The Undocumented Americans by Karla Cornejo Villavicencio

Given the high visibility in the media of overcrowding and mistreatment at the border, child separation, attempts to eliminate DACA (deferred action for childhood arrivals), and Congress's failure to enact immigration reform, it's not surprising that undocumented immigration is getting a lot of attention in the book world. Villavicencio's account of the lives of the undocumented stands out for her deep connections to the immigrant communities that she writes about.

The Undocumented Americans is part personal narrative and part journalism. Villavicencio interweaves her own story of being undocumented with the stories of the undocumented immigrants that she has spoken to. The book has a loose narrative arc divided according to situations - exploited labor cleaning up after Hurricane Katrina, 9/11, being locked out of the healthcare system, and growing old and being unable to retire despite spending years paying into social security. Each sections reveals how much undocumented labor has propped up the economy and individual communities alongside how much these workers have been exploited in return.

Like Jose Antonio Vargas and Reyna Grande, Villavicencio's advocacy is bound up with her own story of being undocumented. She focuses on undocumented Latinx immigrants, to whose stories she has been granted access through her connections, persistence, and support of the community. She is at turns angry, saddened, and inspired by what she hears, taking an intense personal interest in each person she talks to and drawing parallels to her own struggles. This is a powerful book that delves into the repercussions of a broken immigration system. 

For more about the book and Villavicencio, I recommend listening to Traci Thomas's interview with her on The Stacks podcast.

I received an arc of this book from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

A Modern Retelling of Jane Eyre in Rachel Hawkins's The Wife Upstairs.

This novel takes the characters and plot points from Jane Eyre and recasts them into a suspense story set in modern-day Alabama. I love retellings, and the shifting of Jane Eyre into a dog walker in a fancy housing development is a good choice. The opening scene with the snotty Mrs. Reed who sends her out walking in the rain is well done. Hawkins doesn't worry too much about staying exactly true to the characters as Bronte wrote them, so both the Jane character and John Rivers are a little bit of a surprise.

It's also a very twisty mystery, and I didn't guess the ending, even though in retrospect I totally should have.

While I enjoyed the mystery, characterization, and reshaping of plot points, the pacing was not great. It takes a very long time for the suspenseful part to emerge - in fact, just when I was wondering how much longer she could string out the romance between Eddie Rochester and Jane, a plot twist emerges. Once the suspense gets going, it feels less exciting than I think it's meant to be.

This, however, could also have something to do with the audiobook narration. I alternated between the audiobook and a kindle copy, and I wound up listening to the final third. When Eddie takes over the narration, it's spoiled in my mind because the narrator is very sleepy sounding. Eddie's supposed to be a bit of an enigma, but the narration sounds a little like a deer in the headlights.

Overall, I enjoyed this book and read it really quickly, but I also wished it was just a little bit better.

I received an ARC of this novel from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

Poirot Redux: Sophie Hannah’s The Killings at Kingfisher Hill

Wow, was this book a disappointment. I read another book by Sophie Hannah recently - The Wrong Mother - and it was complex, suspenseful, and engrossing. After that, I was excited to see how Hannah was continuing Agatha Christie’s Poirot stories. As the only writer authorized by the Christie estate, she has been vetted and deemed the fitting person to continue the Christie tradition. The official Christie website describes her first Poirot novel, The Monogram Murders, as "a thoroughly stylish affair, faithful to Christie's story-telling style, yet with a modern touch." High praise indeed. 

And, yes, this story does echo Christie in some ways. It has all of the needless complexity of a Christie story, setting up a crime so convoluted that it feels completely divorced from real life.

However, in this case it has none of the charm or fluidity of Christie’s novels. The opening sequence sets up the scenario, but it is so incoherent that it seems hardly worth following. None of the characters seem remotely plausible, and the action is narrated in a way that makes it seem like it has its own time scheme. For instance, the Hastings character (here reimagined as Inspector Catchpool) has an extended interchange on a bus with a woman about the title of a book she’s reading. This scene feels like it goes on forever, and we’re supposed to believe that this happens while a line of people are waiting for him to move along so they can take their seats. I was expecting him to be the first murder victim. 

In addition to the unbelievable characters and unlikely pacing of the action, this novel includes endless - I mean, pages and pages - of exposition. Very little action occurs, but there sure is a lot of tedious explaining. 

I was very much inclined to like this novel, so I was surprised that narrative's execution was so disappointing. It didn’t help that the convoluted solution isn’t even particularly interesting.

