This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

Well, I finally did it. I read this book. I have been so hesitant because the hype for this one is legitimately beyond real and I just figured there’s no way it stands up. Plus, I can’t lie, without the hype, it’s not one that I would for sure pick up just after reading the description, so that added to my hesitancy. But… One of the prompts for The Reading Women Challenge 2020 (prompt #19) is a book that is “frequently recommended to you.” This could have been a lot of books, truthfully, but after a Holiday party for my gym last year, at which I stood in a circle of people all talking about books we’ve read/loved (yup, cause that’s how good I am at parties) and every single person there had read and loved this one except me (and they all urged me to go for it), this one had to be my choice.

Kya Clark is known as the Marsh Girl. Abandoned by her family as a young girl in the early 1950s in the marshes on the coast of NC, she basically raises herself, learning to survive alone, with only the gulls and other marsh nature as her friends. But she’s not the feral creature everyone supposes, rather she is shy and sensitive, looking for a family/friends that won’t leave her like everyone else has. And when a single town-dweller her age, a boy named Tate, starts to visit her, teaching her to read and learn about her surroundings not just through experience, but book research as well, she grows into an intelligent, though still very removed, young woman. Years later, when the nearby town’s “golden boy,” Chase Andrews, is found dead in the marsh, the town suspicions are immediately drawn to this mysterious and different “Marsh Girl” as a prime suspect, and Kya is drawn into an investigation and trial for her life.

For all the reviews and summaries of this book I have read, none of it quite prepared me for this book. And I am grateful for that, as it made the reading (or listening, in my case, as I went with the audiobook option) a much cleaner and fuller experience. First, I definitely have to say that the crowning glory of this novel is the way Owens’ writes about the marsh. The love and respect for nature comes through, shining and strong, on every single page. And it’s not just the descriptions of the plant and animal life, though they are gorgeous, but it’s the way that the nature of the marsh-life is written into every aspect of the story, from Kya’s romantic experiences to the unfolding of the murder mystery. It’s pervasive in the smoothest way and beautiful in a way that, despite the many harsh aspects of Kya’s own story, envelopes you in a warm, homey embrace. This juxtaposition of an ode to the beauty of nature and an exploration of some of the harshest realities of humanity is reminiscent of (at least for me) the ode to nature that was such a primary aspect of My Absolute Darling by Gabriel Tallent (a favorite of mine from a few years ago). Overall, too, beyond just the parts about nature, the writing and dialogue were melodious and compelling, and the narrator really did it all justice.

As for the plot itself, there was most going on than I had anticipated. The novel starts being told in two time periods and, back and forth, we learn about Kya’s past and watch as the town’s police discover Chase’s body and starts to gather evidence. The two timelines come together right around when the sheriff feels like there is enough evidence to arrest Kya, and the last quarter, or so, of the book, follows the unfolding of the trial and post-trial events. While there were moments where things felt like they were progressing slowly, at least at the beginning as we get information about Kya’s youngest days, it is important for all that “background” to be fully set and conveyed. Knowing all about her youth, growing up, her experiences with both Tate and Chase…it all paints a picture of this unique character that allows the reader to really feel like we “know” her, as she faces the trial and charges against her. Without that, or by rushing those earlier parts, I think the full weight of the potential consequences wouldn’t have felt as heavy for me, nor would I have been as invested in the outcome. And, let me tell you, I was invested…more than I thought I would be. Also (bear with me, as I attempt to do this without spoilers), I absolutely felt like the jury made the right decision in the trial. It was my opinion from the beginning. Which made the revelations right at the end quite a surprise for me, though not at all unsatisfying ones (in fact, I was exquisitely satisfied by them). And while I have yet to decide whether I think what actually happened was in or out of character for the Kya I “knew,” I am incredibly impressed with Owens’ writing, to make her feel so real that I thought I knew her, and then to make me believe what I thought I knew of her so strongly that I was effectively blinded to other outcomes/options. Slow clap. (Side note: anyone else feel very concerned with how recently in the history of our criminal justice system this preponderance of “circumstantial” evidence is really the only thing that jurors had to go on when making such incredibly important and life-altering decisions?? I kept wanting DNA or fibers testing evidence to be pulled out and it was, frighteningly, nowhere to be found.)

This was truly a lovely piece of historical fiction and natural writing. It was all about atmosphere, with lush character development and setting descriptions that suck into your very bones in the same way that the marsh sunk into Kya herself. I get the hype. For some small reasons, mainly personal preference about genre, this is not a new favorite, yet neither do I feel at all let down…which is no mean feat, considering the size for the expectations this book had to live up to. This is, for sure, a magnificent piece of literature and I am really enjoying the sense of haunting hopefulness I am left with after finishing.

“His dad had told him many times that the definition of a real man is one who cries without shame, reads poetry with his heart, feels opera in his soul, and does what’s necessary to defend a woman.”

“Why should the injured, the still bleeding, bear the onus of forgiveness?”

“Autumn leaves don’t fall; they fly. They take their time and wander on this, their only chance to soar. Reflecting sunlight, they swirled and sailed and fluttered on the wind drafts.”

“Being isolated was one thing. Living in fear was quite another.”

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

“We danced all night. We danced the length of one song. We danced for just a moment. May we be so lucky as to still be dancing under the light of the harvest moon 300 years on.”

You know that feeling when you see a book and the cover just calls to you, and then you read the description and you just know it’s a book you have to read? Maybe? Well, that’s what happened here for me. And that’s really all the intro I have.

We Ride Upon Sticks is all about the 1989 Danvers High School varsity field hockey team. At pre-season camp, they’re pretty horrible, as they historically have been. But when one of their members gets just plain fed up, and turns to some dark forces to turn their season around, the team ends up channeling some vibes that are eerily similar to the (local) Salem, Massachusetts witch trials of popular historical lore. With this newfound power, the season drastically turns around, as do most of the members’ personal lives, and yet there is always that chance that things go a bit too far in these kinds of situations…

This was just a delightful reading experience. It’s basically the girl power satirical 80s homage to counter-match other pop-culture 80s specialties like Ready Player One (which, for the record, I also loved). Chock full of references and deprecating humor, the overall sarcastic tone made for a fully entertaining style from start to finish. I do love sarcasm and snark, especially when it’s well executed (as in, not forced) as it was here. I loved the way the story was told as well, from an omniscient first-person plural – it’s not something I normally see (in fact I don’t know if I’ve ever read a book written from that POV before) and it was spot on perfect for the team-based, possibly paranormal, plot. And on that note, let’s talk about the “possibly paranormal” aspect. I have read exactly one other book that walked the line of “this is all completely, actually, magical” and “it’s all totally explainable and the magic is all in their imaginations” line this well (or really, tried to walk that line at all): Once Upon a River. And though it overall wasn’t my favorite book, I loved that aspect of it. And I loved it here. It’s so awesome to be able to decide for yourself, as the reader, whether or not to believe…and to have either way you decide to read it be a legit and realistic (as it were) interpretation of the story. I went back and forth as I read and was really into that back and forth journey. And at the end of the story, as it were, the growing up and finding themselves, the owning who they are and who they want to be, the breaking out of their shells and pushing of boundaries, the coming-of-age for each of the players is spectacular. It’s all the greatness and terribleness of teenagers, with an extra, original, twist.

