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12 Ways to Kill Your Family at Christmas, by Natasha Bache****

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“All is not calm, all is not bright.”

Natasha Bache has written a rip-roaring killer of a mystery, and you should read it if you know what’s good for you. My thanks go to NetGalley and HarperCollins for the review copy. This book is available to the public now.

Miles and Olivia are moving to Australia soon with their two children. The move will take them far, far away from his horrible family, so this will be the last blessed Christmas they’ll be forced to spend with them. If they survive this trip, they’ll be home free.

Of course, soon after they arrive, people start dying, no two of them in the same way. The first death looks like an accident, and that’s what the cops call it. The second seems like it could be a fluke, too; given the family’s wealth and social standing in the area, nobody in authority is eager to drag them through the muck, so…okay. But then the third death occurs and well, come on now. And the bodies keep dropping, one here, one there.

This book is hysterically funny, and it moves at a rapid clip, so I neglected the other excellent books I was reading while I finished it. What makes it work, apart from Bache’s gift for word smithery in all the right places, is the unlovableness of the victims—all but one, anyway—and the fact that none of the deceased is developed enough to feel very real. Usually I want a lot of character development and a realistic degree of nuance, but in this case, I like it exactly as it is written. There are some tropes here that I ordinarily wouldn’t want to see; for example, of course they all get snowed in! Of course they do! But in this case, the author’s tongue is so firmly planted inside her cheek that I snicker and nod when I encounter such devices.

The one thing that I considered a tiny bit disappointing was that I knew who the killer was before the halfway point; or I *thought* I did! Turns out I was absolutely, wildly, and completely wrong, and what’s more, the actual solution made more sense than the one I had dreamed up.

This is the perfect December read. If you don’t celebrate Christmas and are sick, sick, sick of it, this is your book. If you do celebrate it and occasionally dread certain family members at the celebration, this is your book. If you love the holiday and need a reminder that other peoples’ families are so much worse than your own, then here you go.

“Merry Christmas, you filthy animals.”

The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store, by James McBride*****

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I am late to the party, not having been alert enough to request a galley of The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store, by James McBride. McBride is the author of The Color of Water and Good Lord Bird, but I haven’t read those either yet, so the whole thing blew by me, until I read the rave reviews by my fellow reviewers, and saw that it had climbed to the top of the charts.

Whoops.

So, my thanks go to Seattle Bibliocommons for the loan of the audiobook. Dominic Hoffman is the narrator, and he does an outstanding job with a somewhat difficult narration, what with various dialects and a plethora of characters. After all, a grocery store draws an awful lot of people, even in a relatively small community such as Chicken Hill.

At the outset, our protagonists are Moshe and Chona Ludlow, owners of the grocery store. Moshe also runs a theater, and integrates it before other communities are doing so. In fact, the beauty of the story lies largely in the intersection and mutual support of the Jewish and African-American (“Negro” during this time period) residents. Later, a disabled child nicknamed “Dodo” moves to the forefront; yes, this is a horrible nickname, but those using it simply regard it as his name, and it doesn’t seem all that remarkable, given that others have names like Big Soap, Fatty, and Monkeypants. Dodo is orphaned and because he is hearing impaired, the state decides to send him to the nuthouse. The community bands together to raise him and, when the state comes sniffing around, to conceal him.

I do love the convenience of an audiobook, but I don’t retain information as well this way as I would have if I’d also had (or only had) a digital copy. With text, I can highlight areas for reminders when writing a review, and I can choose meaty quotes as well. However, I had what I had, and I did enjoy this story. There are too many characters to keep track of, and my advice to other listeners is to let most of it wash over you, and just pay attention to the key players. This is not a story to rush through, in any case; like most outstanding literary fiction, it’s a story to lean into and absorb in a leisurely fashion.

My one reservation about this book was the title. I have no use for religious stories, and for awhile it appeared this actually might be one. But just as my enthusiasm was waning, the action picked up and God went back up in the clouds where he belongs. Far more salient is the theme of brotherhood and solidarity between the two marginalized peoples, and when an emergency situation involving little Dodo occurred, I knew I had to see this thing through if I wanted to sleep at night.  

Highly recommended.