I’m likely to pick up more of Sophie Hannah’s non-Poirot novels, but I can’t say the same for the Christie continuations.

I received an arc of this novel from Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review.

A Quick Take on Leigh Stein's Self Care

I need a cleanse of my own after reading Leigh Stein's new novel, Self Care. 

There was a lot of pre-publication buzz about this book, so I suspect that I'm in the minority on this because I really did not enjoy this novel. The character development is very cliched, it lacks depth, and the structure of the novel needed more editing to give it more shape. Stein brings in sexual assault charges and childhood trauma at the end in what feels like an unsuccessful and emotionally-loaded attempt to add depth. 

And I'm not at all sure what to make of the ending. What am I supposed to take away from it? It just made me mad, but I'm not sure that's the effect Stein was going for.

Overall, the topic of this novel is timely and appealing, but ultimately I found it unsatisfying.

I received an ARC of this novel from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

The Pull of the Stars: Emma Donoghue's Eerily Well-Timed Novel about the 1918 Flu Pandemic

"Battling the Flu Pandemic 1918," GPA Photo Archive CC BY-NC 2.0

The timing of Emma Donoghue's new book, The Pull of the Stars, is eerie. It's about a nurse working in a Dublin maternity ward during the 1918 flu pandemic. It is so good, right from the beginning. Donoghue brings you right into the character's head from the first page, and she evokes a completely realized world of mask wearers and public health scoffers. In one memorable scene, Nurse Julia Powers walks along the street and notices a sign warning people not to spread the flu by spitting - and the sign itself is plastered with spit.

Monthly Bulletin, Philadelphia Dept. of Public Health (1919).

HathiTrust

The novel takes place over the course of two days during which Powers battles to save women and their babies in her small ward, while also battling her own distractions in the form of  her shell-shocked brother and animosities within the hospital. At her side is Bridie, a completely inexperienced volunteer whose willingness to help is more useful than the inattentive care of most of the doctors in the hospital.

No characters or situations are left undeveloped, and, against the backdrop of WWI, this contained world holds all the drama of a battlefield. As Powers says when overhearing discussions about the possibility of peace, "It occurred to me that in the case of this flu there could be no signing a pact with it; what we waged in hospitals was a war of attrition, a battle over each and every body." Her efforts to save her patients, backed up by her deep knowledge of nursing, is portrayed as a fight that she is determined not to lose if there's anything in her power to stop it.

Powers also uses the language of the battlefield to describe women's experience of childbirth. She argues strongly against the moralizing of her fellow ward sister who sees unmarried motherhood as a sin that must be punished. Likewise, she refuses to write off the chances of poor women who arrive malnourished and carrying evidence of domestic abuse. When an orderly argues that women haven't earned the right to vote because they don't pay the "blood tax" of fighting wars, Powers tells him to "Look around you, Mr. Groyne. This is where every nation draws its first breath. Women have been paying the blood tax since time began." Herself unmarried and childless, Powers sees sacrifice and strength in the act of childbearing.

Fair warning - there are a lot of graphic scenes of difficult births, but overall this is a gorgeous novel.

I received an ARC of this novel from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

Ruth Ware's One by One: A group of co-workers stuck in a remote chalet on a work retreat. What could go wrong?

Ruth Ware's One by One (forthcoming September 8, 2020)

This isn't one of Ruth Ware's best. It's the story of a group of rich and self-satisfied founders and employees from a cutesy start-up social media company who've traveled to an isolated chalet in the Swiss Alps. After a fight over control of the company, the shareholders and then employees start dying off one by one. It doesn't help that an avalanche buries the chalet, cuts off communication, and turns off power. As they get colder and colder, and the power drains from their phones, they are at least spared from having to watch more PowerPoint presentations about the company's finances. 

Ware uses a dual narrative structure to give the reader a split point of view from two outsiders - one the chalet host and the other an ex-employee who has been overlooked and dismissed as too weird her entire life. Both of them are concealing information, but we won't learn what it is until much later...

The basic premise is fine, but the novel feels very formulaic. As in all Ware novels, the narrators have a hidden past that isn't revealed until the end of the book, and the protagonist is injured and stuck alone with the killer, fleeing for their life. I can't quite describe it, but this one just felt flat. Maybe because none of the characters were particularly interesting? Maybe because it was clear really early on who the killer was? I don't know, but I didn't enjoy it as much as Ware's earlier work (except the Lying Game, which I couldn't finish).

