Monday, November 11, 2024

Rootless

Rootless
Title:
  Rootless
Author:  Krystle Zara Appiah
Publication Information:  Ballantine Books. 2023. 368 pages.
ISBN:  0593500458 / 978-0593500453

Rating:   ★★★

Book Source:  I received this book through NetGalley free of cost in exchange for an honest review.

Opening Sentence:  "Sam knows he is too late even as he sprints back from the station."

Favorite Quote:  "I can love her and still want something more for my life. Love and regret aren't mutually exclusive."

Efe walks out on her husband and her toddler. Why? To everyone who saw them, Efe and Sam are the perfect couple with a happy marriage and a beautiful child. Eve travels from London back to her roots in Accra, Ghana.

The story is of about 5 months before the present, about 19 years earlier, of the present, and of six months after. Where and when the present is does not become clear until almost the end of the book. The timelines lies at the heart of the book's conclusion, but that does not become clear until the conclusion itself.

The "why" of the book covers a lot of ground - the immigrant experience, discrimination and prejudice, cultural expectations from both the individual's point of origin and their adopted home, parental expectations, gender expectations, parenthood, and the mental health challenges any and all of these can lead to.

The shifting timeless prove a challenge to follow and prove an impediment to developing an understanding of the characters - particularly Efe. There are several "aha' moments in which some aspect of Efe's life is revealed that explains what transpires in her life. However, because that part of the story may have been told earlier in the book, I find myself needing to flip back with each revelation and reread to better understand the context. Each revelation adds depth to the story but the shifting timelines puts that depth at a distance somewhat removed understanding the character. 

An overarching theme of the book becomes Efe's relationship with her parents and the scars that it leaves on Efe's life:
  • "When it comes to her parents, Eve is prone to giving in, shrinking back, conforming. All her life she's let them tell her who to be friends with and dictate all her wants...  Efe has spent a lifetime biting back words, feeling like she's holding her breath."
  • "the sirens wailing, the hospital stay, and the hurried move back to Ghana that same week"
  • "Pack my bags and ship me off like you did? Do you know how hard that was? Do you not remember what those kids did to me?"
  • "I sent you to London for your own good. You were older. You were safe."
  • "People - even the ones who love you - can be a weight around your neck. You just have to choose which weights you want to carry. And I'm strong. This. This I can live with."
That aspect of the story is tragic, leaving me so sad for Efe. Despite the shifting timelines, the empathy that develops for Efe could have resulted in an emotional story.

Then comes the ending. It seems to come out of nowhere. I read the pages multiple times. My reaction... Really? Really? After all that, this is how it ends? If the ending is to make some philosophical point, I miss it. I am left wondering... Did I really read that entire book and begin to invest in it for this?


Please share your thoughts and leave a comment. I would love to "talk" to you.

Sunday, November 10, 2024

The Last Russian Doll

The Last Russian Doll
Title:
  The Last Russian Doll
Author: Kristen Loesch
Publication Information:  Berkley. 2023. 416 pages.
ISBN:  0593547985 / 978-0593547984

Rating:   ★★

Book Source:  I received this book through NetGalley free of cost in exchange for an honest review.

Opening Sentence:  "In some faraway kingdom, in some long ago land, there lived a young girl who looked just like her porcelain doll."

Favorite Quote:  "But there are always a hundred lives not lived. There will always be a hundred paths I did not choose. And this is the one I do."

A history spanning about 70-80 years. Three generations but two main characters. Russian history and folklore. A love story. A search for the past. Like many other multiple timeline books, this one is about a woman with a doll and a key searching for her past - a past her mother always kept at bay.

Rosie is an immigrant to England, having settled there with her mother. Her heritage is of Russia, but Rosie knows little of that past. She is student in England and in a loving relationship, engaged to be married. An opportunity presents itself for Rosie to return to Russia and perhaps solve the mystery of her past. She takes the risk and ventures into the unknown. The steps and the risks that she takes are a stretch of the imagination and do not quite ring true. However, as a reader, I put that aside, ready to dive into her quest and see where it leads.

The collection of the porcelain dolls is eerie and adding to the mystery of the book. It also makes me wish for an illustration. Interestingly, the title ultimately is not about a doll at all. From the book description and the beginning of the book in fairy tales, I expect more of the fairy tales and Russian folklore in the book. It is either not there or I don't know enough about Russian folklore to recognize it. The story ends up much about the political history and about Rosie's quest for her past.

The story moves back and forth between different times in Rosie's life and to a time decades earlier and a woman named Tonya. Porcelain dolls and how they come to be provide a link and a clue. Embedded into these timelines are a lot of characters and a lot of Russian history.

Therein lies my struggle with the book. I find myself getting lost in the characters and the history. With a large number of characters, it is also hard to determine which ones may be important in Rosie's future and which ones I, as a reader should focus on.Particularly, the timeline of the past needs more context. I find myself having to look up the history to determine the political factions and the goals of the individual characters. Having read all the way through, I am still unsure I understand the book, the history in this context or the ending.

The concept and the history are interesting. Unfortunately, it takes too much work to settle into both, and I end up not the reader for this book.


Please share your thoughts and leave a comment. I would love to "talk" to you.

Saturday, November 9, 2024

Living in the Light

Living in the Light
Title:
  Living in the Light: Yoga for Self-Realization
Author:  Deepak Chopra & Sarah Platt-Finger
Publication Information:  Harmony. 2023. 304 pages.
ISBN:  0593235428 / 978-0593235423

Rating:   ★★★

Book Source:  I received this book through NetGalley free of cost in exchange for an honest review.

Opening Sentence:  "Whatever you are doing to make your life better, Royal Yoga can bring you more of everything you want."

Favorite Quote:  "I embody the field of infinite possibilities."

This book is set up in two clear halves - The first is the conceptual discussion of what "living in the light entails." It is structured in six sections, somewhat a week by week practice to incorporate this practice into your life:
  • Social intelligence
  • Emotional intelligence
  • Bring the light to your body
  • Vital energy
  • Staying in the light
  • The Power of Attention
The section half is a description of the yoga asanas that formulate this practice:  
  • Simple Standing poses
  • Standing hip openers
  • Standard forward bends
  • Sun salutation variations
  • Standing twists
  • Balancing poses
  • Four-limbed poses
  • Backbends
  • Inversions
  • Seated twists
  • Seated hip openers
  • Seated forward bends
  • Restful / restorative postures
The author Deepak Chopra is a well known name in this industry. The other author Sara Platt-Finger is a yoga expert and instructor. The ideas in the book are not new. "Light" is a recurring symbol for goodness, peace, and knowledge. The practice of yoga (or yoga-like ideas) is a common theme in many faith based practices, and much has been written about the topic as a "health" trend. The ideas of self-actualization and centering have been written about in countless book and resources. This one presents the authors' particular iteration of these ideas.

The first part of the book that deals with ideology does present concepts and mental / emotional exercises that can help in incorporating this practice into daily life. However, again, the ideas are not new and, to me, not presented in sufficient depth.

Unfortunately, a greater portion of this book was focused on the yoga asanas than on the conceptual framework. That was unexpected as I expected more of a grounding and depth in the ideology. My mistake in interpreting the book description. There are many other resources available that provide the "how to" of yoga in greater depth and with more illustrations is you should choose to learn yoga from a book. This section of the book appeared more filler than substance.

