Tag Archives: fiction

Phantom Orbit, by David Ignatius****

Posted on by

“When we know a secret that could have devastating consequences, what should we do?”

David Ignatius writes spy thrillers, and is one of the most reliable authors I’ve read within that genre. I can always count on an absorbing read. Phantom Orbit centers on Ivan Volkov, a young man from Russia that goes to Beijing to study science, and an American CIA officer named Edith Ryan. They come together and then part, because while their interests and personalities draw them together, their obligations to the lands of their births pull them apart.

My thanks go to NetGalley and W.W. Norton and Company for the review copy. This book is for sale now.

Our chief protagonist, Ivan, is courted by the Chinese, who want to recruit him and his brilliant mind to their space program, but he is summoned home when his mother becomes ill, and once he is there, he comes under intense pressure to remain in Russia. Later, once he has lost almost everything, he finds a chance for redemption.

Edith, on the other hand, is faced with every possible glass ceiling and endless sexism in her work, and nobody will take her ideas seriously. Eventually she gives up on the Agency and returns to civilian life in the States.

This story grabbed my attention from the get go and held it all the way through. I wasn’t able to guess what the resolution would be.

That said, this also isn’t the best he’s written. For those new to this author, I recommend The Quantum Spy. For Ignatius’s faithful readers, and for those fond enough of espionage thrillers to want more than one such novel, this book is recommended.

Tell Me Everything, by Elizabeth Strout*****

Posted on by

“Lucy said, ‘So what is the point of this story?’

“Olive laughed. She really laughed at that. ‘Lucy Barton, the stories you told me—as far as I could tell—had very little point to them. Okay, okay, maybe they had subtle points to them. I don’t know what the point is to this story!’

“’People,’ Lucy said quietly, leaning back. ‘People and the lives they lead. That’s the point.’

“’Exactly,’ Olive nodded.”

Elizabeth Strout’s fifth entry into her Amgash series, Tell Me Everything, feels like a homecoming of sorts, as she integrates the main characters from all of her earlier novels, or most of them anyway, into a single volume. Lucy Barton, Olive Kitteridge, the Burgess Boys—both of them! It’s a wonderful thing to put them, or some of them, together in the same room for a conversation, or have two of them become friends and take walks together. It’s a lot of fun for her readers, and it was probably a lot of fun to write, too.

My thanks go to Random House and NetGalley for the invitation to read and review. This book is for sale now.

As is true with most books by Strout, the book isn’t—as the quote above suggests—so much about events as it is about the characters that live them. Publicists can call this a murder mystery if they want to, but if you are a new reader and you believe them, you will be disappointed, because the mystery is almost incidental to the story as a whole. The man under suspicion is living his life, and we read about him; the fact that his mother died under suspicious circumstances isn’t nearly as important as the life this poor fellow has been living. Meanwhile, there are a number of other plot threads that are just as important, and most of them have nothing to do with him or his family.

In fact, if I were to draw a theme from this story, it would perhaps be friendship; you might also make a case for fear. For example, Lucy tells Bob Burgess on one of their walks that “none of us are on sturdy soil, we just tell ourselves we are.” And then “when Bob thought about the state of the country these days, he sometimes had the image of a huge tractor trailer rumbling down the highway and the wheels, one by one, falling off.”

This is an easy theme to relate to; much of the polarization of the United States right now has to do with two main ideological camps, and a few smaller ones, being utterly terrified of what will happen next if the wrong people come to power; of course, opinions vary on exactly who the wrong ones are.

Nevertheless, I don’t see that as the main theme. The earliest Amgash books absolutely oozed anxiety. I felt as if I needed to take something before I read them, they were so fearful in their essences. But this story isn’t like that. Here, there’s a sense of acceptance, and also a sense that friendships, and the people inside of those friendships, can help one another.

So despite the mystery thread, this is what Lucy and Olive say that their stories are about: people and their lives.  It follows that those of us that have loved the earlier volumes will love this one even more, because Strout is doing what she does best: she sculpts characters so visceral that I feel I would know them if I passed by them in the grocery store.

Can you read this one as a stand-alone? Well, sure you can. I won’t try to stop you. But your experience will be richer and more satisfying if you treat yourself to some of the earlier stories. Some of them are rough reads, and I myself haven’t read everything this author has written, but if you grab a couple of them at least, particularly the Amgash and Olive books, you’ll appreciate this one more.

