Review of THE MORTAL AND IMMORTAL LIFE OF THE GIRL FROM MILAN by Domenico Starnone (New Release)

 3.5 Stars

This is a quiet, reflective novel; although it’s a genre I usually enjoy, I sometimes found myself losing interest while reading this book, a translation from Italian.

An elderly man looks back at his youth, beginning with a pivotal event when he is 8 years old in the early 1950s in Naples. He sees a black-haired girl dancing on a balcony across from his and falls in love. An imaginative child, he daydreams about being her hero, fighting duels and even rescuing her from death. Only later does he realize that what he remembers may not truly reflect the reality of what happened to his first love.

I appreciated the novel’s portrayal of the thoughts and emotions of a young boy. It feels so authentic. He longs for a dramatic life and death so romanticizes everything. He dreams of “perishing heroically” but “if I got a scratch or felt pain or saw blood, then life was intolerable, and even worse if accompanied by a few humiliating sniffles and tears.” His infatuation for the girl is not an ordinary infatuation but a life-or-death infatuation. Even in early adulthood, his aspirations are not just about succeeding in life: he aspires to acquire immortality through his writing.

What the book emphasizes is the difference between his romanticized love for the girl and the very real, unconditional love of his grandmother. The girl is beautiful and speaks proper Italian whereas his grandmother is ugly and speaks a rough Neapolitan dialect. He focuses on loving the distant and idealized love object instead of the ever-present, tender and attentive grandmother. He sometimes appreciates what his grandmother does for him but, “To tell the truth, underneath it all, I don’t think I even loved her that much.”

A university exam on glottology, the history of language, forces the protagonist to pay attention to his grandmother’s dialect. He realizes that language constantly changes and can never truly capture what one is trying to express: “marks and signs are constitutionally inadequate, fluctuating merely between what you try to say and pure dismay.” He decides to write “without ever caring about approval, or truth, or lies, or raising issues or sowing the seeds of hope, or how long something might endure, or immortality or any of the rest of it.”

Of course it is not just language that changes. Nothing lasts forever. Eventually, the narrator confronts his childish delusions and prejudices. His grandmother changed from a beautiful young woman to an old, stooped woman, but we are all a “mass of living and decaying matter.” A favourite quotation from the book is the comment, “’We spend half of our life studying the mortal remains of others and the other half creating mortal remains of our own.’”

At 144 pages, this is a short novel but it gets bogged down occasionally with long paragraphs about linguistics. While describing his first-year university studies, the narrator goes on and on about topics such as toponyms, changes in spellings of words, phonetic writing, and “how phonemes are classified.” This book was written in Italian and its intended audience is Italians who have some familiarity with different regional dialects and how they differ from standard Italian. Not being one of those people, my interest waned. What am I to make of this: cchitaratoperméss, eh, mestaifacènnascípazz, taggiocercatadapertútt, macómm, tujescecàsasènzadicereniént, moverímmoquannetòrnanomammepapà, moverímm?

This book contrasts reality and fantasy, familial and romantic love, and old age and youth. Much of it resonates. However, the information dumps become tedious.

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

Review of BLUE LIGHT HOURS by Bruna Dantas Lobato (New Release)

 3.5 Stars

This is a quiet novel about the bond between mother and daughter.

An unnamed young woman is attending a liberal arts college in Vermont as an international student. Her mother remains in northeastern Brazil. In the blue light of their computers, the two communicate, and as absence disrupts their usual routines, they develop new rituals to maintain their bond.

The book examines the immigrant experience. The young woman has to adjust to a new country with a different climate, culture and language. As one would expect, she makes friends mostly with other international students who can understand her feelings of not fitting in and her homesickness and loneliness. Because she is a scholarship student, she doesn’t have the money other students have to return home for periodic visits.

But the book’s focus is on the complexities of the mother-daughter relationship as it inevitably changes because of the distance that separates them and because the daughter’s experiences are so alien to the mother. The daughter, though she often feels isolated and adrift, is grateful for the opportunities she has and wants independence, but at the same time as she enjoys her life, she loves her mother and feels guilty about leaving her alone. The mother’s health issues add to the daughter’s concerns. The mother realizes she has more freedom and fewer responsibilities but loves and misses her daughter very much. She wants her daughter to have opportunities, “to have the ocean,” but has to come to terms with changes in her daughter, including hearing her speak a language she herself doesn’t understand. Both want to maintain a connection while having to find new identities and purposes and learn “how to live alone, and to keep going.”

Three-quarters of the book is from the daughter’s perspective in first person. This section covers her first year in the U.S. Then there’s a shift to the mother’s perspective but her section is in the third person. Though very short, the mother’s chapter covers years. The final chapter entitled “Reunion” takes place five years after the daughter’s leaving for her education. I found the large time jumps to be awkward, and the switch to third person has a distancing effect.

Actually, there’s a feeling of detachment throughout. The style contributes to this because it feels detached and emotionless. There were many times when I wanted more feeling. The plot is also minimalist so parts felt incomplete; not much happens. For instance, the daughter’s life is described vaguely; it’s an impressionistic approach. I understand that the author wanted to focus on theme, but I would have appreciated more depth.

This is not a book for readers wanting lots of action since it describes only the mundane daily activities of the young woman and her mother. I sometimes found the book repetitive and its slow pace frustrating. However, it will appeal to readers interested in a realistic portrayal of a mother and daughter relationship as the two learn to let go and move forward while still maintaining a close bond.

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

Review of THE STOLEN CHILD by Ann Hood

3 Stars 

 This book has a predictable plot with a few too many coincidences.

During World War I, Nick Burns was an American soldier in France. Camille Chastain, an artist, befriended him until one day, as the German’s advance, she thrust her paintings and her infant son Laurent into Nick’s arms and fled. Nick abandoned the child near a village well where he hoped someone would find him. Then in 1974, Nick is given a terminal cancer diagnosis; with only a few months to live, he decides to make one last effort to find out what happened to Laurent and his mother. He hires Jenny, a college dropout whose life has been derailed and who is desperate for adventure, to assist him. The two travel to Europe to begin their search.

The novel alternates between Nick and Jenny’s perspectives, but then a third viewpoint is added. We follow the story of Enzo Piccolo in Naples from the 1930s to the 1970s. Though he’s a master craftsman of Nativity figures, he also opens up a Museum of Tears in which he displays the vials of tears he collects from people. As expected, his story eventually connects with Nick and Jenny.

The major theme is that of regret. Nick has been haunted by life-long guilt and regret because of a choice he made as a young man. Nick observes, “Funny how at the end of your life you understand so much but you can’t undo any of it” and “How sad life was. When it was too late, you figured out everything you should have done.” Jenny makes a mistake that has altered her life forever. Enzo regrets letting his older brother Massimo always force him to do things he doesn’t want to do. Another character, Geraldine Walsh, regrets waiting too long to take decisive action.

There are plot holes and coincidences that really bothered me. How can someone travel from Europe to the U.S. without a passport? How can Daniel find Jenny’s hotel in Paris when he doesn’t even know she’s travelling? And that hotel knows how to find her in Rome? Of the 24 soldiers who might know what happened to Laurent, only three are alive and it is exactly those three who are the key to the puzzle! Geraldine is so much in love but it takes her years to finally act on her feelings? It’s a little too convenient that the film The Graduate is shown on the island of Capri just when needed. Actually the entire romance between Daniel and Jenny is a bit much, the stuff of a rom-com, not reality.

Though slow-paced, the book is entertaining, but the reader must be willing to suspend disbelief because the plot is contrived and there are too many coincidences to be believable. There are some attempts to make this a serious novel, but it actually has more romantic fluff than substance.

Review of THE TALNIKOV FAMILY by Avdotya Panaeva (New Release)

 3 Stars

This is a translation (by Fiona Bell) of a Russian novel first published in 1848.

