Review: Make Me a City

“The nearer I get to the end, the more shame I have and the less shame I feel. Every year we pile it up, don’t we, all of us excepting the angels? Maybe that’s why we don’t all go lunatic. And why some of us do.”

Make Me a City (Jonathan Carr, published March 2019 by Henry Holt) is an intriguing tome—marketed as a fictional and “alternate history” to the building of Chicago, the novel is told by a narrator who is, in fact, presenting an alternate history to his peers. Following many disparate threads of remarkably different individuals over the course of one century, the work is exhaustive and, more than once, I wondered how much was rooted in truth (I mean, obviously, I know it’s fiction, but still). Beginning in 1800 “Echicagou” on the estate of Jean Baptiste Point de Sable—unrecognized and sadly victimized founder of the city—and later touching on the vivid lives of John Stephen Wright, Antje Hunter, Gus Swanson, and many others; the novel progresses through time, idling from one strand of the story to the next, offering readers an exhaustive collection of character portraits to feast upon. Each individual is distinctly crafted, each featuring his or her own fears and desires and fervent ambitions, all of which contribute to the city’s creation.

I enjoyed the novel’s odd collection of hosts and found the chapters about Antje, Gus, and Ms. Chappell the most engaging. Historical nuggets can be mined from the pages of the work—though fictional, there are many references to real players in our country’s history, and episodes portraying cultural nuances vividly.

More than once, though, I wondered . . . what is the point? The plot is very loosely constructed, and over the course of 450 pages, readers’ minds are apt to wander without a clear purpose driving the work forward. I know, I know: the point is to give an alternate, fictionalized history of Chicago. But I can’t help but feel that Carr was misled by his editor at times, where narratives could have been trimmed or eliminated altogether.

By and large, the breadth of the work was overwhelming. I had to turn back several times to recall key details from previous scenes—I think there are about 12 perspectives through the novel, with 5-6 major players—and was sometimes frustrated by this. However, when a work is interesting, I’ll overlook this annoyance; and I suppose that the fact I finished the novel speaks for itself. Once the pieces began to come together, I couldn’t finish fast enough.

Overall: 3-ish(?) stars. Recommended for historical fiction buffs, mindful readers (this is not an easy/light read, folks!), and fans of generation-spanning sagas.

Thanks to Henry Holt Books for my review copy. All opinions are my own.

Review: The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

How lost do you have to be to let the devil lead you home?

Stuart Turton’s debut novel, The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle has been making waaaaves in the reading community since it was published in September — and for good reason. I picked up the novel knowing very little about it, other than the allusions to its Agatha-like qualities and absolutely mind-bending plot.

In fact, when I started reading, my eye caught on an author blurb at the front, and I laughed for a good long minute: “If Agatha Christie and Terry Pratchett had ever had LSD-fueled sex, then The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle would be their acid trip book baby” (Sarah Pinborough, author of Behind Her Eyes).

I rarely admit to it, but this is one book that lives up to its hype.

Set in what appears to be 1920s rural England, the novel opens in mass chaos: the narrator awakens to find himself without any memories of whom or where he is — and it only gets more twisty from there. Our host soon discovers he’s in the heart of a nearly unsolvable mystery: Evelyn Hardcastle, member of high society and daughter of the owners of the crumbling estate we find ourselves at, will be murdered at 11:00 p.m. It is the narrator’s job to solve her murder . . . but each morning, he’ll wake up in a new host’s body. And he’s only got eight days to figure things out.

Which may seem like a fair amount of time, until you take into consideration the duplicitous nature of pretty much everyone who’s been invited to the estate for the week. And the fact that the narrator is not a detective. And that some of his hosts wake up high as a kite, or paralyzingly hungover, or quickly succumb to various near-fatal injuries.

Our narrator struggles through a series of fumbling attempts to escape the estate, and when that doesn’t work, he begins to focus on saving Evelyn Hardcastle — a task, we’re reminded, that is futile. While the narrator works to cobble clues together, he discovers that his actions can have a bearing on how the day plays out, though the slate is wiped clean with each new host.

Set against a backdrop of a romantic and dark forested landscape, with a decrepit old mansion and expansive grounds as the site of the Hardcastle legacy, this murder mystery is a thrill to unravel. Chapters are categorized by the numbered days of which the narrator has been on the grounds, and sometimes these storylines jump backward. Meanwhile, Aiden encounters “himself” in other hosts throughout the day, which only compounds the amount of mind-buggery that is going on in Evelyn Hardcastle.