Highly recommended to all that cherish outstanding literary fiction.

Let Us Descend, by Jesmyn Ward*****

Posted on by

Reading Jesmyn Ward always hurts so good. In Let Us Descend, she conveys the heartbreak and sense of betrayal a young girl, Annis, faces when she and her mother are sold separately by their owner—who is also her father–and the ways that she copes, and also the ways she is helped by the spirits of her ancestors.

My thanks go to Scribner and Net Galley for the invitation to read and review. I’m sorry to be so late here, and am grateful that the literary world has recognized this book for the masterpiece that it is.

You may have seen other reviews in which I complain and gnash my teeth over historical inaccuracies; sometimes I rant over an author’s failure to portray a child in a way that is developmentally inaccurate. There will be none of that here. Ward has taken the time and done the research, and so her well crafted characters aren’t compromised by sloppy background details. I had to take this story in small bites because it is excruciatingly sorrowful.  For part of it I listened to the audio version; this is a treat in itself, as Ward reads her own novel.

Some reviewers have taken issue with the amount of magical realism Ward employs. I disagree with them. How can any novelist portray such a story and such a character as Annis with any glimmer of hope, unless they employ these literary devices? Does anyone really want to read a book that is miserable at the outset, miserable in the middle, and miserable even at its bitter, wretched conclusion? Without hope, there’s not much incentive to keep reading, nor would it have been satisfying to write; but Ward will not and does not revise history simply to make her readers more comfortable. There was only one way to tell this story and be true to history and her characters, and Ward found it.

Yes, it’s a rough read, but it’s so well written that many readers must have smiled through their tears. Know that, of necessity, this story is absolutely loaded with triggers; assuming that you can navigate them without coming undone, I highly recommend this story to you.

Margo’s Got Money Troubles, by Rufi Thorpe****

Posted on by

Margo’s Got Money Troubles, by Rufi Thorpe, is a bold, inventive, and very funny novel about a young woman cut adrift in a difficult, expensive world. My thanks go to NetGalley and William Morrow for the invitation to read and review. This book is for sale now.

Margo is the daughter of a Hooters waitress and a former pro wrestler, an absentee father with a family of his own; her mother had been his woman on the side. Consequently, Margo has always understood that she would have to hit the ground running when she grew up, and so she’s enrolled in a junior college. When the brief affair with her English professor leaves her pregnant, she has nobody reliable to advise her. The women she confides in urge her to terminate the pregnancy, and of course, the professor does, too; yet Margo likes the idea of becoming a mother, and it’s her fetus. Nobody can make her do anything. She decides to keep it.

Her mother is about to marry a man with money and conservative values, and she sees Margo as a loose cannon that just might upset the whole ship, so she tells her to terminate or be cut off.

Wow, Mom. Really?

Margo’s roommates hadn’t agreed to share an apartment with a baby. They need to sleep! They have to get up early!

Early on, I’m rolling my eyes. Part of me is thinking that Margo is about as dumb as they come; part of me is wondering why no author in this entire world is writing—or, more likely, why no major publishing house is publishing—novels in which a young woman chooses to have an abortion and take back her body and her life. But I’m overthinking, because soon, Margo—who after all, is just young, naïve, and rudderless—admits her error. She loves her little boy, but she had no idea he would be so expensive, or that motherhood would be so difficult. She tells her father, who re-enters her life as her mother steps away,

 “’I shouldn’t have had him,’ as though some rip cord had been pulled inside her. ‘I know that, okay? Everyone told me it would ruin my life and it did. They were right, and I was stupid, and I didn’t get it. Okay? But now I’m here.’ And her father, who strangely enough becomes the most reliable adult in her life, says, ‘Yes. Now we’re here.’”

Later, Margo will comment that nothing can make a person pro-choice like having a baby.

Margo has been waiting tables, but she can’t find child care, and when she brings the baby to work, she’s fired. And the truth is, she doesn’t like leaving her baby. Then one day, while looking at her naked self in a full length mirror, she observes that she has huge boobs for the first time in her life. Men would pay to see this. She opens an account on OnlyFans.