Natasha, the narrator, grows up in the 1820s in St. Petersburg in a chaotic and abusive family surrounded by siblings, various other relatives, and cockroaches. Her mother is neglectful, her father mercilessly whips his children, and the aunts and governess administer daily punishments for all misdemeanors, however small. Going to bed hungry is routine: “I was so often left without tea, without dinner, and without supper for a whole month that I was quite accustomed to this sort of punishment.”

This is not an easy read. To call it dark and depressing is almost an understatement. At least semi-autobiographical, it is full of relentless misery from which Natasha and her siblings find only fleeting moments of joyful escape. There is some humour in the way the unwed aunts fight for the attention of possible suitors, but even in these episodes there is sadness because the desperation of their situations is obvious.

The novel actually emphasizes the lack of women’s autonomy. The spinster aunts are totally dependent on relatives so they compete to curry favour. Natasha outlines their situation: “They, too, were deprived of life and freedom, and we often bore the consequences; disgruntled with our mother, our aunts took their anger out on us.” They all yearn for the escape that marriage would grant them, but of course there is no guarantee that their situations would much improve once they are wed. Certainly the marriages portrayed in the novel are less than ideal.

Of course children have even less autonomy. They receive little affection, education, food, and proper clothing. They are virtual prisoners; even their outdoor time is limited. What they are given is physical beatings and psychological abuse. Natasha is repeatedly told she is stupid, useless, and ugly. They long to escape the home, but when they are sent out into the world into the care of others, they often receive more mistreatment. That’s actually a problem: there is little to differentiate among the adults who are almost equally deplorable.

For me, the mother is the most despicable of the characters. A total narcissist, she is totally indifferent to the welfare of her children. Even the death of a child is met with indifference; she sheds no tears. When Mama witnesses another woman crying over the death of her child, Mama says, “’What a fool! What is she crying about? . . . Must be her first! I’ve got plenty to spare.’” She wants to be the centre of attention and becomes angry and envious when anyone else steals her limelight.

I did not find the style inviting. There are long paragraphs of exposition with limited dialogue. The lack of a plot and the presence of repetition makes reading somewhat tiresome. In a lengthy introduction, the translator admits, “Readers today may be put off by Panaeva’s frequent repetition and non-sequiturs. The novel often reads like its author’s breathless attempt to recount every impression and every wrongdoing, sometimes at the expense of literary style.”

I believe this is the first Russian novel I’ve read that was written by a woman. Written from the perspective of a young woman, it describes a totally dysfunctional family. I can understand why the book was suppressed in Russia, “the censor blocking publication by calling the novel ‘cynical’ and ‘undermining parental power.’” For modern readers, it certainly sheds light on family dynamics in the early 19^th century in Russia.

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

Review of BIRDS OF A FEATHER by Jacqueline Winspear

 2.5 Stars

Though I wasn’t overly impressed with the first book in the Maisie Dobbs series, I thought I’d give the second book a chance. I think I will be giving up on the series because this installment was not an improvement.

Maisie is hired by Joseph Waite, a wealthy grocery magnate, to find his daughter Charlotte who has once again fled her gilded cage. Locating her whereabouts becomes more pressing when Maisie discovers that three of Charlotte’s friends have recently met violent deaths. Is Charlotte the murderer or will she be the next victim?

Characters introduced in the first book reappear: Billy Beale, Lady Compton, Maurice Blanche, and Frankie Dobbs. Billy and Frankie both end up needing help but, as expected, their problems are solved fairly easily because of Maisie’s connections. New characters are introduced of course. One that bothered me is Charlotte. Her behaviour, given the circumstances, doesn’t always make sense.

Maisie continues to be too perfect. What irritated me this time is her total control; she never gets flustered and always has control of her emotions. She needs some flaws other than not eating enough and having tendrils of her hair always coming loose. What is also unbelievable is her use of empathy to investigate: She can sense auras and thereby knows not to leave a room because a clue is waiting to be found? This weird supernatural vibe means that she actually finds clues without any clever sleuthing. Isn’t she an investigator/psychologist, not a psychic?

The mystery is lacklustre to say the least. The title of the novel is so obviously a clue; given the setting of the novels, I immediately thought of the white feather campaign. The mystery would have been solved very early on if the author didn’t keep the reader in the dark. For instance, Maisie picks up two items in two different places but what she pockets is not identified until later. Keeping evidence from readers means this is not a fair-play mystery.

The pace can only be called glacial. Even when Maisie has definite clues as to Charlotte’s whereabouts, it takes her days to check if her suspicions are correct. I don’t need an action-packed plot to keep my interest, but I definitely expect something a little less sedate in a mystery, however cozy it is supposed to be.

This novel is set in 1930, twelve years after the end of World War I, yet all Maisie’s cases relate to events in the war? I understand the lasting impact of that horrific war, but not all crimes committed years later were connected to it. And why, if the murderer is motivated by events during the war, does s/he act only a dozen years later?

Review of MAISIE DOBBS by Jacqueline Winspear

3 Stars

Having given up on Louise Penny’s Armand Gamache series for my morning walk audiobooks, I was debating what series to try next when I came across an article about Jacqueline Winspear bringing her Maisie Dobbs series to an end with the publication of an eighteenth book. Not having read any of them, I decided I’d start with the first book published in 2003 with an eponymous title.

It’s 1929. Maisie, following the footsteps of her mentor Maurice Blanche, sets up a business as a psychologist/investigator. For her first case she is hired by a man to follow his wife whom he suspects of infidelity. This case and a request from her aristocratic benefactress, Lady Rowan Compton, leads to Maisie investigating a home where disfigured soldiers take refuge to escape the stares of society.

Since this is the first in the series, it’s not surprising that the mystery becomes almost secondary. Instead, there is a focus on Maisie’s background. We learn about her childhood as the motherless child of a greengrocer, and how she comes to Lady Compton’s attention and is tutored by Maurice Blanche. Her university studies are interrupted by World War I and she becomes a nurse sent to France.

Maisie has considerable luck and chance always works in her favour. For instance, Billy Beale, the handyman and assistant she employs, was one of her patients, and one who is extremely grateful. Just as Maisie becomes aware of The Retreat for injured soldiers, Lady Compton conveniently approaches her about checking out the facility. Maisie meets Dr. Simon Lynch and then ends up stationed near him in France.

Maisie is portrayed as almost too perfect. She is attractive and intelligent and empathetic and intuitive. She fits the character archetype known as Mary Sue in that she is portrayed as extremely competent, gifted with unique talents, liked or respected by most other characters, unrealistically free of weaknesses, extremely attractive, innately virtuous, and generally lacking meaningful character flaws. She has the ability to mimic someone’s body posture and thereby understand his/her emotional state. She moves easily through society, being comfortable regardless of people’s status. Others think very highly of her; Lady Compton and Maurice Blanche recognized her potential almost immediately, and Billy virtually worships her. Only in the end is there a scene that suggests she is less than perfect.

As a mystery, this is less than stellar. The villain is easily identifiable and the crime easily solvable, though there is of course a dramatic climax replete with danger. Now that Maisie’s background has been established, I’ll see how the series develops. Will I become disenchanted or will I read all eighteen books? For now that’s a mystery.

Review of LESSONS IN CHEMISTRY by Bonnie Garmus

 3.5 Stars

This is a much-hyped, sometimes-comic novel that examines the social strictures imposed on women in the mid-20th century and pleads for gender equality.

The novel opens in California in 1961. Elizabeth Zott is a single mother and reluctant host of an afternoon cooking show for housewives. By training, she is a research chemist, but her academic career was derailed despite her obvious intelligence; flashbacks reveal why she didn’t pursue her PhD, why she was fired from a research institute, and how she finds herself a television celebrity giving cooking lessons while also teaching chemistry and encouraging female empowerment.