As with books of this nature, the extent to which it works for an individual depends on where you are in your individual journey. My goal is to take the ideas that resonate and let of go what does not. Again, the ideas are not new. Sometimes, just the reminder of ideas is sufficient for a recentering. That may be all that is needed.


Please share your thoughts and leave a comment. I would love to "talk" to you.

Friday, November 8, 2024

The Midnight Club

The Midnight Club by Margot Harrison
Title:
  The Midnight Club
Author:  Margot Harrison
Publication Information:  Grayson House. 2024. 368 pages.
ISBN:  1525809881 / 978-1525809880

Rating:   ★★

Book Source:  I received this book through NetGalley and a publisher's blog tour free of cost in exchange for an honest review.

Opening Sentence:  "You are hereby formally invited to a reunion of the Midnight Brunch Club."

Favorite Quote:  "Every second of your life counts ... whether you want it to or not."

***** BLOG TOUR *****


Review

A college. A group of friends. A literary magazine. A young death. Perhaps a mystery surrounding the death. Years of estrangement. An invitation. A return to college. A reunion. A beautiful Vermont setting. A magical way to relive (not just remember) the past. Secrets. Lots and lots of secrets. The book also poses the intriguing question of time. What if we could go back and relive our past? Would we want to? What would we find there? Would we change the past if could? What would happen if we could? How do  you grapple with the fact that your memory is not the truth; it is your memory?

The description sounds like a great setup for mysterious drama of emotions and memories while addressing broader philosophical questions.

Unfortunately, I struggled with the book for several reasons. The first is that I find myself getting lost at where I am in the story. There are multiple points of view. There is the present. There is the past. There is the memory of the past. There is the past revisited. There is all of this from two main points of view. It is a challenge to follow the thread at times. Perhaps, that is the point of the ebb and flow of time and the unreliability of memory. Nevertheless, as a reader, I find myself flipping back and forth and investing too much energy trying to figure out who, what, where, when.

The second reason is the characters. I find myself unable to invest in or relate to the characters. At times, they are not likable but not not unlikable enough to create interest. Perhaps, this is a side effect of the first reason. It is a challenge to follow the characters. As such, it is a challenge to learn about them and feel like  I know them. As such, it is a challenge to invest in their story or the outcome of their story.

The book centers on the group - the Midnight Club. However, the jumping timelines and points of view result in the vision of that club not crystallizing. The book does not depict in detail the days of the Midnight Club and the bonds of friendship. Considering that the mystery surrounds the death of one, it is challenging to understand the impact of the death given that the group image does not become quite real for me.

Sadly, much as I was intrigued by the concept, I find myself not the reader for this book.

About the Book

“A strange, riveting, brilliant fable. Like a fever-dream of Donna Tartt’s The Secret History.” —LEV GROSSMAN

Four friends. A campus reunion. A dark new way to relive the past.

It’s been twenty-five years since The Midnight Club last convened. A tight-knit group of college friends bonded by late nights at the campus literary magazine, they’re also bonded by something darker: the death of their brilliant friend Jennet junior year. But now, decades later, a mysterious invitation has pulled them back to the pine-shrouded Vermont town where it all began.

As the estranged friends gather for a weeklong campus reunion, they soon learn that their host has an ulterior motive: she wants them to uncover the truth about the night Jennet died, and she’s provided them with an extraordinary method—a secret substance that helps them not only remember but relive the past.

But each one of the friends has something to hide. And the more they question each other, the deeper they dive into their own memories, the more they understand that nothing they thought they knew about their college years, and that fateful night, is true.

Twisty, nostalgic, and emotionally thrilling, The Midnight Club explores that innate desire to revisit our first loves, our biggest mistakes, and the gulf between who we are and who we hoped we’d be.

About the Author

MARGOT HARRISON is the author of four young adult novels, including an Indies Introduce Pick, Junior Library Guild Selections, and Vermont Book Award Finalists. She grew up in New York and now lives in Vermont. The Midnight Club is her debut adult novel. 

Excerpt

Excerpted from THE MIDNIGHT CLUB by Margot Harrison, Copyright © 2024 by Margot Harrison. Published by Graydon House, an imprint of HarperCollins.

You are hereby formally invited to a reunion of the Midnight Brunch Club. October 27th through 31st, 2014, 12 Railroad Street in Dunstan, Vermont.

Come to celebrate the life of Jennifer (Jennet) Sherilyn Stark (1967–89) and revisit our shared past through the elixir of the pines. There are still secrets to be discovered; the past is not even past (Faulkner); we are boats against the current (Fitzgerald). Leave all doubts and inhibitions at home. RSVP to Auraleigh Lydgate.

The first time Sonia ever received an invitation from Auraleigh Lydgate was in the Dove-Cat room freshman year, on the first warm spring day in Vermont, forsythia bursting forth on the quad.

Sonia was bent over a Mac Classic when Auraleigh swept in, wearing a leather jacket and drop-waist minidress, and noisily slid out a chair. “Oh my God, I’m dealing with a roommate nightmare! Marina got this brilliant idea to backpack in Europe, so now Paul and I are short a person for the townhouse.”

“Paul Bretton?” Sonia couldn’t hide her surprise. He was the

newly elected editor of their lit magazine—quiet, earnest, and formidably intellectual. Auraleigh was rich and from LA and had a husky laugh that made boys’ eyes glaze over. They seemed like a complete mismatch.

“Yeah.” Auraleigh grinned. “No, we’re not dating. I like his espresso machine, and he likes my cooking. Hey, wait—do you have housing for next year?”

“I was just going to do the lottery.” This was only their second or third conversation, and Sonia, the daughter of an itinerant hippie who could only afford the college because of her mom’s job in the admin office, could barely understand why Auraleigh would talk to her to begin with.

When Auraleigh spoke again, Sonia almost thought she was hearing wrong: would she like to share the townhouse with them instead?

It cost more than the dorm, but Sonia barely hesitated in saying yes. She was tired of studying alone in the library and coming back to a silent room. She was tired of feeling like she didn’t belong.

Never mind that Auraleigh later admitted the invitation had been spur-of-the-moment, based more on what Sonia wasn’t than what she was. (You seemed quiet. I figured it would balance out my loud.) In that instant, whether Sonia realized it or not, she became part of a circle she would never quite be able to leave.

***

Crossing the campus of the New Mexico college where she had taught for the past decade, Sonia no longer felt the desert heat. Here was another invitation from Auraleigh, twenty-seven years later, but Sonia wasn’t the same person she’d been back then.

She climbed the library steps in a daze. At the entrance to the stacks, she pressed her ID card to the sensor. The light blinked red. She tried it again, then handed her card to the circulation assistant, a hungover-looking student who put down a copy of Teaching to Transgress to examine it.

“Semester ended yesterday.” The student had bangs in her face, too many barrettes doing too little work. She typed a number into her computer and peered at the screen. “This is invalid. Did you just graduate?”

“No, I’m faculty.” Were those bangs keeping the kid from seeing the fine lines and sags of middle age? But then Sonia understood. “I… My contract wasn’t renewed for next semester.”

The student handed her back the ID. “That’d be it.”

Sonia took the meaningless laminated rectangle that had given her access to every campus facility. She’d hoped to use the job databases that were only accessible from terminals in the chilly bowels of the library. To reach them, she would have traversed the concrete gallery hung with mementos of faculty achievements—including a one-sheet for the 1998 semi-cult film Retrophiliac, with her own name right after the director’s.