And so this controversial choice becomes the crux of the story. Some friends reject her, and her mother has really had it with her now. But there are a lot of meaty conversations that are thought provoking, and so, even though this old lady schoolteacher reviewer is mighty uncomfortable reading about an online sex worker’s film process, there are related questions that cannot be ignored. For example, Jinx—her father—advises her against it, saying that she shouldn’t get mixed up with these kinds of girls, and she asks him, “What are ‘those kinds of girls’?” And it’s true. A man can send his dick pix out into the world any number of times and places, and whereas many will consider these gross, or obscene, which they are, how many people will condemn the guy’s entire character, his moral fiber, for having done it? So the double standard is screaming to be recognized.

Margo goes through a lot of grief, defending custody of her son when the skeevy professor resurfaces, as well as having to deal with housing crises and other problems. But the central issue lurking in the shadows is that of a young mother choosing sex work as a career.

I have to tell you quite frankly that I was way out of my comfort zone through much of this book. I am probably not part of its target audience, despite the fact that I was approached to cover it. Partway in, I considered not finishing it, but the quality of the writing is so strong that I kept going, and I’m glad I did.

The story is told from a third person omnipotent perspective, but it shifts in a surprising and funny way, and that’s all I will say about that, lest I ruin it. I wonder from time to time if we have an unreliable narrator, but this is more than that. This unusual point of view a brave choice, and I think she carries it off well.

There are a lot of worthwhile discussions that can spring from this novel; it’s fertile territory, if you’ll pardon the expression, for book clubs. It’s also being adapted for Apple TV. I recommend this book for any feminist that likes to laugh, and isn’t afraid to think outside the box.

Spirit Crossing, by William Kent Krueger

Posted on by

Spirit Crossing is the spellbinding new novel in the Cork O’Connor series by William Kent Krueger. The book starts with two missing women, and an accidental discovery of a fresh grave. Readers faithful to the series will recognize the characters; there are enough of them, mostly related to one another, to provide depth and interest, without confusing the reader or making the plot too complex.

Lucky me, I read it free and early. My thanks go to NetGalley and Atria books for the invitation to read and review. This book is for sale now.

The story begins innocently enough, with the series protagonist, Cork, out berry picking with his son, son-in-law, and grandson, who is known by the Ojibwe nickname Waaboo. While searching for blueberries, they come across a fresh grave. Waaboo sees the victim standing before him, as if she is still alive, and he’s distraught because she is so unhappy. Waaboo is not the first one in his family to have this ability; nobody doubts that he sees what he says he sees. And so the men immediately wonder whether this is the grave of Olivia Hamilton, daughter of a wealthy Anglo, who’s been reported missing with massive headlines everywhere; or that of Crystal Two Knives, a missing Native girl whose name barely elicits more than a yawn from law enforcement.

And so right away, we are looking at not only the characters, but the longtime issue of missing Native girls and women, and the way that law enforcement neglects their cases for those whose families have money and connections.

One of the things I admire most about Krueger’s writing is the way that he incorporates urgent issues that especially impact the place where he lives—northern Minnesota—into the plot, blending them in so seamlessly that the reader isn’t distracted, because the issues are part and parcel of the mystery to be solved. He does the same thing with pipeline protests similar to the Dakota pipeline that lit up the headlines in recent years. Other aspects of the story include Ojibwe (Chippewa) culture and history, which is part of every book in the series, since most of the family is Ojibwe, and in this case, a character with a brain tumor. When significant events occur and the woman with cancer is the only one to witness them, did they really happen, or is it the brain tumor talking? This adds a layer of psychological tension not present in most of Krueger’s book; I’m not a fan of that subgenre, and am pleased to see that this doesn’t take over the plotline. It’s dealt with tastefully and without sensationalism.

Those that read my reviews know that I have an interest in seeing how authors develop child characters, particularly in a story such as this one, in which the child plays a major role. It makes me crazy when an otherwise competent author searches for shortcuts, such as a child that’s precocious or gifted, to explain away their own failure to craft the child’s character in a way that is honest developmentally. This is one more reason I enjoy this series. Yes, Waaboo has unusual powers, but he is still a small boy. The notion of going home without blueberries is a major blow. Tears threaten. I love the way Krueger develops this kid, and I can’t wait to see more of him in the future.