One thing to note is that there are a lot of characters in this novel. When I say it’s about the whole team, I mean it. There are no “background” or filler members. Which could easily have gotten overwhelming and confusing. And perhaps the beginning was a little bit. But honestly, the way Barry handled it was really nicely done. Each chapter, as we went through the season, focused both on the next match-up (Danvers vs ________) and one of the team members. So, slowly and digestibly, throughout the novel, we learn about each girl (and one boy) on the team – their family, their heritage, their secret personal goals and feelings, and, of course, their contributions to the dark forces (starting with small innocent pranks and building to larger things like property destruction…and false accusations) that are helping them win out the season. I was surprised by the end how well I had gotten to know, and distinguish the different traits and non-field-hockey interests, of all the players. There was much deeper character development than I had anticipated. However, that did also mean that, sometimes, the pacing dragged a bit (so I was glad to have the audiobook to keep me moving through). In line with that, there was also a much deeper exploration of some more serious cultural aspects, past the big hair and exercise videos and popular actors of the 80s, and into a serious (but still within the sarcastic feel of the rest of the novel) addressing and condemnation of issues related to sexism, racism, stereotyping, and gender/sexuality. Barry demonstrates how, though of course we still have far to go, we have definitely made progress forwards since then. At times those messages border on being a bit heavy-handed, but not too terribly.

One last note: I was not expecting the intellectual level of the parallels drawn between this particular field hockey team and the Salem witch trial girls and, really, extrapolated to close-knit groups of girls everywhere, in every time period. It was mirrored not only in the way the team closed ranks and supported each other, but even down to the “is this real or is it fake” framework of the entire novel. I loved seeing their interplay with each other, their dealings with their inner/personal demons and goals, the variety in their struggles to break out of expectations and how it all matched up with age-old questions of “How far would you go for what you want/what would you do if given that kind of choice and power?.” Anyways, it was all so smoothly interwoven in ways more (like the school play actually being The Crucible, lol) and less obvious and I was just really impressed by the depth and breadth of the connections throughout the novel.

Look, yes, there is a lot of field hockey in this book. And I have to be straight-up: I tried 2 days of field hockey in high school and hated it so much I cried and begged to quit. (Cross country and soccer right here, thank you very much.) BUT, honestly, even though it was so central, and was really talked about a lot, I felt like my personal hatred (and therefore any of your dislike for it/team sports in general) didn’t matter at all. I was so into the rest of it: the team feels, the sorta supernatural, the coming of age, the drama and snark, the 80s references – it was all worth it. There were some aspects that I felt could have been better, regarding the pacing and the density of some of the writing, but overall, this was such a completely unique and clever story, funny and fresh, with wonderful characters and a great nostalgic and recognizable “growing up as girls” camaraderie that you just sometimes really crave revisiting.

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

This memoir was published just over a year ago and I think I may be one of the last people (at least on bookstagram) to read it. But let me tell you, it’s both worth the wait and not one to let linger on an unread TBR shelf for a second longer than is necessary. This is one of the best books (definitely the best memoir…sorry to push you aside, Born a Crime) that I’ve ever read. And despite my insanely high expectations from all the other astoundingly positive reviews, and after being really into Machado’s writing in her short story collection Her Body and Other Parties, it still managed to exceed them all.

If you aren’t aware, this is Machado’s memoir of her time in an abusive same-sex relationship, suffering mental and emotional and verbal and, sometimes, physical abuse at the hands of an ex-girlfriend. In addition to a deeply and traumatically articulate reflection of that time in her life, Machado also manages to give the reader an overview of the history and culture around abuse in queer (especially and specifically lesbian, wlw) relationships. And she does it all while also mixing in gothic and fairy-tale like references and vibes that both emphasize the feeling of removal from the real world she experienced and increase the impact on the reader, with a illustrative and comprehensive understanding of the mental/emotional toll of such a lived experience.

This is one of those books that had me highlighting passages and taking notes on almost every page while reading, so instead of trying to organize everything into a more cohesive traditional review, I’m going to just give you a bullet-pointed list of my thoughts and reactions. And of course, I’ll end with my typical (and in this case quite long) selection of quotes that I was most affected by.
- Hot damn that prologue. Talking about what is missing from history because so many voices were not deemed worthy of archive or safe enough to speak out. What a way to set it up/start off.
- Such powerful language. The precise perfection of each word, each turn of phrase, to gather such large emotions and realities into such concise chapters/sections.
- The way memory is connected to place is communicated with astounding visceral-ness. Wow.
- I love the way each snippet’s title leads into/explains/clarifies what follows.
- The connection of low self-esteem, of being grateful for what you can get, amazed at your “luck” and the related psychology of why someone stays could not be clearer (or more upsetting) to read. It cannot have been easy to write about/come to terms with, especially with the role of societal judgment not only in that self-worth to begin with but also after, when “how come you didn’t just leave” is bandied about. The strength Machado shows in these pages is astounding.
- An important theme throughout: the right of a group of people to have their humanity fully represented: not just the bad (to vilify) and not just the pure (as argument for worthy of recognition), but as it all, as human beings. Very affecting.
- I loved the Bluebeard section, its imagery and messaging that grabs hold and terrifies. And moving on from there, really liked (in general) the continuous thematic connections of the unreality of living in an abusive relationship paralleling the many references to myths and fairy tales and fiction tropes. It’s a great academic way to distance from and yet closely examine these experiences. Over and over I made notes along these lines: amazing and horrifying parallels of fiction and dislocation.
- A damning indictment of the lesbian utopia myth and resulting ignorance of lesbian abuse; a critical look at the “insufficiency of this idealism.” Thinking through acknowledgement of how the fight to be “allowed” to have that relationship to begin with leads to a gratefulness that will not allow for admittance of failings/the “darker” side because to do so would make queer people look bad/prove negative stereotypes. But then, experiencing queer relationship abuse leads to even further, deeper, betrayal that someone would ruin what you had to fight so much harder for in the first place. Plus, she discusses so well the way that those “on the fringe” have to be so much better that those in the mainstream, to receive still only a fraction of the success/acceptance is a very universal struggle – and the struggle to have your humanity recognized leads, in turn, to showing that humanity, which works against you in the greater struggle. What a freaking ridiculous and unfair set-up for us to have accepted as the “norm.”
- The entire chapter on the history of “battered” women in lesbian relationships and the myopic focus on the physical forms, especially in the eyes of the law, is fascinating and horrifying and a little bit darkly funny (as far as mental gymnastics and cognitive dissonance for the straight/cis majority goes). I learned a lot from this section and got myself pointed in the direction I need to go in to learn even more.
- The stylistic jumping back and forth in time and focus (personal versus cultural) of the snippets truly felt like it embodied the spirit of the memoir. It felt right.
- The circularity and repetition and lack of an out in the choose your own adventure is such a poignant metaphor/symbol for communicating the reality of an abusive relationship. So creative, so distressingly poignant.
- The way Machado communicates the despair, the stuck-ness, is perfect, painful, heart-wrenching; piercing flickers of images/moments/metaphors/recognitions/insights. Her grasp of language and communication is honestly incomparable.
- Related: It was so impactful, the way she was able to communicate the way the power of the abuser works, how the mind games play out, the way the abuser can twist and change words and interactions to fit their needs and POV and it completely overpowers the reality and memories of the abused.
- Her internal exploration of all the “reasons” and contributing factors, from the internal/personal to the familial to the cultural to the situational to the societal (and more), that she can find to try to explain how she ended up in that relationship situation is…just wow. And heart-wrenchingly relatable. Because there’s nothing “special,” really, in her situation, nothing that pinpoints her over any of us, nothing that says it could never have been us instead…
- All her talk about proof, about being believe, and what does that means? What’s the value or proof because how do you measure the non-visible effects?
- A ending thought, a commentary on violence, and the vast majority who get away with it, as “a footnote, an acceptable causality”