Elizabeth reminded me of other neuro-divergent characters I’ve encountered in books recently: Molly Gray from The Maid and Eleanor Oliphant from Gail Honeyman’s novel. She is awkward in social situations; she comes across as abrasive because she is immune to social conventions and insists on speaking her mind. She is ultra-focused and so stubborn that compromise is never an option for her. Her intelligence and self-assuredness often irritate people, as do many of her non-conformist opinions which identify her as an atheist and feminist, a woman ahead of her time.

Men do not fare well. So many of them are chauvinists, sexists, liars, plagiarists, manipulators, and even rapists. They have no redeeming qualities so they become almost creepy cartoon villains. There are some good guys like Calvin Evans and Walter Pine but both demonstrate some arrogance in their lack of understanding of women and how they are perceived and treated by society. Though I understand the book’s message, I’d prefer a little less male-bashing.

Another character that annoyed me is Six-Thirty. The anthropomorphizing of the dog seems unnecessary and doesn’t fit the rest of the novel. I know he’s intended to be quirky and charming, much like Elizabeth, but I found him grating after a while. What’s his purpose? To prove that Elizabeth is correct in her assessment of his intelligence? To add humour?

On the topic of humour, I should admit that, though I Iove stand-up comedy, I’m not a fan of comic fiction. In this particular novel, it’s the hyperbole that I know is intended for comic purposes that irked me. Characters are exaggerated for effect: Madeline is not just precocious but super precocious, and the dog not only has a massive vocabulary but makes a heroic save. A woman doesn’t just complete premed studies but does so in record time and is immediately accepted into medical school. Elizabeth herself is an outsized character because she’s not just gifted but also attractive, and she excels at all she does: chemistry, food science, and rowing. She even becomes a superstar of sorts because of her television show.

Other exaggerations are also unbelievable. A pregnant scientist doesn’t see a doctor about her pregnancy until almost ready to deliver? Who uses scientific terms for ingredients in a recipe? A kitchen is converted into a lab? Hyperbole makes parts of the books absurd, and I am not a fan of absurdist humour. I prefer more subtle humour like Elizabeth’s answering Mr. Donatti’s question (“’A woman telling me what pregnancy is. Who do you think you are?’”) by simply stating, “’A woman.’” Or Calvin’s thoughts about the designers of bridesmaids’ dresses: “He thought about the people who designed these dresses; how, like bomb manufacturers or pornography stars, they had to remain vague about the way they made their livings.”

The book also relies too much on coincidence. As soon as Madeline meets a minister in the library, I knew who he would be. Of course his secretary would be Miss Frask. And of course there’s the deus ex machina ending where a rich female benefactor, a very specific woman, helps Elizabeth get her revenge. The result is a fairy tale ending, one gift-wrapped and tied with a bow for good measure.

The book jacket describes the book as “laugh-out-loud funny,” but it touches on many serious topics: suicide, homosexuality, domestic abuse, sexual harassment, rape, grief, misogyny, double standards for men and women, religion, unwed mothers, parenting, lack of career opportunities for women, etc. Sometimes the message about women’s rights and social issues is delivered in a heavy-handed fashion. Elizabeth delivers some monologues that had me thinking there should be a soundtrack of Helen Reddy or Emmy Meli singing their “I am Woman” songs.

The book has a positive message about female empowerment and it is an easy, entertaining read. Because of its many rave reviews, I was expecting more, so I guess I’m in the minority. For me, it was a good summer read.

Review of THE WILDES by Louis Bayard (New Release)

 4 Stars

This novel focuses on the effects on Oscar Wilde’s family of his trial and imprisonment for homosexuality.

The book opens with Oscar, his wife Constance, and other family members on holiday in Norfolk. The arrival of Lord Alfred Douglas (Bosie) upsets the peace of the vacation. It is during his prolonged stay that Constance realizes that Oscar and Bosie are lovers, and the foundations of the happy family are shaken.

Structured like a Wilde play, the novel is narrated in five acts. In the first act, it is 1892 and Oscar is one of the most popular playwrights in London when the family holidays on a farm in Norfolk. Though Constance feels Oscar “has never belonged entirely to her,” being a man of public interest and constantly visited by a “stream of acolytes, the procession of narrow-chested young men, each younger than the last,” she thinks of their marriage as a happy one. Bosie’s arrival changes everything. The second act, set in 1897, focuses on Constance’s life in Italy where she has taken refuge from the ugly publicity surrounding Oscar’s trial and imprisonment. She changes her name and the surname of her children to Holland. The third act is from the perspective of Cyril, the elder son; he is a sniper in the trenches of France during World War I. The fourth act, 1925 in London, focuses on Vyvyan, the younger son, who is still grappling with what happened in Norfolk and his father’s legacy. The final act reunites the family members in a surprising way and imagines what could have happened if everyone had agreed to create an unconventional family and hide Oscar’s homosexuality from the public and authorities.

Though Oscar is the famous figure, he is not the main character. It is the people most affected by his choices and actions that are central to the novel: Constance, Cyril, and Vyvyan. Lady Brooke, Constance’s friend, states that Oscar has made his wife a martyr: “’Dragging you and your boys into his mire. Forcing you into exile. Obliging you to live under assumed identities. . . . Dressed like somebody’s governess in a rented villa. Cringing at phantom journalists and dragging your right leg after you like a sack of turnips.’” Cyril reacts to what happened to his father by rejecting his father: “I am no wild, passionate, irresponsible hero. I live by thought, not by emotion.” He despises “weak-kneed, effeminate degenerates” and aspires to “an obsidian hardness”: “Life in its most collapsed and concentrated form – that is the destiny of a boy whose father acted like a woman, turned other men into women. That same boy must scourge all that is female from his soul and, coming himself into manhood, embrace the most masculine of careers” because “lapping at his heels always, is the memory of shame, of exile, or what happens when a fellow makes himself tender.”

Though obviously there is a great deal of pathos, there is also humour. Dialogue is often sparkling and witty. One of Constance’s friends mentions listening to Bosie’s talking about nothing but himself, and Constance replies, “’So he is a man after all.’” Lady Wilde, Oscar’s mother, with her cathedral chest, adds many a light-hearted moment.

Characters are fully developed. One cannot help but empathize with Constance. She thinks of herself as “A woman of scant importance,” but there is no doubt of her intelligence. And one cannot but admire her behaviour. For instance, on the opening night of The Importance of Being Earnest in 1895, she stands by her husband: “’she took [Oscar’s] arm and smiled with the most extraordinary placidity toward every photographer.’” Oscar is selfish and proud and reckless. He loves attention. Constance thinks of her husband with “his egoism and disdain for consequences, his readiness to fly as close to the sun as the sun will allow.” But there are glimpses of him as a husband and father. He treats Constance with tenderness and affection. And there is also no doubt of his love for his sons; his “finding” of Blackie, a rabbit Cyril loved, indicates his ability and desire to be a good father.

The character who emerges as the villain is Bosie. One man speaks of him as “’the most astonishing case of arrested development I have ever had the misfortune of encountering,’” and that is a perfect description. He can be very charming, but at his heart is a narcissist. His behaviour during the Norfolk holiday can only be described as odious, and his meeting with Vyvyan decades later confirms he has not changed; one man describes him as a “’rancorous bigot,’” But even for this spoiled child, one can have some compassion when reading about the treatment he receives at the hands of his father, the Marquess of Queensberry.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It is deeply insightful in its portrayal of human nature and emotions. I will be visiting Dublin this fall, and I intend to view the Oscar Wilde Memorial Sculpture in Merrion Square. Besides admiring Oscar reclining on a boulder, I will be paying particular attention to one of the pillars that flanks the boulder: a representation of Constance Wilde. Thank you, Mr. Bayard, for helping me think about her whose life was so impacted by her famous husband’s choices.

