Monthly Archives: September 2023

Bright Lights, Big Christmas, by Mary Kay Andrews****

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I tend to avoid heartwarming holiday stories and romances because so many of them are infused with saccharine and require the reader to put their I.Q. in a box until the book is over. But two years ago, I was happily impressed with Mary Kay Andrews’ The Santa Suit, and so when I was invited to read and review Bright Lights, Big Christmas, I happily agreed. My thanks go to Net Galley, St. Martin’s Press, and Macmillan Audio for the review copies. This book is for sale now.

The Tolliver Christmas tree farm is an institution, not only at home in North Carolina but as far north as New York City. As a child, Kerry sometimes accompanied her family to New York to set up a tree stand and sell the trees, but as an adult, she’s had other priorities. This year, though, she finds herself unexpectedly jobless, while at the same time, her father’s health prevents him from executing the task. Kerry must take his place, traveling to the Big Apple with her brother, Murphy. They set up the stand, and they sleep in the ancient pink trailer nicknamed “Spammy” because of its resemblance to a canned ham. Adventure awaits.

Kerry’s love interest pops up before we’re even ten percent into the story, but it appears that the author planned for us to know that, and it doesn’t hurt anything. Over the weeks they are in New York, various small (and large) crises present themselves and are worked out with team work, ingenuity, and the occasional well-placed bribe. They have Murphy’s dog Queenie with them, but she is primarily left in the background where she belongs.

What I appreciate most about this novel is how well grounded the plot is, and the author’s restraint in not permitting any elements to go over the top. There are a host of stereotypes possible, but every time I see one coming, Andrews chooses a different path, and it keeps the story fresh and original. Small details that might be overlooked by someone less detail oriented are seen to, and it keeps the narrative credible. Examples are the need for a shower or bath, given the length of their stay in a trailer without working plumbing; the cost of living in New York; the hazards of theft and vandalism, especially active at Christmas. None of these sidetracks the plot or slows the pace, but the questions a reader might have are tidied away, and this makes for greater enjoyment.

One small criticism involves a situation where theft and vandalism occur at a time when Murphy has to be away, and immediately, other men folk clamor over the need to have someone—someone with a Y chromosome, folks—to do lookout duty, protecting the fair damsel, her trees, and so on.

Apart from that, this is a delightful story. However, for awhile I wasn’t sure I liked it, because I was listening to the audio version, which is poorly done. The male characters are voiced in a way that is choppy, wooden, and unconvincing; but worse is Kerry’s voice, which is performed in a high-pitched, girly-girl voice so off-putting that it took me awhile to realize that the problem wasn’t the author’s, but rather the voice actor’s. The children’s voices are much better, and I actually howled with laughter when the baby in a stroller wailed!

As the story reaches its climax, Kerry has to make some serious choices, and I admire the way this part is resolved. The side character Heinz, an elderly man that lives in the neighborhood and often stops by the tree stand, is terrific.

When all is said and done, I rate the printed version of this novel 4+ stars, and the audio version 3+ stars, with an overall score of 4. I recommend the print version of this book, but not the audio.

Flags on the Bayou, by James Lee Burke****

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James Lee Burke is one of the finest prose stylists the U.S. has to offer. His brilliant, lush descriptions, quirky, resonant characters with interesting names, and his passion for the rights of the working class are the stuff of legends. My thanks go to Net Galley and Simon and Schuster for the invitation to read and review his latest novel, Flags on the Bayou. This book is for sale now.

Our protagonist is Hannah Laveau, a former slave who’s on the run from the law. With her is Florence Milton, an abolitionist from Massachusetts. Hannah is determined not to be caught, but also to retrieve her little boy, Samuel, a preschooler from whom she was separated at the battle of Shiloh. Her determination is singular. Along the way we have officers from both sides of the Civil War, corrupt rich guys, and bushwhackers. The story is complex, as are all of Burke’s novels, and the setting atmospheric.

All of these things being said—and I’ve said them many times before, since I began reading his work about a decade ago—there are some things that I would like to see done differently. Burke has always intertwined social and political messages within his novels, and so it’s the subtext in this book that jars me. In fact, it bothers me enough that I abandoned this story twice before I finally dug in, determined to finish it.

The first category here is the American Civil War, and the fallout we still deal with today. In past novels, Burke has told us that the slaveocracy was wrong, and that the war was indefensible. I feel as if he has retreated from that here. We have some ugly Confederate characters, to be sure, but we also have ugly Union officers, and General Sherman—one of this reviewer’s most beloved heroes—gets run through the mud multiple times. It’s as if Burke wants us to know that actually, both sides were bad, and that war itself is just plain awful. This is weak tea indeed.

The second is one I’ve been eyeing for the last few of Burke’s novels, and I have soft-pedaled it because of my great admiration for the body of his work, and for his ageing dignity, but I do have to say something here. His development of female characters needs work. Lots of it. All of his females are either Madonnas or whores (and sometimes, Madonnas that are forced to be whores, through no real fault of their own.) I would dearly love to see a female character in his books who is not there for her sexuality, and who is not either a victim or a potential victim. With Burke’s Dave Robicheaux detective novels, progress was made with a lesbian cop character, and I was thrilled. But she came and then went, and his experience creating her hasn’t overflowed into his other work.