This is an emotional and intellectual gut-punch from start to finish; so intense that even though it’s only 250ish pages, it took me over a month to get through it, as I slowly savored the language on every page and took numerous breaks for mental health. Without a doubt, this is one of the most powerful books I’ve ever read. I’ve never both dreaded turning a page in and never wanted to end in this way before. Hauntingly compelling. Absolutely the “instant classic” the book blub promises.

And now for my highlighted passages:

“Sometimes your tongue is removed, sometimes you still it of your own accord. Sometimes you live. Sometimes you die. Sometimes you have a name, sometimes you are named for what – not who – you are. The story always looks a little different, depending on who is telling it.”

“This is how emotions work, right? They get tangled and complicated? They take on their own life? Trying to control them is like trying to control a wild animal: no matter how much you think you’ve taught them, they’re willful. They have minds of their own. That’s the beauty of wildness.”

“Fear makes liars of us all.”

“We deserve to have our wrongdoing represented as much as our heroism, because when we refuse wrongdoing as a possibility for a group of people, we refuse their humanity. That is to say, queers – real-life ones – do not deserve representation, protection, and rights because they are morally pure or upright as a people. They deserve those things because they are human beings, and that is through.”

“Places are never just place in a piece of writing. If they are, the author has failed. Setting is not inert. It is activated by a point of view.” – the way setting does the work on the behalf of the abuser, to isolate and dislocate

“In the morning, the woman who made you ill with fear brews a pot of coffee and jokes with you and kisses you and sweetly scratches your scalp like nothing has happened. And, as though you’d slept, a new day begins again.”

“...his motivations are not unexplainable. They are, in fact, aggravatingly practical – driven by greed, augmented by a desire for control, shot through with a cat’s instinct for toying with its prey. A reminder, perhaps, that abusers do not need to be, and rarely are, cackling maniacs. They just need to want something, and not care how they get it.” – holy shit

“…you understood, fully: that it is important to live in unyielding fear with a smile on your face.”;

“Most types of domestic abuse are completely legal.” – another holy shit…what a single-liner that chapter was

“Putting language to something for which you have no language is no easy feat.” – and yet…I’m not saying it was easy, in any way, but I’m here reading this lingual masterpiece she’s created to do just that

“But the nature of archival silence is that certain people’s narratives and their nuances are swallowed by history; we see only what pokes through because it is sufficiently salacious for the majority to pay attention.”

“This is what I keep returning to: how people decide who is or is not an unreliable narrator. And after that decision has been made, what do we do with people who attempt to construct their own version of justice?” – oof, what an intense, and truly universal, concept/question

“One day, a bird slammed into my studio window. I was sitting on a yoga ball and tumbled backwards in terror. Almost every residency I’ve had since, I’ve found at least one stunned bird sprawled on the ground outside my workspace. I learned: they never see the glass coming. They only see the reflection of the sky.” – for some reason, the imagery and metaphor of this little moment just really got me

“In the pit of it, you fantasize about dying. […] You have forgotten that leaving is an option.”

“The moment when you woke up on that couch – before you remembered the phone, remembered your entire life – was one of the sweetest from that year. That tiny pocket of safety and oblivion.”

“You celebrated [Obama] despite his position on gays marrying because he was the best thing possible at that moment; imperfect in a way that affected you but was generally good for the world. You did not believe this was a battle that would be won in your lifetime, and so you resolved yourself to live in that wobbly space where your humanity and rights were openly debated on cable news, and the defense of them was not a requirement for the presidency. You were already a woman, so you knew. Occupying that space was your goddamned specialty.” – well this hit on the nose and very closely, reading this right after the 2020 election cycle, yikes

“The ephemera: The recorded sound waves of her speech on one axis and a precise measurement of the flood of adrenaline and cortisol in my body on the other. Witness statements from the strangers who anxiously looked at us sideways in public places. A photograph of her grip on my arm in Florida, with measurements of the shadows to indicate depth of indentation; an equation to represent the likely pressure. A wire looped through my hair, ready to record her hiss. The rancid smell of anger. The metal tang of fear in the back of my throat. None of these things exist. You have no reason to believe me.”

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

I’ve heard so many good things about Washington’s first publication, Lot, a short story collection. I have been meaning to read it for a while, but short stories are not always my thing and I just haven’t been in the mood/headspace for that. When I saw this new book come through the library to be shelved after processing it into the system (and – miracle! – there wasn’t a hold on it already), I figured I should go for it. Novels are more my speed, if you will, and…it was right there! I couldn’t help myself. For the record, I checked it out to myself just in time, as there is now definitely a line of holds behind me. Phew. Also, I just found out that Memorial, just like Lot, made the Aspen Prize longlist. It actually was just announced this morning and I cannot wait to get more into the books on the list (maybe a new reading challenge for me?). Anyways – it’s well deserved, as you’ll read in the rest of my review, so congrats to Washington!

