them.

I hope Quindlen lives—and writes—forever, but when she goes, as we all must, she should be made the patron saint of high school teachers.

Highly recommended.