Review of UNDERSONG by Kathleen Winter (New Release)

 4.5 Stars

This novel is a fictionalized account of the life of Dorothy (Rotha) Wordsworth, sister of the famous Romantic poet, William Wordsworth. 

The book begins on the day of Rotha’s death.  James Dixon, a gardener/handyman for the Wordsworth household, talks to the bees in the garden about Rotha whom he has known for almost 40 years.  He believes that “When someone you care about dies, you can tell their story to the bees and they’ll keep it, like.  Even if everyone else forgets.  Bees’ll . . . scatter it abroad with the pollen so the world never really forgets.” 

James is hired to do odd jobs for William, but he is also tasked with looking after Rotha whom William describes as having “sensitivities” and being “not like other women” so she “has to be handled most carefully.”  William also describes her as being exuberant:  “Too exuberant.  Because then she flattens.  After the exuberant time when everything is charged and full of a joyful energy, her sun goes out like a blown lamp.  Worse than flattens.”  In reality, it seems that William does not have time to spend with his sister, or does not want to do so, and James becomes his stand-in.  James and Rotha spend a great deal of time together both in the garden and on walks in the Lake District and a bond forms, though James is aware that there is a class divide and he is a servant. 

The book is very much a character study of Dorothy Wordsworth.  She is totally attuned to nature; James describes her as hearing “a faint speech of the flowers . . . far more plainly than any speech from people.”  James speaks of how “she could go in any ordinary place and she would see it exalted, like” and he knows “that one and the same thing to her were gull and grass and lake and path and her own self.”  Rotha is the source of her brother’s success.  She keeps journals in which she jots impressions and William uses them in his poems as if they were his; James reads Rotha’s journals to William:  “The words he fished or made me gather and move from her world to his own were like pollen and nectar ye collect.  We harvested his sister’s weightless and golden thoughts.  He did not have anything like those in himself.”  She is a lonely woman who has sacrificed much to feed William “spoonful by tiny exquisite spoonful . . . the words the world thinks are created by himself alone.”  She is a fiercely intelligent woman but her brilliance is at the service of others; James says, “if anyone siphoned the spirit out of me that William drew from Rotha I might have a pain in my guts an’ all, and sore bowels and stiff legs.” 

Dorothy resents how women, especially those of a certain age, are rendered invisible:  “Accomplishment . . . is a woman’s word.  A man has no need of this word as he fulfills it by virtue of having been born & having not yet died. . . . Accomplishment is our word & our reason for lying in agony for some time before rising, if we are able to rise at all.  Accomplishment is for us inaccessible.  Evasive.  Always ahead.  A state of being . . . that cannot exist for us as long as men stand like gnomons & define timelessness for themselves alone.”

This is not to say that Dorothy is perfect because Winter develops her into a complex person with human flaws.  James thinks that “she fully listened to anything I had to say” but this proves not to be true because she never remembers that James has a sister and not a brother.  He does acknowledge a certain hard-heartedness:  “If she heard or saw even a glimpse of something that didn’t go with her vision of paradise in that closed-off shaded world of theirs, Rotha Wordsworth wanted it gone.”  He admits that “I don’t think she wanted to hear too much of my story.  She was very comforted by the fact that I was a quiet and strong person who did not demand anything in the way of attention.  She hated it when people gabbed on about themselves.”

It is not only Dorothy who is developed; her brother also emerges as a round character.  One can feel sympathy for him because he seems to have lost the connection to nature; “he has become hard of hearing when it came to the natural world” and he confesses to James that “the poems were leaving him.”  Knowing how reliant William is on his sister, James has sympathy:  “I thought how painful this must have been for him.  Knowing glory was there second-hand, like.”  (Of course, I was reminded of William’s tribute to his “dear, dear sister” in the third movement of his famous poem, “Lines Written a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey”:  “in thy voice I catch/The language of my former heart, and read/My former pleasures in the shooting lights/Of thy wild eyes.”) 

Though William is reliant on Dorothy’s inspiration, he dismisses her feelings.  He reads all her journals except a red diary which he ignores:  “The red diary is of no use to anybody at all.  It is nothing but a record of my sister’s feelings.”  At one point, James questions whether William “had ever been devoted to anyone but himself.”  Did he have a selfish reason for convincing his sister that she wouldn’t be able “to endure the exposure of literary fame”? 