A quick synopsis. Benson and Michael (Mike) have been dating and living together for the past few years. Things have been a bit…unsteady…lately though. Then Mike tells Benson that his mother is coming to visit and stay with them, maybe for months, and then immediately turns around and leaves for Japan to see his dying father (leaving Benson and his mother, who have never met, to figure out living together without him). From first Benson’s, the Mike’s perspectives, we see the way these weeks change them. Benson and Mike’s mother, Mitsuko, learn to be around each other, while Benson also deals with his own family’s issues and finds solace in another new relationship, Omar. Meanwhile, Mike is struggles to find footing in a relationship with the father he hasn’t seen in years and in a community that both is and isn’t home for him.

Let me start off with the big, resounding, most important reaction I had to this novel: I loved it, every queer, multicultural page of it! Everything from the plot to the pacing to the writing to the characters to the dialogue...it all was just exactly wonderful. Washington's writing is really unique, as far as style, but in a subtle way. There's nothing that just looking at it would start out as super "different," but there's something about the way that he was able to take tiny pieces of life, like moments or vignettes or what even seemed like snippets of conversation, that alone should have been choppy, and bring them all together to create a story that was so full. I think, what really got me, was the intimacy to all of it. By pulling out those individual moments, some significant in a greater sense and some much less so, Washington hones in on the things that truly stick with us, the memories that stand up to time, and that writing device allows him to only convey the most impactful information to the reader. In that way, although individually there was a lot of jumping between them all, with the overall picture they create comes a sense of recognizability that deeply resonates with the reader and makes these characters pop. In addition, it gives a sort of sense that we are seeing right into all the most private moments for these characters, both presently and in the past, and it's almost too intimate, like I'm reading things that shouldn't be shared with just anyone. But in the best way. I felt like this in reading the sections both from Benson's and Mike's POVs. And, in fact, that might be my one (small) critique of the entire novel, is that their voices seemed...very similar. Although the structure was different (short chapters for Benson versus one long chapter with section break for Mike), the quick changes in topic/memory and general writing and conversational styles were similar enough that at times I had to check and make sure I had the right character in mind. But really, it was minor and didn't take much, if anything, away from my strong positive feelings about the book.

Back to all the good stuff. A small thing, that I don’t know where else to put, is that I loved so much that Benson is a male childcare provider. That’s just wonderful. Also, really great inclusion of and positive rep for an HIV positive character. To be honest, I don't know if I have ever really read it represented in this way before, an open and non-judgmental relation of handling it in relationships (both established and new), and now I can't believe how rare it is. So that, too, is wonderful. In addition, this was such a multifaceted meditation on family ties and the idea of home. Both Benson and Mike had such complex, but also very typical, family situations. Nothing felt unrealistic or overly dramatic, ever, and yet there were so many layers of support and abandonment/let-down that were completely on display. And this is, as I mentioned earlier, a part of the novel that was so recognizable as to be painful to read sometimes. Washington’s skill here is that it’s recognizable to so many different people in different ways. Both Mike and Benson have distinct family relationships that when taken all together are nothing like anyone else’s (just like all of us), and yet in reading through, there were a number of those small memories/moments that he highlights that are so wildly familiar (despite the reader personally having almost nothing in common with these characters). The way these deep veins of similar humanity are acknowledged and drawn out in the writing is spectacular. Also, I loved their romantic relationships as well, both with each other and with the people they end up turning to when away from each other. There is so much hope in all of it – a tender sort of hope that both stays kindled despite everything, but suffers in intensity from all the buffeting it has to withstand. Interpersonal relationships are so hard in many different, yet comparable ways, and again Washington delivers a singular but familiar interpretation of it all. Also, very worth highlighting, the growth in connection between Benson and Mitsuko, by far the least conventional of them all, was absolutely one of my favorites to see develop. Overall, the emotions I had while reading, about all the focal relationships, just had me all over the emotional spectrum and I love that type of reading experience.

To end my review, let me make a note on the way the novel itself ended. This was such a fantastic, sensitive story of family and relationships and love, the journey to find and define love for ourselves, to accept and give it in ways that meet what we need it to be. The messages about how that is different for everyone, how the way to those discoveries and fulfillment are different for everyone, an how it changes with time (and that’s ok), is subtle but strong. And the novel ends in the perfect way to encapsulate that, leaving us with the final vibe that on the way to finding the ending we want, is finding ourselves and what makes us content. So, this novel ends less at an ending and more at an undefined change in direction. Showing that coming into our own confidence, we are faced with many as-yet-unchosen opportunities, but knowing what we want out of life and love, what makes someone/somewhere a home, we’ll be able to pick the path that feels most right to us. And the opportunity in that is everything.

A few of the many passages I marked while reading:

“Whole swaths of Houston look like chunks of other countries. There are potholes beside gourmet bakeries beside taquerías beside noodle bars, copied and pasted onto a greying landscape.”

“But a non-decision is a choice in itself.”

“It’s hard to head home without succumbing to nostalgia, standing where so many versions of yourself once stood, one of a suburb’s magical properties.”

“Let me guess, says my father. That was an insensitive comment. / I’m over it, I say. / You know I don’t mean it, say my father. / You’re a grown man. It is what it is. / I just don’t know the rules, says my father. They keep changing on me. / They’d be mandates if they didn’t, I say. / There’s a reason dictators do what they do, says my father.”

“Just because something isn’t working doesn’t mean it’s broken. You just have to want to fix it. The want has to be there.”

“He always said promises were only words, and words only meant what you made them.”

“History changes, I said. It adapts. / In the best-case scenarios, said Ben. And this isn’t a best-case country.”

“You shouldn’t make a home out of other people. / Is that right? / I think so. / You speaking from experience? / You could say that, I said. / Maybe you’ve met the wrong people, said Tan. Or you’ve met the wrong people for you. / Maybe, I said. But people change. And then you’re stuck in whatever your idea of home was. / There’s nothing wrong with that though, said Tan. We all change. We’ll all have plenty of homes in this life. It’s when you don’t that there’s an issue. That’s settling. / And what’s the difference between that and settling into one person? / That’s not for me to say. We all live our own lives.”

“That loving a person means letting them change when they need to. And letting them go when they need to. And that doesn’t make them any less of a home. Just maybe not one for you. Or only for a season or two. But that doesn’t diminish the love. It just changes forms.”

“There’s this phenomenon that you’ll get sometimes – but not too often, if you’re lucky - where someone you think you know says something about your gayness that you weren’t expecting at all. Ben called it a tiny earthquake. I don’t think he was wrong. You’re destabilized, is the point. How much just depends on where the earthquake originates, the fault lines.”

“But I guess that’s the thing: we take our memories wherever we go, and what’s left are the ones that stick around, and that’s how we make a life.”