Brothers in Arms, by Damien Lewis***

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My thanks go to NetGalley and Highbridge Audio for the review copy of Band of Brothers, the history of one unit of Churchill’s Special Forces during World War II. This book is for sale now.

I was initially attracted to this nonfiction work by Lewis’s reputation—a list of awards as long as your arm—and the fact that I knew nothing about the Special Forces. I enjoy military history and although I can’t learn about every aspect of the history of everything during my lifetime, I like to at least skim the surface of noteworthy people, organizations and events that affected contemporary history in some meaningful way. In short, I came to this book to shore up a gap in my education.

Had I been a bit more cautious, I would have noted the bit of the promotional blurb that says I will learn about “one close-knit band of warriors.” Sadly, I didn’t.

Worth noting, though, is that narrator Peter Noble does an outstanding job, providing an engaging performance without distracting us from the text.

Lewis is a solid researcher, and I don’t doubt that any fact within these pages will fail to pass the sniff test. He knows his stuff. I became impatient, however, because I genuinely didn’t—and don’t—care about the personal lives of the men that served in this unit; their families; their interests; nor their camaraderie with one another. Perhaps it is just as well, since there are too many people introduced up front for me to keep track of using an audiobook. However, I came to this story in search of hardcore military history, and so I found myself chafing every time the action paused to detail some personal tidbit about one of these men or another.

Ultimately, it comes down to the author’s purpose. I’ve had this happen before, where there’s so much personal information about a service member that I wonder whether the book was commissioned by a family member. I don’t think that’s the case here, but it’s a problem I have run across more than once, where I want more of a documentary vibe than what I have found. And of course, there may be many others out there that enjoy this book, including its format and extensive personal references. But I can only tell you what one reader has experienced, and that reader is me, and so as much as I respect the abilities of this author, I can’t recommend this book to those that love military history. If you choose to read it, I recommend getting it free or cheap. Don’t spend big bucks on this one.

Darling Girls, by Sally Hepworth****

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Sally Hepworth writes creepy, spooky stories involving families, and I have friends that swear by her, but this is the first of her books that I’ve read. My thanks go to Macmillan Audio, St. Martin’s Press, and NetGalley for the invitation to read and review. This book will be available to the public April 23, 2024.

Jessica, Norah and Alicia are closer than most sisters, even though they are not biologically related. All three spent most of their formative years at an Australian foster home called Wild Meadows, under the gimlet eye of Miss Fairchild, an abusive foster parent. Miss Fairchild was adept at keeping up appearances, but once a visitor—an infrequent occurrence—was gone, the place got dark. The woman was cruel and unpredictable, dreaming up horrifying punishments for even slight perceived infractions. Open rebellion was unthinkable. But it was when she began accepting babies that they resolved to turn her in.

Now all are grown, but they remain tightly bonded, and the call comes in: bones have been found under the foundation of the razed house. They must all report to the local police, which in turn means returning to the vicinity of Wild Meadows.

I can see why this author has such a loyal following. The way the narrative flows is flawless, and although we transition often from the past to the present as well as between the three girls’ stories, there’s never even momentary confusion. The list of characters is kept manageable, and all of them are believable. I begin reading via audiobook because that’s the version that was offered me, but once I began, I asked for and received the digital galley also. Usually this is a necessity in order to keep up with what I am hearing, but I scarcely needed it. Narrator Jessica Clarke provides the perfect listening experience.

For me, the joy of this well written novel is somewhat dampened by the horrors of the girls’ experiences. The child abuse is so cruel, and so specific that I sometimes stopped listening early and went away with a ball of lead in my gut. I suspect that this is something most likely to be experienced either by those that were themselves abused as children, or—like me—those that have worked with such children. Although part of me still wanted to know what came next, another part of my thought that if I wanted this kind of nightmare, I should just go back to work!

Reader, you probably know what you can read and what you should stay away from. If this sort of novel is unlikely to haunt you, go for it. I doubt there are many that can do this thing better. With that caveat, this book is recommended to those that enjoy the genre.

A Personal Note

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Faithful readers, forgive the lack of new content. I have had surgery on my dominant hand, and so although I am still reading, typing is nearly impossible. (I am typing this note hunt-and-peck style, one letter at a time using the wrong hand,) If you like, feel free to peruse my archives, where you’ll find over 1,000 reviews. I will return soon with my customary candor. Till then, keep on reading!