James too is an interesting character.  He has been scarred by his experiences at the battle of Waterloo.  A lost soul, he finds purpose in his work for the Wordsworths.  He feels he has received “as much from the Wordsworths as they ever received in the way of service.  Ye have to understand this was the first time in my life that somebody wanted done what I know how to do.  What I want to do.”  His admiration for Rotha is boundless, and though he’d like to think that they thought of him with affection and that he was part of “the little fam’ly,” he knows he is a servant.  His insecurity is so evident as to break one’s heart:  “I hope I’m remembering it right.  I mean they felt . . . affection for me, I think?  I mean I hope they did, because I certainly . . . I’ve got to stop telling ye all this for a minute for I feel a kind of – dread?  A kind of horrible feeling that I might’ve been wrong – but - I don’t think I am wrong . . . Do ye think I’m wrong?”  Another time, he says “of course I was only a servant.  But I mean one servant can be entirely different from another servant, can’t they?”  In fact, the barrier between classes is never dismantled as he admits in a moment of honesty:  “And as regards my being only a servant, she’d forget.  Rotha would forget that I was only the hired hand.  I mean, forget is not what she . . . no she didn’t forget, but she . . . She never forgot.”  

There are several references to James’ sister Penny and her situation; I think a student of psychology could examine James’ feelings of concern and guilt concerning Penny and their connection to his relationship with William’s sister.  James feels guilty because he isn’t able to find Penny a position with the Wordsworths:  “I was not fit.  Because I didn’t find a way.  A way out.  A way of escape.  A way of freedom.  I didnt’ find it for Penny.  My sister.  My sister Penny.  The crowd here at Rydal did not care to help me free her.”   Much could be made of his comments, supposedly about others, that “even if people claim one thing – such as you shouldn’t leave your sister alone lest she come to harm – you find gaps where their plans get forgotten and they hope it won’t matter” and that “a brother can look after his younger sister only so much and then she has her own way of wanting to look after herself.  And no matter how sick or poorly or wretched she seems to that brother, if she wants to get up on her own feet and see through her own eyes the older brother cannot make her see through his.”

My review is going on and on, but there is just so much to think about in this novel.  As a former teacher of English literature, I loved the literary name dropping (Charles and Mary Lamb, Robert Southey, Samuel Coleridge, William Blake, and Thomas De Quincey) and references to William’s poems like “The World is Too Much with Us” and “William’s biggest poem of all, the daffodil one.”  I chuckled at James’ description of Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan”:  “you’d think she’d been to that place Sam Coleridge made up that begins with an X or a Z, I forget the name.  Domes and that.”  And how many books have passages narrated by an old sycamore tree?

So . . . an absolutely wonderful book imagining the life of an oft forgotten woman.  I know I will be returning to it in the future. 

Note:  I received a digital copy of this book from the publisher via NetGalley.

This review was featured on Twinkl as part of their Literary Lovers campaign.

Review of FIGHT NIGHT by Miriam Toews (New Release)

 4 Stars

The narrator is 9-year-old Swiv who lives in Toronto with her mother, who is in the last trimester of her pregnancy, and her Grandma Elvira.  Having been expelled from school, Swiv stays home and her grandmother becomes her teacher.  She gives Swiv a writing assignment:  to write to her absent father.  The book is her letter to her dad describing daily events and a trip she and Grandma take together.  The other character of note is Gord; though they do not know the unborn child’s gender, they have named it Gord.

There is not much of a plot; instead, the focus is on the relationship between Swiv and Grandma.  Though she has several health issues, Grandma lives with exuberance.  She has not had an easy life and has experienced tragedies so she knows life can be painful, but she believes one should live joyfully and fight ferociously to live on his/her own terms.  This is the lesson she wants Swiv to learn, and she teaches it to her through both action and word.

Grandma left an ultraconservative community under the control of a man named Willit Braun.  Though the Mennonite religion and the author’s hometown of Steinbach are never mentioned, the author’s background does suggest she is referencing both.  (She does mention the Disraeli Bridge in Winnipeg, and Grandma uses expressions like “Na Oba” which Swiv calls her grandmother’s “secret 57 language” but probably refers to Plautdietsch.) 