This book works in its ominous, classical mystery vibes and the complexity of clues dropped along the way. I promise — you’re not likely to “figure it out” before the book ends, and though this unsolvability is sometimes a ridiculous and unwanted surprise (I’m looking at you, Pinborough), that’s not the case in Evelyn Hardcastle. As I neared the close of the book, I was already anticipating a reread to further my grasp on the tale.

You know what else is great about this book? Turton doesn’t merely write a mystery, friends. He serves to readers a hearty meal of character development and existential soul-grappling conundrums. Though the murder is at the forefront of the reading experience, Turton manages to tuck within the pages the struggle to succeed pitted against the struggle to remain true to core values.

A few suggestions if you want to make the most out of this read:

• Avoid the audiobook. It may have a great narrator (I wouldn’t know), but this storyline is so freaking complex I can’t imagine many would be able to keep things straight for very long. I spent some time flipping back and forth between chapters, and for that reason, I’d also recommend skipping the Kindle and grabbing a copy from the library, but that’s a personal preference thing.
• Don’t look at too many reviews on Goodreads. The less you know going into this read, the better!
• Do make use of the “guest list” at the front of the book. I flipped back to figure out who’s who several times.
• Stick with it. Honestly, I was bewildered for the first quarter of the book, and I never really stopped feeling like I couldn’t quite grasp the whole thing — until the end. Even then, Turton leaves readers with a great deal to ponder.

Overall: 4/5 stars. If you like to think, and you’re looking for a Clue-meets-Agatha-meets-Inception vibe, this is your book!

December Wrap-Up

December was a fun, relaxed reading month for me — school let out for the semester, and I completely shirked all responsibilities (besides mothering and the occasional meal prep) in favor of reading feverishly. I wrapped up the month with a total of eleven reads — middle grades fiction, thrillers, fantasy, romance, historical fiction, rural noir, and an audiobook to boot.

While I enjoyed reading copious amounts of fiction, one drawback is that I didn’t post many reviews. (Oops.) For the sake of brevity, here’s a two-sentence review on each title I read in December! (Listed in no particular order.)

1. Undiscovered Country by Lin Enger. Rural noir reimagining of Hamlet, filled with dark, brooding vibes as one teenage boy seeks to find — and bring to justice — his father’s murderer. An exploration of grief and loss as much as a portrayal of our devotion to family-shared histories. ⭐️⭐️⭐️💫
   
2. One Day in December by Josie Silver. A debut novel highly reminiscent of books-turned-films One Day and Something Borrowed. Classified as romance or a rather drawn-out love story, this novel wasn’t for me — I didn’t like the characters, and that was enough to turn me off the story completely. ⭐️⭐️
3. Voyager (Outlander book 3) by Diana Gabaldon. This third installment in the Outlander series is much more fast-paced than the second novel, and brings with it a flood of emotions as Jamie and Claire are reunited (I’d say “spoiler” here, but I think we can all agree that a series with 10 novels obviously has to have the two reuniting at some point). Rife with that overdramatic penchant for danger and conflict I’ve come to know and love in Gabaldon’s tomes, Voyager satisfies (and infuriates, a time or two,) right up to the last page. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
4. The Bear and the Nightingale by Katherine Arden. This fantasy novel — first in its trilogy — features a Russian setting and all kinds of Russian folklore. It feels like a dark, more human fairytale than its Disney counterparts, and I loved the complex feelings and desires of the major characters — both good and bad. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
5. I’m Thinking of Ending Things by Iain Reid. I really only need a few words to sum up this mind-bender: WTF, holy shit, WOW. Reid has proven himself a master of brevity and psychological horror, and I’m just going to keep twiddling my thumbs anxiously until he releases another work. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
6. The Train of Lost Things by Ammi-Joan Pacquette. Middle-grades fantasy work featuring a young boy determined to save his dying father by retrieving a lost jacket the two share a bond over. Characterization seemed a bit off and voices were hard to place age-wise, but the themes of grief and loss could be a great tool for young ones struggling to cope with their own grief. ⭐️⭐️💫
7. The Winter Witch by Paula Brackston. A witchy tale set in Wales, featuring a young bride who hasn’t spoken since she was a child and her new husband who is determined to recover from the loss of his first wife. The setting is vivid and drew me in, but hot-and-cold main characters were irritating. ⭐️⭐️💫
8. Freefall by Jessica Barry. This thriller, set to release in a few days, features a young 
   woman who survives the crash of her wealthy fiance’s private plane — and her subsequent attempts to remain “unfound” in the Rocky Mountains. While I was intrigued enough to continue reading and discover why the woman was afraid of being found, the truth seemed anticlimactic. ⭐️⭐️⭐️
9. The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wecker. A work of fantasy based in 1890s New York City, this novel follows the magical beings Chava — a golem, or human made ofclay — and Ahmad — a desert being that is a “spark of fire” but has been trapped in the form of a man. This fairytale, with roots in Syrian folklore, is an utterly magical and beautiful story that I savored up to the last word. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
10. The Vanderbeekers of 141st Street by Karina Yan Glaser. A sweet, entertaining read about 5 siblings — aged 4.5-12 — who are on a mission to change their landlord’s mind about renewing their lease. The book covers a range of worthy topics, from compassion and generosity to selflessness and the inevitability of change. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
11. The Ragged Edge of Night by Olivia Hawker. A compelling and different story about resistance during WWII, featuring a former friar who becomes a husband and father after responding to the personal ad of a widower in need of someone to provide. A bit dragging at times, but ultimately a beautiful story made even more sweet by its ties to reality: the main character is based on the author’s husband’s grandfather. ⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