Avalanche by Simon Desmarais (CC BY-SA 2.0)

If you're looking for a quick, suspenseful read, you'll enjoy this. It's just not nearly as complex and (is this weird to say?) thought-provoking as some of Ware's other works. I'm thinking of The Turn of the Key, which I thought was clever in its re-writing of The James's The Turn of the Screw and its meditation on smart tech. This novel is a perfectly serviceable distraction from the pandemic, unless you're (understandably) not in the mood for a book about a bunch of people stuck inside together.

I received an ARC of this novel from Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review.

Virginia Kantra's Meg & Jo

In the middle of a pandemic, with no clear timeline for any of us getting to leave our homes anytime soon, comfort reading is in order. Virginia Kantra's Meg & Jo seems like the perfect fit for right now. It is an adaptation and modern retelling of Louisa May Alcott's Little Women, which was one of my favorite childhood books. Jane Austen adaptations are an industry of their own, but Alcott's Little Women has gotten very little attention from novelists. Despite the many screen adaptations, I can only think of one other novel version, Geraldine Brooks's March, which tells the story of the March sisters' absent father while he is on the battlefront. Are there others that I'm missing?

Meg & Jo illustrates one very good reason that there may be fewer adaptations: it is hard to hit the right tone. The characters in Little Women fight and undergo hardships, but there's an underlying cheerfulness that sometimes seems hard to believe. While Kantra has found a creative way to update Alcott's story, it's heavy-going at some points because the characters are so weighed down by burdens and unhappiness. In some sections, the novel misses much of the original's joy.

And then there are moments where it veers a bit too far into heavy-panting romance and over the top language. When Jo's in the throes of a romantic encounter, she tells us that "he kissed like this was the main course instead of merely an appetizer, like he could go on kissing me for hours." She describes sex as "hot and wet, carnal and wonderful. I was drowning in sensation. In him." Her love interest declares that "I have such a taste for you, Jo." In response, Jo describes feeling like "His whisper sparkled along my nerves, burst in my chest like a fistful of glitter. And my breath went all over again." What does it even mean that her "breath went all over again"? The writing in these sections feels more like a cheap romance novel more than a witty updating of a classic.

Despite this, I did enjoy the novel as a whole, especially in the second half when the different plot lines start converging. Kantra is tough on the father, which doesn't feel entirely out of place given how small his presence is in Little Women. Just like Alcott's novel, Meg & Jo celebrates family in a way that doesn't feel contrived or artificial. Despite my misgivings about tone and the writing, this novel is a light read for a pandemic.

I received an ARC of this novel from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

A Preview of Curtis Sittenfeld's Rodham

I have been looking forward to Curtis Sittenfeld's new novel, Rodham, which will be published in May 2020, ever since it was first announced as a possibility. The novel imagines the trajectory of Hillary Rodham's life if she had never married Bill Clinton.

Hillary Clinton's defeat in 2016 is still very raw for many, and the idea of imagining an alternative future for her is a fraught proposition because it taps into that rawness. Anyone who has read Sittenfeld's other works can also predict that she's not likely to hold back on discomfort, ethical ambiguity, and awkwardness in imagining this story. In both Prep and Sisterland, she draws on the potential for first-person narrators to gain their readers' trust in order to create complicated characters that are both easy to identify with and difficult to like.

Rodham exhibits all of Sittenfeld's strengths: depth of characterization, a compelling narrative, and complicated choices that have no easy answer. At times, it is a stressful read, especially as she threads the storyline through with details from real events, bringing up painful moments from the 2016 presidential campaign and offering a more detailed imagining of Bill and Hillary's relationship than I for one want to think of given what we know about him. 

As is always the case for me with Sittenfeld's work, Rodham succeeds for exactly the reasons that it is at times uncomfortable to read. The story is complex, the characters are complicated, and the narrative is masterfully designed. It's a satisfying novel, and I am looking forward to hearing what everyone else thinks about it.

I received an ARC of this novel from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

Now that we're all hunkering down, here are some cozies I'd recommend.

There's too much chaos and uncertainty in the world right now, and I'm having trouble focusing on anything serious while also worrying about the COVID-19 pandemic. While I'm stuck at home for the foreseeable future, all I want are some comfort reads. So, cozies! 

Here are a few that I've read in the last year that I would recommend. If you have suggestions for others to add to the list, let me know in the comments.