Instead she felt like a criminal. “I didn’t realize it would be invalid this soon.”

“You could apply for a temporary pass,” the girl said.

But Sonia was already headed back outside, through two sets of hissing doors and down the stucco steps into the furnace heat. She just needed to rest for a moment before cleaning out her office.

She found a shady table on the quad, sat down, and pulled out the mail she’d stuffed in her bag earlier.

The invitation.

Sonia turned over the heavy, cream-colored card and really read it this time.

You are hereby formally invited to a reunion of the Midnight Brunch Club. October 27th through 31st, 2014, 12 Railroad Street in Dunstan, Vermont.

Come to celebrate the life of Jennifer (Jennet) Sherilyn Stark (1967–89) and revisit our shared past through the elixir of the pines.


Of course—today, May 22, was the twenty-fifth anniversary of Jennet’s death.

The “reunion” was five days in October in Dunstan. Auraleigh had moved back to their college town to watch over her daughter, who was now a freshman there, and had gotten busy transforming a rundown Victorian into a cozy home. The reno must have gone well, or Auraleigh wouldn’t have invited all of them to stay there in high-foliage season.

Still, the invitation came as a surprise, because Auraleigh hadn’t called Sonia since December. During their last phone conversation, she’d grown borderline huffy when Sonia failed to show interest in the intricacies of spray-foam insulation. Since then, there’d been pictures on Facebook of the evolving home/B and B—gables, bathroom fixtures. Sonia had commented on a few of them, then gotten bored and stopped.

October was midterm season, packed with grading and tearful emails from students begging for conferences. Where would Sonia be next October? In a month, she would have no campus mailbox, no email address, no health insurance.

Take it as a sign from the universe! Auraleigh would probably say, flinging her arms out. Go back to LA! Follow your dreams!

Sonia tried but failed to tear the card in half. When you followed your dreams, you ended up like her mother—moving seven times in ten years, from the shabby-chic environs of Morningside Heights to the Vermont wilderness, always chasing a great love or transcendence in a commune’s soybean field. When you reached a certain age, you realized that the real dream, the only one that mattered, was safety.

As she shoved the card back into the envelope, her eyes again ran over the lines: There are still secrets to be discovered; the past is not even past (Faulkner); we are boats against the current (Fitzgerald).

Auraleigh had used only half the quote from The Great Gatsby; the next part was borne back ceaselessly into the past. Borne back into the past, against the inexorable current of time, by an elixir of the pines…

Sonia rose, her heart racing. In December, Auraleigh had asked if she remembered the boy with the time travel drug. Sonia had laughed and said, “Don’t be silly. That was a campus myth. There was no time travel drug.”

But she knew exactly who—and what—Auraleigh was talking about.

There was a way to go back, if you really wanted to—an elixir of the pines. People just weren’t supposed to know about it.

Sonia, who did know, had spent the past twenty-five years trying to forget.
Please share your thoughts and leave a comment. I would love to "talk" to you.

Wednesday, November 6, 2024

The Berlin Apartment

The Berlin Apartment by Bryn Turnbull
Title:
  The Berlin Apartment
Author:  Bryn Turnbull
Publication Information:  MIRA. 2024. 352 pages.
ISBN:  0778305503 / 978-0778305507

Rating:   ★★★

Book Source:  I received this book through NetGalley and a publisher's blog tour free of cost in exchange for an honest review.

Opening Sentence:  "My darling Ali, The world can change in the space of a heartbeat."

Favorite Quote:  "She'd always thought of a revolution as a violent, bloody thin - a cleansing fire, righteously burning as it devoured the core of a fetid, unjust regime. But tonight felt more like fireworks than fire: peaceful and beautiful but no less a revolution."

BLOG TOUR


Review

It is the 1960s. World War II is long over, but new tensions build. Uli is from West Berlin. Lise is from East Berlin. They meet at a university in West Berlin. They meet. They fall in love. They get engaged. Lise gets pregnant. All is well until it isn't. Lise goes home, and then she cannot return to West Berlin. A wall now divides them. What to do? How to make the authorities understand that they belong together. They are not married. They have no paperwork showing their relationship. Just love and an unborn child.

As the book description suggest, Uli and his friends come up with a plan to save Lise, but "weeks turn to months." This is a story of that plan and the time that Uli and Lise spend apart and the stories of those who surround them - both friend and foe.

I have read many books about the war, but very little about this time period in this place. It is a sad and frightening introduction to this history. Uli's plan to rescue Lise picks up on a part of this history. West and East Berlin are not separated by distance. A wall and a no-entry zone stand between Uli and Lise. History actually tells us of the different ways people tried to escape, including trying to tunnel under the area. (This is revealed fairly early in the book. So, I don't feel it's a spoiler).

Surrounding the escape plan are the people surrounding Uli and Lise. Lise's family, who loves her but some of who believe in the goals and ideals of East Germany. Uli's friends, who join the effort, for their own reasons and their families. Individuals who love Uli and Lise and offer a compromise in life. Uli and Lise themselves as their love is tested by time, distance, and the need to survive. Some of the side characters are memorable, perhaps even more so than Uli and Lise themselves.

Through all these eyes, the challenges of the time and place come to life. The romance and the love freely given in the book is sweet and anchors the book, but it is the picture of the Cold War Berlin that will stay with me.

The ending of the books brings the story full circle and ties up loose ends. I find that surprising as history tells us that many would have been and were lost and not all struggles were resolved. It is the ending dictated by the romance perhaps rather than the history.

Nevertheless, I appreciate this book for the reason I read historical fiction. It introduces me to and teaches about history I may not otherwise have learned.

About the Book

“Wholly immersive and impeccably researched, Bryn Turnbull’s tale brings the time vividly to life.” —Toronto Star on The Paris Deception

For fans of Kate Quinn and Kristin Hannah, this sweeping love story follows a young couple whose lives are irrevocably changed when they’re separated overnight by the construction of the Berlin Wall.

Berlin 1961: When Uli Neumann proposes to Lise Bauer, she has every reason to accept. He offers her love, respect, and a life beyond the strict bounds of the East German society in which she was raised — which she longs to leave more than anything. But only two short days after their engagement, Lise and Uli are torn violently apart when barbed wire is rolled across Berlin, splitting the city into two hostile halves: capitalist West Berlin, an island of western influence isolated far beyond the iron curtain; and the socialist East, a country determined to control its citizens by any means necessary.

Soon, Uli and his friends in West Berlin hatch a plan to get Lise and her unborn child out of East Germany, but as distance and suspicion bleed into their lives and as weeks turn to months, how long can true love survive in the divided city?

About the Author

BRYN TURNBULL is the internationally bestselling author of The Woman Before Wallis. Equipped with a master of letters in creative writing from the University of St. Andrews, a master of professional communication from Ryerson University and a bachelor's degree in English literature from McGill University, Bryn focuses on finding stories of women lost within the cracks of the historical record. She lives in Toronto.

Excerpt

Excerpt from The Berlin Apartment by Bryn Turnbull. Copyright © 2024 by Bryn Turnbull. Published by MIRA.