Whew! December was a huge month for me, reading-wise, and while I enjoyed shirking reality for a while, I know that January will be far less lucrative in terms of numbers — and that’s okay. Overall, I greatly enjoyed many of the books I read last month, and though I didn’t conduct any in-depth analysis on any of the titles, I can see myself recommending several of these works to friends and family members in search of their next great read.

Have you read any of these works? If so, what did you think of them?

Happy reading, friends!

WWW Wednesday – January 2

It’s that time of the week again! I’ve been reading some pretty fantastic stuff lately and I can’t wait to share with you!

WWW Wednesday is hosted by Sam over at Taking on a World of Words — if you’re interested in participating simply answer the following questions:

1. What are you currently reading?
2. What did you recently finish reading?
3. What do you think you’ll read next?

Here’s what I’m currently reading…

The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle by Stuart Turton. From the cover blurb: 

Evelyn Hardcastle will be murdered at 11:00 p.m. 
There are eight days, and eight witnesses for you to inhabit. 
We will only let you escape once you tell us the name of the killer. 
Understood? Then let’s begin…

Evelyn Hardcastle will die. Every day until Aiden Bishop can identify her killer and break the cycle. But every time the day begins again, Aiden wakes up in the body of a different guest. And some of his hosts are more helpful than others…

This mystery novel has a very gothic/romantic vibe to it, and I’m loving the dark atmosphere. There’s a whole lot of “wtf is happening here” going on at the moment, but I’m absolutely engrossed. Turton has me hooked!

The Ninth Hour by Alice McDermott. I started reading this one around Christmas time, and it’s kind of taken a backseat for the past week or so. We traveled to my mom and dad’s house for a belated Christmas celebration, and I think I only read five pages the whole time. 😅 Here’s what it’s about: A young Irish immigrant commits suicide one winter afternoon when he opens the gas taps in his tenement apartment. Later, this gas leak starts a fire, and his young wife and unborn child are taken under the wing of Sister St. Savior who is passing by on her way back to the convent. What follows is a tale that spans decades, centering on Sally, the man’s daughter, as she grows up in her Brooklyn community. Her sort of “collective” upbringing by the nuns and her mother is endearing, and the discussion of poverty and struggle makes for a meaningful read.

Ohio by Stephen Markley. This is my current Audible pick and one I think I’m going to love for its lit-fic elements and rural noir undercurrent. From the blurb:

On one fateful summer night in 2013, four former classmates converge on the rust belt town where they grew up, each of them with a mission, all of them haunted by regrets, secrets, lost loves. There’s Bill Ashcraft, an alcoholic, drug-abusing activist, whose fruitless ambitions have taken him from Cambodia to Zuccotti Park to New Orleans, and now back to “The Cane” with a mysterious package strapped to the underside of his truck; Stacey Moore, a doctoral candidate reluctantly confronting the mother of her former lover; Dan Eaton, a shy veteran of three tours in Iraq, home for a dinner date with the high school sweetheart he’s tried to forget; and the beautiful, fragile Tina Ross, whose rendezvous with the captain of the football team triggers the novel’s shocking climax.

It’s touted as a mystery, but I anticipate there’s going to be much more to this novel than the average fast-paced whodunit.

Here’s what I recently finished…

The Ragged Edge of Night by Olivia Hawker. This overlooked 2018 novel tells the story of Anton, a former friar whose position as a school teacher and within the Church is upended by Nazis at the onset of the T4 plan during WWII. Anton, at a loss without his cherished roles in life, answers a personal ad from a widow in Unterboihingen. Elizabeth is seeking a husband to help provide for herself and her three young children. She and Anton quickly agree to marry — strictly platonic, no romance here! — and the novels tells of their time together and the struggles they face, raising children in a tumultuous time. Anton becomes part of a resistance group, which serves as a source of conflict in the novel. I listened to this one on Audible and though it could’ve used some paring down here and there, I ultimately really enjoyed this story — AND it’s based on the author’s husband’s grandfather! So cool.

