Review of NEEDLE LAKE by Justine Champine (New Release)

 4 Stars

This is a coming-of-age story.

Fourteen-year-old Ida lives with her mother in the small logging town of Mineral, Washington. Her life consists of attending school, helping her mother in their convenience store, and studying geography and maps which are almost an obsession for her. The arrival of her sixteen-year-old cousin Elna changes everything. Elna seems to be all that Ida is not, so Ida is soon enchanted. After a tragedy, however, their relationship becomes more complicated and slowly Ida’s adulation of her cousin becomes mixed with fear.

This is a character-driven novel in which both girls emerge as complex individuals. Ida, the narrator, is immediately endearing. She is shy and introverted. She does not fit in at school: noises bother her, she is sensitive to touch, loves orderliness, and speaks tonelessly. As a result of her differences, which suggest she is on the autism spectrum, she is bullied and lonely. The world has taught her that because she is a girl, “the best thing I could be was mild. Sweet. Yielding. Endlessly tolerant. A fawn nestled in the grass.” The fact that she has a hole in her heart, which restricts her involvement in physical activities, only adds to her exclusion. At one point, she comments, “’I don’t feel at home in the world.’”

Elna is Ida’s foil. She is glamorous and sophisticated and charming. Ida describes her cousin as “self-possessed, confident, a little standoffish.” In some ways, Elna behaves like she inhabits the world of boys “where anger and mischief and bold, unabashed confidence were permissible.” It is perfectly understandable why Ida becomes enamoured, especially when Elna treats her like a normal person and introduces her to a wider world.

Of course, the reader soon suspects that there may be more to Elna than Ida sees. Certainly her actions immediately upon arrival in Mineral, when the girls visit a variety store, leave the reader wondering about Elna. Jen, a friend of Ida’s mother, feels it necessary to warn Ida about Elna: “’I think she’s a different sort of kid than you. . . . I think maybe you should take it a little slow. . . . I want you to be safe and careful wherever you go, whoever you go with.’” A random woman even tells Elna, “’There’s something very dark in you.’” And her behaviour starts to suggest that this statement is an astute observation. What Ida sees as brave and daring behaviour may, in fact, be seen as recklessness. Is Elna sincere in befriending Ida or is she manipulating her naive and vulnerable younger cousin?

The book is advertised as an exploration of teenage girlhood. I must comment that what is portrayed is very typical behaviour of teenaged girls: problem-solving and decision-making skills are weak but the propensity for risk-taking is strong. Emotions are felt deeply but proper coping mechanisms are lacking. What struck me is Ida’s repeated references to her anger, and though Elna’s strongest emotion is not specifically named until later, it’s obvious that it has influenced her actions from an early age.

There are a couple of issues about the ending that bothered me. Ida suffers no consequences for either the event at the lake or the event in San Francisco? The novel is slow paced, but then there’s an abrupt ending, followed by an epilogue that covers years in a few paragraphs. This contrast in pacing is jarring.

Readers will find much to appreciate in this book.

Note: I received an eARC from the publisher via NetGalley.

Review of CANTICLE by Janet Rich Edwards (New Release)

 3 Stars

This historical novel is set in the late thirteenth century in Bruges, Belgium.

Aleys is an unusual child. From early childhood, she is fascinated by her mother’s psalter and the stories of saints and martyrs. She learns to read and later learns Latin as well. When her father promises her in marriage to a merchant, she runs away. She wants to join the Franciscan friars but because of her gender is given shelter by the beguines, a community of religious laywomen focused on religious devotion and charity. While working in a hospital, Aleys seems to perform miracles so she comes to the attention of the ambitious bishop. She chooses to become an anchorite, living a solitary life of prayer. However, agreeing to be walled into a small cell from which she is forbidden to ever leave does not end her spiritual journey or her sacrifices.

I did not find Aleys relatable or particularly likeable. As a child, she has a spark: she is intelligent, spirited, and stubborn. Despite visions, she has a sense of humour. For instance, when she has a vision, “She hopes the angel will return. Just so long as he doesn’t announce she’s pregnant.” Once she chooses a religious life, she loses this spark and becomes just bland. The Magistra, the leader of the beguines, describes Aleys very aptly: “’She has a calling, . . . I can see that. It doesn’t mean she has charisma.’” At times she is the opposite of what would be expected. For instance, she comes across as conceited: she doesn’t want to be an ordinary beguine but “wants to be more than another thread in the cloth.” She wants ecstasy: “Aleys left home to fly.” Her attitude does change somewhat, but she certainly seems to be full of herself, in love with the idea that God has chosen her. To say she is obsessed is not an overstatement. Sometimes there seems little difference between Aleys and Lukas, her confessor, who ends up suffering what I can only think of as a form of insanity.