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

Review of HOW THE LIGHT GETS IN by Louise Penny

 2.5 Stars

This is the ninth book in the Armand Gamache series and the last one for me.

The book opens with Myrna calling Gamache because her friend Constance Pineault doesn’t arrive for Christmas as she promised. The great surprise is not that she is found murdered but that she is the last of a set of world-famous quintuplets. Though Montreal is not his jurisdiction, Gamache asks to investigate. This case however soon takes a back seat to Gamache’s trying to uncover what Francoeur and his shadowy superior have planned. This latter investigation is linked to the Arnot case which has been ever-present since the first book in the series.

The case involving Constance Pineault troubled me. It almost extraneous. When the murderer is identified, the entire case is abandoned. There is no mention of whether the suspect is even arrested! What also bothered me about this plot line is its appropriation of the Dionne quintuplets’ story. I believe two of the Quints, Annette and Cécile, are still alive so Penny’s use of much of their story, especially speculation about sexual abuse, feels like more exploitation.

Then the Arnot/Francoeur plot is just bizarre and ridiculous. It reads like a comic book plot with an evil genius trying to kill a superhero (Gamache) who is trying to stop the supervillain’s plan to gain world domination. We are to believe that a conspiracy was hatched 30 years earlier? We are to believe that the collapse of some vital infrastructure caused by bombs will be blamed on years of disrepair? I’m no cyber-security expert, but I’m quite certain that the chasing of hackers through cyberspace is anything but realistic. I do know that entire files can be deleted with a couple of keystrokes; it certainly doesn’t require the time and effort indicated.

Oh and that ending! Yikes! It’s just too pat and perfect. Everyone is returned to the Gamache fold: the prodigal son returns to great celebration and is rewarded. Actually there’s also a prodigal agent who has finally learned Gamache’s lessons!

I think this is a good book for me to end my reading of this series. I’ve given the series a fair try, but have not found that the books have improved. In fact, I’m starting to find the books less realistic and too treacly. With Gamache’s retirement, I’m going to retire, though I’m well aware I’ve read only half of the books and there’s another to be released this year.

I will end with one last pet peeve about this audiobook: How could the narrator mispronounce the nickname of the famous French-Canadian hockey player Maurice Richard??!! He pronounces Rocket Richard as if it were the surname of an English king??!!!

Review of LIVING IS A PROBLEM by Doug Johnstone (New Release)

 4 stars

This is the sixth in the Skelfs series about the three Skelf women, funeral service directors/private investigators and “magnets for trouble, for grief and trauma and stress and violence.”

As in the previous books, chapters alternate among the three women. Dorothy, the matriarch, is asked to find Yana, a Ukrainian refugee, widow, and member of the choir that sings with Dorothy’s band. She has gone missing, leaving behind her two children. When Jenny, Dorothy’s daughter, oversees a funeral which is attacked by a drone, she fears the beginning of a gangland vendetta but discovers the target may be the Skelfs themselves. Hannah, Jenny’s daughter, is asked by Brodie, the newest member of the Skelf team, to investigate who has been disturbing his son’s grave.

And of course there are the personal lives of the protagonists. Dorothy’s friend Thomas is now retired from the police force but is suffering from PTSD after the violent trauma in The Opposite of Lonely. Jenny’s relationship with Archie, a stabilizing force in her life, seems to be evolving into something more intimate. Hannah becomes interested in panpsychism, the theory that consciousness is “a measurable, physical entity” which is “inherent in everything.”

A visit with Dorothy, Jenny, and Hannah is always enjoyable. Over the series, it has been interesting to see the evolution of their personalities. In particular, it is great to see Jenny move away from being, as she acknowledges, “a self-centred and self-destructive bitch.” She now tries to be more like her mother, to help others and be more empathetic, though she still describes herself as “a sarcastic and confused middle-aged cow”: “Be more Dorothy, Jenny thought for the millionth time.”

Again the importance of connection is emphasized: “every tiny interaction of your life mattered” and people should try “connecting to each other as if your lives depended on it.” The advice offered is that “No one knows what you were carrying, what you had inside you. No one can ever really know someone else, that’s the truth. So how can we judge anyone?” Hannah speculates further, emphasizing the connection between the living and the dead: “What of this dead person’s consciousness, where did it go? If consciousness was in everything, in every atom, quark and electron, eventually this person would be scattered across the universe. Would those atoms retain a memory of what it was like to be them? Did that mean that everyone on the planet was one big brain?” And Dorothy agrees: “What disrespected the dead was living in a way that denied the connection between people and the planet, the living and the dead.”

Johnstone’s books are not just entertaining but also informative. The Skelfs decide that they will no longer embalm the dead. They encourage the use of coffins made of “biodegradable stuff like willow, cardboard, bamboo and wool” and “resomations, natural burials, mushroom suits, human composting, planting trees.” I had heard of water cremation but not about mushrooms suits. Though I’m not so certain about human composting: “Jenny looked at the food on the table, imagined that all this had been grown and fertilised by the remains of loved ones. What better way to celebrate the deceased than by consuming them, making them a part of you.”

My one quibble is overuse of the trope of police incompetence. More than once the police are slow to react or to believe. Would an emergency operator not take someone’s call seriously? There’s a hit and run but “police officers showed eventually” and “said there would be CCTV, but didn’t seem in a hurry to check it”? And I find it difficult to believe that Don Webster is still working in the police department given the charges he faces. There’s even a suggestion of police corruption: “a cop arresting a cop at a cop’s funeral, good luck with that.”

As one would expect, there is considerable suspense because, more than once, the women find themselves in a dangerous situation. But the book also has a multi-layered plot, endearing characters, wonderfully detailed descriptions of Edinburgh, and thematic depth. I definitely recommend it and look forward to the next installment in the Skelfs series.

Review of REAL ONES by Katherena Vermette (New Release)

 4 Stars

This book, which focuses on two Métis sisters, June and Lyn, examines what happens when their estranged white mother Renee is called out as a pretendian. An artist, going by the name Raven Bearclaw, she has enjoyed considerable success copying the Indigenous Woodland Art style. When the story is made public, the sisters read enraged online commentary. As they consider what effects Renee’s false representation will have on them and what to do about her lies, painful memories of their relationships with their mother resurface.

The two siblings have reacted differently to their childhood experiences involving their mother. Lyn, a potter and single mother, has anger that has never gone away and has abandonment issues because of Renee’s actions in the past. June is a respected Métis Studies professor who fears her reputation will suffer because of her mother’s falsehoods.

What the novel emphasizes is that it is Indigenous people, who already carry the weight of identity issues, who are re-traumatized when people falsely claim Indigenous identity; it is people like Lyn and June who have to prove that they are actually Métis. June discusses “the problems with Redface or the taking on of any face. How when those with a power take from those who do not, it is not just taking up space, it’s actually violence.” The book also emphasizes that self-identification is insufficient: “’Racial identity isn’t only about you, it’s about community . . . Who you claim but also who claims you.’”

It is obvious that the author is very proud of her Métis heritage: “’Métis actually means a whole people with a history, language, culture and years and years of struggle. These fakers don’t get to have all that.’” And she emphasizes that others should take pride in their heritage as well. Renee, for instance, is part Mennonite and June says, “It’s a rich, colourful, surprising, exceptional culture in its own right. By taking our stories she is effectively discrediting her own, and those of her actual ancestors. That’s sad to me. That’s a missed opportunity.’”

I loved the portrayal of the relationship between the two sisters. It’s obvious that the two love each other, though there are inevitable tensions. And as I know from personal experience, siblings experience childhood events differently and will remember them differently.