The Vanderbeekers of 141st Street by Karina Yan Glaser. I stumbled upon this charming read via bookstagram recommendations. It’s a middle-grades novel featuring a family of 7 in a brownstone in New York . . . a family that has just discovered their lease won’t be renewed next year — just ten days before Christmas. What ensues is the efforts of the Vanderbeeker children, ages 4.5-12, to convince their grumpy and enigmatic landlord to renew their lease. This was a perfect Christmas-y read, though it’d be great any other time of the year, too. I enjoyed the little doodles incorporated throughout the novel, as well as the messages of kindness, generosity, honesty, and community that Glaser tied into the work. This is a fantastic read for elementary kids, and adults will love it as well!

What I’m reading next…

There are a few books awaiting my attention this month. With the start of the new year, I’ve also created some reading goals for myself, especially to read one work of nonfiction per month. That said, here’s what I’m looking forward to in January:

• When You Read This by Mary Adkins
• Tonight I’m Someone Else by Chelsea Hodson (this’ll be my nonfiction!)
• Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson

What are you currently reading — or planning to read this month? Let me know in the comments section! Happy reading, friends.

Best of 2018: A Recommended Reading List

I read 84 books in 2018 — a few of them, rereads — and there were so many that I immensely enjoyed. Pachinko was my first read of the year, and it was a 5-star title. I started the Inspector Gamache series by Louise Penny and thoroughly delighted in the first three novels (I’m really dragging them out, here — don’t want the series to end!). Beartown stirred me, deep. But a handful of titles stand out — they’re exceptionally well-written, their plots moved me in meaningful ways, the characters were especially memorable . . . I know I’ll revisit these books again someday. And in the meantime, I’ll be thrusting them into the hands of any willing listener I can find.

In no particular order, here’s the seven books that I read in 2018 and I hold most dear:

1. Tell the Wolves I’m Home by Carol Rifka Brunt. I salivated over this novel in January — such a deeply moving and heartwarming and heartbreaking story — and you can read my full review here. It’s been 12 months, and I’m still thinking about June and her uncle Finn.
2. The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wecker. Rumor has it a second book will be coming out in 2020, and I’m here for it. The Golem and the Jinni is a fascinating, engrossing fantasy story with roots in Syrian culture and folklore. Chava and Ahmad were some of the most well-drawn characters I read this year, and I couldn’t put this one down.
3. Outlander by Diana Gabaldon. This series is controversial, but it’s largely popular for a good reason: Gabaldon can write a drama, friends. I came to this hefty tome in March with a couple of friends I met on bookstagram — Betsy (@booksgloriousbooks) and Taylor (@shihtzus.and.book.reviews) — and it was honestly probably my first foray into adult romance. I don’t typically enjoy the genre, but Clare and Jamie’s story was just so enthralling, and the books is so much more than a love story. I just finished the third book this month and while I’ve enjoyed all of the books in the series thus far, Outlander remains my favorite. And, if I’m being honest, this one’s always going to hold a special place in my heart because it’s the book that sparked a long-distance friendship of epic proportions.
4. Foe by Iain Reid. This was my first Reid novel and y’all, it BLEW. MY. MIND. His books are short and quick reads, with brief chapters and compelling storylines. I tore through this one in less than 24 hours — it was THAT good. Foe is a mind-bending and provocative read that contemplates human relationships, and humanity itself. If you’re in the mood for something fast and bendy, this is it.
5. Bitter Orange by Claire Fuller. I’ve gushed about this one so much on bookstagram, it almost feels excessive to talk about it more. Here’s my full review, and here’s a link to buy the book.
6. An Unexplained Death by Mikita Brottman. This work of nonfiction was absolutely fascinating. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: An Unexplained Death is so much more than a work of true crime. Brottman touches on some deeply unsettling aspects of human nature, including our obsession with the macabre and our deepest needs to both tether ourselves to and isolate ourselves from the victims of crimes. This obsessive account of Brottman’s own unofficial investigation into the disappearance and death of Rey Rivera is a solid — and overlooked — gem of 2018.
7. The Line That Held Us by David Joy. I’m pretty wishy-washy about picking a number one or “favorite” book, typically, but Joy’s gritty work of Appalachian noir is it. If you’re holding a gun to my head and telling me to choose, I choose you, The Line That Held Us. This novel is dark. It’s vividly drawn. It’s evocative and atmospheric and full of absolutely brilliant characters. Joy somehow manages to weave together this tragedy that is chock-full of emotion and desire and fear and the result is breathtaking. I cherished every word of this novel, then rushed out to buy his other works. You would be wise to do the same!