4

13 AUGUST, 1961

Uli stared out his apartment window, his pulse beating wildly in his ears. Seven stories below, a tangle of concertina wire ran the length of Bernauer Strasse, bisecting East Berlin from West: onlookers on both sides of the wire watched, muttering, as green-uniformed Grenztruppen, separated from the East German citizenry by a line of Volkspolizei, jackhammered the cobbles to fix stakes into the ground and carted in more spools of barbed wire, rolling it out with gloved hands.

Was it war? He studied the faces of the border guards, searching for an indication of panic, of fear, but they looked measured and resolute. Was it a planned operation, then? A provocation?

He needed to find Lise. He pulled on a shirt and trousers and descended into the fray.

Outside, the sound of jackhammers was a relentless snarl that drowned out the fury of Berliners on both sides of the wire, shouting their ire. In the East, a mishmash of soldiers—police officers and border guards and members of the People’s National Army—stood with their backs to the west, shoulder to shoulder, as guards hammered stakes in place.

“Uli!”

He wrenched his attention away from the barbed wire to see Jurgen’s stocky, sandy-haired figure. “Have you spoken to Lise?”

Uli shook his head: across the street, a scrum of people had formed around a nearby telephone box. “I only just came outside. I’m still trying to piece together… What’s going on?”

“Ulbricht’s sealed the border.”

“Sealed it?”

“Yeah.” Jurgen bit his lip, and Uli knew that he was thinking of his family, his brother and sister-in-law and niece, living in Bernau. “People kept saying he was going to do something, but I never thought…” He trailed off. “You’ve not seen Lise?”

“Not since Friday.” Uli searched for a higher vantage point— a bench, the bonnet of a car—and gestured for Jurgen to follow him toward a rusting Mercedes, parked on the opposite side of the road. “Have you spoken to your brother?”

“I tried telephoning Karl, but they’ve cut the wires. I heard they’ve sealed off the U-Bahn and S-Bahn as well… I don’t think anyone can make contact.”

Uli jumped onto the bonnet of the Mercedes. What purpose did it serve to cut the telephone lines? He gave Jurgen his hand and tugged him up on top of the car: from here, they could see past the guards and jackhammers to the bewildered East Berliners beyond.

“Lise was out of town, wasn’t she?” Jurgen muttered. In the empty streets beyond Bernauer Strasse, Soviet tanks rolled in and out of view in the direction of Brandenburg Gate: Where was the answering military presence from the West? He turned, hoping to see British or American troops: on a far-off corner, a pair of French soldiers watched the growing crowd but made no attempt to move closer. Surely, they had to intervene?

Uli turned back to the barbed wire and his heart lurched: there, coming down Brunnenstrasse, was Lise. He shouted her name and waved to catch her attention: she turned and lifted her arm in response.

Uli leaped down from the car and made his way toward the wire. He muscled past men and women with Jurgen in his wake, rising onto his toes to keep Lise in his sights.

A shout rang up behind him—“Fascists!”—and the crowd surged forward. He stumbled, and a West Berlin police officer caught him before he hit the ground.

“Watch yourself.”

Uli straightened. “My fiancée. She’s in the East,” he began, hearing in his voice the panic he was trying, and falling, to quell. On the opposite side of the wire, Lise was pushing forward too, her pale head visible as she tried to reason with a Grenztruppe. “I need to speak with her, if you could just let me through, she’s right there—”

The officer’s expression was pitying and fearful in equal measure. “I have my orders. No one is to approach the barrier,” he said. Across the wire, a second Grenztruppe turned his head, listening to their conversation over his shoulder. “They’re operating within East Berlin, we have no jurisdiction to intervene—”

“They’re tearing the city apart!” Uli shouted, his rational mind reeling against the sheer absurdity of what was in front of him. He took another step, searching for a break in the wire. “If I could just talk to her—”

The officer’s grip on Uli’s arms was mercilessly hard. “If you want to start the next world war, keep going,” he hissed, before shoving Uli back. “There’s nothing I can do, mate. Take it up with Walter Ulbricht.”

He stumbled into Jurgen, trembling with a rage he’d never felt: an impotence, a helplessness that he’d not experienced since he was a boy.

“Easy…this might only be temporary,” Jurgen said, his hand steady on Uli’s shoulder. “We ought to go to Brandenburg Gate. We might learn more about what this is—there will be reporters, politicians—”

On the other side of the wire, he watched as Lise’s own attempts to reason with a border guard failed: she stepped back, looking distraught. “If Ulbricht really is sealing the border, we need to act now. We need to find a way to get to Lise—bring her across—”

“I know.”

Uli broke off midsentence, wrenching his eyes away from Lise. Jurgen stared at him, resolute, and his steadiness gave ground to Uli’s panic, helped him think beyond his own fear, his own anger.

“We need to act now, but whatever we do, it can’t be here,” Jurgen continued. He was right: they couldn’t push through, not here, where there were so many people, so many sets of eyes. “We find a break in the wire—a gap…” “They can’t be everywhere all at once,” Uli said. “Further along,” Jurgen whispered back, and Uli’s heart quickened. Across the wire, Lise stared at him, and he jerked his head, knowing that Lise would understand—she nodded, and melted back into the crowd.

“C’mon,” he muttered, and he and Jurgen took off down the street.

Buy Links

Harlequin
Bookshop.org
Barnes & Noble
Books A Million
Amazon

Social Links

Author Website
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/brynturnbullwrites/?hl=en
X: https://x.com/brynturnbull
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/brynturnbullwrites/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19389611.Bryn_Turnbull


Please share your thoughts and leave a comment. I would love to "talk" to you.

Tuesday, November 5, 2024

The Ghost Cat

The Ghost Cat by Alex Howard
Title:
  The Ghost Cat
Author:  Alex Howard
Publication Information:  Hanover Square Press. 2024. 272 pages.
ISBN:  1335012338 / 978-1335012333

Rating:   ★★

Book Source:  I received this book through NetGalley free of cost in exchange for an honest review.

Opening Sentence:  "The tick-tick of Mr. Calvert's wrist chronometer echoed through the wide living room of 7/7 Marchmont Crescent."

Favorite Quote:  "I'm starting to think this cat knows something we don't..."

BLOG TOUR


Review

History through a cat's eyes. We have heard a cat has nine lives. Grimalkin, a cat in a particular home in Edinburgh becomes a ghost. He dies but is given the chance to come back as a ghost cat and cycle through his nine lives.

He goes through his nine lives as a ghost, observing but not meant to participate. Each life is over a decade apart, and each begins in the same house in Marchmont Crescent in Edinburgh. Each of his "ghostings" shows the reader a glimpse of a period in history - a moment in time. As the beginning of the book states, his nine lives are broken into three components:  "3 for staying, 3 for straying and 3 for playing." Each is about his observations of and attempts to influence the human environment that surrounds him - some kindly and some not so much.

This book feels simultaneously too long and too short. It is too short because, at under 200 pages, nine lives is a lot of ground to cover. As some of the book covers state, "12 decades, 9 lives, 1 cat." This cat lives through 120 years (from 1902 to late 2020s). Each of Grimalkin's ghostings feels too brief to really settle into the story of a time period or invest in the story of that vignette. Each section ends up more vignette - an image - rather than a developed story. It seems to skim not just the history but also the characters and story. Interestingly, even the "history" is focused on decor and fashion, which is understandable as that is what the cat witnesses in its limited environment.