Renee is a character who did not arouse much empathy in me. Not only does she take advantage of grants intended for Indigenous artists and accept awards as if she qualified for them, she even uses her ex-husband’s story of growing up Métis as her own. I agree with June that this last is a “particularly sharp violation.” However, her ex-husband, the girls’ father, explains Renee’s anger by saying that “’some people get like that when they’re hurting, always mad at someone.’” He also suggests that she may have a border personality disorder: “’it means you can’t control what you do or your emotions or something. Extreme, that’s it. Those people are extreme in how they deal with things.’” Clearly, we are not to see her as totally evil.

The subject of forgiveness is discussed. When the sisters discuss how to forgive their mother, “’someone who doesn’t think they did anything wrong,” it is suggested that “’You don’t forgive people for them, you forgive them for you . . . so you can stop harping on it. Stop letting it all affect you.’”

This novel is very timely because there have been a number of instances of pretendianism in the news recently, including the controversy surrounding Buffy Sainte-Marie’s dubious claims of Indigeneity. I recommend this look at the dehumanizing effects of pretendianism.

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

Review of TELL ME EVERYTHING by Elizabeth Strout (New Release)

 4 Stars

I feel like I’ve just attended the most wonderful reunion in Crosby, Maine, with Elizabeth Strout’s family of characters (Bob Burgess, Lucy Barton, and Olive Kitteridge).

Bob is at the centre of this novel. He meets regularly with Lucy with whom he shares a deep friendship; in their conversations they share their fears, regrets, and hopes. He introduces Lucy to 90-year-old Olive and the two meet regularly, exchanging stories about ordinary people’s “unrecorded lives.” Then when a woman is found murdered, Bob, though he is semi-retired from his career as a lawyer, agrees to defend Matt Beach, the lonely and isolated man suspected of killing his mother. And of course Bob has to contend with the complications in the lives of his family members: his wife Margaret, his brother Jim and his family, and his ex-wife Pam.

The characters in Strout’s novels are so authentic: flawed and complicated and sometimes contradictory. Olive for instance, continues to be abrasive and judgmental though we also see that she can be caring and compassionate. Lucy can be patient and accepting but also dismissive of people and fears she may be arrogant. And Bob . . . well, it’s impossible not to like Bob. He’s sensitive, humble, generous, and compassionate. Lucy calls him a sin-eater: “’you absorb things, Bob. . . . I see you around town and everyone who has a problem seems to come to you.’” He listens to everyone and never abandons anyone, though he admits to being emotionally exhausted. He is not perfect, however, becoming irritated with and angry at people.

The book is a reflection on the complexity of relationships. For instance, we see Bob’s relationships with Margaret, Jim, Pam, and Matt; Lucy’s relationships with her husband William, Bob, Olive, and her daughters; Matt’s relationship with his mother; Jim’s relationship with his son Larry; and Olive’s relationship with her friend Isabelle. None of these connections is perfect but everyone tries to make and maintain meaningful connections that help sustain them. Lucy and Olive tell each other stories about other people, ordinary people whose stories are not recorded, “’stories of loneliness and love . . . And the small connections we make in this world if we are lucky.’” The overriding message is that all lives matter and “’Love comes in so many different forms, but it is always love. If it is love, then it is love.’”

Another theme, like in other of Strout’s novels, is our inability to really know anyone. Lucy says, “’My point is that every person on this earth is so complicated. Bob, we’re all so complicated, and we match up for a moment – or maybe a lifetime – with somebody because we feel that we are connected to them. And we are. But we’re not in a certain way, because nobody can go into the crevices of another’s mind, even the person can’t go into the crevices of their own mind, and we live – all of us – as though we can.’”

The book even reflects on the meaning of life. In a conversation with Bob, Lucy comments, “’I keep thinking these days about all these people, and people we don’t even know, and their lives are unrecorded. But what does anyone’s life mean?’” Is the point of life “the maturity of the soul”? Olive speculates about the point of the stories she and Lucy exchange, and Lucy replies, “’People and the lives they lead. That’s the point.’” Later, when Bob asks Olive about the point of a story, Olive replies, “’That was about the same thing that every story Lucy and I have shared is about. People suffer. They live, they have hope, they even have love, and they still suffer. Everyone does.’” Bob must agree because when commenting on the complications of a marital relationship, he repeats, “’It’s life, Mrs. Hasselbeck, it’s just called life. . . . It’s just life, Mrs. Hasselbeck, that’s all it is. Life.’”

I love Strout’s writing style. The dialogue is realistic, the descriptions are vivid, and there are wonderful touches of humour. The prose is deceptively simple because it carries profound messages about the human condition.

It is not necessary to have read Strout’s earlier novels featuring these characters, but there is no doubt that this book will be more meaningful to those who have already encountered Bob, Olive, and Lucy. The novel is not action-packed but it is compelling nonetheless. It is so thought-provoking that one cannot but feel enriched at the end.

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

Review of SONGS FOR THE BROKENHEARTED by Ayelet Tsabari (New Release)

 4 Stars

This rich novel, with its dual timeline, is both entertaining and informative.

In 1950, Saida, one of the many Yemeni Jews who immigrated to Israel after the establishment of the country, is in an immigrant camp where she meets a shy young man named Yaqub. They fall in love, but it’s a forbidden relationship because Saida is married and has a young son.

In 1995, Zohara, a newly divorced grad student in New York City, receives a call from her older sister Lizzie telling her that their mother Saida has died. Zohara decides to return to Israel. While cleaning out her mother’s house, she learns that there is so much she didn’t know about her mother’s life. She uncovers Saida’s secrets and learns more about her heritage, as she also tries to determine her future.

The political unrest that is so much part of the history of Israel and Palestine is central in the second timeline. The Oslo Accords giving Palestinians more self-autonomy have been signed. Yoni, Zohara’s nephew who is grieving because of Saida’s death, becomes involved in protests against Prime Minister Rabin and his government’s agreement with the PLO.

I learned so much from this book. I learned about the migration of Yemeni Jews to Israel after 1948. They thought they were going to the Promised Land but conditions when they first arrived were abysmal. They lived in tents in an overcrowded camp which smelled of “sewage and sweat and mildew and rotten garbage.” Children were placed in nurseries and separated from their mothers. And it is during this time that Yemeni children went missing: a mother might go to see her child, only to be told he/she died overnight. Since bodies were not shown and death certificates not provided, people believed the children had been taken away to be adopted by Ashkenazi Jews: “It happened in Australia to children of Aboriginal descent. It happened in Canada with the Sixties Scoop, where they forcibly removed Indigenous children from their communities and placed them for adoption. ‘It’s a method of the dominant group to reeducate a community they believe is backward and primitive.’”

I was unaware of the prejudices amongst the Jewish communities. Mizrahi Jews from North Africa and the Middle East were targets of discrimination and mistreatment from those already established in Israel who were predominantly Ashkenazi. Yemeni Jews, “as Jews from Arab lands . . . had more in common with the local Arabs than with the Ashkenazi, who thought their culture was inferior, who saw the ‘Arabness’ as a problem to be solved.” One man described the Yemeni Jews as “’a people whose primitiveness is at its peak. Their level of education borderlines complete ignorance, and worse is their inability to absorb anything intellectual. . . . What will be the face of Israel with such populations?’” Certainly the Arab Jews seem to be treated as second-class citizens.

And then of course there’s the Nakba, the violent displacement and dispossession of Palestinians. Zohara mentions that her school textbooks spoke of the founding of Israel “as this magical coming together of Jews” with “little mention of the Palestinian tragedy.” Israel provided a home for “Holocaust survivors who had nowhere to go” but one of Yaqub’s friends asks, “’can we live here in peace knowing so many of the Arabs were displaced?’” Zohara thinks of Israel as “A country erected on the ruins of others, the oppression of others.”