For a look at my reading year in review, head to this link. But before you go, tell me about your favorite reads of 2018! Did you read any of the titles that made my list? Leave me a comment and let me know what you thought of these works — or what books I need to add to my TBR for 2019!

Happy reading, friends, and Happy New Year!

Recommended Reading: 3 Wintry Reads That Live Up to the Hype

Hey there, bookworms. Are you on a quest for some fantasy titles for this wintry season? Look no further! I’ve been feverishly reading some hyped backlist titles and these three are perfect for those chilly winter days spent snuggled on the couch. Check it out!

1. The Bear and the Nightingale by Katherine Arden. I finally read this Russian folklore-esque tale a few weeks ago and I freaking loved it. Settled in a northern  egion of medieval Russia, the story follows young Vasilisa, a strange and perhaps magical girl, as she struggles to take the reins of her own life — despite her resentful stepmother’s attempts to stifle her. Meanwhile, Vasya’s village is plagued by an increasing sense of fear and foreboding about the winter to come. When a new priest arrives, determined to drive out the demons (and the pastoral people’s torn devotion between the modern church and ancient pagan customs), Vasya is (mostly) alone in her struggle to combat the unseen forces that will devastate her people. This work of fantasy is so vivid and rich in its composition, I couldn’t put it down — and now I’m keeping my fingers and toes crossed that I get the second book in the trilogy for Christmas!
2. The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey. I raved about this fairytale-based novel last Christmas — and I’m strongly tempted to read it again this winter. The story begins with a middle-aged couple who has resettled in the Alaskan territory, determined to forget the disappointments of a childless life amid extended family back East. Mabel and Jack grow increasingly distant with each passing day, each facing their own disappointments about marriage without children; but when they build a snowgirl on a whim during the first snow of the  laskan winter, they seem to find a bit of joy again. Later, when a mysterious child begins to appear in the snowy forest, Mabel is intent on rescuing the girl — and becoming the mother she’s always longed to be.
3. The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wecker. In an absolutely poetic work of majesty, Wecker weaves together the narrative of Chava the Golem — a clay being brought to life — and Ahmad the Jinni — a fire-spirit trapped in human form. While much of the novel takes place in 1890s New York City, the story crosses centuries and continents in the winding telling of the Jinni’s storied past. The novel begins by bringing both characters “to life” in the overwhelmingly vibrant city, near one another but without any knowledge that the other exists. When fate crosses their paths, the magical beings forge a friendship that is everything their human relationships cannot be: honest, open, without hidden sections of self. But the Golem and the Jinni are dangerous creatures, and always at risk of being discovered — so when several elements combine to create a disastrous situation, the two must make a devastating decision that may forever end their relationship. I was utterly captivated by the beautiful and exotic worlds Wecker built in this fantasy with its roots in Syrian legends and culture. Truth be told, I never wanted it to end — and I’m now eagerly anticipating the slated-2020 release of the second book in this series.

These three titles absolutely live up to the hype they’ve received online — I marveled at each of the works, all three of them richly composed out of ancient folklore and fairytales with more complexity than the standard Disney lot (no princesses falling for charming blondes, here!). Heroes and villains retain elements of both good and bad, desires are achingly raw and relatable, and the writing itself in each of the novels is commendable.

Have you read any of these works? If so, what’d you think? Tell me in the comments below!

 

Review: One Day in December

May I present to thee — An Unpopular Opinion About a Book Receiving Great Praise But To Which My Feelings Seem To Be Impervious?

One Day in December, by Josie Silver, is receiving all kinds of accolades on the bookstagram-osphere. It was selected as a Book of the Month pick (which, you know, has been more miss than hit this past year or so), and basically anybody who’s somebody has read the book, gushed about it, and scrambled to buy a giveaway copy.

The work is classic rom-com fodder: Girl meets — no, doesn’t meet; she makes eye contact with — boy at a crowded train station. Girl and boy fail to connect, but there was something there — she’s sure of it. Girl tells best friend about boy, and the two search for him. A year later: best friend introduces girl to her new boyfriend. He’s *the* boy. Train Station Boy. Girl unselfishly withholds this information, pines over boy from afar — or, really, actually quite close — and thus ensues a period of unfortunate missed-opportunities.

As a movie, this would’ve probably worked for me. I’d have been entertained, I might’ve shed a tear or two, and it may have become one of those love stories I watch when I need a reminder that romance lives on. And I won’t be surprised if it does become a movie.