The book is too long for the same reason. As a reader, I don't invest in the characters or the timeline because of the short vignettes. The characters are the only continuity between the sections. As such without investing in the characters, the book becomes a far too long a walk through historical facts. Because the book is more about the history through Grimalkin's eyes, it is slow paced, making it seem even longer. Because Grimalkin is a ghost, he does not interact with the environment. Because he is a cat, there is not much verbal communication. As such, much of the story is "told" as a monologue rather than "shown". That makes the pace seem even slower.

Sadly, by the end, I find myself not the reader for this book. It was a unique idea. However, it ends up not quite what I expected.

About the Book

For fans of Before the Coffee Gets Cold and How to Stop Time, a charming novel by TikTok sensation Alex Howard that follows a cat through his nine lives in Edinburgh, moving through the ever-changing city and its inhabitants over centuries.

Early morning, 1902. In a gloomy Edinburgh tenement, Eilidh the charlady tips coal into a fire grate and sets it alight. Overhearing, a cat ambles over to curl up against the welcome heat.

This is to be the cat's last day on earth. But he is going to return... as The Ghost Cat, a spirit-feline destined to live out his ghostly existence according to the medieval proverb of "The Cat with Nine Lives" - For Three He Plays, For Three He Strays, For Three He Stays.

Follow The Ghost Cat as he witnesses the changes of the next two centuries as he purrs, shuffles and sniffs his way through the fashion, politics and technological advances of the modern era alongside the ever-changing inhabitants of an Edinburgh tenement.

As we follow our new spirit-feline friend, this unique story unearths some startling revelations about the mystery of existence and the human condition and provides a feel-good read full of charm for any fan of history, humour and fur-ridden fun.

About the Author

Alex Howard is an author, editor and theatre professional from Edinburgh. His TikTok page, Housedoctoralex, has nearly 300,000 followers and his been featured on television and in the national press. A doctoral graduate of English literature, Alex wrote his first book Library Cat (B&W Publishing) while completing his PhD. It won the People’s Book Prize in 2017, and has been translated into French, Korean and Italian. He also writes poetry, which has been published in New Writing Scotland, Gutter and The London Magazine, among others, and his academic book Larkin’s Travelling Spirit was published in 2021 by Palgrave McMillan.

Excerpt

Excerpted from The Ghost Cat by Alex Howard, Copyright © 2024 by Alex Howard. Published by Hanover Press.

FIRST HAUNTING,

APRIL 1909

On the morning of his first haunting, Grimalkin felt supple and alive; more alive, in fact, than he’d ever felt as a sentient breathing Victorian cat.

He had landed in 1909 with a thump. Rather than having to acclimatize his senses to the eerie, misty environment of Cat-sìth’s waterfall, the transition through time felt immediate, as if he had been dropped from a huge height. Suddenly, he was just there…sitting back on a fine oak table in the bay window of 7/7 Marchmont Crescent. With one turn of the head, he could see the whole street: there were the communal gardens opposite, tucked behind filigreed iron railings and sweeping off to the right as the street disappeared into a tree smudged infinity. It was clearly springtime as the trees opposite were bursting with taut little pods of pink blossom. Glimpsed at intervals along the street, the odd horse and carriage loitered while awaiting the emergence of passengers from tenement doors, their oil-painting-like stillness disturbed only when the horses tugged against the reins or stamped on the cobbles with an irritated clop. Above, purple clouds huddled tightly, their edges yellow where the sun tried its best to pierce through. The cobbles were dark with the wetness of a recent shower. Grimalkin knew these showers well, having often bolted in from the garden when they struck, only to stare longingly out of this very window as the Edinburgh sun burst out again, making steam rise off the carriage tops below. It was a familiar and heart-warming scene; one Grimalkin could happily gaze at for hours in Victorian times, particularly if it was mating season and the pigeons were out on the sandstone sill, cooing and clucking tantalizingly close, almost within swiping distance.

Well, nothing has changed! thought Grimalkin suddenly, with a pang of disappointment. That Cat-sìth charlatan has merely returned me to Victoria’s reign! Why, I have been duped! Ah…ah, ah steady on, wait…

He turned his gaze back into the belly of the room. His eyes widened and his back fur prickled upward in shock. Here, everything was different. In place of the somber damask wallpaper of his Victorian youth, the walls had been painted a pure, apple-green. Rather than great mirrors and huge paintings, little artworks studded the walls in clusters. Most of them appeared to feature the same fairy-like woman in billowing white robes. French? Dutch? Grimalkin wasn’t sure. There was a soft hiss emanating from the room…somewhere on the wall? Somewhere above? Grimalkin’s ears twitched furiously. Yes, there! In the center of the ceiling, the chandelier had been removed. In its place there hung a little brass sconce that breathed out an orangey flame behind a smoked-glass lampshade. Above it, the formerly pristine ceiling rose had turned black with tarry soot and Grimalkin could feel the dryness of the gas-heated air rasp at his throat.

They think they’re being clever, he thought, eyeing the ceiling rose. They will struggle to beat a good coal fire for efficiency and comfort!

Fancy bow-fronted armchairs, settees and cabinets squatted about the floor, upon which books and papers were piled up into dubious little towers. On a side table, a looking glass and moustache comb rested beside an open snuff box. Apart from the flicker of the blue flame, everything was perfectly still as if frozen by some kind of spell.

Humph, apologies Cat-sìth… I see there HAS been a change…

How can so much change in just seven years? Was Eilidh still tending the fires? It made Grimalkin feel eerie looking at it all: this room where he drew his final breaths had become a lens into the future. He was suddenly struck with the sense that this whole business of time travel might turn out to be rather more taxing on his brain than he’d initially thought.

But something else was different—Grimalkin himself. As he stood on the table, his paws perfectly centered, he became suddenly aware of a complete absence of pain. The arthritic throb in his back and legs had vanished. His left rear leg and flank, always a focus of curiosity to Marchmont Crescent’s visitors owing to its bright marmalade hue, had lost its oily aged texture and become velveteen again, like a fox cub’s tail. Down at the point where his paw hinged from the base of his leg, the little bald patch that had so long been the recreation ground for a particularly stubborn army of fleas, was now smooth and itch-free.

Could it be that my ghosting role has rid me of the pestilence? If so, praise be!

Grimalkin rewarded the discovery with a wash. Gazing at the windowpane, he was shocked to discover he couldn’t see his reflection. However, as he rose and arched his back with ease, and felt the springiness of his ears as they pinged up each time he sent a damp paw across them, and glimpsed his perfectly pink toe pads, he could tell he had become young again. He couldn’t see his eyes, but were he able to, he would have guessed that they were no longer rheumy and grayish and that his whiskers were sharp and unjagged again. And he would have been right.

My word, I’m veritably juvenile! he thought, stretching up his tail like a broom handle. A potent, virile pride washed across him: he was a looker again, an Adonis of cats…a youthful, muscular mouser whose iron claw had once commanded the envy and respect of all the cats in the neighborhood. He rose to his paws and turned a large vainglorious circle on the table, his ears pricked up into sharp triangles. He leaped onto the back of an armchair, his supernatural paws making no noise whatsoever as they landed on the polished oak. He felt positively ageless, neither kitten nor adult…with all the vim and energy of the former but with the latter’s acuity of mind.

I feel in the most capital of moods! May I be a spirit-puss FOREVER MORE!