Poppy Redfern and the Midnight Murders by Tessa Arlen*

This is the very definition of a cozy mystery. Poppy Redfern is a plucky (sorry, there's no other word for her) young air raid warden during WWII who's responsible for making sure that her fellow villagers in Little Buffenden remember their blackout curtains. She patrols every night in the dark on her own until a young woman is strangled and her grandparents insist that she is accompanied by the aggravating Sid. Poppy decides to investigate what becomes a series of attacks and spends much of the novel ferreting information out of her fellow villagers - at least, when she's not hanging out with (or arguing with) an American airman who has been stationed in Little Buffenden. You won't be all that surprised by the ending, but it's an enjoyable read nevertheless.

I received an ARC of this novel from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

Her Royal Spyness by Rhys Bowen

I am really excited about this series. Bowen's protagonist, Lady Georgiana Rannoch, has such a vivid voice, and you're immediately on her side from the beginning. A member of the royal family, but very far down in the line of succession, Georgie is penniless and considered an encumbrance to her brother and his wife. Determined not to be married off to a prince she refers to as "fishface," Georgie flees to London where she decides to earn her living by doing light housework for rich families. Georgie bounces between identities and tries to make sure that her royal relatives don't find out about her work and ship her off as companion to some boring titled lady in the country. This all becomes more complicated when the Queen asks her to do her a little favor....

I thoroughly enjoyed this novel and plan to read the entire series.

The Widows of Malabar Hill by Sujata Massey

I discovered this series wandering in my local independent bookstore, and I'm really glad that I did. Perveen Mistry is based on India's first woman lawyer, and Massey has created a compelling world in which she is challenged by sexism from her classmates, teachers, and almost everyone else she comes across. Perveen meets underestimation from those around her with competence and intelligence. The mystery is interwoven with flashbacks to Perveen's first unsuccessful try at law school and first marriage (I won't spoil anything with details), and by the end it is clear how the two chronologies fit together. I expect that some of the threads that are introduced in the flashbacks will reappear in the later novels, and I'm looking forward to reading them. The ending felt a little rushed, but otherwise this was an absorbing read.

Twelve Angry Librarians by Miranda James

My colleagues and I came across this series while searching for cat memes to add to a slide deck (as one does), and I had to read it. It's an enjoyable read, even though you know who the murder victim is going to be from about page one. If you're in for leaning into the librarian-y-ness of this series (the protagonist goes to a conference and attends panels on managing electronic resources and the liaison model, for Pete's sake), and the protagonist's obsession with his pampered Maine Coon (for whom he gets a babysitter whenever he has to leave it alone), it's enjoyable. It's definitely a Cozy and should be taken in that spirit. 

Aunt Dimity's Death by Nancy Atherton

This book has the most convoluted premise you can imagine. If you’re willing to just ride with it, though, the world of Lori Shepherd and Dimity Westwood is a delight. Seriously, this book is like curling up with a cup of hot cocoa. The mystery is equal parts ghost story and secrets from the past, and it all (kind of) makes sense by the end. I will definitely be working my way through this series of cozies whenever I need some comfort reading.

The Mitford Murders by Jessica Fellowes

Usually when I read mysteries, it’s more for the characters and setting than for the mystery itself (which is often pretty forgettable). Reading this book, I was completely caught up in the mystery, and I thought the solution was completely satisfying.


Centering the book around the Mitfords feels a little beside the point, but an author interview that I read made it clear that many of the details were crafted in advance by the marketing department. Even knowing that, and feeling that the pacing was very influenced by television plotting for Downton Abbey, I still enjoyed this and look forward to reading the rest of the series.

Murder at the Brightwell by Ashley Weaver

This book took a while to get started, but I stuck with it and it picked up momentum after the first murder occurred. I listened to it partly as an audiobook, and the reader is really unfortunate in the way that she tries to mimic British accents. The cadence is completely off.

The mystery itself is interesting enough, but, as is usually the case with cozies like this, what's more interesting is the drama between characters. Most of the characters in Amory's circle at the hotel are forgettable, but the love triangle between Gil, Milo, and Amory is enjoyable. On her own, Amory is a likable character, and her persistence in investigating this case is delightfully annoying to the inspector assigned to it. The solution was a surprise, and it made sense. I am looking forward to reading the next installment in the series.