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

This is another one of those books that I knew I was going to read as soon as I heard about it. It seemed so original and right up my alley, interest-wise, and also that cover is really gorgeous. Plus, it was just about the most perfect book to cuddle up with on a cold Autumn day – for so many reasons.

All Yadriel wants is to prove to his gender to his tradition-bound Latinx family. So, he plans and carries out his quinces ritual in secret, with the help of his cousin Maritza, taking the vows Lady Death that all brujo take. Right afterwards, another brujo dies suddenly and mysteriously and Yadriel, thinking this will be the final and inarguable evidence of his being a real brujo, tries to summon his ghost and release its spirit to the afterlife. But…he summons the wrong ghost, that of Julian Diaz, a schoolmate of Yadriel’s with a shady reputation. Julian’s ghost refuses to be released until he’s had a chance to check in on his friends and he and Yadriel strike a deal. Though, that turns into a much bigger ordeal than expected, including solving the mystery of a number of disappeared bodies/deaths and defeating a supernatural evil power. Plus, Yadriel starts to realize he actually would rather Julian stick around…

Well goodness. This book was everything I wanted it to be and, possibly, more. As a very main point, I loved reading all the traditions and legends about Día de los Muertos, Santa Muerte/Lady Death, the old gods and I was so into the added paranormal twists about the brujx and their family lineage and powers. I am a sucker for pretty much any kind of witchcraft/magic, so the healing powers and seeing ghosts and releasing of souls was so cool to me. Plus, I am a nerd for magic systems, so reading about the items needed for these powers to work, like the animal blood and portajes, and how the powers waned from generation to generation – it was all just so culturally and imagination-ally fascinating.

Also, the diversity (racial/ethnic and gender/sexuality) in these pages was also spectacular, and so natural. I feel like YA is taking all the awards for representation right now. Like, in Thomas’ writing/words, it’s so obvious and genuine and communicated with nuance and feeling while still be taken in stride as just…reality. And I could not be more here for that. Adult fiction has a lot of work to do on this front, to even get close to some of the wonderful YA I’ve read lately. Anyways, I also appreciated many of the related messages that Thomas includes, particularly focused on cultures and belief systems with long histories, as those tend to be some of the most exclusionary. There are such profound and gorgeous and straightforward messages about honoring and respecting tradition while still allowing it to change and adapt with time. The idea of “inclusivity instead of rigidity” is so perfectly central and woven in. Relatedly, there was some really heavy theme-ing around how that exclusion and fear of “change” and discomfort of “other” creates for us, as people, our own worst enemies. It’s also a (necessary) damning exploration of what years of dismissal and being ignored can do to a person/heart/mental state. Phew.

There are a few other things I want to mention before wrapping up. This will be my paragraph of hodge podge thoughts. Haha. I loved the found family aspect. That shit always gets my heartstrings and it was no exception here. Yadriel and Julian are adorable and have a great push and pull dynamic that I think is healthy for both of them. Wow, the feels: I definitely cried a few times in the final chapters (but a lot of it was good tears, so worry not). Maritza is a great cousin/friend – it makes me wish I’d lived closer to cousins growing up and could have seen them more! It sucks to find out that, sometimes, the people who seem the best, and most supportive, can hide deeper evil (or hidden mental health needs that aren’t being met) and it’s disappointing (in this fictional context) and a reminder to us all to check on everyone in our lives, even those who seem to be alright. You never know. Last, the unconditional support of some of Yadriel’s family (even though it was far from everyone/ideal) is still more than many people have. Related, the position of power that Yadriel’s dad has in the community, though it could (and did at times) work as a detriment, can (and sometimes was) a large privilege towards changing the minds/hearts of others. (Of note: the greys of this situation are really well addressed throughout.) And the entire brujx culture/coming of age provided a very clear-cut way for Yadriel to “prove” his gender that just doesn’t exist, in any tangible way, in non-supernatural life. So…just some things to keep in mind, as a reader.

Basically, this was a freaking awesome debut. There was magic and found family and great LBGTQ+/trans character representation, with great dialogue, plot flow and relationship development (and adorbs romantic elements). There was mystery and cemetery-ambience paranormal-ness and the most wonderfully hopeful ending, acknowledging with gorgeous balance both the progress made/acceptance found and the work still ahead. I hope all readers take to hear the messages of inclusivity and, simultaneously, not needing anyone’s permission/approval to be who you are. I‘ll be over here basking in how warm and full after finishing this book.

“It was easier to hide behind their traditions than to challenge their own beliefs and understanding of how things in the world of the brujx worked.”

“Yadriel hadn’t known it could be that painless and simple for someone to see him as he was.”

“Our traditions should grow and change with every generation. Just because we follow the ancient ways does not mean we can’t also grow.”

“Growth isn’t a deviation from what we’ve done before, but a natural progression to honor all those who make this community strong.”

“Things weren’t magically fixed by an empowering speech, but it opened doors and built bridges. It carved out space for Yadriel to step forward and be who he was, as he was. There were still more obstacles to overcome and battles to fight, but Yadriel wouldn’t feel along in it anymore. No, it wasn’t the end. It was a better beginning.”

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

I was in a romance mood. You all know I get that way periodically and it’s been awhile since my last one. Plus, the Holiday Season kinda gets me like that. I came across this one while I was checking it in at the library, remembered that @diaryofaclosetreader said it was super sweet and fun (a good review of a romance from her always makes me mentally bookmark it), and after seeing there were no holds on it, promptly checked it out to myself. The best job perk!

After a tough childhood of never being smart enough for his parents, Marcus Caster-Rupp has made it big as a main actor in a GOT type tv series. And he’s found the perfect way of letting off steam at the way his character’s story arc in treated on the show: writing fanfic about his character. Anonymously, of course, as he’d be fired if anyone found out. April Whittier, also trying to move past a childhood of “disappointing” her parents with her weight, has finally gotten a new job, one with more supportive/positive coworkers, and has decided she’s done hiding her fanfic and cosplay hobbies (focused, of course, on the show Marcus stars in). When internet trolls come at her over her plus-size cosplay, Marcus steps in and asks her out on a date, which ends up going really well. But there are (of course) complications when Marcus finds out that April is his best fanfic friend and has to keep his role in that world a secret from her. As their relationship moves forwards, but baggage from their pasts and Marcus’ big secret come closer to the surface, they’ll have to decide if they’re the real-life OTP or not.