I appreciated that the author depicts different political viewpoints. There are those in favour of the Oslo Accords and those opposed. Some see ceding any land to Palestinians as a betrayal of their “biblical birthright”; they’re the ones shouting, “’We have a total and absolute right to this place!’” Then there are others who feel the Accords don’t go far enough: “’There is no commitment by Israel to freeze settlements. They’re still building them. . . . And how come no one is talking about the Palestinian Right of Return? . . . acknowledging the tragedy would be a start . . . at the very least, we can speak about compensation.’”

As a young girl and woman, Zohara rejected her mother and her Yemeni culture. She was embarrassed by her mother, especially after she started attending an elite boarding school for gifted children in Jerusalem: “It was there that I became embarrassed by her accent . . . her Arabic name . . . her faith, her superstitions. The unfashionable flowery headscarf . . . the tang of spicy fenugreek emanating from her skin, the stains of turmeric that lingered on her hands.” One of Zohara’s friends points out that schools “’made us believe that to be Israeli, you had to reject your heritage, especially Mizrahi’” and adopt the “’idealized Ashkenazi culture.’”

After her return to Israel, Zohara comes to see her mother in a new light; she comes to understand how much she had to give up to come to a new country. Zohara thinks of the loss of Saida’s son but Saida also lost her youngest daughter in many ways. And Zohara realizes “like all Jews from Arab lands, she could never return to where she came from. With their Israeli passports, they were not even permitted to visit.”

Zohara also reconnects with her Mizrahi identity. She learns about how Yemeni women used songs to express themselves in a culture where women were illiterate and expected to be quiet. I’m so happy I discovered Ofra Haza and Gila Beshari.

In fact, I recommend listening to the Yemeni songs of these two women while reading this novel. Given current events in Israel and Gaza, this is a timely book which sheds light on the complex history of Israel. There is much to admire in this book: it’s well-written and interesting and very thought-provoking.

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

Review of IN WINTER I GET UP AT NIGHT by Jane Urquhart (New Release)

 4 Stars

It’s been almost a decade since Jane Urquhart’s last novel, so I was excited that she has a new release.

In the 1950s, Emer McConnell is a middle-aged itinerant music/art teacher in rural Saskatchewan. She thinks back on her life beginning with her family’s move from Ontario to the prairies. When she was eleven, she was badly injured in a tornado and spent a year in a hospital. There she became acquainted with a child performer in a travelling theatre company, a Jewish boy from a farm collective, and a girl from a Doukhobor community. Emer also reflects on her mother’s relationship with Master Stillwell, a teacher who followed them from Ontario to Saskatchewan, her brother Danny’s spirituality, and her long-term love affair with an enigmatic man she calls Harp, a brilliant scientist whose medical discovery changed the lives of millions.

One element that bothered me is that Harp is modelled on a real person whose identity is confirmed in the author’s bibliography. The revelation did not come as a surprise because I had strong suspicions throughout. His is not an entirely positive portrayal; he is introduced as someone who “never loved me” and “broke my heart often.” Reading about this man and his treatment of Emer left me feeling as I did when I learned about the sexual abuse in Alice Munro’s family: an icon has been tarnished. I may want to read the biography of this man to determine how much poetic license Urquhart took.

The novel examines a number of topics, one of them being colonial expansion in Canada. Emer describes her father as descending “from a long line of land-grabbers” who suffered from “property hunger” and “gobbled up land” in Ontario and the prairies “without giving more than a passing thought to those who had for millennia inhabited the geography my family coveted. One tribe, forced out of its homeland by imperial dominance, war, and scarcity, migrates across the sea and forces another tribe out of its homeland.” Once land was acquired, the settlers set about changing the landscape forever: “’the wildflowers and wild grasses . . . they are quickly disappearing and will not come again.’” And with their arrival , they rename places: “I thought about those earlier Indian names, and wondered whether they were lost for good or if they would ever come back.” For the people they displaced, “pushed off this land by the clutter of avarice and insatiability,” they built “residential schools in which dwelt stolen and grief-stricken indigenous children.”

There is more of Canada’s dark history revealed in the attitude of some immigrants towards other immigrants who spoke a different language, dressed differently, or worshiped differently. Emer observes, “How strange we all are! Most of us come from Irish and Scottish tribes cast out by the mother country. But we are still reading her poems and singing her songs. How odd that we define foreignness as those whose speech hold the trace of another language, and then we ignore altogether our own foreignness on land that was never our own.” Ukrainians, Jews, and Doukhobors were victims of discrimination and even violence. Emer reads a letter her mother received that illustrates the xenophobic attitudes of some: “But when foreign fish come to these streams, the very water itself becomes unwholesome. The lakes and rivers and lesser tributaries fill with parasites and disease, until we turn away from our own murky waters in disgust.” Master Stillwell focuses his educational research on “those with the foreign tongues . . . those who wore ridiculous clothing and head coverings. Those who would need to be changed. . . . ‘We take the ignorant and cleanse them and dress them in fresh garments. We give them the gift of the English language. We make them into a reasonable facsimile of ourselves. Because who . . . has a cleaner, more reliable life-version than we ourselves.’”

The role of women is also discussed. Emer compares her mother’s situation with that of Master Stillwell who earned a PhD: “My mother, the supplemental teacher, had neither the opportunity nor the privilege of being pauperized by graduate studies. Except for the daily round of necessary domestic chores, her roles in the world were never deemed to be essential.” Emer thinks of the “thinness of my mother’s life” because “few of her generation walked away from the fields . . . and almost none who did so were women.”

Love is another topic that receives attention. Emer believes that love “is imposed upon us” and is “inconceivable, unkillable, and beyond . . . control.” She muses that “Love is uninterested in a crack in the character of the beloved. And even at its most conventional, it is the enemy of rational decisions.” Love for both Emer and her mother is often accompanied by pain but her mother says, “’I have been in love . . . And that is life. That is being alive.’” Pain “situates us and makes us present in our lives” and so reminds us that we are alive: “Perhaps that is joy – the reminder that always there is pain, the reminder that we are living beings.”

Emer also suggests that her love for Harp and her mother’s love for Master Stillwell were yearnings for what was not possible for themselves: “The presence of a man who had known cities, speakers’ halls, and crowning glories would have enlarged and brightened the thinness of my mother’s life. To be the subject of such a man’s attention would have suggested that all along the potential for such things had lain dormant inside her, and were it not for circumstance, she might have stood by his side. She was drugged by a kind of worship that circled back to the self. And in some respects, so was I.” Men can seduce a woman and then dismiss or hide it, but for a woman, “seduction is a soft thing. It fills your rooms with golden light, sings your praises, makes you feel elected. Sainted.” Certainly their relationships feel like fantasies; “Our love, you see, was like those castle hotels: full of private hidden spaces and beautiful velvet furniture, and no responsibility for tidying up afterwards.”

This novel is both entertaining and thought-provoking. As a child Emer does not always understand the significance of what she sees and I found myself anxious to learn if my suspicions were correct. I also found I could relate with Emer in many ways. At the end of the book, the author mentions that the book was almost a decade in the making; after reading the book I can only say it was so worth the wait.

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

Review of STUDY FOR OBEDIENCE by Sarah Bernstein (New Release)

 3.5 Stars

This novel won the 2023 Giller Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker Prize. For its paperback release, I was given the opportunity to review it.

The narrator, an unnamed woman, moves to an unnamed northern country to become the housekeeper for her eldest brother. Though her ancestors came from this rural region, she doesn’t speak the language. She tries to become part of the community, but she’s treated with suspicion and is blamed for a number of unfortunate events involving animals.

Anyone looking for a dramatic plot should look elsewhere because this book is basically plotless. Little happens other than what I just described. Though there is no overt violence, there is tension. Early on she mentions, “it would have been only one behaviour among many others, truthfully or falsely reported, that would later be held against me.” Once her brother leaves on a business trip, she becomes very isolated, especially because she cannot communicate with anyone. And then the villagers become increasingly suspicious of her.