My one criticism involves a specific passage between the 88th and 90th percentiles, just as we rise toward the climax. Without going into spoilerish details, I will say that one character does something that everyone in the family agrees they must not do, and without any explanation, everyone in the family is fine with them doing it this time. This, of course, puts the character in danger, which anyone that’s paying attention can predict the very moment the action commences. It’s clumsy in a way that is atypical of this author, and I have no idea why he makes the choice he does, but it affects my enjoyment of the book, because suddenly I am not thinking as much about the characters as I am about the author. Having this occur a split second before the climax is especially grating.

On the other hand, I am picky. Very picky. I suspect that this passage will annoy only a small percentage of readers.

I do recommend this book, and this series, to those that love a good mystery. Although it can be read as a stand-alone, those with the time and inclination might enjoy going back a few titles, or even to the beginning of the series.

The Wedding People, by Alison Espach*****

Posted on by

It’s a good sign when I finish reading a book, and I’m smiling. Alison Espach’s new novel, The Wedding People, not only left me smiling at the end; it made me laugh out loud almost from the get-go, and it will do the same for you.

My thanks go to NetGalley, Henry Holt, and Macmillan Audio for the review copies. This book is for sale now.

I’m not usually fond of romances, but a friend mentioned the premise of this one, and I couldn’t resist. In a nutshell:  Phoebe, the protagonist, worn down by the pandemic and devastated when her husband leaves her, heads off to the posh hotel where they’d intended to spend their vacation. She takes no luggage or even her phone, because she plans to kill herself once she’s inside that lovely place.

Upon arrival, it’s clear that a mistake has been made. The entire hotel has been reserved for a wedding. But Phoebe’s room hasn’t been double booked, and so she is allowed, with apologies, to proceed to her room. However, the bride—wealthy, entitled, Bridezilla—learns of Phoebe’s presence, goes to her room, and orders her to leave. As they argue, Phoebe discloses her reason for coming, and assures her that she’ll be gone—so to speak—by the time the wedding takes place. But Lila, our bride, is having none of it. How dare Phoebe spoil her wedding! Absolutely not. She isn’t going to have guests gathering just as a corpse is being wheeled out to the morgue, right through the lobby! Phoebe must change her plans.

I won’t share any further developments, but I will tell you this: Espach can write.

Long ago, I decided that five star reviews should not be reserved for the rare gem bound to become a timeless classic. I give five stars to any novel that makes me unusually happy, and that represents the best being published within its genre. This book is one of those.

Helen Laser is the voice actor narrating the audio version, and she makes it even funnier. If you are strictly a visual reader, that’s fine, but if you like both formats, go with the audio this time, or use the audio and print versions together, which is what I did.

Highly recommended to those that enjoy a good romance, a good laugh, or both.

The Faculty Lounge, by Jennifer Mathieu****-*****

Posted on by

“You really had to hand it to Mr. Lehrer. While dying at work is never ideal, he had the decency to do it during his off period. And not only that, but at the start of it, too, giving the clerks in the main office plenty of time to find someone else to cover Ms. DeLaRosa’s Spanish II classes, even as they scrambled to figure out who should be telephoned when an eighty-two-year-old substitute teacher lies down on a ratty couch in a high school faculty lounge and dies. “

Jennifer Mathieu’s new novel, The Faculty Lounge, has been described as love letter to teachers. Though it is darkly funny in a number of places, the description isn’t wrong. By the ten percent mark, I had cackled out loud twice, it was so strangely accurate.

My thanks go to Penguin Group Dutton and NetGalley for the review copy. This book is for sale now.

Our school is Baldwin High, a Texas school with a solid reputation. After the stage is set, with poor Mr. Lehrer breathing his last breaths during his planning period, and another teacher being cranky when the paramedics make her leave before her photocopies are done so that they can work on him, the story is organized with a single chapter per character. Obviously there are a lot more people on Baldwin’s staff, but this method works quite nicely, and since the characters interact, the chapters that come later in the book are richer, because there’s more backstory to help us understand them.

The youngest teachers have grown up with the knowledge that they might be shot to death at school; first they grew aware of this when they were students, and now, as teachers, the danger is still there. While older staff members tend to be rattled by a lockdown, younger ones see it as almost routine. Take attendance, salute the flag, and whoops, there it is. Herd any students outside of your door into the room, then lock it. Everyone on the floor. Pull your window blinds. Wait till it’s over.