I found the book slow. From the beginning, we know Aleys’ fate so all that remains is how she gets to that end. For long periods of time, nothing happens. Her time as an anchorite is just pages of her praying, listening to petitions, experiencing visions, and then despairing when her visions cease. The descriptions of visions are problematic; they’re largely undecipherable. This obscurity is obviously intentional, but paragraphs of unintelligible prose do not make for interesting reading.

There are elements I liked. For example, there are some wonderful turns of phrase: “Eventually, her siblings leave her alone with her saints. Griete discovers the looking glass, Claus deserts martyrs for marbles, and Henryk, growing firm of jaw, decides that virgins are, in fact, interesting.” The book clearly shows the views of women at the time: a friar thinks “Women are easily tempted, prone to deception by demons. It’s hardly their fault. They’re daughters of Eve.” I loved the version of the Sodom and Gomorrah story from the perspective of Lot’s wife and the conclusion, from a woman’s perspective, that Abraham failed God’s test. I appreciated the message that “’heaven is on earth, before us, if only we can see it’” and “everyone [speaks with God]. It’s just so hard to hear.”

The Church’s control over the populace is emphasized. When the bishop finds translations of the Bible into Dutch, the common language, he declares them a heresy. Ecclesiastical power is diminished if “people are asking why they can’t speak directly with God” without the intercession of clergy. In particular, “’The Church wants to silence difficult women.’” Corruption in the Church, as in the sale of indulgences and relics, is emphasized, so much so that the bishop wonders, “Why would God get involved in the affairs of his own church? He’s turned a blind eye to the corruption for centuries.”

The book offers insight into Christianity in medieval times: mysticism, beguines, and anchorites. Unfortunately, the pace is slow so it is sometimes difficult to maintain interest.

Note: I received an eARC from the publisher via NetGalley.

Review of SONGS OF LOVE ON A DECEMBER NIGHT by David Adams Richards

 4 Stars

David Adams Richards is a Canadian author whose books I always purchase as hardcovers as soon as I learn of a new release. This is the twelfth novel of his that I have read.

Colonel Musselman dies of a gunshot wound. Six years later, despite his claims of innocence, Jamie Musselman is convicted of his father’s murder. His fiancée Gertie is among the very few that believe there has been a miscarriage of justice. Very early in the novel, the reader comes to understand that others are responsible for the Colonel’s death: one person shot him but others were present and another provided crucial information. The focus of the novel is on the events that led to the killing and what happens after Jamie has been convicted and imprisoned.

This book has all the hallmarks of a David Adams Richards novel. Of course there’s the rural setting of New Brunswick’s Miramichi River valley which is found in most of his novels. There’s an innocent person charged with a crime (like in Mary Cyr). There are exaggerated rumours and sensationalized gossip (as in Crimes Against My Brother). There are criticisms of certain groups like academics, feminists, and activists (as in The Tragedy of Eva Mott and Darkness and Principles to Live By). As in Mary Cyr, Canada is criticized: “Canada became insipid, a country hollowed out by intellectual conceit and sanctimonious self-reflection. . . . to the rest of the world, in many respects, it was [invisible].” Of course, some of the comments cannot but elicit a smile: one character “did not know that Ottawa was the capital of Canada, and believed it was Washington. Well, what the matter – more than one of our professors and political gurus did as well.” As in The Lost Highway, there is repetition of how non-believers inspired by reason rather than faith have become lost souls.

What is always impressive about DAR’s books is the memorable, authentic characters.  The author takes great pains to explain the motivations of characters – why they make the choices they do.  Sometimes people lash out because they feel betrayed; some are concerned about appearances and status; and some place personal ambition above all else. The backgrounds of characters are also detailed so the reader comes to understand why they behave as they do. Even someone who behaves despicably earns some sympathy when we learn about his/her past. As in previous books, the wisest characters are often those without a formal, academic education.

What is emphasized is that choices have ramifications, sometimes spanning generations. One professor tells a student, “’sometimes whatever we do affects the lives of many not yet born, or those born we do not yet know.’” For example, Gertie’s father wants to make an impression on someone, so he tells a man about money in Colonel Musselman’s house; passing on this information has disastrous consequences. A woman makes a decision to lie to save a man from a jail sentence, “And everything from that moment on changed dramatically in everyone’s life. Though none of them knew it then. All of this happened as if there would be no consequence.” One man, thinking back to events, ponders “When did it all begin?”

As in DAR’s previous novels, what also stands out is the inter-connectedness of all the characters. I grew up in a small town and know first-hand how everyone knows everyone, but sometimes the way people’s paths cross by chance seems contrived. Coincidences occur too: Pruty overhears conversations and finds a crucial letter; Marsha has a visitor when Little Nin calls.