Now Is Not the Time to Panic! by Kevin Wilson****-*****

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Now is Not the Time to Panic is, according to its author, Kevin Wilson, “a book about friendship, about memory, and about what it means to hold on to the person who we were, even as we become someone else. It’s about the ways in which art is the door that lets us walk into a new life, one that never seemed possible.”

Frankie is kind of a quirky kid, friendless and grieving her parents’ divorce and her father’s abandonment of his kids. She has nothing but time this summer, and so when Zeke, an even quirkier new kid, moves into the tiny town of Coalfield, Tennessee, the two are drawn together.

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

Frankie invites Zeke over one day; her dad has flown the coop, and her mom is at work, so in order to make it clear that she hasn’t invited him over for carnal purposes, Frankie talks to him about her love of writing. Zeke says that he likes to draw, and so together, they make a poster. The words are Frankie’s, and they are indeed well written for a kid of sixteen years: “The edge is a shantytown filled with gold seekers. We are fugitives, and the law is skinny with hunger for us.” Zeke fills in the rest of the page with his artwork, and for good measure, they prick their fingers and comingle their blood on the poster. Then they dig out an old photocopy machine in Frankie’s garage, and make copies with which to furtively festoon the whole town. (After all, Coalfield isn’t a big place.) They don’t tell anyone it’s theirs, and enjoy the reactions to their guerilla art as sly observers.

The two teens share a lot in common. Both are outsiders; both are creatives; and both are living through the implosions of their families, with fathers that cheat and then leave, and mothers that are beside themselves with anger and shame.

Once the posters become noticed around town, rumors begin, and then copycats come along and make improvements, sometimes. There’s a hysterical piece in the local paper suggesting that their work is Satanic. Frankie and Zeke don’t say one word to anyone. They watch and they listen; they talk about it only with each other.

The crafting of these two characters, and their relationship, is well done, and I ache for both of these kids. The only time I see character slip is with regard to Frankie’s attitude toward sex. Her dispassionate take on it—she isn’t sure she really wants to, but maybe she should just do it and get it over with? Is not a mindset I’ve ever seen in a teenage girl, and believe me, I’ve known plenty of quirky ones. No, that’s a male attitude, and I suspect that Wilson would do better to use male protagonists, or else run his female ones by several very honest females in his chosen field, prior to publication.

As the summer goes on, I keep expecting the two to launch another joint project, but they don’t. She does some writing, and he draws, but there is no sequel, no follow-up. The poster is the poster. Shantytown, gold seekers, fugitives, hunger. Boom. That’s it. But years into the future, Frankie is still putting these damn things up. The heck…? I believe this of her; she is one strange person. Zeke’s mental health deteriorates that summer, and where that goes is completely credible. Those that work in the field will recognize Zeke, who is by far the better drawn of the two main characters.

This fascinating novel can be enjoyed by young adult audiences, because both of the protagonists are teenagers; however, this is also fiction that can be enjoyed by anybody. If you don’t read YA—and the truth is, I don’t, not anymore—you can still appreciate this one, and I recommend it to you.

The Last Hill, by Tom Clavin and Bob Drury***-****

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In 2021, Clavin and Drury published Blood and Treasure, an outstanding biography of Daniel Boone, several American Indian tribes, and their relationship to the American Revolution. When I saw a chance to hear their new audiobook titled The Last Hill, I jumped on it. And the early portion of it convinced me that I was missing too much by listening but not seeing, so then I went back and requested the digital version as well. My thanks go to St. Martin’s Press, Macmillan Audio, and Net Galley for the review copies. This book is for sale now.

This meaty yet readable book details the fight for Castle Hill, a strategically essential location that leads into the core of Nazi Germany. Several entire American divisions had tried and failed to take it, and so General Eisenhower ordered the Rangers to go in. Rudder’s were the most elite, battle-hardened unit of the already elite group known as the Rangers. Led by Lieutenant Colonel James Rudder, they were ordered to fight to the last man, if necessary, and they very nearly did; 130 special operatives, as they were known, ascended the hill, and only 16 were left standing when it was over. Nobody there knew that Hitler’s Wehrmacht had been given nearly identical instructions, as it was through here that a massive number of German troops were slated to descend through the gateway and conclude the Battle of the Bulge for the Axis powers.