Oh goodness this was super fun and sweet and, though I’m not into fanfic myself, what I read as the most wonderful love letter to that community and its power and support and depth. Actually, it’s interesting…I have never really gotten into fanfic/cosplay, nor felt the urge to, but I do love books about it. Like this and OMG Queens of Geek was life-changing, well, more like mindset-changing (but still very important) for me. Anyways, I loved the role fanfic played throughout, both as a mental health assist and safe space for both April and Marcus, a super sweet thing they both ended up having in common, and just in general as a plot device. It did a lot to move the story forwards, connect characters and, of course, add drama. One thing I was really into was the little sections between each chapter with snippets of fanfic, show scripts, the books the tv show was based on, and DM conversations between April and Marcus before they knew who the other was IRL. It added depth to their relationship, as well as giving more insight into the world and fandom around the book show/tv series that was central to the plot. And it was fun to read! Especially the short sections from some of Marcus’ other (ridiculous) movie roles – some of those had me rolling! A last note on this theme, OMG I wish I had a real visual of April’s final cosplay. It just sounded so cool and honestly, even though my imagination is pretty solid, I would have loved a visual here. Haha. I’m gonna have to Google and find some fan art for it!

On some more serious notes, this book tackled some bigger issues as well. Both April and Marcus had some very deep-seated and long brewing issues with their parents, and they way they had been treated growing up (in relation to their weight and an undiagnosed learning disorder, respectively), leading to some very real adult baggage and difficult present-day relationships with their parents. This gave them something really major in common, but also created some trust issues for each that ended up causing some secret-keeping and miscommunication (the roadblocks that all great romance novels tackle). All these moments were handled like adults. Adults who have emotions and insecurities and sometimes handle things wrong (so, like, every adult ever), but are willing to accept new information and change their minds and listen/trust their hearts as they gain perspective. I always appreciate that in romances. Drama and mistakes are 100% going to happen, but how they’re worked through, that’s what makes it “real,” and makes me really buy into the characters and their relationship. Anyways, I thought it was a great look at parental expectations for perfection, for “better” (as defined by them), for their kids and the (mostly unintentional) scars that can leave. Also, it was a great look at some of the types of scars and more subtle parental baggage. Neither was obvious, in the way physical abuse or neglect can be, but the subtle mental/emotional manipulation and strain, was intense for both and, truly, lifelong. I thought Dade handled both really respectfully. Also, especially in relation to being fat, Dade’s writing is spectacular. It’s genuine in both its joy and discomfort, personal and public, and the ups and downs of that. She calls out, with resounding clarity, the horrible and prolific messages about fatness being bad and sinful and to be hidden and fought against and posits instead the pride and confidence that come with being wanted exactly you are.

Some final thoughts. I loved how much April loves her unique job. I’ve never read about a geologist before and it was super fun and her pride in it was fantastic. This is a new theme I’m seeing (check out The Boyfriend Project for another great example of this) and super into. Also, April has freckles and, as a girl with some serious freckles myself: *heart eyes.* The steam factor!! I mean, since the MC, April, writes explicit fanfic, I had high hopes here…so I’m happy to say that Dade delivers. And last, is it just me or does the illustration of the male MC on the cover not look exactly like Chris Pine?!

This contemporary romance was so entertaining, really funny, smart, nerdy, empowering in ways both obvious and subtle (sex and body positive - yes!), steamy and satisfying. Plus, it's everything fandom-dreams are made of. I am pretty sure I know where the next book in the series is going, couple-wise, and I’m ready for it!

“I guess […] we all do what we think is best. Sometimes we make terrible mistakes, sometimes we do the right thing. Sometimes we never know. We just have to hope.”

This book was my long-distance book club choice for this November/December book (we combined the months because…Holiday Season). Anyways, the theme was some kind of Holiday/cold weather situation and this one was the winner!

This is a dual timeline story, unfolding in both the early 1900s and the “present day” in West Hall, Vermont. In 1908, Sarah Harrison Shea is found dead (murdered), near her home, just months after the untimely and sudden death of her daughter Gertie. In the present day, Ruthie lives with her family in the same farmhouse that Sara lived in once. Her mother Alice, has gone missing and she and her younger sister, Fawn, come across sections of Sara’s old diary hidden in the floorboards of the house while looking about clues for where their mother may have gone. And with that, they are sucked in a mystery much deeper and darker than they ever expected.

I had no idea what it was about really, when I started, having kind of just skimmed the blurb before picking it up. I had a vague idea that it was a sort of a mystery with a farmhouse vibe of some kind, and looking back now (and reading the blurb more carefully) that was a pretty accurate idea. But it ended up being quite a bit creepier, more thriller-y, than that. There were some very legit paranormal feels from the very beginning that I hadn’t expected. That was likely the best part of this novel, the ambiance McMahon created. There was a strong sense of unsettlement while reading…very atmospheric. And it was enough to get me a little jumpy, but, for this big baby (as far as my ability to handle scary things) never too much.

Along with that, the pacing was very smooth, developing and increasing in tension in past and present together. We have Sara’s story in the past, focusing on the loss of her daughter and the slow unraveling for herself and her husband after that, as well as her search to figure out exactly what happened to Gertie and, even, perhaps, if there’s a way to bring her back. (Content warning here for death of a child and – really well written – representations of mental health breakdowns due to grief.) In the present, we have a couple different characters story-lines developing simultaneously, the main one being Ruthie and Fawn’s search for their mother. But also, we hear a lot about West Hall’s history of disappearances, how that ties in with the legend of Sara’s death, and a few other present-day characters…actually, kind of a lot of present-day characters…whose stories all come together in the end in a very smooth way. And, while there were a few little twists that I sort of predicted, there were definitely a few that I hadn’t seen coming. Nothing too intense or big, but satisfying little things all the same. This is more a thriller of ambiance, like I said, than a thriller of twists and surprises.

One other thing I enjoyed was the mix of paranormal in the story. I am always a sucker for that, honestly, so I am definitely biased. But I liked how much it was woven into the story, and I really loved how much of it ended up being explainable in other ways, while other parts were definitely only explainable by the supernatural elements. That “uncertain whether it’s real or not” while reading is a device I always love (Once Upon a River does it the best I’ve ever read), and it was pretty solid here. And it was cool how the legends of Sara’s story continued to survive present day in myriad ways, with various levels of actual belief in them, from both locals and outsiders. I will say, I felt like the use of an Indigenous woman as an originator for these supernatural powers/aspects was a bit culturally insensitive (especially calling her “Indian”). Auntie’s character could easily have just been a generic witch-type woman and there wouldn’t have been any loss to the story itself, while also not playing into stereotypes.

Finally, I think the main message of the novel, about respecting the natural order of things, respecting death was just…alright. It’s a good message. A bit overdone, but there’s a reason for that, as it’s a strong and important one. But I don’t feel like anything particularly unique that this novel added to the cannon. So, it was fine, just nothing special. However, the ending conveyed why, in this case, it is especially important to let the dead lie...and it was done in a particularly ominous way, with an eerie spin, that I did enjoy.