A quick take on Sandra Dallas's Westering Women

Sandra Dallas's Westering Women is an absorbing read, even though the book has some shortcomings. The premise - that 50 women have been recruited to head California via the Overland Trail to find husbands - is itself a bit farfetched, but it works to get the narrative underway and tell a story of female bonding under extreme conditions. The trip is advertised as a way to spread morality among the men in mining camps. The women who are on the trip are not as much interested in finding husbands as getting away from bad situations at home. The characters are all extremes - brutalized, noble, or evil - so there is not a great deal of subtlety. As the author says in her acknowledgements, so many of the men are bad and there is a lot of melodrama.

That being said, I still enjoyed reading Westering Women despite its faults. The story of these women undergoing the hardships of the Overland Trail is pretty compelling.

I received an ARC of this book from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

It's been a tough semester, so I've been hunkering down with some cozies, like Kate Carlisle's Shot through the Hearth

Judging from other reviews, I'm out of the mainstream in my dislike for this book. True, it's very easy to read, and the protagonist is smart and capable. But the tone just didn't work for me. There's a kind of saccharine quality to all of the characters, and the women are all so reliably paired up with men who want to take care of them (and even though they push back on this, it's definitely there). When one of the bad guys makes fun of a character's girlfriend for being uninteresting and for her name being cow-like, a part of me couldn't help but wonder if Carlisle wasn't setting him up when she named her Marigold.

What bothered me the most, though, was the hero of the piece, Rafe. He swoops into town with more money than he knows what to do with and has all sorts of grandiose plans to (literally) save the world. He's supposed to be this business genius and inventor. He seems high maintenance to me, but everyone just loves him. We're supposed to believe that all the people at the save the world conference that he hosts on his property (but seems to spend remarkably little time running. Who is actually in charge of that conference? Every conference I've been to or been involved with generally has multiple people running around madly to keep everything going smoothly) are weirdos, but I honestly couldn't see what separated him from the rest. The fact that he had money? That he was devoted to Shannon's friend Marigold (who never really emerges as much of a personality).

I haven't read any other books by Carlisle before this one, but I had heard great things about the bibliophile series. After this one, though, I'm not so sure.

I received an ARC of this book from Goodreads in exchange for an honest review.

So what *did* Jane Austen write in those letters Cassandra burned?

Gill Hornby's Miss Austen gives us the story of Jane Austen's life from her sister Cassandra's point of view. The premise is that Cassandra (Cassy here. Was Cassandra Austen ever referred to in this way? I can't remember ever coming across that before.) goes to stay with the family of her own dead fiancé in search of letters from Jane that might be too revealing. (It's a complicated premise, and the family tree is hard to keep track of, despite a guide at the beginning of the book.) We know that Cassandra was extremely protective of her sister's legacy and destroyed many of Jane's letters just before her own death in 1843. Hornby's novel imagines those letters and how Cassandra went about collecting them. Alternating between 1840, when Cassandra is scouting out letters to keep from the public, and earlier years when Jane was still alive, the novel imagines the conversations and letters that are (as far as we know) lost to history.

This is an intriguing premise, and who doesn't want to speculate about what Austen *really* wrote in candid moments? Unfortunately, though, Hornby has done what I would have thought impossible: She's made Jane Austen seem unappealing as a person. The Jane Austen of Hornby's novel comes across as moody, self-absorbed, and difficult to satisfy.

Likewise, I have seen other reviews that suggest that this novel is very sympathetic to spinsters. I'm not sure that I see that. Hornby presents both Cassandra and Jane Austen as a little perverse in their rejection of proposals. They wind up happy enough, but Hornby's version of the proposals sets them up as though they are consciously deciding to perpetuate their desperate financial situation.

Of course, it's likely true that Jane Austen had bad moods and may have been "in low spirits" for long periods of time, but I'm not convinced by Hornby's imagining of these moments and what might have been in the letters.

I received an ARC of this novel from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

Sense and Sensibility updated: HIllary Manton Lodge's Jane of Austin

In the world of Austen adaptations, there are four main categories: spin-offs that tell the continuing adventures of one or more of the characters (Molly Greeley's The Clergyman's Wife), retellings from a different point of view (Jo Baker's brilliant and beautifully written Longbourn), modern retellings that update Austen's characters (Curtis Sittenfeld's Eligible), and re-writes that stick to the story, but place it in another setting to show how Austen's insights on class, gender, and prejudice continue to be relevant (Soniah Kamal's amazing Unmarriageable and Ibi Zoboi's fabulous Pride). 