There is also tension in the fact that the narrator may be unreliable. We are given only her thoughts so there is no way of judging the accuracy of her description of events. For instance, there’s the epigraph: “I can turn the tables and do as I want. I can make women stronger. I can make them obedient and murderous at the same time.” And the narrator muses “Who knew . . . what one might be capable of” and “my obedience had itself taken on a kind of mysterious power” which she feels she “ought to have begun putting it to use. Was an intervention possible?”

Likewise, the ending is ambiguous and leaves the reader with a lot of questions. Readers looking for closure will definitely be frustrated because it is very unclear as to exactly what happens.

The narrator is not a likeable character. She is compliant and meek and quiet, living to serve others. Her goal seems to be to erase herself; from childhood, “I determined to eradicate my pride and my will.” She suffers from a martyr complex, sacrificing her life for others and accepting blame needlessly. So often I wanted to scream at her to stand up for herself, especially in her dealings with her demanding brother.

I can only describe this as a complex and difficult book. The style is almost stream-of-consciousness with run-on sentences and lengthy paragraphs, some so dense as to be impenetrable. Is the author being intentionally humorous by inserting “to make a long story short” in this sentence: “The Department of Agricultural Affairs and its associate authorities had, to make a long story short, given notice to the keepers of domestic fowl that there had been an outbreak of avian flu in one of the neighbouring nations, a nation which had been, at intervals, ally and enemy, occupier and liberator, and that, as a precautionary measure and for an unspecified length of time, all domestic birds, including but not limited to chickens, geese, pigeons, ducks, etcetera, would have to be protected from their wild sisters and brothers, either in coops or in barns, in runs or in homes.” There is no dialogue but there are all sorts of digressions. For instance, at one point the narrator wonders “about the lives of cabbages, their hearts and their vitality.” The formal and elegant prose uses erudite vocabulary like ascesis and aestival. Reading this book requires the reader’s full attention and even then I find that the meaning gets lost because of the excessive wordiness.

There’s a vagueness to the novel. For example, none of the characters are given a name – except for a dog. The country is not named and even the time period is uncertain. There are references to the internet, Twitter and Microsoft Teams, but the villagers seem to live in the past. I imagine the indeterminate setting is to emphasize a universal theme.

In some ways, this is an allegory about anti-Semitism. The narrator gradually reveals her Jewish background and the historical struggles of her people. Reference is made to the phrase “none was too many” and the Holocaust. She even mentions common anti-Semitic stereotypes like the fact that she was always made treasurer of organizations because of her ethnic background. But of course intolerance, bigotry and hostility are directed towards anyone who is different and therefore an outsider because of skin colour, religious beliefs, ethnic background, etc.

What also struck me is the gender dynamics. The narrator is a product of her upbringing which featured her eldest brother taking a particular interest in educating his sister. He told her that she erred in “entertaining the idea that it was reasonable for me to form my own judgements about the world, about the people in it.” He also told her that she had “to reorient all my desires in the service of another, that was the most I should expect to achieve.” When she moves in with him, he decides what she must do and she acquiesces because she has been taught to be subservient and submissive, even though her opinion of men is not high: “they were constitutionally incapable of being alone, terrified of not being admired, and seemed to regard ageing and its effects as a personal failing.”

One cannot but admire the writer’s innovative use of language but the book’s complexity and its unrelenting bleakness do not make it an enjoyable read. Some will undoubtedly find it downright inaccessible. I’m certain I missed a great deal, but I’m not motivated to re-read it at this time. I would need to complete a study for patience first!

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

Review of THE DARK WIVES by Ann Cleeves (New Release)

4 Stars

This is the eleventh installment in the Vera Stanhope series – another enjoyable visit with the pragmatic, no-nonsense detective.

The body of Josh Woodburn is found on the grounds of Rosebank, a private home for troubled teens where he volunteered part-time. At the same time, 14-year-old Chloe Spence, one of the home’s residents, goes missing. Is she Josh’s killer, a witness, or just a runaway? Vera and her team, Joe Ashworth and new member Rosie Bell, come to investigate the death and to find Chloe. Their search takes them to the Northumberland countryside with which Chloe was familiar only to discover a second body. Tension rises as Vera fears Chloe may be in danger.

Vera is still the same Vera we have come to know and love but a softer, more vulnerable side is revealed. The tragedy at the end of the previous book, The Rising Tide, has left her grieving and feeling regret. Vera knows she made mistakes and remembers “clever quips and unthinking words of criticism” and resolves to be more collaborative and more open in communicating with team members. Though she tries to watch her words and to use a more inclusive approach, in the end she reverts to old behaviour and keeps her theory from Joe and Rosie until the end.

The case has Vera revisiting the Stanhope Arms, a pub frequented by her father Hector so we see Vera confronting her past. A conversation with the local doctor causes her to reconsider her father’s legacy. I also like that Vera has an opportunity to make a new friend, one whom Joe describes as “a social services version of Vera, though definitely better dressed.”

The addition of Rosie is also a nice touch. Intelligent, energetic, and ambitious, she wants to impress Vera but she is also not afraid to question Vera’s investigative methods. Her arrival changes the team’s dynamics: Joe finds himself working with two strong women and because he feels “a competitive streak and a tinge of jealousy,” he thinks he has to prove to Vera that he is “still her right-hand officer.”

I love the title. It refers to a trio of monumental stones in the Northumberland countryside. Local legend tells the story of three wives who talked too much and so were turned to stone as a punishment. The book is even dedicated to dark wives, “uppity young women with minds of their own.” There are more than a few candidates for the position of dark wife. The three teens who place friendship and loyalty above all else certainly fit the description, but so does the demanding and impatient Vera.

The complex plot certainly had me guessing until the end. I did take issue with the information dump at the end; like Joe and Rosie, the reader is left in the dark. There are lots of red herrings but perhaps a paucity of clues pointing to the right direction. Everything makes sense, though I did find the motivation of one character to be rather weak.

Besides being an entertaining police procedural, the book makes a statement about the need to reform privately owned care homes which are more concerned with profit than the needs of those in their care. Rosebank, a rather run-down and unappealing facility, is short-staffed and under-funded so the resources needed by its residents are unavailable. The author in an opening note acknowledges being inspired “by an investigative piece about private children’s homes on BBC Radio” and has Vera arguing that “’they’re a breeding ground of crime and antisocial behaviour. If we’re putting an emphasis on prevention, I wonder if we should be making a case for bringing them back into local authority control.’”

As with all the books in the series, I recommend a reader poke his/her neb into this one.

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

Review of THE TRIALS OF LILA DALTON by L. J. Shepherd (New Release)

 2 Stars

This book is an odd mix of courtroom drama, speculative fiction, and psychological suspense.

Lila Dalton awakes in a courtroom with no memory of who she is or her life. She quickly surmises that she’s a lawyer whose job it is to defend a man who planted bombs that killed 27 people. The trial is being held on an isolated island in the north Atlantic where the most serious crimes are tried. She starts receiving threatening messages, knows she is being monitored, and is even accused of a crime, so she doesn’t know whom she can trust even as it becomes apparent that it is imperative that she succeed in having her client acquitted.

The chaotic plot requires a great deal of suspension of disbelief. Its a muddled mishmash that goes madly off in in all directions, touching on conspiracy theories, far-right extremists, white supremacists, satanism, government cover-ups, the nature of time, mind-control, and memory tampering. The convoluted plot with its implausible scenarios is confusing and difficult to follow.

Then there’s the ending! The last scene is a coming-full-circle scene which is a nice touch but there are so many unanswered questions. The ending that is supposed to explain everything doesn’t, so it’s definitely not a satisfactory closing.