More than any one thing, I want to see Mr. Burke write a book—just one, seriously—where there is no sexual assault, no threat of sexual assault, and no memory of sexual assault. It’s getting old, sir. You surely have the ability to provide female characters with other motivations. I want to see it.

I was nearly annoyed enough to rate this book three stars, but I liked the ending a lot, and so the fourth star remains.

So that’s my two cents, because as much as I love his work in general, this is getting in the way. There will doubtless be some blowback from his other devoted fans once I publish this review; bring it.

A final note: because I was struggling with this book, I checked out the audio version from Seattle Bibliocommons. The voice actors that perform it are world class. However, because the story is so complex, bouncing back and forth in point of view and setting, it is hard to follow in audio alone. The best way to read this is with both the printed word, whether on paper or digitally, accompanied by the audio.

Mother-Daughter Murder Night, by Nina Simon****

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Nina Simon’s debut novel, Mother-Daughter Murder Night, marks a fine beginning to an auspicious career. My thanks go to Net Galley and William Morrow for the review copy. This book is for sale now.

The story unfolds with three generations of women—Lana, Beth, and Jack—solving a murder mystery together. Lana, the grandmother, has just received dreadful news from her doctor, and she’s forced to rely upon Beth, her estranged daughter, for help to and from chemo appointments. Jack is her granddaughter, Beth’s daughter. Although all three are important characters, Lana is the protagonist.

Lana doesn’t deal well with helplessness.

No sooner has she moved into the little beach house in central California where the other two reside, than Jack, a teenager with a job as a kayak tour guide when not in school, finds a dead body while she is working. Suspicion initially falls on Jack, and so Beth and Lana dive in, first seeking to prove that Jack is innocent, and then, led by Lana, to find out who actually did it.

Amateur sleuth books come with an inherent challenge to the author, because obviously, civilians that have never worked in law enforcement are badly outmatched by actual cops. They don’t have the tools, the connections, or the experience to carry it off, and so such mystery novels sometimes end up looking ridiculous. Simon holds her own here nicely.  Another issue I see frequently is with characters that are children. Jack is a teen, and she’s a bright girl, but Simon doesn’t fall into the trap of creating an unbelievably smart teen in order to justify making her walk and talk exactly like an adult. Jack has the naivete and occasional bad judgement common to kids her age, and because of this, the story rings true.

There are a couple of things that I’d change if I could. First, the whole “fiercely independent” and “tiny firecracker” personas are badly overused and becoming a cliché. The second may be partially due to my own false assumptions. Between the cover and the title, I initially thought this would be a comic caper, with the women planning to mete out some vigilante justice with hilarious missteps and hijinks along the way. Although the book has its moments, it’s not as funny as I anticipated.

Nonetheless, this is a fun read, easily followed, and with more character development than one usually sees in a novel of this nature. The chemo occasionally seems a little too easy on Lana, but it’s not beyond the pale; after all, different people tolerate these things at different levels. There’s never a moment where I slam down the book due to disbelief. I appreciate the working class realism in Beth and Jack’s lives.  

I recommend Mother-Daughter Murder Night  to those that enjoy the genre, and I look forward to seeing what Simon writes next.

Those We Thought We Knew, by David Joy*****

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David Joy is a brilliant writer. His stories, set in the Carolina mountains that he calls home are resonant, visceral, and always about believable characters that hail from the hardscrabble working class. Those We Thought We Knew is his best. My thanks go to Net Galley and Putnam Penguin for the review copy. This book is for sale now.

Sylva, North Carolina is the sort of insular, homespun community that you don’t see much of anymore. Everybody knows everybody, not only by name but by family, religion, and a host of salient details that form their backstories. There’s not a lot of traffic in or out of Sylva, nestled as it is in a hollow of the mountains. Now, however, two newcomers have arrived, but they aren’t together. Surely not. One is a lowlife vagrant, a pencil-necked, mullet-headed, greasy drunk in an ’84 Caprice named William Dean Cawthorne. When the sheriff’s deputies roust him, one of them finds a small notebook that contains some surprising names; he also has a long, white robe in the car, and with it, a conical white head covering with eyeholes in it. Mr. Cawthorne, you see, is a recruiter for the Klan.

Toya Gardner comes to town at about the same time to visit her grandmother and work on her thesis. She’s a graduate student from Atlanta; she creates meaningful African-American sculptures and other art works. But when she finds the statue of the Confederate soldier in the town square, she is inspired to make a different artistic statement than she’d originally planned, and when she does, all hell breaks loose.

This searing story sees two terrible crimes unfold in sleepy little Sylva. The dynamics that exist between the county sheriff, the Sylva police force, and the local citizenry—particularly Toya’s family—are rich and complex, and they showcase Joy’s best character development to date. In the end, we must concede that alongside the horrors represented by overt white supremacists, the more chilling may be that which simmers below the surface of men and women that, yes, We Thought We Knew.