I appreciated every character in this book, and I was sorry when it ended.

There are crises at Baldwin, just as there always seem to be fires to put out in real schools; there are high maintenance parents with absurd complaints, as well as idiotic district directives. Bureaucrats! Toward the end, a veteran teacher explains to a newer one that some days, “the best you can do is show up and hang on.” So true! Your reviewer is retired from the profession, and I can recall a wise older teacher saying to me privately during difficult periods, “I’m here. And I’m dressed.”

The whole thing seems so familiar.

How much will this resonate to readers that aren’t educators? I have no idea, but I know that the in-jokes, the sense of the familiar, can’t be as strong. For a general readership, I’d say this is a four star read. Possibly this is true as well for those that have always taught early childhood, because many of the parameters are different. But for those of us that have taught middle and high school, particularly for those that are veterans, this is a solid five star read.

Cheerfully recommended to all, and highly recommended to veteran secondary teachers.

Trouble in Queenstown, by Delia Pitt***-****

Posted on by

Delia Pitts has been writing mysteries for quite some time, but she is new to me. In Trouble in Queenstown, she introduces hardboiled sleuth Evander Myrick. Myrick’s friends call her Vandy, and that helps to distinguish her from her elderly father for whom she is named; he’s in a memory care unit.

My thanks go to NetGalley, Macmillan Audio, and St. Martin’s Press for the review copies. This book is for sale now.

At first glance, I thought that this detective fiction was set in New Zealand. Queenstown, right? But in this case, the locale is Queenstown, New Jersey. The story opens with Vandy cleaning up a mess in her office just as Leo Hannah storms in and wants to see Evander Myrick. He assumes Myrick will be a Caucasian male, and that Myrick herself is a member of the cleaning staff.

Oops.

Hannah comes to hire Vandy in the wake of his wife’s murder. He knows exactly who did it, he tells her, and he wants her to prove it, starting with some surveillance. Vandy isn’t sure she should take this job, but she has to pay top dollar to keep her daddy in the best facility, so she reluctantly signs on. As the story progresses, there are numerous twists and turns, and the violence escalates. By the story’s end, three different people have tried to hire her for exactly the same case!

The thing I appreciate here is the way Pitts addresses cop racism. So many detective novels require the reader to suspend belief, to assume that every cop is fearlessly dedicated to finding out the unvarnished truth and arresting the perpetrator of the crime, regardless of race, ethnicity, or sexual orientation. But as Vandy conducts her investigation, Pitts keeps it real. At one point the detective speaks with a salon stylist that worked on Ivy’s hair, and he tells her that Ivy was afraid of someone at home. Vandy asks if he contacted the police.

“’The police?’ He jerked his neck, pursing his lips as if I’d farted. ‘Girl, you think the cops came here?’ He sniffed. ‘You don’t look like a fool. Maybe I read you wrong.’”

Sadly, the second half of the book doesn’t impress me as much as the first half does. I have a short list of tropes that I never want to see again in a mystery novel, and she trips a few, including my most hated one. I won’t go into details because it’s too far into the story, and I don’t want to spoil anything, but when it appears, I sit back, disengage from the text, and roll my eyes. Ohhh buh-ruther. As I continue reading, I can see who the murderer is well in advance, and the climax itself is a bit over the top, though without the tropes, I mightn’t have noticed this last issue.

In addition to the digital review copy, I have the audio. The reader does a fine job.

The more mysteries a person reads, the staler tropes become. I am perhaps more sensitive than most readers, having logged over a thousand novels in this genre. Readers that have not read many mysteries are less likely to be aware of, and therefore bothered by overused elements, and so this book may please you much more than it did me. But for hardened, crochety old readers such as myself, I recommend getting this book free or cheap, if you choose to read it. Newer readers may enjoy it enough to justify the sticker price.

Middletide, by Sarah Crouch*****

Posted on by

Sarah Crouch makes her authorial debut with Middletide, a mystery set in the Pacific Northwest near where she grew up. Atmospheric and tense, it’s a damn fine start to what is sure to be a promising career.

My thanks go to NetGalley and Atria Books for the invitation to read and review. This book is for sale now.

