Ronit Wagman
Heartfelt and suspenseful, Bone Necklace conveys the brutal reality of the U.S. military's campaign against the Nez Perce people, whom they chased for over 1,000 miles from Oregon to Canada during the summer of 1877. Told from multiple perspectives and interlaced with real news articles that appeared at the time, the novel brings the reader inside the harrowing experience of those fighting on both sides, and highlights the shifting sentiments of the press and American public. This is a great book, a must read for anyone interested in Native American or U.S. history.
This is an absolutely breathtaking novel that immediately got under my skin. Beautifully written, Benton expertly evokes the experience of new motherhood: the radical shift in identity, the sudden responsibility, and the intense love. I was rooting for Lilli from start to finish, and couldn't wait to return to the book whenever I had to put it down. The book is also relevant to many of today's cultural conversations about female sexuality and women's rights. The writing is excellent; think Geraldine Brooks.
Beye is an amusing and witty raconteur as he reflects on his fist 80 years, but the most compelling material is in the book's first half, which reveals the public's permissive attitude toward homosexual behavior in the 1940s (if Beye is to be believed). It's interesting to see how gay erotic love was accepted more readily than gay romantic love, and how that changed over Beye's lifetime. But one wishes for more analysis of the shifting times and of Beye's shifting identity.
A propulsive love story with a twist. After being laid off, Louisa Clark, a quirky and clever homebody, takes a job as caretaker to Will Traynor, a handsome and wealthy quadriplegic. Their oil-and-vinegar dynamic soon dissipates as Will pushes Lou to embrace adventure, and Lou pushes Will to resurrect his joie de vivre. A compelling plotline, memorable characters, and clever moral dilemma make this a tearjerker that upends expectations and feels, appropriately, more fizzy than sweet. For fans of ONE DAY.
A potent, fiery novella about three brothers clawing their way through childhood in upstate New York, bound together by their hardscrabble circumstances. Told in the first person plural, the voice eventually whittles down to a single narrator, drawing attention to the way the author is imprinted and influenced by his family of origin, even as he carves out an autonomous identity. Each chapter tells a self-contained story, but the cumulative effect is powerful and enveloping.
Imaginative premise and I think it would have succeeded as a YA novel but, for my taste, the characterization felt too thin. It's similar in mood to Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go, another novel that left me feeling emotionally manipulated and intellectually unsatisfied. But despite its flaws, the story raised enough narrative questions to sustain my interest.
For some reason I can't seem to resist a good gay coming-of-age story, so when I spotted Rubyfruit Jungle at the local rummage sale I knew we'd be spending the night. Published in 1973, the book follows the adolescence and early adulthood of Molly Bolt, who identifies as a lesbian at a young age and boldly embraces her orientation despite the prejudice she faces in the dirt-poor South and later in scintillating NYC. The storytelling is rushed and strains credibility at times (nearly every woman Molly encounters turns out to be a latent lesbian), but the voice is so vibrant and witty that the reader can forgive the structural missteps and sometimes stilted dialogue. Author Rita Mae Brown (the same RMB responsible for those Sneaky Pie cat mysteries – who knew!) is adept at making the reader feel the wild injustice felt by women, both straight and gay, in the 1950s and 60s. I cringed when characters called Molly a “smart-ass” rather than just plain “smart.” Though the book lacks the resonance and complexity of other classics that followed it (Bastard Out of Carolina, Oranges are Not the Only Fruit), Molly's devil-may-care attitude won me over.
Funny, wry and heartfelt, Life Would Be Perfect If I Lived in That House is not your typical addiction memoir. There are no drugs, decidedly no sex, and too many references to Suzanne Vega to evoke the crude impulse of rock ‘n roll. But Daum's hilarious retelling of her real estate obsession is as compelling as any binge book. Her story begins with a glance back at her mother, who used her skills at interior design as a means of escaping her rural roots—eventually leading her to purchase a small second home in an adjacent town for the sole purpose of redecorating. Daum's obsession with personal space is no less drastic. In college, she changed apartments ten times, lugging her futon behind her, and as a young adult she followed a series of (neither professional nor romantic) whims that led her from Manhattan to Nebraska to LA, and back again. Daum's compulsive attention to things like hexagonal bathroom tile and the perfect doorknob fixture consumed her so completely that she convinced herself she couldn't find a date until she had found the perfect home. Disorienting as this may seem, Daum writes in crystal clear prose, digging to uncover the root of her dissatisfaction. And despite the life lessons that she clearly learns, her level-headed writing is the opposite of treacly. A columnist for the LA Times, she can be a bit “speaky” at times (my only qualms were that I'd have liked a few more scenes, and the only character that felt truly developed was Daum herself) but those are small quibbles in an otherwise entertaining book. I think it's safe to say that anyone who has felt the desperate need to control their immediate environment, or been plagued by the ongoing worry that something better is just around the corner will find much to enjoy.
Did you know that universities once had home economics programs complete with practice houses and real live practice babies? Neither did I! Lisa Grunwald's fascinating novel follows the life of one of these creatures from infancy to early adulthood. The twist is that Henry House, one in a long line of practice house babies, is adopted by his professor, an austere older woman who favors dictums to hugs and gives herself the intentionally ambiguous nickname of “Emem.”
Contrary to many reviewers here, I found the first third of the book more tedious than the rest. While it established the post-WWII time period nicely, there was a stale, premeditated quality to the writing that didn't excite me. A plot twist early on kept me involved, though, and things picked up considerably once the point of view shifted from Emem to Henry. By the time Henry became cognizant of his hatred toward Emem and curious about the cultural revolution that threatened Emem's close-minded severity, I was entirely hooked. The author hands over a few too many tidy conclusions about Henry's mental state, but he's nevertheless a fascinating character who held me captive, empathetic, and involved until the final page.
My boss heartily recommended this sweeping, lyrical, and accessible novel, which I am heartily recommending in turn. The story is narrated by Marion Stone, the son of a British surgeon and (compellingly) an Indian nun who dies after childbirth in Ethiopia. Marion and his (initially conjoined) twin brother are lovingly raised on the grounds of the missionary hospital at which they were born by their adoptive parents and alongside the increasingly daring daughter of their housemaid. Though this could be categorized as a coming-of-age novel, the narrative scope is much wider than that and covers the history of Ethiopia over the latter part of the last century while encompassing broad themes, such as compassion, sacrifice and interconnectedness.
The sweeping, almost mythic quality of the story might sound like a grating prospect to some readers, but the author (a surgeon himself) makes it work: the saga steers clear of melodrama and is countered by psychologically astute characterizations, real humor (a woefully unheralded quality in fiction!), and compelling historical and medical detail. The last one- or two-hundred pages had a bit too much plot going on (especially considering the leisurely, decompressed quality of the book's first section), but to the author's credit: he had a lot of territory to cover! Overall, a deeply enjoyable and satisfying read.
A passionate, heartfelt, and thought-provoking memoir by a young woman looking for spiritual meaning after suffering emotional burnout after her father's unexpected death, a bitter romantic breakup, and several exhausting years as an international aid worker. Tender, funny, and wise, this is a moving book that takes the reader to India, Italy, and Africa. I loved Natashas's message about taking time for ourselves and honoring our inner wisdom.
An engrossing multigenerational saga that paints a vivid portrait of the peoples and interests that created modern California. Smathers is a gifted writer and her story is full of dramatic turns, vibrant settings, and unforgettable characters. I loved this book!