This is brave writing. Joy will no doubt be the subject of some unfriendly attention because of it. My hope is that it draws the accolades that it deserves from those that seek true social justice, and that it will inspire useful, critical introspection and conversation on the part of its readers.

Highly recommended.

Lucky Red, by Claudia Cravens*****

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Larry McMurtry, eat your heart out. There’s a fine new word-slinger come to town, and her name is Claudia Cravens.

My thanks go to Random House and Net Galley for the invitation to read and review Lucky Red. This book is for sale now, and you should get it and read it.

Bridget lives a life of hardscrabble deprivation; her mother died in childbirth, and all she has is her pa. He loves her, but he’s worthless; when he finally gets a bit of money, he invariably drinks and gambles till it’s nearly gone. During one such episode, he gambles away their little house, and then buys a homestead, sight unseen and many miles away. What they find instead is a tar paper shack; there are no crops or tilled acreage, no tools or even a decent place to live. They crawl into the miserable hovel to get out of the elements, at least, and get some sleep; a rattler has the same notion, but when pa thrashes in his sleep, the rattler bites him in the neck, and then there is only teenage Bridget.

Bridget makes her way to Dodge City, and in no time, she is stone cold broke. She’s recruited to work in a brothel, the only one in town owned and run by women. She doesn’t mind the work and makes friends among the other “sporting women,” and is curiously removed from the process for which she is paid; slide prong A into slot V; moan a little, gush, and collect your pay. But later, she finds herself obsessed with a new sex worker; a lovely blonde woman named Sallie. Everyone around her understands the significance of this fascination, but Bridget herself doesn’t get it. She’s young, and she’s naïve. But when Spartan Lee, a female bounty hunter, comes to town and asks to hire Bridget, the sun shines and the angels sing.

This story is epic, and in many ways reminds me of Little Big Man, but with a female protagonist. And in many ways, what makes it so successful is its restraint. At the book’s outset, there’s a slimy man that wants to buy Bridget’s hand in marriage, which would give her father a nice chunk of change, but she hates the man, and her father doesn’t push it. A less capable writer would have done it the other way, but here, and in every instance where I predict what will happen because it’s so obvious, Cravens does something else. And the lesbian sex is brief and almost free of physical details—a sad thing for anyone looking for soft porn, but it serves to keep the story moving forward—with the emotion behind it carrying the internal narrative.

Although Bridget has no complaint about the work she does, and the management is more benign than in houses owned and run by men, Cravens keeps it real. One night, Sallie is attacked by a client, and Bridget bursts in to rescue her. It doesn’t go well. Sallie berates her for her naivete:

“You don’t see the first thing about this, though, do you. They all have a knife, Bridget. They all have a gun, and they were all born with two fists on the ends of their arms. You think you’ve got this all figured out, but any single one of ‘em could take a swipe at you some night and you’d be dead before you hit the ground.”

To tell you more would be to spoil it for you, so I’ll leave you with this: Lucky Red is the best debut novel of 2023, and one of the best books I’ve seen this year, period. Don’t miss it.

The West, by Naoise Mac Sweeney****-*****

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4.5 stars, rounded up.

Those that have taken a course on Western Civilization—as college freshmen or otherwise—are familiar with its framework, that the modern world can attribute its earliest, most progressive, democratic, and technically superior attributes to the dead White European men that came before us. Archeologist and award-winning historian Naoise Mac Sweeney has taken a sledgehammer to this construct, proving that many of the smartest scientists, inventors, and social, military, and political leaders were not White, not European, and not male.

My thanks go to Net Galley and Random House for the review copy. This book is for sale now.

Mac Sweeney demonstrates her thesis by discussing fourteen key figures from the past that don’t fit into the standard framework. She begins with Herodotus and ends with Carrie Lam. Some chapters read like a college text or lecture, one where I know that this information is important, but my mind keeps wandering, and I check to see how much longer the chapter will be. Others woke me up. In chapter seven, she features Safiye Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. She was not legally able to become sultan following her husband’s death, so she saw her son installed, and then “summarily executed” his nineteen younger brothers to prevent anyone from contesting his right to rule. Another that made me sit up and take notice is Njinga of Angola. I was riveted by this one, to the extent that I actually shouted at one point. (It’s all right; I was at home.)  If we judge her work by whether she has proven her thesis, then unquestionably she has done so. 

There are two aspects that I didn’t care for here. The first is a mannerism. The use of the Victorian “we” is grating. “As we shall see…” “We have discussed…” No. She has already seen, and the only one doing the discussing within the pages of this book is the author.  Also, since the title itself identifies this tome as a history book, Carrie Lam of Hong Kong, whose quotes date from 2021 and 2017, has no business being included here. History is defined as what has occurred fifty years or more prior to publication. Mac Sweeney knows this.

In a fit of pique over these two flaws, in addition to the snoozy parts of the narrative, I initially rated this book with four stars, but this is a groundbreaking body of work, and after reflection, I changed my rating to 4.5 stars, rounded up.

Highly recommended to students and to anyone interested in world history.