The most interesting and enjoyable part of this book, for me, was in the first chapters, where we see the contrast between the misleadership early on, when the Rangers were being trained in rural Tennessee, and that which Rudder provided. The troops were sent on marathon marches without canteens, and their superior officer would be driven alongside them, where they could see him relaxing in his seat and drinking as much water (or whatever?) as he chose. Some men quit; others died.  There were also war games, including “…the pit fighting competitions” that took place in a three foot deep, forty foot square hole in which “…entire platoons jumped in to attack each other like ancient Spear-Danes, screaming lusty war cries that echoed throughout the camp…by the ordeal’s conclusion, the sawdust looked as if it had been coated with red paint and the pit itself smelled like the inside of a leper. Afterward, the medical team—whose members were not spared the crucible—found themselves treating gashes, sprains, dislocations, and a no-inconsiderable number of broken bones, sometimes their own. At the end of these long days the Rangers returned to their tent city too exhausted to make the two-mile, round-trip walk to the barracks showers.” Angry servicemen, when they finally scored passes to the nearest town named Tullahoma, brawled with the locals and left the bars and taverns with splintered wood and broken glass. Lieutenant Colonel Saffarans had to go.

When “Big Jim” Rudder came in, the pit fights vanished and he marched alongside his own men, not for just a portion of the hike, but for the whole thing. When his feet became blistered, he waved away the medics and took care of himself. Soon morale improved, and so did the quality of the troops.

As we move from training to the European theater, I see less information that I didn’t already know. It’s not badly done, but I was so inspired by the earlier portion that I felt a little let down. I am also chagrined—though this is not the authors’ faults—at the casual way that the US Army threw its soldiers into the line of fire. Why could they not soften the area up before sending these poor men to the slaughterhouse? There were 260,000 grave markers in the hold of their transport ship. Whereas I have never been a proponent of nuclear war, it does seem to me that if someone was going to be hit with the bomb, Hitler’s minions were likely very strong candidates; the Japanese that were nuked at Nagasaki and Hiroshima were nearly beaten already, and the bomb was nearly superfluous. And I’ve said it in earlier reviews but I’ll say it again: it’s too bad that the U.S. Military treated white enemies gently, and its nonwhite ones ruthlessly.

Do I recommend this book to you?  If you are looking for just one book about American forces in World War II, this is probably not the one you’re looking for. It’s specific to just one part of Germany and just one hill, so it’s better suited to those that already have the basics mastered.

I might not recommend it at all, as I personally was offended by some of the remarks intended as humorous in reference to local women, as well as women in the service. Whereas I have no doubt that the misogynistic jokes told here are legitimately jokes that were told back then, there are some things that don’t bear repeating, and surely not in detail. I also wasn’t crazy about the clipped bro-speech of the narrator in the audio version.

For this reason, I recommend the printed version over the audio, for those that are interested.

Twelve Months of Reading

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Seattle Book Mama’s Favorite Books for 2021

So many books to choose from! This is the cream of my collection of five star books for this year. So many of these crosses into multiple genres that it makes no sense to break them into categories. Whether you crave mystery, historical fiction, military fiction, suspense, humor, Southern fiction, literary fiction, nonfiction, history, or just a fantastic read, I’ve got you covered. What better way to wrap up 2021?

Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line, by Deepa Anaparra

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In India, children keep disappearing; but as is so often true, a missing child from a poor family doesn’t excite a great deal of interest on the part of authorities. But never fear; Jai has been watching Police Patrol, so although he’s just nine years old, he can take care of this business. He’s already got a key advantage over the government and its police force: Jai actually cares.

I read this novel free and early, though my review is disgracefully late. My thanks go to Net Galley and Random House. This book is for sale now.

Anaparra immerses us in the culture of urban India and incorporates two aspects of social justice that cry out to be recognized. By using the voices of children, she tells the story naturally and without preaching. Hundreds of children disappear daily in India. Daily. That’s a lot of milk cartons. Most of these children are never found. So when Jai’s classmate goes missing, there’s consternation, because everyone knows how unlikely it is that he’ll be brought home. There’s discussion among the adults. The boy’s mother wants to hound the authorities, not let up until they find her son; but the neighbors don’t want her to do it, because everyone knows that when you irritate the police, bulldozers will appear and demolish everyone’s house. So if their neighborhood is razed without warning, they figure it will be her fault.