Suddenly a noise. From over his shoulder there came the familiar creak of the living room door lock turning. Grimalkin spun around. A short, narrow-shouldered man entered the room in a silver-swirled Jacquard waistcoat. The man strode over to the bay window as if about to pull open the sashes, before turning back and making a sudden stop in the middle of the room, as if he’d been halted by a police constable. He then proceeded to bounce on the balls of his feet, his hands clenching and unclenching, and his eyes darting around the room frantically. At one point, he appeared to look directly in Grimalkin’s direction, though could see nothing of him of course. What caught Grimalkin’s feline attention most of all, however, was the perfect little mustache that crossed the man’s top lip, its ends waxed up into points, like a mouse’s tail. It seemed to jiggle in perfect time with the man’s nervous energy as he bounced up and down on the spot. Stiffly, the man flopped down on the settee, placing one leg over the other with a dandy-like flourish, the fingers on his right hand patting a little ditty on the settee cushion, in an ongoing attempt to calm himself.

The man of the house? mused Grimalkin, for the man moved with the ease of a gentleman who knows he is unobserved in his own space; a rich man; an entitled man who has the wealth and means to live, by and large, as he pleases…

The man closed his eyes and let out a big sigh through lips circled into an O-shape.

There was a jumpiness to the way he moved around, which, along with his scruffy waistcoat, misaligned collar and limp bow tie, made up the sort of human that would put any cat ill at ease. His fingers were continually tap-tap-tapping, and Grimalkin was convinced he was the type who went about their business far too quickly as if there was a fire around every corner, or a bear careening up the stairwell, or a marauding army of Jacobites about to scale the tenement walls. This behavior was at odds with Grimalkin’s, who, like all Victorian cats, knew a thing or two about taking his time and tending to his appearance properly. It was like being around a jack-in-the-box… an awful spring-loaded human who could leap and surprise at any moment and positively ruin a good slumber.

I wish he’d bally-well SLOW DOWN. Such unrestful behavior!

It didn’t help matters that there appeared to be something on the man’s mind. Something important.

A thought occurred to Grimalkin. He cannot see me, but I wonder if he can hear me? With that, he opened his mouth and let out a gentle, but concerted purr-mew.

Prrrrrp? Prrrrrrrrrrrrrr—woaw?

But the man did not respond.

Silence briefly filled the space between cat and man as the gentleman took a pipe from his breast pocket. Drumming his fingers, he plucked a tin from a little adjacent table from which he extracted a healthy amount of stringy tobacco and a box of matches. Striking one of the matches, he guided the flame to the two gas lamps that curled out from the mantelpiece like the necks of swans. Blue-yellow flames leaped out from the sconces as the lit match approached, spurting like fiery dragon breath, and reflecting for a moment on the man’s forehead.

“Heavens Archie, man, pull yourself together!” blurted the gentleman to himself, tossing his tobacco box back on the side table. “You’re a publisher, for God’s sake. He should fear you if anything. Just be civil. J. M. Barrie. Humph! So, he’s started doing well for himself. Well, who hasn’t in this day and age? The whole world’s on the make what with motorcars and electric lights and God knows what else! J. M. Barrie? Why, he’s just like everybody else! And I need not fear him; you hear that Archie, ol’ bean? You need not fear him.” The man fell silent for a moment. Grimalkin scrutinized his brow to see if any secrets of his character lurked there.

“Prrrrrpppppppp…” said Grimalkin, this time a little louder. No, he cannot hear me. For three he stays, for three he strays, for three he plays. I am only meant to observe in this age…with no poltergeist capabilities, and perhaps no power to roam beyond this flat either. This gentleman and I shall have to get better acquainted.

Unseen observation felt exciting to Grimalkin: the thrill of the gaze, unthreatened, with the only prospect of pain being that which is emotional, rather than physical…the chance to witness the unvarnished truth of the ages! He wanted to find out what happened and who this J. M. Barrie character was. Evidently, he was a writer of some sort, though not one Grimalkin had ever heard of during Queen Victoria’s reign. There had been piles of books he’d slept on and, occasionally, perused, back in the 19th century; but they had all been written by a certain Robert Louis Stevenson who was preoccupied with lighthouses, or Elizabeth Gaskell, who was obsessed with wizened old clerks and long descriptions of dirty mills that, frankly, made Grimalkin’s whiskers droop.

With a moody burst of energy, the man procured a walking cane from underneath the settee which he used to jab a wooden button, mounted just to the right of the fireplace. On pushing this, a bell chimed down the hall. There followed a padding of feet. And from those feet alone, Grimalkin could tell who was approaching…the mere dance of that noise into his ears made him slowblink in fondness. Eilidh.

The doorknob turned, and in came Eilidh herself, the same boar-bristle brush in her hand, and the same flushed face, like a little rosy moon, under the same white headdress. Unchanged. She smiled and turned to the master.

“Yes, sir? Can I help ye?” A delicious scent came with her into the room: one of her famous pies was in the oven, known throughout Edinburgh for its exquisite taste. She breathed heavily. It was then Grimalkin noticed the first signs of age: she was a little wider about the shoulders and her eyes, though still sparkling, had lost their youthful, girlish twinkle. The pompadour hairstyle had gone; instead, her hair was pulled back in a matronly style that Grimalkin suspected offered maximum practicality for her work and nothing else. Her skin had become thicker, too, and those once perfectly pink cheeks had lost some of their porcelain tautness. But Eilidh’s hands were perhaps the biggest change—the skin was cracking about the knuckles, which had clearly become arthritic, and the undersides were so red that Grimalkin suspected they must bleed often. Despite this, her fingernails remained scrupulously clean, the progress of years clearly doing nothing to her habit of scrubbing them free of coal dust after each shift. Oh, Eilidh! The same sweet maid who found Grimalkin in Thirlestane Lane stables, and tended to him throughout his young life, right up to his dying day in 1902!
  

Buy Links

HarperCollins: https://www.harpercollins.com/products/the-ghost-cat-alex-howard?variant=41281231061026
Bookshop: https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-ghost-cat-original-alex-howard/20842988?ean=9781335012333
Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-ghost-cat-alex-howard/1142352539?ean=9781335012333&st=AFF&2sid=HarperCollins%20Publishers%20LLC_7310909_NA&sourceId=AFFHarperCollins%20Publishers%20LLC
Amazon: https://www.amazon.ca/s?k=9781335012333&tag=hcg-02-20

Social Links

Author Website: https://alexhoward.org/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/199361308-the-ghost-cat
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@alexhoward_?lang=en
X (Twitter): https://twitter.com/alexwritings
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/housedoctoralex/
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/theedinburghginnel


Please share your thoughts and leave a comment. I would love to "talk" to you.

Monday, November 4, 2024

The Banned Books Club

The Banned Books Club by Brenda Novak
Title:
  The Banned Books Club
Author:  Brenda Novak
Publication Information:  MIRA. 2024. 352 pages.
ISBN:  0778387321 / 978-0778387329

Rating:   ★★★

Book Source:  I received this book through NetGalley and a publisher's blog tour free of cost in exchange for an honest review.

Opening Sentence:  "Wait... you're not still running that book club you started in high school, are you?"

Favorite Quote:  "We might not agree with the stances she takes, but there has to be someone willing to fight people who ban good books and do other stupid things."