Overall, I liked this book. It had some sensitivity issues and, like I said, was nothing particularly original as far as ideas or style. However, it was well written and paced, and it kept my interest. This isn’t a genre I usually read, and I totally know why. I think this was a solid book, but nothing about it makes me want to pick up another one just like it anytime soon. So, take my “good but nothing special” commentary with that caveat in mind. And, to be fair, I will say that it was a good escapist read and will provide some pretty cool topics for us to talk about during book club. Plus, like I said, solid “unnatural” vibes.

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

“What is given may be taken away, at any time. Cruelty and devastation wait for you around corners, inside coffers, behind doors: they can leap out at you at any time, like a thief or brigand. The trick is never to let down your guard. Never think you are safe. Never take for granted that your children's hearts beat, that they sup milk, that they draw breath, that they walk and speak and smile and argue and play. Never for a moment forget they may be gone, snatched from you, in the blink of an eye, borne away from you like thistledown.”

This book was not really on my TBR, to be honest. I had it on my radar, but just didn't think I was going to be feeling it...really ever. But a few things happened in conjunction that basically made me feel like I was going to have to give it a try. First, and mostly the main thing, is that it won this year's Women's Prize. I have read and been so impressed by the last four winners (An American Marriage, Home Fire, LOVED The Power, and The Glorious Heresies - which was a pre-blog read for me, so I can only link to my thoughts on Goodreads). Anyways, that's a pretty solid streak of reading the winners, and I feel compelled to continue it. Also, one of the last prompts that I hadn't filled yet for the Reading Women Challenge 2020 is #5, a Stella or Women's Prize winner. And so, it was the perfect storm.

This is a fictional account of William Shakespeare's only son, Hamnet, who died when he was only 11 (actual cause of death unknown, but here O'Farrell posits that it was as a result of the plague, which seems pretty reasonable), and the way that potentially inspired the writing of Hamlet. This is so interesting because I feel like there are untold numbers of accounts of Shakespeare and his life and if he *actually* wrote all those plays (and if not, speculation as to who did) and just generally his name is one of the most well known in all of classic "literature." And yet...after reading this, I realize how little I actually knew (know?) about him as a person. I knew he had a wife named Anne, but also apparently, she could have been named Agnes, and she was older than him, an orphan, had a pretty big dowry, was pregnant when they got married, then they had twins, they lived separately (he often in London and she staying in Stratford). And there were some other details that are probably based in historical knowledge, with varying degrees of true-to-life accuracy, like his father's abusive nature, the family's trade as glove-makers and Agnes' skill with herbs as a healer. It was a really unique perspective, which I found impressive, considering how much is already written about him. Honestly, that breadth of lit related to Shakespeare and his work was part of the reason I was hesitant to read this in the first place, feeling like, for the most part, it's all already been said/done. But, at least for me, this did feel like an original take.

I sort of jumped straight from the synopsis into my thoughts/review there - whoops. But I guess let me just keep things going. I really enjoyed the way this was a novel of family, of the private side of relationships, of the love between two people when the start a life/family and the way it strains and changes over time dealing with loss and distance and thwarted expectations and all the other things daily life throws at it; of a couple trying to survive and adapt the best they can. To this same end, I really liked that the focus was not on Shakespeare himself, nor on his work, but that he played more of a supporting character in the reality that was his family's existence. His name was actually never said/written specifically throughout the entire novel (at least that I remember), instead centering the family's names for him: father, husband. This point of view is, I think, one of the aspects of this retelling of the less popular side of a popular man's story that I liked best. Tangentially related, the general historical feel was another aspect I really enjoyed. As I mentioned, some of the scene-setting details, like Agnes' beekeeping/herb-use, the way the plague/illness was generally handled, the glove-making business (legal and otherwise) that Shakespeare's family ran, the intergenerational dynamics, and more - I thought it was all so well-researched and presented in a way than ran smooth and deep with knowledge, but never overwhelming or extra in detail.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention the titular Hamnet and the way his death was handled. Interestingly, though it's central in many ways to the story, Hamnet himself is really not in the book very much. The story in much more focused on the way he came into the world (his parents' meeting and marrying and early life together), with a quick in "connector" section addressing the plague and the way he dies (with a sweet, lightly paranormal/magical, vibe, in order to save his more sickly twin), and then a very full follow-up that follow his whole family, especially Agnes, but also his father, older sister and twin, as they struggle with grief and coming to terms with his death in the months and years that follow. The way it affects them all, individually and, thus, in the way they communicate and interact as a unit, is developed flawlessly. This is the first O'Farrell I have read, but let me tell you - wow, can she write about death and grief. It's beautiful and heartbreaking in its minute observations and introspections. The delicate and tragic meditation on losing a child in the final third (ish) of the book is a slow, subtle fire building in my heart and mind as a reader. With each passing page, I was brought farther and farther into the grief and by the end I found myself much more emotionally invested than I had been expecting. And truly the ending was something special, the final connection being drawn between Hamnet’s story with the play Hamlet, a really finely crafted conveyance of processing grief, honoring the departed, recognizing the wish we all have to be able to change the way things turned out. It was subtle, but as it unfolded, the emotional power in the final scene is one of those perfect curtain-closing scenes, a singular moment seared into the imagination-memory of my mind.

There was a very ephemeral, lyrical quality to the story and writing of this novel. At times, I felt a bit like a voyeur to this family's tragedy, seeing almost too much into their private reactions and feelings, but then...that's also the skill and beauty of O'Farrell's writing, to elicit that reaction. And it impressed me. Perhaps it was my low(ish) feelings about reading this in the first place (though, to be honest, lower expectations should make it easier for a book to blow me away, right?), but I don't think this is a new favorite for me, nor is it my favorite recent Women's Prize winner. However, I absolutely respect the awe-some quality of writing itself, as well as the new way perspectives/approaches this novel took, and my final impression is a positive one.