This is not a light read; readers familiar with DAR’s books will not find this surprising. There is theft, infidelity, rape, murder, lying, family disintegration, loneliness, chronic pain, police ineptitude, and heartbreak. Several of the seven deadly sins come into play. So many elements in his books are familiar, but what most impresses is his deep understanding of the human condition and human behaviour.  

Review of VENETIAN VESPERS by John Banville

4 Stars 

I loved this novel set in Venice at the turn of the twentieth century.

Evelyn Dolman, a self-described “Grub Street hack,” is married to Laura Rensselaer, daughter of an American oil baron. Though they have been married for about six months, theirs is really a mariage blanc. The trip to Venice is their honeymoon, delayed because of the sudden death of Laura’s father.

The first night in the city, Evelyn goes for a walk and stops for a drink at the Caffè Florian. There he encounters a man, Frederick FitzHerbert, who claims to have attended the same boarding school, though Evelyn has no recollection of him. When Evelyn is introduced to Cesca, Frederick’s sister, he is immediately smitten. The next morning, Laura disappears. Other strange things happen and Evelyn suspects that he is a pawn being manipulated by someone, but he doesn’t know by whom or for what reason.

Evelyn is the narrator of his own story, and he reveals at the beginning that “In telling my tale I am trying to be as I was then, still happily ignorant of all that I know now.” So the reader struggles, like Evelyn, “to penetrate through successive veils of obfuscation.” He describes his time in Venice as a “time of confusion, fear, and ultimate disaster” during which “a woman died.” He experiences doubts and more than one “tremor of misgiving” and wonders whether he has been spotted “as someone who would be easily gulled,” yet he acknowledges that he rushed “forward heedlessly to embrace my own destruction.” So the reader’s interest is grasped: What exactly happened? Who died? And what were Evelyn’s “worst miscalculations . . . [and] most calamitous errors”?

Since Evelyn is the narrator, there is always the question of his reliability. Can his version of events be trusted? What there is little doubt of is his unlikeability. He is self-absorbed, self-important, self-satisfied, self-righteous, self-pitying, self-serving, and self-justifying. What he is not is self-aware. There is one episode in particular, with Laura the night before she goes missing, during which Evelyn behaves in an unforgivable way, but he constantly makes excuses for his actions. Before beginning his story, Evelyn adds, “There is no doubt of it, I deserved all I got.” At the end, the reader must consider if this is true.

The author certainly plays fair, providing many clues. In dialogue, a motif emerges: “appearances are deceptive” and “one never can tell what’s going on behind one’s back” and “this is Italy, remember, where there’s hardly a person who is what he claims to be.” There is repeated reference to twins: Laura’s sister is Thomasina, which means “twin”; Frederick and Cesca are twins; Laura and Cesca look like twins; and the palazzo in which Laura and Evelyn take residence is the Palazzo Dioscuri which refers to Castor and Pollux, the legendary twins from mythology. Evelyn even speaks of himself as two people: “on the outside manly and self-satisfied while the inner midget seethed with unquenchable ressentiment and spleen.”  Even the name Evelyn, a gender-neutral name, may be significant.

Banville excels at creating an atmosphere with strong gothic elements. There’s a decaying palazzo that “might have been Bluebeard’s Castle,” which wallows “in the noisome shallows of the Canal Grande, that sluggish waterway coiling itself like a fat, grey-green worm through the very bowels of the city.” “The night was foggy, and there was a sulphurous glow that seemed the breath of some ghoulish thing” and during the day, “a low, seamless stretch of cloud laid upon the city like a soiled cotton bandage.” Venice itself is described as “this most elusive, this most crafty, of cities,” a place “of glancing lights, distorting reflections, looming shadows” and a “pestilential town lodged in the fetid crotch of the Adriatic.”

I enjoyed the book for many reasons. Besides the creepy atmosphere of the setting and the constant doubts surrounding characters and events, I love Banville’s writing style with its lush, poetic language. I had to pause to look up certain words like quondam and Latin phrases like vade mecum, but the book was a page turner for me. And the ending provides resolution, but had me thinking that, like Evelyn, “I didn’t yet know the half of it.”

Novel Recommendations for Christmas Gifts

For my hometown newspaper, The Madawaska Valley Current, I've written my annual article recommending fiction titles to gift at Christmas or to include on a to-read list.  Go to https://madvalleycurrent.com/2025/11/20/novel-recommendations-for-christmas-gifts/ to read my suggestions which include Canadian titles (including a trilogy) as well as books by writers from the U.S., England, France, Norway, and New Zealand.