This novel fits into the third category: a modernized retelling focused on updating the story for fans who know the story and can appreciate the cleverness of Austen's characters reimagined today or readers who are unlikely ever to pick up the original. Jane of Austin is a modern take on Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility featuring three sisters whose father embezzled money from his firm and disappears to avoid the repercussions. The sisters ultimately have to relocate to Austin, where they hope to open a tea shop and support themselves. It's a fun read, and the modern twists on Austen's tale are creative, including shifting the Colonel Brandon character to a disabled war veteran.

Lodge makes the interesting decision to tell the story through Jane (the Marianne character) and Callum (the Colonel Brandon character). Austen's original emphasizes Elinor's story and point of view, so this adds another perspective and makes Marianne's point of view easier to understand (and feel less over-emotional and melodramatic). Margaret (here Margot) also has a chance to come more into her own because she's depicted as an older character with more chances to show her personality.

I had no idea that this was published by a Christian imprint until I read a few other reviews. It doesn't come through strongly in the novel, so I'm wondering what makes it specifically Christian.

Overall, I found this a light and enjoyable read, and I plan to make some of the recipes that are included (not the tea, though. Way too fussy.).

I received an ARC of this novel through NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

The latest installment in the Maisie Dobbs series and a new one from Tessa Arlen

I had given up on Jacqueline Winspear's Maisie Dobbs series for a while because I found all the discussion of psychological detecting tiresome (and I zone out every time Maurice Blanche is mentioned). I decided to try her again recently when I got an ARC from NetGalley of her latest novel, The American Agent. I enjoyed the atmospherics of this novel, especially the accounts of the Blitz, Maisie's work driving an ambulance, and the passages taken from actual reporting by Murrow and others.

One of my problems with Winspear's novels, however, is that I find it hard to keep track of the characters, and she never leaves any breadcrumbs in the narrative to help you remember who people are. The solution to this mystery was like pulling a rabbit out of a hat because it felt completely disconnected from the information that Maisie had gathered in her investigation. I know red herrings are important in mystery novels, but this solution left a lot of interesting threads hanging and came out of nowhere. My other complaint is that the love story was completely unbelievable because there was no build up. Instead, it just comes out of the blue with no romantic tension between the characters. As a reader, I didn't care if it went anywhere or not.

Those complaints aside, I still enjoyed this book, even though I felt like I was just along for the ride on the detecting part. 

Another novel that I read recently and thoroughly enjoyed was Tessa Arlen's Poppy Redfern and the Midnight Murders. I haven't read Arlen's Lady Montfort series, but I'm definitely going to seek it out when I need some escape reading. Poppy Redfern and the Midnight Murders is the very definition of a cozy mystery. Poppy Redfern is a plucky (sorry, there's no other word for her) young air raid warden during WWII who's responsible for making sure that her fellow villagers in Little Buffenden remember their blackout curtains. She patrols every night in the dark on her own until a young woman is strangled and her grandparents insist that she is accompanied by the aggravating Sid. Poppy decides to investigate what becomes a series of attacks and spends much of the novel ferreting information out of her fellow villagers - at least, when she's not hanging out with (or arguing with) an American airman who has been stationed in Little Buffenden. You won't be all that surprised by the ending, but it's an enjoyable read. I'm already looking forward to the next installment.

I received ARCs of both these novels from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

Are there other historical mystery series I should try?

Kiley Reid's Such a Fun Age

I haven't stayed up late to finish a book in a long time, but I couldn't stop reading Kiley Reid's amazing novel Such a Fun Age (coming out Dec. 31, 2019). This is such a smart book, intertwining a sharp commentary on race, class, identity, motherhood, and privilege in an engrossing narrative. 

The main character, Emira, may feel adrift  and unsure about when she'll ever be like her friends who have "adult jobs," but she is also a sharp-eyed observer who stands up for herself and doesn't feel compelled to play nice. When she is accused of kidnapping her white employer's child by a woman in a high-end grocery store, she stays calm, stands up for herself, and doesn't let anyone off the hook for their racism. She isn't interested in the outrage shared by her employer and the white man who videotaped the incident; she just wants to live her life and do her job without being harassed - and she definitely isn't interested in being a viral sensation.

Circling around Emira's story are two white characters - the man who recorded her in the grocery store and the mother of the child she sits - each invested in proving how racist they aren't. They are each deeply problematic in different ways that propel the narrative. Emira rightly sees their attempts to "save" her as stemming more from wanting to feel good about themselves than really caring about her. 