I'm having a really hard time writing this review. I've been staring at a blank screen for awhile now and nothing is really coming to me. I mean, I really enjoyed the book, in the way that one can enjoy such a dark, gritty tale. I thought the characters were well imagined and portrayed and, while they each represented a different aspect of this somewhat poverty stricken, "down on it's luck," city/community, they were still written to be more than just a caricature of a vice. And I really appreciated the slow talespin for each character that the author was able to create, the reality of a slow slide downwards that, when looked at a piece at a time, is hard to follow. It's that type of slide that, for people who aren't on it, makes it tough to look at those who've reached the bottom and understand how they could have gotten there, what steps/decisions brought them to that point. But when you read it slowly building, or crumbling as the case may be, then you can really see, and (if written well and read by a person capable of empathy) start to understand. I also liked the exploration of the "down the line" side effects of an overly strict religious zeal, where that type of faith leaves those on the outside (as were all the characters in this novel). The voice of the author was real - it felt like someone reading out loud to you - her intonation and preciseness of dialogue was so smoothly put into words. And while I had to look up some Irish phrases and slang, it really added to the atmosphere that was created. So apparently I have a lot to say in general, but it's the characters that I'm having trouble with. I think perhaps they were too real. The decisions they made that had me almost yelling "NO!" out loud because I thought if only they could hear me, that would help stop their slide. And while they can't hear me, of course, there are so many people in similar situations, facing similar choices, and feeling similarly that they have no other option. And maybe they don't - so many moving parts in each life are happening outside the control of the people living those lives. Tony cannot control that he was "picked" by JP to help with a job, Ryan cannot control his father's drinking or his neighbor's choices, Maureen cannot control her son's actions, Georgie could not control Maureen's reaction to Robbie or the people who took away her daughter, and the economy, those hard hits, are outside of each characters' control. The best they can do is try to ride out life with the cards they were handed. But that's the thing exactly. It's hard to write reviews on people that just seemed so real and whose struggles are the same as so many I've seen and heard. How do you give stars or write judgement on that?

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

The August book theme for my long-distance book club was food. I have no idea where we came up with that, but it was a fun theme that prompted a lot of super awesome book suggestions! I had never heard of this one before it was suggested/voted the winner, and it’s been awhile since I read a book under those circumstances, so that was kind of a fun change of pace.

Billie Breslin dropped out of school and headed from CA to NYC to take a job at the famous food magazine, Delicious!. Although she is alone and far from home/family, she is quickly adopted by the magazine’s other staff members and local food institutions. When Delicious! is closed suddenly, Billie stays on to help with loose ends (and to help make end meets), while looking for a new position. But alone in the old offices, she makes a fantastic discovery: a secret room in the library full of letters from a young girl in Ohio to famous chef James Beard written during WWII. While getting to know the writer, Lulu, through her words, Billie also starts to realize that perhaps it’s time for her to step up into her own life, opening up her heart, owning her talents, and letting go of fears/the past.

I usually like to start on a positive note, but there are a couple things I need to mention before I get to that. First, this title is…honestly, I think it’s awful. It has an exclamation mark in it. And I know it’s the name of the magazine, but naming a food-themed book “delicious” just seems…pretentious and also a bit shallow, at the same time. I can honestly say that the title alone would have made me not want to read it, if I glanced at it on a shelf. So, this book owes it to my book club vote that I picked it up in the first place. Also, and this is personal, I was really apprehensive going in because I’m a bit over the “found letters” device in books, especially WWII era letters. This just seems like one of the most overdone themes/time periods/devices in literature right now. (Please note – this is, obviously, just my opinion, take it or leave it.) Anyways, needless to say, my expectations upon starting were tempered.

On the whole, I have to say that I enjoyed this book more than I had expected to – so take that, judgmental past me! It was super charming. A cozy little mystery wrapped up with a sweet present-day self-discovery and low-key romance situation. It was light and airy, like the soufflé of books, to be on theme. The story and plot were compulsively readable and I listened to the audiobook at 1.5 speed because I was into seeing where things were going to end up. I also ended up feeling like the letter situation was handled well. It gave a bit of structure and framing and prompting to Billie’s “come of age” situation, but never took over too much. I was so glad there were no jumps in time between Lulu and Billie’s perspective – I think that would have taken it too far for me. It was cool to see Billie discover Lulu just in the present day and just through her written words. I also liked seeing more of a home-front view of WWII, which is definitely not a popular perspective in popular contemporarily-written WWII historical fiction. It was also weaved together well with some of Billie’s new work friends telling her about their own families’ experiences during the time, and how she (and I) both learned some things we didn’t know before, especially regarding the way Italians were treated in the US.

I also would be remiss without mentioning food. OMG the food. My mouth was constantly watering while listening to this. I have never wanted to snack while reading more…which is saying a lot, because I am into snacks. Especially cheese - GAHHHH THE CHEESE. So, yea, that part was awesome. You can tell the author’s background is in food and food writing, because those sections had the most passion and evocative descriptions. And I enjoyed the correspondence between Lulu and Beard about food and how creative they got with what was available during the war. Again, I commend Reichl for focusing on a less popular/more original aspect for the wartime experience than one normally gets.

On the other hand, a few things were less stellar, at least for me. One is definitely Billie’s self-image and relationship with her older sister, Genie. Although reckoning with that is a major aspect of Billie’s self-discovery, which is great (and much needed for her), I felt terrible for how long and how much she lived in her sister’s shadow. It was totally realistic, so I guess it maybe doesn’t belong with the other points in this paragraph, because it was a tough theme but not a questionable part of the story/writing, but I didn’t know where else to put it. In any case, just a bit heart-breaking to read. Relatedly, and legit troublesome, I really was not ok with the treatment of Genie’s situation as her story comes more to light. I really don’t want to give spoilers, since this is a major part of the “mystery” piece of the novel, but the way that her own struggles and illnesses were ignored/overlooked/talked about bothered me…I know it’s partly from my personal experience and field of work, but it was not addressed by the author in a way that I would consider at all healthy or understanding and, in fact, perpetuated some harmful stereotypes. Anyways, maybe I’m over-sensitive to the topic, but it put me off quite a bit (a damper on what was otherwise just a really entertaining read). And last, despite the clear attempt to add layers to characters, I felt in many ways they were quite single-dimensional and typecast, from Billie’s “meek girl transformation” to Sal’s “New York Italian” and more, many of the characters tried to be more, but didn’t quite make it. It wasn’t so bad that I didn’t still enjoy the story, but none of them will stick with me for long, I know that for sure. (Random bonus points for the unexpected reality of Mrs. Cloverly though – that part was sweet and funny.)

Overall, this was a much more enjoyable read that I had necessarily anticipated, which is always a nice surprise. It was sweet and pretty fun and kept me invested, plot-wise, start to finish. I had my issues with it, as far as depth and the way some topics handled, plus it got a little cheesy (pun intended), but if it’s something that sounds like it’d be up your alley, content and story wise, I would encourage you to go for it. Just….make sure you have some cheese and other snacks on hand when you pick it up because I promise that you’ll regret it if you don’t!

“…walking through those strange, crowded downtown streets, where people were sticking their hands into pickle barrels, pointing to smoked fish, and eating sliced herring, I saw the scene in a whole new way. The weren’t buying food: They were finding their way home.”

“History is the story we tell the future about the past, and we have an obligation to get it right.”

“…recognize the prize of perfection.”