Review of DID I EVER TELL YOU? by Genevieve Kingston

 3.5 Stars

I don’t especially enjoy memoirs and read this one only because it was chosen by my book club. I hate reviewing the genre because any criticism can seem like a disparagement of the writer’s experiences.

When the author, known as Gwenny or Gwen, was three, her mother Kristina was diagnosed with breast cancer. The cancer metastasized and the prognoses became more dire, but she survived for eight more years. She leaves behind a box full of gifts and letters for each birthday until the age of 30 as well as major life milestones. These tokens give Gwen a connection to her mother, but also allow her to learn about her.

She also continues to understand her mother through the stories shared by Kristina’s friends: “’Did I ever tell you . . . ?’ they’d begin, and I’d have one more memory to add to my collection.” In the end she comes to see her mother as an individual with a life separate from her children and her illness.

The book is a testament to a mother’s love which is stronger than death. I can’t imagine being Kristina: experiencing physical and emotional pain knowing that death is looming. Then there’s the act of choosing gifts and writing letters to her son and daughter; despite her personal anguish, she has “an overwhelming desire to comfort and protect.”

Kristina’s message to her daughter is to know yourself, love yourself, and remain true to yourself. And the message to the reader seems to be to collect and hold memories of loved ones. But, actually, the most impactful statement for me is a comment about a man’s death by suicide. Gwen mentions that her mother fought so hard to live and the aunt replies, “’there’s no reason to think that he did not fight just as valiantly.’”

I loved that photos of the gifts Gwen received are included. What I would have liked, however, is to know more about the gifts and letters Jamie, Gwen’s brother, received. The only gift specifically mentioned is an engagement ring. Of course, the fact that Gwen is an extrovert and Jamie is an introvert explains why she, not her brother, wrote a book.

This is a heavy read. From the beginning it is sad, and there is little to relieve that sadness. Parts of it are repetitive – Kristina’s anguish and Gwen’s grief – but, undoubtedly, anyone who has lost a parent will relate to at least parts of the memoir.

Review of LISTEN by Sacha Bronwasser (New Release)

4 Stars 

This novel was first published in Dutch in 2023 (Luister).

The narrator is Marie living in Paris in September of 2021. She looks back at her life as a young woman in the 1980s. She addresses her story to Flo (Florence de Silva), one of Marie’s photography instructors who took a special interest in her when she was a student at an unnamed university in the Netherlands. Marie begins by stating that every story rests on three points and the three points in the story she is going to tell are Philippe Lambert, Flo, and herself.

She begins with Philippe Lambert, a middle manager living in Paris, who has the curse of foreknowledge: he is able to anticipate impending disaster though he cannot do anything to stop it. Marie focuses on the events of 1986 when Paris is experiencing a wave of terrorist attacks and Philippe and his wife Laurence hire Eloïse, a young German girl, as an au pair for their son Nicolas.  Then the narrative switches to 1989. Marie, after abandoning her studies, moves to Paris and becomes an au pair for the Lamberts who now have two sons. Flo’s story is set in 2015 and ends with the November 2015 Paris attacks which bring together the stories of the three characters.

Throughout, there are questions which pique the reader’s interest. What happened between Flo and Marie that resulted in her leaving school and escaping to Paris? Why does Philippe react so strongly when he first meets Eloïse and why does he behave so strangely around her? What happened to Flo during the terrorist attacks? How do the stories of the three come together?

Of course, the seemingly disparate stories do come together and in such a way that one cannot but be impressed by the intricate and masterful plotting. I think this book offers rewards to those who have the time to re-read it. A quick re-reading of the prologue, for instance, has snippets like these in which Marie directly addresses Flo: “I didn’t see your face among the talking heads. Your story wasn’t told; you’ve always remained silent. Again, those images, but you will never see them” and “You’ll have to make time for [our story] too. Listen.” Only after knowing what happens did I fully appreciate the meaning of these words.

The title is perfect. There’s Marie telling Flo to listen to her story. There’s Philippe who has no choice but to listen to his fears, though when he tries to warn others of impending danger, “nobody wanted to listen.” There’s Marie listening to a new language when she first arrives in Paris and what happens when she finally discovers she understands French conversation. And then there’s the ending which adds so much to the relevance of the title.

There are a number of themes, but the one that stood out for me is the issue of appropriation of people’s stories. Flo argues that “It’s not up to us to form a moral judgment about how far a photographer is allowed to go. If you really want to say something, you have to be shameless.” The philosopher Roland Barthes is quoted as saying that photographs are dangerous and gluttonous because “They turn the photographed person into an object. What is an object? A thing, something, without a soul.” And then there’s the question of whether Marie reclaims her agency, her story, and appropriates Flo’s.

This is a thought-provoking read which I think would impress even more on a second reading.

Note:  I received an eARC from the publisher via NetGalley.