Grandma is highly critical of the church in which she grew up.  She describes how the church leaders, “all those men,” stole from followers "the imperative, the human imperative . . . to experience joy.  To find joy and to create joy.  All through the night.  The fight night. . . . They stole our souls . . . they replaced our love, our joy, our emotions . . . They took all those things and replaced them with evil and with guilt. . . . replaced our tolerance with condemnation, our desire with shame, our feelings with sin, our wild joy with discipline, our agency with obedience, our imaginations with rules, every act of joyous rebellion with crushing hatred, our impulses with self-loathing, our empathy with sanctimoniousness, threats, cruelty, our curiosity with isolation, willful ignorance, infantilism, punishment!”

She tells Swiv that, “They took our life force.  And so we fight to reclaim it . . . we fight and we fight and we fight . . . we fight to love . . . we fight to love ourselves . . . we fight for access to our feelings . . . for access to our fires.”  She tells her, “You have a fire inside you and your job is to not let it go out.”  To her unborn grandchild, she writes, “You’re a small thing and you must learn to fight.”  Grandma acknowledges that sometimes people lose but what is worse is to lose “by not trying and not fighting.  You play hard to the end, Swiv.  To the buzzer.  There is no alternative.”  Of course, “Fighting means different things for different people.  You’ll know for yourself what to fight.  Grandma told me fighting can be making peace.  She said sometimes we move forward by looking back and sometimes the onward can be knowing when to stop. . . . We all have fires inside us . . . Grandma said you pour so much alcohol on the fire inside you that it’s guaranteed never to go out.”

Grandma is an unforgettable character.  She is so joyful, believing that “You can only die once so don’t die a thousand times worrying about it.”  She tells a nephew that “Life is a failed mission! . . .  We’re all gonna go crazy and die so just have some fun.”  She laughs and sings and dances through her days.  She “loves to talk about the body.  She loves everything about the body, every nook and cranny. . . That’s life! she said.  You gotta love yourself.”   She uses colourful language, explaining, “It doesn’t matter what words you use in life, it’s not gonna prevent you from suffering.”   She suffers from gout, trigeminal neuralgia, angina, and arthritis but says, “It’s only pain.  We don’t worry about pain.  It’s not life-threatening.  It is not those who can inflict the most but those who can suffer the most who will conquer.”

Swiv is another memorable character.  She is certainly precocious, though there is much she does not understand.  Typical of someone her age, she is easily embarrassed by discussions of sex and bodily functions, topics both Grandma and Swiv’s mother often broach.  Grandma talks to everyone she meets and has no concern about what people think of her antics, so Swiv spends a lot of time feeling embarrassed and pretending she is not accompanying this crazy old lady.  Standing by chance next to a photo of a naked woman outside a strip club, Grandma “posed on the sidewalk in the same position as the naked lady in the picture with her knees bent a bit and her butt poking out and her hands on her boobs.  I looked down at the sidewalk for things to kill myself with.”   I felt some sympathy for Swiv but at the same time I envied her for having such a vivacious woman in her life.  At the end of the novel, it is wonderful to see Swiv using some of the lessons her grandmother has been teaching her.

What is remarkable about Swiv, her grandmother, and her mother is that they are so supportive of each other.  They are a team, and Grandma emphasizes that “We need teams.  We need others to fight alongside us. . . . Lonely fights are the worst, she said.  She’d rather lose a lonely fight.  She’d rather join a losing team than win a lonely fight.”

There is much wit and humour.  Much of the comedy comes from Grandma’s high jinks.  When teaching Swiv math, she gives her problems like “If it takes five years to kill a guy with prayer, and it takes six people a day to pray, then how many prayers of pissed off women praying every day for five years does it take to pray a guy to death?” and “If I’m 5’1” now . . . you’re 5’4”, and if you’re growing at the rate of two and a half inches per year and I’m shrinking at the rate of one quarter of an inch per year, when do we meet on the chart?” and “If you’ve got a two thousand-piece puzzle of an Amish farm and you manage to add three pieces to the puzzle per day, how many  more days will you need to stay alive to get it done?”