This is both a deeply troubling and satisfying read. I, for one, stayed up most of the night to see what Emira was going to do next.

I received an ARC of this novel from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

Women looking for a role for themselves in World War I: Amy Stewart's Kopp Sisters on the March

I only discovered Amy Stewart's series of novels about Constance Kopp and her sisters a few months ago, but I read the entire series right away. Constance and her sisters, as well as many other characters in this (so far) 5-book series, are drawn from true figures in U.S. history, as well as the events that happened to them. Stewart doesn't offer us a dry accounting of these historical figures, however, but rather fleshes out the storyline in ways that I find completely compelling. From tracking down the criminal who is threatening her family to taking up a position as sheriff's deputy to (in the latest novel) joining one of the homegrown war camps for women, Constance Kopp is a tough and thoroughly likeable character.

At the center of each of Stewart's novel is a feminist recovery of U.S. history in the early twentieth century. When Constance becomes the matron of the county jail, for example, she realizes how morality laws are unequally targeting young women who resist their parents' control. Realizing that these laws have the ability to ruin women's lives by locking them away in reform schools for many years or sending them to prison, Constance works to make her own contribution to reforming the system. As a result, all of her actions infuriate the local prosecutor who sees no role for women in law enforcement and wants to run for political office as someone who reined in the county's wayward young women. Stewart uses the Kopp sisters' story as a means to shed light on gendered histories. Along the way, she tells a really good story.

In this latest installment, Kopp Sisters on the March, Constance, Norma, and Fleurette want to contribute to the war effort, so they go off to a training camp for women. Right from the beginning, Constance questions its seriousness and how that lack of seriousness reflects the government's unwillingness to take women's potential contributions seriously. Constance, as always, gets involved and tries to effect as much change as she can. Alongside her, Norma is determined to make the army realize the usefulness of a carrier pigeon brigade and Fleurette is determined to put on a show for the women that mirrors the shows being put on for male soldiers. Stewart makes these interwoven stories both serious and funny.

Parallel to the Kopp sisters' narrative is the tale of Beulah Binson, a character based on the real life woman. This sub-plot comes together nicely at the end, but I became impatient with the drawn out unfolding of her story. It was clear that there was some huge scandal related to her, but we don't find out all the details until about 4/5 of the way through the story. As I read, I found myself much more interested in what was happening at the camp than in Beulah's flashbacks.

On the whole, though, I'd definitely recommend this latest installment, and I'm already looking forward to the next one.

I received an ARC of this novel from NetGalley and from Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review.

In case you've ever wondered how things turned out for Charlotte Lucas and Mr. Collins: Molly Greeley's The Clergyman's Wife

Some recent Austen adaptations have reimagined Pride and Prejudice from different racial, ethnic, or national perspectives (e.g., Ibi Zoboi's Pride, Corrie Garrett's Pride and Prejudice and Passports, and Soniah Kamal's Unmarriageable). These adaptations illustrate how questions of class, economics, and female independence continue to resonate beyond nineteenth-century drawing rooms.

Molly Greeley's new novel, The Clergyman's Wife (coming out Dec. 3, 2019), functions in a different way. This novel extends the storyline of Pride and Prejudice to three years after the original novel's conclusion. Told from Charlotte Collins's point of view, this story not only imagines what happens to the couple, but also how Charlotte feels about her marriage to the ridiculous Mr. Collins.

In that way, it's a fantasy novel. The Charlotte Lucas of Austen's novel reveals so little about her thoughts beyond her practical view of marriage and the ways that she has accommodated her married life to carve out some space and time for herself outside of her husband's sycophantic devotion to Lady Catherine. The Charlotte Collins of Greeley's novel is no less practical or accommodating, but her frustration with her husband gets full expression, as well as her frustration that she had so few other options.

To some extent, this novel mirrors Patricia Rozema's film adaptation of Mansfield Park (1999). Rozema re-writes Fanny Price to be a much more spirited character, melding her with a fantasy vision of an outspoken Jane Austen and a Fanny who is less sanctimonious and more rebellious. Greeley's Charlotte Collins has to work hard not to roll her eyes at her husband's behavior or Lady Catherine's rudeness. She also has desires for connection and community that can't be fully suppressed.

I won't give away what happens, except to say that I was wrapped up in Charlotte's story and in much suspense about where it was heading.

I received an ARC of this novel from Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review.