Sadly, as a novel, the story didn’t work for me. Because the story reminded me so much of former books-turned-films One Day and Something Borrowed, the plot felt predictable and cliche. I knew what would ultimately happen before I even turned the page of the third chapter, and thus, there was little magic in this one, for me. And maybe that’s why I disliked the book so much — I was hoping for that magical Christmastime vibe, and One Day in December just didn’t have it, because predictability.

Perhaps even more off-putting than the predictability: the main characters. I know, I know — this is shaping up to be a weird review. Most of you have probably only seen gushing and heart-eyes emoji about the novel’s characters who are “refreshingly real.” Here’s my issue: Laurie starts off the novel in a foul mood (we’ve all had those, totally understand that). She’s on a crowded bus, irritated with the closeness of strangers, and her inner dialogue is horrendous. I think she actually hates the woman in front of her for having dandruff — and that, my friends, got me started on the wrong foot. It’s just . . . too spiteful for me, I think. Later, she comes across as a much kinder person, but at the back of my mind, I just kept thinking about her vitriol from page one and the lady with dandruff. I couldn’t shake the scene. (Isn’t it weird, what readers latch on to?) And then Jack: Jack is painted as this knight in shining armor, right from the start. He’s introduced as thoughtful, sweet, and charming. So later, when he starts making some choices and acting in a way that feels like a complete 180, that’s when it starts to get uncomfortable. He’s a jerk, point blank, and I didn’t find that a redeeming bit of “realism”. 

Perhaps most unsettling for me: the way the main characters continually trample the emotions of their “friends” to get what they want. Laurie and Jack do it to each other, to their significant others, and to their friends throughout the course of the book. All’s fair in love and war, it seems, quite literally.

Ultimately, I couldn’t get on board with this kind of sabotage, and though I was compelled enough to finish the novel, it left a bitter taste in my mouth. If you’re into romance and you’re more capable of suspending disbelief than I, this might be the read for you. But if you have a hard time justifying despicable behavior and self-serving attitudes, well, you might want to pass.

Overall: 2 stars.

WWW Wednesday – 12/12

It’s that time of the week again! I’ve been reading some pretty fantastic stuff lately and I can’t wait to share with you!

WWW Wednesday is hosted by Sam over at Taking on a World of Words — if you’re interested in participating simply answer the following questions:

1. What are you currently reading?
2. What did you recently finish reading?
3. What do you think you’ll read next?

Here’s what I’m currently reading…

The Bear and The Nightingale by Katherine Arden. This fantasy/respun fairytale has been on my list since its gorgeous cover hit shelves a year ago. I didn’t grab a copy until it came out in paperback, though, and I wanted to save it for winter — AND WINTER IS HERE, Y’ALL! In just a few hours during my kid’s afternoon nap, I’ve managed to read about 40% of the book. It’s so. freaking. good. Vasilisa is born into a northern family in the depths of winter. Her mother dies with the effort of childbirth, and her family is left to manage without a woman — until her father travels to Moscow when Vasilisa is six, bringing home a cold new wife with him. The girl, always “different,” struggles against her stepmother’s unmoving piety. While a priest works to exorcise the community of demons, Vasilisa befriends these guardians and grows increasingly interested in the world they have to offer.

The Train of Lost Things by Ammi-Joan Pacquette. This middle-grades read is a bit out of my ordinary wheelhouse, but I decided to jump in on a buddy read of the title, hosted by my buddy Kathleen (@book_beat) on Instagram! Marty’s most prized possession is a denim jacket his dad gave him for his birthday. Every time the two do something special together, they find a pin to attach to the jacket as a sort of commemoration. But the jacket goes missing one day — the same day Marty discovers his father is dying (soon) of cancer — and Marty sets off on a mission to recover the jacket from the Train of Lost Things, a mythical and magical train from his father’s stories. When Marty finds the train, though, he doesn’t expect to also find another kid looking for a lost possession — Dina — or that the train has gone of the rails and is stealing things. 

The Ragged Edge of Night by Olivia Hawker. A historical fiction novel set in WWII-era Germany, in which Anton — a middle-aged man stripped of his role as friar and teacher by Nazis — travels to a small village to respond to a wanted ad. His mission? To marry the young widow Elisabeth, mother to three small children. Anton isn’t looking for love; rather, he’s seeking to make amends for his failure of the schoolchildren who haunt his memory. But he’s surprised at how quickly the children capture his heart, and as the threads of resistance tug, Anton must make a choice between his new family and the secret rebellion. I’m listening to this one while I workout — so far, so good!