The book is described as a “tribute to perseverance” and indeed it is, reminding us that “what makes a tragedy bearable and unbearable is the same thing – which is that life goes on.”  Since the world cannot “be counted upon [because] it pleased itself.  Not much point in having special wishes” it is best to adopt the attitude that “So long as one could be alive, take part in it.” 

This novel has all of the hallmarks of a Miriam Toews novel:  memorable characters, humour, thought-provoking ideas, and a writing style where every word is significant.  Like all her books, it is a must-read.

Note:  I received a digital galley from the publisher via NetGalley.

Review of THE CREAK ON THE STAIRS by Eva Björg Ægisdóttir

 4 Stars

This police procedural, the first in the Forbidden Iceland series, is an exceptionally promising debut. 

The body of a woman, later identified as Elísabet Hölludóttir, is discovered near the lighthouse in Akranes on the west coast of Iceland.  Elma, recently returned from the Reykjavík CID after a failed relationship, becomes involved in the investigation into Elísabet’s death.  Along with her colleague Sævar and her boss Hörður, Elma investigates the dead woman’s past; Elma is convinced the motive for the murder lies in Elísabet’s childhood years in Akranes.  Slowly, long-buried secrets are uncovered.

There are two timelines.  The investigation takes place in November – December of 2017, and there is a precise description of the lines of inquiry followed by the team.  But there are also flashbacks to 1989 – 1992 which focus on the victim’s point of view and describe experiences in her childhood.  Readers will find these sections to be unsettling but they are crucial in explaining Elísabet’s personality.  The flashbacks add psychological depth by showing how her character was shaped by what happened to her. 

Since this is the first in a series, the character of the protagonist is carefully developed.  Elma is recovering from a failed long-term relationship and has grudgingly returned to her hometown where she has taken a job with the police department.  Having been away, she, unlike Hörður, tends to be much less concerned about ruffling the feathers of the community elite.   What emerges as a dominant trait is her determination to uncover the truth of what happened to Elísabet and why.  While working on the case, Elma gradually finds her place on the team and builds camaraderie with her colleagues. 

The novel excels at establishing a real sense of place.  The descriptions certainly brought back clear memories of my visit to Akranes a few years ago when my husband and I did a tour of Iceland.  Certainly, anyone who has lived in a small town will appreciate the realistic portrayal of small-town dynamics.  The claustrophobia of small-town life is emphasized with the repetition that “’everyone knows everyone else’s business,’” but though rumours abounds, residents are often reluctant to take action for fear of causing disturbance in a place where relationships and reputations are of paramount importance.  Of course the memories of those who have lived in the town all their lives can be helpful in providing backstories and useful information. 

What also impressed me is the exquisite crafting of plot.  The novel’s pace is rather sedate, perhaps best described as slow and steady, but revelations and twists occur regularly so my interest never waned.  There are hints that several people are keeping secrets:  one woman concludes, “there was one lie she would have to live with. One lie that she would never be able to shrug off” and another woman has a sleepless night because of “the pair of dark eyes that had met hers when she glanced across the restaurant.”  I found myself fully engaged as I read, often pausing to consider the ramifications of the latest clue or discovery.  Reading this book was like putting together a complex jigsaw puzzle.  At the end, when the last pieces fell into place, I was even more impressed with how cleverly the plot had been constructed. 

I would be remiss if I didn’t comment on the translation by Victoria Cribb.  The language flows so effortlessly that I totally forgot I was reading a translation from Icelandic.  Reading translated books can sometimes be a frustrating experience, but that is certainly not the case here. 

The Creak on the Stairs has multi-layered, intricate plotting and engaging characters with interesting backstories so I will certainly be picking up Girls Who Lie, the second installment in the series.

Note:  I received a digital copy of this novel from Orenda Books in return for an honest review. 

 

Review of THE DARKNESS KNOWS by Arnaldur Indriðason (New Release)

 4 Stars

Having read the complete Inspector Erlendur series by Indriðason, I was thrilled to learn about this book which is apparently the first in a new series featuring Konrád, a retired police detective.