BLOG TOUR


Review

The book does offer a nod to banned books. "It's the stories that make us the most uncomfortable that are often targeted; the ones that shine a light on things we'd rather not see. And yet exposure to these stories and the ideas they contain have the power to expand our understanding and make us more empathetic and better human beings. It's a closed mind that threatens society, not an open book."

However, a book titled "The Banned Books Club" sadly has very little to do with books - banned or otherwise. One of the main characters - now a middle aged adult - once started a banned book club in high school This became a facet of her relationship with a teacher and with certain other students in the high school and her own sister. Gia grew up and moved aways. Several of those in her high school - including her sister - stayed in the same small town in which they grew up. Now, Gia is back, due to mother's illness and her sister's request. Coming home rekindles old relationships and opens old wounds.

Trigger warnings - This book does deal with serious issues. The book description itself lists sexual misconduct by a teacher towards a student, a serious illness, and things that may lie behind a supposedly "perfect" life and marriage.

The books description itself also provides the ending... "she finds love and a future in the town she thought had rejected her."

There is not much surprise in the plot. Most of Gia's story stems from the events of the past - the actions of a trusted teacher, Gia's courage in coming forward, the division of a town where some believed her and some did not, and the carry forward of that division to the present day.

It is actually Margot's story that is more present day. Yet, it is presented in the background of and in its impact on Gia. Margot stays in the small town, gets married, raises her family, and takes care of her aging parents. She is the "good" girl. Yet, her life - in the present - carries its own burdens. Margot takes action - the first of which is to get Gia to come home. In so many ways, this book should have been more Margot's story. A woman finding the strength to create change to protect both herself and her children. However, based on the book description and the telling of the story, the book remains primarily Gia's story.

That aside, I appreciate any book that brings any attention - if just by title - to the dangers of banning books.

About the Book

For fans of Elin Hilderbrand, a riveting exploration of family, sisterhood, and the transformative power of literature. When two sisters, one a free spirit at the helm of a rebellious book club, the other a conventional woman locked in the clutches of an unhappy marriage are forced into a reluctant reunion by their mother's illness, they must confront past ghosts that rock the entire community.

Gia Rossi was considered a bit of a rebel in her small hometown of Wakefield, Iowa ever since she challenged the gaggle of well-meaning but misguided women from the PTA who’d insisted the high school English department, drop a number of "controversial" titles from the reading list. Gia had expected her favorite teacher to stand up for the books she loved by explaining why they were so important. Instead, just to avoid a fight, he’d caved in immediately, which was what had incited her to start The Banned Books Club.

That was the first time Mr. Hart had let her down, but it wouldn’t be the last. Because of him she left her hometown when she turned eighteen and graduated. But now, with her sister begging her to return home due to their mother's failing health, Gia will come face to face with the beloved teacher who was fired after she reported him for sexual misconduct. Gia's return has the town divided between those who believe her and those who believe she ruined Mr. Hart's life. Even members of her beloved book club--who've continued to meet virtually over the years--aren't sure who to believe.

Gia's homecoming dredges up a lot of pain from her past. Her relationship with her sister has always been strained but there's no denying that Margot has taken on the burden of caring for their mother and now it's Gia's turn to help. She's grateful to have the time with her mother and to come to terms with what happened to her in high school. What she doesn't expect is for her sister to use Gia's arrival as the opportunity to pack up her kids and leave town to escape her emotionally abusive husband. With the support of an unlikely ally, Gia is able to prove that Mr. Hart really was to blame for his own downfall, supports her mother and her sister when they need her most and finds love and a future in the town she thought rejected her.

About the Author

Brenda Novak, a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author, has penned over sixty novels. She is a five-time nominee for the RITA Award and has won the National Reader's Choice, the Bookseller's Best, the Bookbuyer's Best, and many other awards. She also runs Brenda Novak for the Cure, a charity to raise money for diabetes research (her youngest son has this disease). To date, she’s raised $2.5 million. For more about Brenda, please visit www.brendanovak.com.

Excerpt

Excerpted from THE BANNED BOOKS CLUB by Brenda Novak. Copyright © 2024 by Brenda Novak. Published by MIRA Books, an imprint of HarperCollins.

“Wait…you’re not still running that book club you started in high school, are you?”

Gia Rossi had been shopping at her local grocer when her sister called. “I’ve never really stopped. Not completely.” She switched her phone to her other ear, so she could use her more dexterous left hand to steer her empty shopping cart across the parking lot to the reclamation point.

“Most of the members weren’t your friends. They were just people who blindly followed you no matter what you did,” her sister pointed out drily.

Was there a hint of jealousy in that response? Margaret, who’d been known as Maggie when they were kids but now called herself a more distinguished Margot, was only thirteen months younger than Gia, so just one year behind her in school. Margot hadn’t been nearly as popular—but it was because she’d never done anything exciting. She’d been part of the academic group, too busy excelling to be going out having fun.

“A few of them were close friends,” Gia insisted. “Ruth, Sammie and a handful of others are still in the book club with me, and we rotate picking a read.”

“Seriously? It’s been seventeen years since you graduated. I thought you left them and everything else behind when you dropped out of college and took off for Alaska.”

Her sister never would’ve done something that reckless, that impulsive—or that ill-advised. Gia had walked away from a volleyball scholarship at the University of Iowa, which was part of the reason her family had freaked out. But she was glad she’d made that decision. She treasured the memories of freewheeling her way through life in her twenties, learning everything she could while working on crabbing and fishing boats and for various sightseeing companies. She wouldn’t have the business she owned now, with a partner, if not for that experience. “No. We fell off for a bit, then we went back to it, then we fell off again, and now we meet on Zoom to discuss the book we’re reading on the fourth Thursday of every month.” She lowered her voice for emphasis. “And, of course, we make sure it’s the most scandalous book we can find.”

Margot had never approved of the book group or anything else Gia did—and that hadn’t changed over the years, which was why Gia couldn’t resist needling her.

“I’m sure you do,” Margot said, but she didn’t react beyond a slightly sour tone. She’d grown adept at avoiding the kind of arguments that used to flare up between them, despite Gia sometimes baiting her. “So seven or eight out of what…about sixty are active again?”

“For one month out of the year, the ratio’s quite a bit better than that,” she said as the shopping cart clanged home, making her feel secure enough to walk away from it. “The rest of the group gets together for an online Christmas party in December.”

“How many people come to that?”

Margot sounded as if she felt left out, but she’d never shown any interest in the book group. “Probably fifteen or twenty, but it’s not always the same fifteen or twenty.” She opened the door to her red Tesla Model 3, which signaled the computer to start the heater—something she was grateful for since she hadn’t worn a heavy enough coat for the brisk October morning. Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, didn’t usually turn this cold until November or December.

The car’s Bluetooth picked up the call as Margot asked, “Why haven’t you ever mentioned it?”

Now that they lived thirteen hundred miles apart, there were a lot of things she didn’t tell her sister. It wasn’t until she’d left her hometown behind that she’d felt she could live a truly authentic life—one without the constant unfavorable comparisons to her “perfect” sibling.

But that wasn’t why she hadn’t mentioned the book group. She’d assumed her sister wouldn’t want to hear about it. Margot had been mortified when Gia challenged the gaggle of well-meaning but misguided women from the PTA who’d descended on Room 23 on Back-to-School Night, insisting Mr. Hart, head of the English department, drop The Catcher in the Rye, The Outsiders and The Handmaid’s Tale from the Honors English reading list. Gia had expected her favorite teacher to stand up for the books she loved by explaining why they were so important. She’d known how much he’d loved those books, too. Instead, just to avoid a fight, he’d caved in immediately, which was what had incited her to start a club that championed the books they’d targeted—as well as others.