Another problem is that it is difficult to connect with Lila. We get to learn very little about her and she acts in a scatter-brained manner. For example, she knows she should be focusing on the case but she goes off and wastes time, later admitting, “How could I have dropped the ball so badly?” We do see glimmers of intelligence during her cross-examinations of witnesses, but otherwise there’s no depth to her. There’s a similar problem with the secondary characters who are also flat. So many of the men are stereotypical misogynists?

The only time I found myself agreeing with the novel was during the discussion of the dangers of the internet: “’This is going to be an information war. And the casualties will be logic and truth. The bombs will be lies and rhetoric. . . . People will be controlled by the internet. Even weirder, they’ll think they’re in control.’”

This book was definitely not for me. Much of the time I felt like Lila: lost and disoriented. Was this the author’s intention? The labyrinthine ideologies espoused by various characters and the illogical sequence of events make this a bizarre read. For me, it was a real trial.

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

Review of THE THING ABOUT MY UNCLE by Peter J. Stavros (New Release)

3.5 Stars

This is an enjoyable coming-of-age story.

Fourteen-year-old Rhett Littlefield is expelled from his school in Louisville, Kentucky. His mother, totally frustrated with his behaviour, sends him to stay with her brother Theo. Uncle Theo is a reclusive, reserved man who lives alone, except for his dog Chekhov, on an isolated farm in Eastern Kentucky. Feeling he has no choice, Rhett agrees to his uncle’s strict home-schooling schedule, though he is given a mountain bike so he can go exploring on weekends. Rhett is determined to get to know his uncle, especially after they have some strange visitors. Gradually Rhett uncovers his uncle’s secrets, including some directly connected to his own past.

As I mentioned, this is a coming-of-age story. Rhett is trying to figure out where he belongs; because his mother works a lot, he has little supervision: “I had nothing to do, nowhere to be.” He is troubled by the absence of his father, a man who left the family about ten years earlier. Rhett feels guilty, believing he was somehow responsible for his father’s taking off and leaving his family. He admits that after a few years, “I gave up on waiting for Pops to come back, and I gave up on a lot of other things too, school being the primary other thing.” His being sent away by his mother feels like another abandonment. At Uncle Theo’s his life is structured and he has to pay attention to his studies. He is also encouraged not to waste time, to be active, and to have fun as well. As time passes, he realizes the truth of his uncle’s lessons, gains confidence, and becomes more secure in his self: “I guessed there was something to be said for not fitting in and still being comfortable in your own skin.”

Rhett is a young boy it is difficult not to like. He’s a good kid who has not had an easy home life. Though he does not always follow the rules, he’s not incorrigible. He’s lost and troubled. He’s sensitive, imaginative and, as his uncle repeats, “’you sure are an inquisitive one.’” He loves his mother and sister; he tries to understand his mother’s decision to send him away and concludes “it couldn’t have been easy for her, I knew it couldn’t, sending me off like this. And I felt that much worse for letting Mama down.”

Uncle Theo is also a character the reader will come to like. At first he’s just a big man with a disheveled appearance (wild hair, unkempt beard, torn clothing, tattoos) who is a mystery because Rhett knows little about him. As Rhett gets to know his uncle, we see a man who is not perfect but who is patient, spiritual, and wise. At times he made me think of Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird; just as Atticus talks to Scout and Jem so does Uncle Theo talk to Rhett and try to teach him about life: “’It’s not always so easy to tell the bad guys from the good guys. The line can get pretty blurry at times. That’s just how life is, bud’” and “’everything somehow works out the way it’s supposed to. Might not be the way you thought or hoped or had planned for yourself, could be something you never would have imagined in your wildest dreams’” and “’appreciate how precious time is.’”

Since Rhett is the first-person narrator, the style, with its repetitions, seems appropriate. Certain phrases are repeated throughout. For instance, when describing the dumpster near which Rhett gathers with his friends, he always mentions that it “smelled of sour milk”; when Theo rubs his beard, Rhett always mentions “the gray part around his mouth”; and when describing the quiet meals with his uncle, Rhett repeats, “just utensils clinking against plates, chews and swallows, Chekhov begging for table scraps.”

There are some nice touches of humour: Rhett’s first meeting with Chekhov, meals with mystery meat, and Rhett’s naive comments which are often ironic. But there is also tension, especially as strange men visit Uncle Theo and when the sheriff arrives with his warning.

There are a couple of things that bothered me: Rhett’s mother never calls to speak to her son? When Rhett learns something about his father, he doesn’t ask the most obvious question? Rhett is so innocent and naive that it takes him so long to figure out the nature of his uncle’s business? The discussion of religion feels forced and unnatural and the climax, inevitable and predictable.

The book is classified as adult fiction, but I think it would be appropriate for young adults. Teenagers would undoubtedly find Rhett a relatable character.

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

Review of INTERPRETATIONS OF LOVE by Jane Campbell (New Release)

3 Stars

This is a cerebral novel with very little plot.

Professor Malcolm Miller has a letter he didn’t deliver 50 years earlier. It was written by his sister Sophy just before her death and that of her husband in a car accident which left their daughter Agnes an orphan. Agnes, now in her 50s, is returning to her ex-husband’s home for the first time to celebrate the wedding of their daughter. Malcolm decides this would be a good time to show the letter to his niece. Also present at the wedding is Dr. Joe Bradshaw, the intended recipient of Sophy’s letter. He was once Agnes’ therapist; from his first session with her, Joe felt an immediate attraction to Agnes. Agnes’ ex-husband’s second wife and Joe’s second wife are sisters, but the letter suggests that Agnes and Joe may be connected in a closer way.

The novel opens promisingly with an interesting premise. A wedding brings together family but there’s a long-held secret about to be revealed which will upend many lives. Unfortunately, the novel does not develop the potential conflicts; in fact, it is not until almost two-thirds into the book that the letter is finally given to Agnes by her uncle. Instead, we are given pages of interior monologues from Malcolm, Agnes, and Joe. The three characters, each in first person, ponder and ruminate and brood and deliberate and muse and meditate. Their endless introspections about their loves and losses become tedious.

This is not a light, easy read. There are lengthy paragraphs, sometimes pages long, with little dialogue. The prose is formal and elaborate, as befits the highly educated characters, but that erudite style requires the reader to pay serious attention. Discussions of psychoanalysts Freud and Jung and the philosopher Spinoza are frequent. These reflect the author’s educational and professional background, but references to Oedipal and Electra complexes might not be common knowledge to many readers. There is at times almost a textbook feel to the novel.

Though we are given intimate knowledge of the characters’ thoughts and feelings, I did not find them relatable. The formal language makes them feel remote, and they sound very similar so it is difficult to distinguish among them. We don’t see them living; we only read their thoughts about their lives, and their never-ending angst becomes mind-numbing. Malcolm is my favourite and I would have preferred more of him and less of Agnes and Joe, but generally I just felt indifferent about all of them.

The book examines the lasting effects of tragedy and loss. Both Agnes and Joe were orphans from an early age, and their losses have shaped their lives and relationships for the rest of their lives. Likewise, Malcolm’s life was deeply affected by the death of his sister. Though the three main characters have loved and been loved, all seem to be looking for the love they lost in their formative years. Early on there is mention made “that it is not so easy to keep the past back there where it belongs since it tends to leak into the present all the time. No matter how firmly you slam the watertight door and lock it and then throw the whole weight of your body against it in order to resist the monstrous pressure exerted on the other side by all those emotions from the past which you do no want to feel again you will fail and they will smash through and hurl you to the ground and then once more overwhelm you.”

This is not a light summer read. Its dense style with pages of character self-analysis and detailed descriptions will not appeal to anyone looking for an action-packed book. There’s also a melancholic atmosphere throughout. I can’t say I enjoyed the book; at times I considered not finishing it.

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