The body of Sigurvin, a man who went missing in 1985, is found frozen in a glacier.  The police suspected Hjaltalín, a business associate with whom Sigurvin had a disagreement, as being responsible for the disappearance, but charges were not laid because of lack of evidence.  Thirty years later, Hjaltalín is still claiming innocence, and Konrád, though retired, gets drawn back into the case when Hjaltalín refuses to speak to anyone but him.  Hjaltalín wants his name cleared and Konrád wants to close the case which he was not able to solve.  Then the detective is approached by a woman who wants him to investigate the hit-and-run death of her brother Villi six years earlier; she mentions her brother’s belief that he witnessed something relevant to the Sigurvin case.  Konrád soon becomes convinced there may be a connection between the deaths of the two men.

Since this is apparently the first in a new series, there is considerable focus on describing Konrád’s background and developing his personality.  What emerges is a complex character study.  We learn about Konrád’s early years living with his criminal father, his relationship with his wife Erna, and his having to cope with a withered arm.  We see him in various roles:  detective, son, brother, husband, father, grandfather.  Now widowed and retired, he is bored and feels a lack of purpose in his life.  Frustrated at not having been able to solve the Sigurvin case years ago, he sets out with dogged determination to do so now.  Though there is much to admire about him, so most will find him an appealing character, he is a flawed person.  As a youth he was not always law-abiding, and he also feels guilt at choices he made in the past.  Anger management has been a struggle on more than one occasion.  Having a complex character as protagonist is key to a successful series. 

Because Konrád is investigating cold cases, the pace is slower than one would find with homicide investigations in real time.  He proceeds slowly and methodically; most of his time is spent (re-)interviewing people, many of whom seem to have very tenuous connections to either Sigurvin or Villi.  He does have the advantage of having connections at the police department, but herein lies a problem.  Marta, the chief inspector at Reykjavík CID, behaves inconsistently.  She calls on Konrád to assist by speaking to Hjaltalín, but later snaps at him for investigating:  “’You can’t just start investigating the whole thing again off your own bat . . . It’s totally unacceptable.  Surely you can understand that?  You have to leave it to us.’”   Then later, she actually helps Konrád by compiling a list of people for him to interview.

There are some awkward moments.  The reference to Konrád’s weak arm is mentioned only mid-way through the book.  The conversations he has about his own father’s criminal past and murder seem out of place, though undoubtedly those are foreshadowing Konrád’s preoccupation in a later installment.  Then there are the coincidences, like the sudden appearance of a woman whose name Konrád has just confirmed. 

With Sigurvin’s body being disinterred from the ice, the past is brought to the attention of the present.  In many ways, the novel examines how the past, people’s choices and actions, haunts their present.  Konrád feels guilt and remorse because of his extramarital affair.  Unexplained deaths (Konrád’s father, Villi, Engilbert) haunt surviving family members.  Egill and Fridný feel so guilty about a hidden treasure that they confess to the police.  When those who played a role in Sigurvin and Villi’s deaths are revealed, it is obvious that they too have been haunted by their actions.  As Konrád unearths long-buried secrets, the lives of many people are disturbed, but in fact their lives have been uneasy for years.  

I’ve toured Iceland and reading this book was like returning for a second visit.  I will certainly make another “visit” when the next book in this series is released.  The nuanced characters and the complex plot kept my attention and I’m curious to see what awaits Konrád.

Note:  I received a digital galley from the publisher via NetGalley.

Review of THE WINTER WIVES by Linden MacIntyre (New Release)

3.5 Stars

Lifelong friends since university, Byron and Allan are enjoying a game of golf when Allan has a stroke.  Faced with his mortality, Allan decides he needs to make some decisions concerning his extensive business empire.  He enlists the help of his wife, Peggy Winter; her sister and Byron’s wife, Annie Winter, who has served as his accountant; and Byron who has been his lawyer for many of his deals.  At the same time, Byron is worried about showing the early signs of dementia which claimed his mother.

Byron, the narrator, admits that he and Allan are a “strange pair.  Two guys who didn’t have a thing in common.”  Their friendship seems unlikely.  Allan is the wheeler-dealer who lives in Toronto.  Byron tells his wife that, ‘’Allan is my oldest friend.  I’d trust him with my life.  But Allan is a criminal.”  Byron, meanwhile, is a lawyer reluctant to move from his family homestead in rural Nova Scotia.  Because of a traumatic childhood injury, he has been left with a limp and a faulty memory.    