That was the first time Mr. Hart had let her down, but it wouldn’t be the last. “If you’d ever joined the club, you’d be on the email list,” she said as she backed out of the parking space.

“I would’ve, but you know me. I don’t really read.”

Her sister would not have joined. The Banned Books Club was far too controversial for Margot. It would’ve required a bit of rebellion—something she seemed incapable of. And maybe she didn’t read much fiction, but Gia knew her to consume the occasional self-help tome. That was probably how she reassured herself she was still the best person she knew, because if there was anyone who didn’t need a self-help book, it was Margot. Their parents’ expectations were more than enough to create her boundaries.

“You should try reading along with us now and then. It might broaden your horizons.” As good as Margot was, she had a mind like a steel trap—one that was always closed, especially when faced with any information that challenged what she already believed. She lived inside a bubble of confirmation bias; the only facts and ideas that could permeate it were those that supported her world view.

“I’m happy with my horizons being right where they are, thank you.”

“You don’t see the limitations?”

“Are you trying to offend me?” she asked.

Gia bit back a sigh. That was the difference between them. Margot would sacrifice anything to maintain her position as their parents’ favorite child, to gain the approval of others, especially her husband, and be admired by the community at large. Growing up, she’d kept her room tidy, gotten straight As and played the piano in church. And these days, she was a stay-at-home mom with two children, someone who made a “hot dish”—what most people outside the Midwest would call a casserole—for any neighbor, friend or acquaintance who might be having surgery or suffering some kind of setback.

Her conventionalism was—in certain ways—something to be admired. As the black sheep of the family, Gia knew better than to try to compete with Margot. That wasn’t possible for someone who couldn’t take anything at face value. She had to question rules, challenge authority and play devil’s advocate at almost every opportunity, which was why she was surprised that her sister had been trying, for the past two weeks, to convince her to come home for the winter. Their mother’s health had been declining since she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer. It was at stage four before they discovered it, and the doctors had done what they could, but Ida hadn’t responded to treatment. Margot claimed their mother wasn’t going to last much longer, that Gia should spend a few months with her before it was too late. But Gia was surprised Margot would risk the peace and contentment they all seemed to enjoy without her.

Gia wasn’t sure she could go back to the same family dynamic she found so damaging, regardless. She and her business partner ran a helicopter sightseeing company for tourists and flew hunters and fishermen in and out of the remote wilderness—but Backcountry Adventures was closed during the coldest months, from November to February. She would soon have the time off, so getting away from work wouldn’t be a problem. It was more that when she was in Wakefield, the walls seemed to close in around her. It simply got too damn hard to breathe. “Fine,” she grumbled. “Don’t answer that question. But speaking of limitations, how’s Sheldon?”

“Seriously, Gia? I’m going to assume you didn’t mean to ask about him in that way,” her sister stated flatly.

There was no love lost between Gia and her brother-in-law. She hated the way he controlled Margot, how he could spend money on hunting or fishing or buying a new camper, but her sister had to scrape and bow for a new pair of jeans. Margot explained it was because he earned all the money, that he was trying to be a good “manager” by giving her such a tight budget so the business would be successful and they’d have money to retire in old age, but to Gia, it seemed that Margot was making all the sacrifices. Stingy was stingy, and yet he was the one who wanted Margot at home, waiting for him with a hot meal at the end of the day. Their boys, Matthew and Greydon, were eight and six, both in school. Margot could work part-time, at least, establish something of her own, if Sheldon wasn’t calling all the shots.

“It was a joke.” Gia really didn’t want to cause problems in her sister’s marriage. Margot insisted she was happy, although if that were her life, Gia probably would’ve grabbed her kids and stormed out of the house—for good—long ago.

“He’s doing great. He’s been busy.”

“It’s deer hunting season. I assume he’s going.”

“Next week.”

And what will you do—stay home and take care of the kids and the house while he’s gone? Gia wanted to ask, but this time she managed to bite her tongue. “He’s going to Utah again?”

“Yeah. They go there every year. One of his buddies grew up in Moab.”

“Last winter, Sheldon’s business slowed down a bit, so I’m surprised to hear you say he’s been busy.”

“That was the economy in general. All trucking companies took a hit. I don’t think the same thing’s going to happen this year, though. He just bought two new semis and is hiring more drivers.”

“He’s quite the businessman.” Gia rolled her eyes at her own words. He hadn’t built the trucking business; he’d inherited it from his parents, who remained heavily involved, which was probably what saved it from ruin. But thankfully, Margot seemed to take her words at face value.

“I’m proud of him.”

He was proud of himself, could never stop talking about his company, his toys, his prowess at hunting or four-wheeling or any other “manly” pursuit. Gia was willing to bet she could out-hunt him if she really wanted to, but the only kind of shots she was willing to take were with her camera.

Still, she was glad, in a way, that her sister could buy into the delusion that Sheldon was a prize catch. “That’s what matters,” she said as she pulled into the drive of her two-bedroom condo overlooking Mill River. The conversation was winding down. She’d already asked about the boys while she was in the grocery store—they were healthy and happy. She was going to have to ask about Ida before the conversation ended, so she figured she might as well get it over with. “And how are Mom and Dad?”

Her sister’s voice dropped an octave, at least. “That’s actually why I called…”

Gia couldn’t help but tense; it felt like acid was eating a hole in her stomach. “Mom’s taken a turn for the worse?”

“She’s getting weaker every day, G. I—I really think you should come home.”

Closing her eyes, Gia allowed her head to fall back against the seat. Margot couldn’t understand why Gia would resist. But she’d never been able to see anything from Gia’s perspective.

“G?” her sister prompted.

Gia drew a deep breath. She could leave Idaho a few weeks before they closed the business. Eric would cover for her. She’d worked two entire months for him when his daughter was born. She had the money, too. There was no good excuse not to return and support her family as much as possible—and if this was the end, say goodbye to her mother. But Gia knew that would mean dealing with everything she’d left behind.

“You still there?”

Gathering her resolve, Gia climbed out of the car. “Sorry. My Bluetooth cut out.”

“Did you hear me? Is there any chance you’d consider coming home, if only for a few weeks?”

Gia didn’t see that she had any choice. She’d never forgive herself if her mother died and she hadn’t done all she could to put things right between them. She wished she could continue procrastinating her visit. But the cancer made it impossible. “Of course. Just…just as soon as I finish up a few things around here.”

“How long will that take you?”

“Only a day or two.”

“Thank God,” her sister said with enough relief that Gia knew she couldn’t back out now.

What was going on? Why would having her in Wakefield matter so much to Margot?

“I’ll pick you up from the airport,” her sister continued. “Just tell me when you get in.”

“I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve made the arrangements.”

Buy Links

HarperCollins: https://www.harpercollins.com/products/the-banned-books-club-brenda-novak
BookShop.org: https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-banned-books-club-original-brenda-novak/20991020
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-banned-books-club-brenda-novak/1144493947?ean=2940190812299
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Banned-Books-Club-Novel/dp/0778387321

Social Links

Author website: https://brendanovak.com/
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