Oh.

So kids, we’re not in Kansas anymore. It’s a sobering wakeup call, looking at life from the viewpoint of the lower castes of India.

Jai is just nine, though, and when you’re nine, all things are possible. He is sure he can find his friend, if he can just afford the train fare to get further into the city, where his pal was last seen. His family never has much money, but his mother keeps what spare change she has in a kitchen pot, and as it adds up, it is reserved for emergencies—such as bulldozers. She knows that they could lose everything in a heartbeat, and she does what little she can to mitigate such a disaster. And bless his heart, little Jai sneaks into the kitchen and steals his mother’s bug-out fund so that he can take the Purple Line into town to play detective. He figures he can pay her back when he collects the reward money.

This story is a meal. There are a lot of unfamiliar terms, and they aren’t explained to us. We have to figure them out through context. This keeps the plot from bogging down, and that’s good, because it’s not moving terribly fast to begin with. But for those that like a nice whodunit to read as they drowse off to sleep in the evening, this isn’t that book. This is literature. Don’t try to absorb it after you’ve had a few beers or taken your sleeping pill. You need your full brain.

The other social justice topic, secondary to the missing children yet also important, is that of how India treats its girls and women, and once again, those in the lower castes are slammed by poverty and class bias as well as sexism. Jai’s sister Didi is gifted academically and athletically. She holds far more promise than her squirrely little brother, who is just your average kid, but her needs are always subordinate to his. Didi wants to run track and go to university, but her parents want her home, watching over Jai while they’re at work. They’re afraid (and not needlessly) that he’ll get into trouble. They are so concerned about what might happen to their darling boy that they don’t think twice about Didi. She’s sick of being leered at by the horny old men that sell vegetables, and she’s sick of the contemptuous gazes of shop women. And now, she, the star of the track team, must miss a critical meet so she can babysit:

“It was as if she existed solely to care for her brother, and the house. Afterward, she would similarly look after her husband, her hands smelling of cow-dung cakes. Her own dreams were inconsequential. It seemed to her that no one could see the ambition that thrummed in her; no one imagined her becoming someone.”

I used a combination of the digital galley on my Kindle and the audio book I checked out from Seattle Bibliocommons to get through this book. Sometimes I used them simultaneously. The voice actors have Indian accents that add authenticity; at the same time, I sometimes missed that we had shifted from a male character’s inner narrative to that of a female, and I became confused and had to go back. Again, this story is not for wusses. And yet, it’s worth it. It’s a helluva debut, and if you’ve read this whole review, you’re the type of person that can get through this book, and I recommend it to you. You won’t find anything else like it.

Follow Me, by Kathleen Barber****

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Audrey Miller moves from New York City to Washington, D.C. to take a position at the Smithsonian. She weaves her many Instagram followers into her professional life, with mixed results that sometimes get a little creepy. She runs into an old friend that’s now an attorney; an old lover; and a skeezy upstairs neighbor that has a key to her apartment. Oh—and she also has a stalker.

Thanks go to Net Galley and Gallery Books for the review copy, and Seattle Bibliocommons for the audio version. This book is for sale now.

I signed on to read and review this book because I was looking for some escapist fun, and that’s just what this is.

The story is told from three first person viewpoints, performed by three different readers on the audio version, which makes it easy to keep up with. In addition to Audrey, we hear from Kat, her old friend from college, and we hear from the stalker, whose chapters are playfully titled “Him.” Throughout the story, our prime focus is to figure out which of the several men that weave in and out of the narrative is the stalker. There are plenty of red herrings, and I was fooled more than once.

In looking back, two aspects make this story stand out: one is the terrific yet terrible museum exhibit that oddly mirrors Audrey’s life; and the voice of the stalker, which—if you hear the audio version, which is what I recommend, having tried it both ways—warbles wonderfully, making the listener feel he’s about to completely lose his shit at any given moment.

While not great literature, this kitschy tale is wonderfully distracting and easy to follow. I recommend it for those that need to take a break from their responsibilities and just wallow.