Neither Byron nor Allan is particularly likeable.  Allan’s financial success has been built on drugs and money laundering; Byron is aware of his friend’s shady dealings and even facilitates them, though he keeps himself at a distance from day-to-day operations and chooses not to look too closely.  Byron claims to have spent sleepless nights debating “the fine line between protecting and enabling,” before agreeing to work for Allan, but there is little evidence of an ethical struggle.  He justifies his actions by arguing that “everything we do is compromised at some point.  We survive by compromise, by moral flexibility."  Then, any sympathy I felt for Byron is eradicated after an encounter between him and Peggy. 

The book asks whether we can really know people:  “Byron.  Annie.  Peggy.  Allan.  Always strangers to each other, always strangers to ourselves.  Who are we?”  Byron states, “People are inscrutable surfaces.  They are social fabrications, concealing private lives that are unknowable.”  Of course, some people make certain they are unknowable.  Allan, for example, has a phobia about signing anything.  He also used different names:  “Allan had many names – inventions he could use when necessary then leave behind, as irrelevant as worn-out shoes.  A name is a persona, he’d say, and a persona has no substance.”  Peggy describes her husband as “a fiction, a creative enterprise that he’s been working on for decades.” 

Byron thinks he knows Allan:  “A name is only a name.  Identity is something else, something deep and private, shared only with those who, over time, we come to trust.  I took for granted that the list of people he trusted was very short.  Me and Annie.  And obviously, Peggy.”  Byron tells Peggy that he knows “the Allan he’s always wanted me to know” but it becomes clear there is much he doesn’t know.  A mystery in the novel is who Allan really is.

The book is being described as a thrilling psychological drama, but I didn’t find it especially thrilling.  It is not fast paced enough to be a thrilling.  I also did not find it to be as compelling a read as I had expected because I found it difficult to care about what happened to the characters.  And the idea that people may not be what they seem is hardly original. 

Note:  I received a digital galley from the publisher via NetGalley.

Review of GONE FOR GOOD by Joanna Schaffhausen (New Release)

4 Stars 

This is the first in a new detective series featuring homicide detective Annalisa Vega of the Chicago Police Department.

The Lovelorn Killer murdered seven women and then disappeared until Grace Harper, a grocery store manager and member of an amateur sleuth group, starts investigating the case.  She believes she has discovered something crucial when she is murdered in the killer’s signature style.  Annalisa is put on the case which is very personal to her because the Lovelorn Killer’s last victim 20 years earlier was Katie Duffy, a neighbour, family friend, and mother of Colin, Annalisa’s first love.  Annalisa and her partner and ex-husband, Nick Carelli, try to track down the killer who makes it known that Annalisa is his next target.

Interspersed with the police investigation are entries from Grace’s journal (“Grace Notes”) which detail her thinking process, discussions with other members of the Grave Diggers group, and the steps she takes as she tries to identify the Lovelorn Killer.  Not only do these entries provide clues to the reader, they also serve to create suspense:  will Annalisa and Nick realize in time what Grace ascertained? 

Because this is the first book in a series, there is considerable focus on describing Annalisa’s background and developing her personality.  We learn about her three older brothers and her parents; especially relevant is the fact that her father was a police officer who was involved in the investigation of Katie Duffy’s murder.  Annalisa is a likeable character; she is intelligent, brave, and determined, but she is not flawless. 

Though attention is paid to creating a multi-layered protagonist, there is an intriguing plot with considerable action and suspense.  The pace is quite fast once Annalisa and Nick begin the hunt.  I appreciated that there are lots of clues.  Though they are subtle, they are there, so the author plays fair by not withholding information.  And there are some red herrings and twists to keep the reader guessing.  Once Colin arrives, there is a bit of a love triangle involving him, Annalisa and Nick, but it is not overdramatized and so does not distract too much from the mystery.

Though this is very much a character and plot novel, there is some thematic development.  Through at least four characters, the book examines the effects of trauma.  Also, the importance of a stable family in a child’s upbringing is implied more than once.  Though generally serious, the book does have some touches of humour:  “Family lore said Great Grandpapa Vega had once worked alongside Herman Melville, but Annalisa suspected this was just a fish story.”