Here’s what I’ve recently finished…

Undiscovered Country by Lin Enger. Touted as a retelling of Hamlet, this literary thriller tells the story of 17-year-old Jesse’s strife to bring his father’s death to truth. On an evening hunting trip, Jesse discovers his father shot through the head, and though the police rule it a suicide, Jesse is certain his dad would never do such a thing. He sets out to discover the identity of the murderer and uncovers some disturbing truths — about his father, his mother, and himself — along the way. This was a well-drawn, engaging story that satisfied my longing for grit and darkness. 3.5 stars.

One Day in December by Josie Silver. I’ll spare you the synopsis, as this one’s all over the internet right now; ultimately, the book is touted as a rom-com/chick lit novel, and that’s a pretty accurate placement of the work. I keep trying romance in hopes that someday I’ll find one I like, but sadly, this wasn’t it for me. I didn’t really love either of the main characters, who often railroaded others in their efforts to fulfill their own desires; and I’ll spare you the spoilers, but some things Jack did were downright uncharacteristic of the initial development the author gave us. I didn’t hate it, but I didn’t love it, either. 2.5 stars.

Voyager by Diana Gabaldon. This was another strong installment in the Outlander series. While certain aspects of Jamie and Claire’s relationship continue to frustrate me (not gonna say it, but if you’ve read this book, YOU KNOW), I continue to enjoy the historical details and elements of adventure in these novels. And, in direct contradiction to the statement in the previous paragraph: I do like the romance between these two. *throws hands up in the air in a shrug*

Here’s what’s next…

I’ve got a looooooot of titles stacked up for December, including these reads:

• The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wecker
• The Winter Witch by Paula Brackston
• I’m Thinking of Ending Things by Iain Reid

and a couple of ARCs that just came in from HarperBooks:

• Freefall by Jessica Barry
• When You Read This by Mary Adkins (which I’m extra excited for since it’s touted as a Maria Semple-esque work)

That’s all for this Wednesday! What’s on your plate this week? Tell me in the comments below!

Hey Publishers: Let’s Talk About Bodies

A few days ago, I had a conversation with a friend about The Kiss Quotient — basically, all the reasons I didn’t like the much-lauded novel (and the romance genre, in general). She gently suggested that even though I didn’t like the love-at-first-sight plot or the writing, it’s still a considered a “good” book because of its groundbreaking qualities — an autistic, Asian female lead. Though I disagree — I think that books should be well-written to be considered “good” — I don’t disagree with her overarching sentiment: that readers need heroines/heroes with whom they can identify. Readers want and need to read about people that look like them, characters who share the same ethnicity or culture or values or gender issues, etc.

And that brings me to the apex of this blog post: body diversity within literature.

It stands to reason that readers want to be swept up in novels about characters that represent them. So why aren’t there more novels that feature women with soft, squishy mom-bods? With stretch marks here and there? With — no, not a perfectly smooth, rounded bum, but — cheeks that have some dimples? And if those characters are out there, why are writers glossing over these goddesses with the blur-feature of authorial photoshop?

I can distinctly remember the struggles I had with body image as a teen. Most of those issues are still alive and well today — there’s constantly an undercurrent of spiteful self-talk running through my mind like a ticker-tape: You’re too fat. You’re too fat. You’re too fat. And I can also remember being an avid reader during those years, noticing — even then — that the characters in the books I read were all the same. They were pretty. They had thigh gaps. They had flat bellies. They didn’t look like me. I was subconsciously aware that with their size 2 jeans and slender ankles, these characters were unhappy with the way they looked — and what the hell kind of message is that supposed to send to a size 12 girl who is, in her teens, utterly preoccupied with looking right?

As an adult, the issue has come into focus with a much sharper lens. Having a child, having a c-section, having a hard time quashing a chocolate addiction — things have gotten increasingly plush around here. I’m hyper-aware of these changes, seemingly at every moment. And in nearly every novel I’ve read (or skimmed, or DNF’d) over the past several years, I’ve been unsurprised to find the same heroine body type over and over again: slender, lean and toned (though somehow she’s almost never athletic?), maybe a few well-placed curves, all topped off with a silky mane and contoured cheekbones. (Unless, of course, she’s an undiscovered beauty who, much like Mia Thermopolis in The Princess Diaries, is in dire need of some Urban Decay and a wardrobe overhaul but still has the makings of a perfect body.)

Right now, the romance genre is making big leaps to change its formulaic white-people-only decades-old trend — here’s a great article about it! — but readers of all genres are still missing something key: varied body types.