The premise is that Elijah Leith leaves home when he reaches adulthood, eager to flee his violent alcoholic father, and make a name for himself in San Francisco. But his father dies, and when his first novel goes nowhere and he runs out of money, Elijah returns and takes up residence in the cabin where he grew up. He hopes to rekindle a relationship with his teenage sweetheart, but she has moved on, and since he was unreliable the first time around, she is reluctant to trust him anyway.

Then the cops find the body of Dr. Erin Landry hanging from a tree on Elijah’s property.

This whodunit is original and intelligently written. The pacing is perfect, and I never would have guessed the ending, at least not until nearly the end when the author spells it out. Elijah is not the most lovable protagonist, but Crouch develops him so that, although not a prince or a hero, he is nonetheless a decent human being by the end. Some will consider the solution to be over the top, but it’s only far fetched if the author fails to convince us that it’s true, and I am persuaded.

Those looking for a fun read to pack for a vacation, or just to occupy a weekend at home, here you go. Grab your book, your lemonade or your whatever, and head for your happy place. You can thank me later.

Beep, by Bill Roorbach****

Posted on by

Beep is squirrel monkey, born and raised in the rain forest of Costa Rica. He’s not a baby anymore, and his old uncles have informed him that all the females are spoken for, and he must travel to a new area to mate and propagate. It’s tricky business, though, because human encroachment has separated the forests from one another, so Beep cannot get to the next forest without going through areas developed by humans. Beep’s odyssey takes him much farther than anyone imagined, and in the end, he finds fame and satisfaction.

My thanks go to NetGalley and Algonquin for the invitation to read and review. This book is for sale today.

Much of the book is devoted to the relationship that Beep develops with a human child named Inga. While traveling through neighborhoods, a bit lost and unsure where the next forest might be, he spots her eating some delicious fruits in her backyard, so he introduces himself in order to get lunch. Inga’s mother comes out and meets him also, and this passage provides an idea of the story’s character:

“’Squirrel monkey,” the mother said warmly, ‘Ooooh. They aren’t usually solo. Oooh, ooh. Keep your eyes peeled, there will be more.’

“Ugh, eyes peeled? ‘I’d like some fruit,’ I said clearly.

“’Oh, how charming,’ said the mother. ‘Hoo-hoo, monkey.’ She’d wiped most of yesterday’s blood from her lips, but at the edges of the enormous mouth some remained (probably she’d caught and eaten a bird). Also, part of her outer wrappings had come loose and her poor chest looked more distended than ever, wrapped in a bright banner of some kind. Somemonkey once said they look like us, but come on: they do not.”

But this is not Inga’s permanent home; she is on vacation. When her family returns to New York, which Beep calls Nyork, she smuggles him in with her carry-on items and it is in New York City that he meets fame after surviving several harrowing situations.

For the most part, I find this novel charming. There’s no need to concern ourselves about the credibility of the overall story line, because after all, we’ve begun with a monkey providing the narrative, so it’s clear that we just need to roll with it. It is funny in places, a bit dark in others, and then—as with the above quote—sometimes it’s darkly funny. Some of the reviews I’ve read take issue with the ending, but I’m good with it. My sole dissatisfaction, and unfortunately it’s one of my pet peeves, is Roorbach’s failure to develop Inga appropriately in keeping with her age. There’s a scene at the airport when she starts to cry because her stuffed animals are being taken away to be scanned by security, and another soon afterward where she is walking her doll buggy in Central Park, so I’m figuring she’s maybe six years old; but subsequent scenes make her seem much older, and finally we’re told that she’s eleven years old. It doesn’t take years of study to know that an eleven year old girl doesn’t wail about her stuffed animals or take her dolls for a walk in the park. Get real.

Happily, as the story unfolds from there, Inga settles into being a real eleven year old, and my irritability ebbs so that I can enjoy the rest of the book.

All told, this is a delightful read. Because of its dark characteristics, which I will not provide because they’d be spoilers, this is not a book to read to your little ones, but if you have a young Goth in your home who is able to read alternate spellings and dialects, then this book would likely be that kid’s happy place. The overall message is a worthy one, although Roorbach is probably not going to change hearts and minds about the environment, since those in favor of unchecked development in the face of environmental devastation and disaster aren’t going to buy this book. All told though, it’s a fine read for those that are ready for something a bit different and that can handle dark humor.