This novel has an interesting plot, with action and suspense, and strong characterization.  It is a mixture of police procedural and family drama, with a smidgen of romance.  I will certainly read the next installment in the series. 

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

Review of THE ROSE CODE by Kate Quinn

 3.5 Stars

My latest audiobook was this historical fiction which focuses on three women who work at Bletchley Park, the centre for code-breaking during World War II.

Osla Kendall is a wealthy socialite whose boyfriend is Prince Philip of Greece; her fluency in German provides her a role as translator.  Mab Churt comes from a working class background and strives to better herself and to find a husband who will provide financial security and social standing; she becomes adept at working the bombe code-breaking machines.  Beth Finch is timid and suffers from poor self-esteem because of her psychologically abusive mother but proves to be a brilliant cryptanalyst.  The three become fast friends until the war, secrecy and loss tear them apart. 

The novel covers two time periods:  the war years, when the women are at Bletchley Park, and 1947, just before the royal wedding of Princess Elizabeth and Philip.  After the war, Beth is in an asylum.  She contacts her one-time friends asking them to help her escape and to crack a code which would identify a Bletchley Park traitor who was also responsible for detaining Beth in Clockwell Sanitarium.

I knew a bit about code-breaking and the Enigma machine from The Imitation Game and that knowledge was helpful; this novel shows the women working in some of the different areas at Bletchley Park.  Some historical figures (Dilly Knox, Alan Turing, and the Glassborow twins) who actually worked there make an appearance in the novel. 

Other historical people are also featured:  Winston Churchill, Princess Margaret, and Prince Philip.  Apparently Osla Kendall is based on Osla Benning, a Canadian-born debutante who was actually Prince Philip’s first girlfriend.  Knowing about Prince Philip’s 73-year marriage to Queen Elizabeth, reading about his relationship with another woman was interesting. 

The three women are well-developed so there is no difficulty differentiating them, and the narrator, Saskia Maarleveld, does an exceptional job in giving each a different voice.  Each protagonist has positive qualities and flaws, so the reader will both cheer for and be frustrated with each of them at different times. 

The book begins slowly as the women are introduced and detailed backstories provided.  The problem is that initially there is little suspense.  We know that the three friends have not parted amicably so there is interest in discovering what caused the rift, but tension isn’t developed until the latter part of the novel.  One scene that really bothered me is the one involving the revelation of the traitor’s identity; the unmasking is done in a very unnatural way.  There are also some questionable coincidences, very convenient chance encounters that are used to provide a nice ending for everyone.

Kate Quinn is a best-selling writer of historical fiction, though this is my first of her books.  I can understand why she is popular.  The Rose Code is entertaining, and I found it perfect as an audiobook because it is not a challenging novel. 

Review of SAVAGE TONGUES by Azareen Van der Vliet Oloomi (New Release)

 2 Stars

The narrator of this book states, “in all of my years of writing I hadn’t once been able to produce an outline or a novel that was distinctly plot driven . . . . [with] events that administer exacting lessons to the characters, forcing them either to grow or become more calloused versions of who they already were.”  Well, the author certainly “succeeded” in writing a book that has virtually no plot and no complex or dynamic characters. 

Arezu, a 37-year-old Iranian-American, travels to Marbella, Spain, with her best friend Ellie, an Israeli-American queer woman.  Arezu has inherited the apartment where she spent a summer when she was 17.  She visits to confront the ghosts of that summer when Omar, a 40-year-old distantly related man, seduced her and kept her in an abusive relationship.  Once ensconced in the apartment, the two women do nothing except eat, drink, clean the apartment, and go to the beach.  The entire book is Arezu’s unrelenting examination of her trauma. 

To say that the pace is glacial would be an understatement.  I certainly would have abandoned the book had I not felt obligated to finish it in order to write a review since I’d received a galley from the publisher.  Good-quality literary fiction is cerebral but it does not overanalyze everything repeatedly.  Who sees swans and feels compelled to comment that “The swans, too, were a symbol of nationalism, a polite intimation of England’s timeless colonial agenda.”  At least a dozen times Arezu looks in a mirror and each elicits a long description of what she sees or imagines she sees:  “A vertiginous sensation took hold of me.  There she was, that other future version of me – her features wounded and disfigured, her skin stretched, sagging, the light in her eyes spent, her mouth cracked open – staring back at me from the reflective surface of the mirror.  I grew increasingly claustrophobic . . . I felt the walls leaning in.”  This future self is repeatedly described with “her wounded eyes, gaunt cheeks, her brittle hair” and “bloodied and bloated face.”