Part of this responsibility falls on the shoulders of writers. I get it — authors are tasked with producing what people want to read, and it’s probably safe to say that people mostly want to read about beautiful people/things. But I think writers also have a responsibility to their audience, to go beyond the superficiality of television and magazine beauty standards, to set the precedent for new norms. Norms in which a fluffy, c-section ravaged woman can have a chiseled husband who still finds her hot — and she doesn’t have to feel compelled to change to be proclaimed beautiful. Norms in which stretch marks can cover a woman’s thighs without depleting her sex appeal. Norms in which a female lead can be remarkably unremarkable but not described as “forgettable” or “plain” or “simple” — just described in terms of her actual physical features, so that, you know, readers stop deeming themselves “forgettable” or “plain” or “simple.”

A big piece is up to publishers, too, though. I don’t regularly pick up the types of novels that feature real-life people on the cover (mostly because that kind of cover art usually falls under the romance heading), but I have seen several of these covers floating around the Bookstagram community as of late. I can’t think of a single example in which a fiction book features cover art of a real woman who doesn’t look like she’s been airbrushed and dieted and exercised into a mortal Aphrodite.

Somehow, this seems to be a topic vastly unexamined in the book community. The same people who tip their hats to Aerie for their body positivity campaign — “I’m so refreshed to see models who look like me!” they say — don’t seem to notice (or care?) about the fact that the characters they read about in books are ideal, without flaws (unless they’re dubbed cute “quirks”), coated in some sort of protective layer of surface-level beauty.

I, too, like to escape to a fantasy world in which my thighs don’t chafe as I jog gloriously down the street with boobs that aren’t so big they bobble around like soccer balls but not so small they’re invisible; but sometimes, sometimes — it’s nice to read about a heroine who isn’t “fat comic relief*,” but thick around the middle with goals and problems and seductive powers like the rest of the leading ladies of the literary world.

*Don’t even get me STARTED on the fat-women-on-television problematic tropes. 

Review: An Unexplained Death

If you follow me on Instagram, you already know how I feel about Mikita Brottman’s latest work of nonfiction, An Unexplained Death. In a few words: transcendent. Introspective. Provocative.

I was immediately drawn to the story’s premise: Rey Rivera, a charismatic and kind young man, goes missing one spring day. A week later, his body is discovered at the historic Belvedere Hotel in Baltimore, and the investigators spend very little time determining it is likely a suicide . . . but they dub the causes “undetermined.” Belvedere resident (the hotel is now an apartment building) Mikita Brottman is captivated by this mystery. Was it really a suicide? Why did the investigators do such a terrific job of traipsing all over the crime scene? Why wasn’t she questioned, though the body fell right past her window? What would lead such a handsome and seemingly-successful man to take his own life?

What ensues is Brottman’s obsessive investigation of Rivera’s death and, mingled in among the details of the hunt, her macabre fascination with the hotel’s history of remarkable suicides. An Unexplained Death is almost, to be honest, three different novels in one: it’s a history of the Belvedere Hotel; it’s a true crime work that explores Rey Rivera’s death; and it’s an exploratory memoir that maps out Brottman’s fixation with life, death, and worthiness.

Brottman’s strengths lie in her analyses of very human traits — our fixation on the misfortune of others, our proclivities for stories with “juicy” details and gruesome outcomes, our predilection for judgement even in the cases of victims. I was stricken many times by the honest — and far-reaching — insights Brottman presents to readers. An example:

“Our unease and mistrust around the stories of missing people is a defense mechanism that lets us keep the horror at bay; we can reassure ourselves that many missing people aren’t ‘really’ missing, and as for kidnap victims, they must have been weak and gullible enough to fall in love with their captors, something a stable, rational person would surely never do.” (p. 6)

I mean, seriously. Here’s the nail, and here’s Brottman hitting it on the head.

“When it comes to missing people, the first day or two after they have gone, it is as though they have left a door open behind them, and they can still turn around and come back. But after five or six days, you get the sense they have crossed all the way over. All that remains, if you’re lucky, is a vague glimpse, caught on tape somewhere, of a pixelated ghost.” (p. 11)

And it doesn’t end at page 11, the noteworthy gemmary of Brottman Wisdom:

“When an event has far-reaching consequences, we assume its causes must be equally momentous, just as when we want to roll a higher number, we shake the dice harder, and for a longer time.” (p. 79)

An Unexplained Death is more than a well-researched work of nonfiction. In a highly-readable narrative form, Brottman manages to take readers on a journey of discovery — of Rey Rivera’s life and death, of the author’s own sense of self, of readers’ tendencies toward the macabre and morbidity. The work is obsessive, it’s introspective, and it’s absolutely captivating. Brottman’s insightful observations on human nature throughout this book are just startlingly good.

Overall: 4/5 stars. A must-read for fans of true crime or nonfiction in general.