Lara Prescott's Portrait of Dr. Zhivago in The Secrets We Kept

I didn't know anything at all about the intrigue surrounding the publication of Boris Pasternak's Dr. Zhivago before reading Lara Prescott's engrossing new novel, The Secrets We Kept (coming out September 3, 2019). Prescott's novel beautifully weaves together multiple storylines connected to Dr. Zhivago - from the targeting of Pasternak and those he loved for daring to write a story seen as critical of the Soviet Union to the typists at the C.I.A. who are recruited to help distribute the novel as a propaganda tool. Prescott fleshes out the characters in a broad network in multiple involved in the publication, distribution, and banning of the novel, including the Union of Soviet Writers who condemned the novel and the Italian publisher who made sure that it was published, even after the novelist changed his mind.

While the novel paints a clear picture of the repression and brutality of the Soviet regime, it doesn't let the U.S. off the hook. The story is primarily told through the point of view of women, and we are given an uncomfortable picture of how the Agency men saw female operatives as tools to be discarded. Prescott also highlights how the "Lavender Scare" in the U.S. ruined the lives of LGBTQ people who lost their livelihood and reputations.

Overall, Prescott has succeeded in bringing this story to life by creating a compelling cast of characters who are affected by the publication of Dr. Zhivago in unexpected ways. Most tragically, we have a close look at Pasternak's lover and her family who suffer both emotionally by being targeted by the government and physically by being sent to the gulag. One can't help but leave this novel feeling like it was unfortunate for Pasternak that he was persecuted for writing his novel, but it was others who suffered most.

I received an ARC of this novel from NetGalley. All opinions are my own.

Colson Whitehead's The Nickel Boys

Colson Whitehead's new novel, The Nickel Boys, creates a fictional Nickel Academy based on an actual reform school in Florida where generations of boys, particularly African Americans, were brutalized. Through this novel, Whitehead rejects abstraction and insists on the individuality of those trapped in this system. In both The Nickel Boys and his previous novel, The Underground Railroad, Whitehead lays bare the racialized violence that threads through U.S. history.

Whitehead is such a good storyteller that you are drawn into the narrative right away. He starts in the present with a University of South Florida student on an archeology project discovering Nickel Academy's secret graveyard. This unmarked graveyard is where Nickel buried students - mostly black students - who'd died under their brutal treatment, usually through extreme punishments. Whitehead brings this piece of history to life through fiction and makes you care about the story immediately. When he shifts to the story of Elwood Curtis, a young man who's grown up listening to Martin Luther King and living with his grandmother in Tallahassee, the scene has been set for the horrors of Nickel to be revealed.

But then Whitehead takes his time letting it unfold, starting with Elwood's youth and fully developing him as a character. By the time Elwood is sent to Nickel, the groundwork has been laid to reveal the extent of a racially-based miscarriage of justice that has cut short his education and promise. The reader is presented both with the spiteful brutality of the institution, as well as the brutality that comes of robbing black young men of a future. There are both white and black inmates at Nickel, but those on the black "campus" come in for the most vicious mistreatment.

Alongside the tale of Elwood's horrific experience, and a post-Nickel storyline, Whitehead interweaves stories of other students at Nickel. I won't give away the details, but Whitehead gives a wide angle view of the institution's racism, corruption, and viciousness. Because the stories are wide-ranging, the novel can feel a little disconnected at points, but it all comes together in the end.

This is an incredible book. It tells a crucial history that has been long buried and tells it in a compelling way. I completely recommend it.

I received an ARC of this novel from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

Elizabeth Berg's The Confession Club - a comfortable novel for this fall

The Confession Club is a light and comfortable novel and a quick read. It's the perfect novel if you're looking for something feel-good and not too challenging emotionally. The story is partly about a group of women who meet periodically to take turns making confessions. The confession club, at times, fades into the background of the other main storylines, and the characters are not drawn with particular depth. A few of the confession club members are fleshed out, but even at the end I had a hard time distinguishing them. The confessions are sometimes moving, although the narrative seems to move past them pretty quickly. There are also a lot of platitudes about loving yourself, making yourself happy, and being a good person.

The meat of the narrative comes in two storylines: Maddy, who is estranged from her husband, and Iris, who teaches baking classes and falls in love with a homeless man who has taken refuge in a farmhouse in town. Both of these storylines are sweet and engrossing, and the story of the homeless vet's struggles with PTSD is moving. 

Overall, this is an enjoyable book, but not one that's likely to keep me up thinking about it.

I received an ARC of this novel from Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review.