The descriptions of scenery are over-wrought:  “the thick papery bougainvillea that crawled across the city’s surfaces like mouths painted rouge, like kisses turned toward the vivid blue of the sky.”  Light is described as “uncertain yellow” and “yolky, oxidized” and “bright, eager” and “brilliant, luminous, incandescent” and “silky golden” and “warm vinegary” and “mildewy yellow” and “shy mustard” and “mild yolky”!  Why are two adjectives always necessary?  The writer seems to latch on to words and then feels compelled to use them again and again.  Susurrus is used three times.  The phrase “I considered” appears 34 times! 

Ellie’s presence serves little purpose.  Her main task seems to be as a distraction.  She certainly doesn’t say anything helpful.  In fact, dialogue is limited.  What dialogue is included is stiff and unnatural:  “’This card signals conflict and change.  The conflict you experienced is deep and continuous with an ongoing conflict that existed and still exists outside of you, a cultural conflict between East and West, earth and water, masculine and feminine, the psychic and the material – you were caught at their fault lines. . . . In order to resolve this conflict . . . you’ll have to draw on all of your psychic and emotional resources.  The resolution may be subtle, the path toward its achievement equally so, composed of nearly imperceptible shifts in consciousness that ultimately will integrate all of the many differing opinions that you carry within you.’”  No one speaks like this!

After this wooden conversation, Arezu continues that Ellie “added that true integration didn’t mean eliminating contradiction but rather aligning the inconsistencies inherent in my intellectual and physical life with the high ideals of the heavens, not the heaven we’ve constructed from our limited position on earth, from our religious perspectives, but a heaven beyond the paradise we’ve been taught to imagine, a space that is abundant, wide open, that allows opposing realities to exist side by side without judgment – a  complex space where we are invited to let go of our constant need to know or understand everything, where we are no longer measured by our supposed purity.”  Then Arezu starts to cry!  This passage may well leave the reader in tears as s/he tries to decipher this inaccessible prose!

Arezu comes across as full of self-pity.  She blames everyone and everything for her falling into the arms of an older predatory man:  “I had been primed – through my culture, my family dynamics, my own unbending character – to fall prey to him.”  She blames her negligent father, her own loneliness, and Omar’s background and experiences in Beirut during Lebanon’s civil war.  She thinks that maybe “the house manipulated me into craving what had then seemed to be unparalleled bliss” and argues that “our affair was made possible by the beauty of the Andalusian landscape” and even “The city seduced us with the magic of familiarity, the anthem of belonging, the forgotten memories of our ancestors who had resisted and survived persecution through subterfuge.” 

Her self-dramatizing grates and does not arouse sympathy when she makes statements like “I was in acute pain” and I’d “been subjected to a violence so severe and perseverant by the gears of history” and “all my life there had been a gun pointed at my back” and “My life required of me an almost inhumane level of cognitive flexibility” and “being exposed to so much grief in our youth had numbed us.”  In her day-to day life, however, Arezu seems to be functioning well; she has a loving husband and a successful career, though she claims to live “in a state of skeptical inquiry, on guard, her ability to trust shattered by history, her sense of self ground to dust” with no “ability to compose my own identity” and with “parts of myself . . . amputated from memory” after having been “pushed . . . prematurely over the ravine into womanhood.”  None of these consequences are really shown.  At the risk of sounding insensitive, I wanted to scream, “Okay, move on.  Stop wallowing.  You’ve managed to achieve so much despite what happened to you.  Fixating on what happened 20 years earlier only gives it more power.”

For me, this was just an exhausting read.  The term novel is not appropriate for this book; it is an unrelenting examination of a trauma; after a while, it produces only a susurrus in which meaning is lost.  The narrator’s reflections are repetitive and fruitless, inspiring no growth. 

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