NORTH HAVEN

by Sarah Moriarty

300 pages, Little A (Amazon), Kindle Edition

Review by J. S. Colley

I chose this free book from Amazon Prime’s First Read program.

The Willoughby children lost their father and now they’ve lost their mother. For decades, the family spent every summer at their beloved lake house in Maine. Now, they gather during the Fourth of July holiday, sans parents, for what could be their last stay.

There are four children: Tom, Gwen, Libby, and Danny. Tom, the successful, eldest child, is obsessive and rigid. Gwen, the wild, fun-loving artist, finds herself with a difficult decision to make. Libby, the thoughtful, sensitive lesbian, is still coming to terms with who she is. Danny, the youngest, was so attached to his mother that her death sends him into a deep, dangerous depression.

Over the course of their holiday, details of the family’s past are revealed through the eyes of each child as well as the now-deceased parents. As is common in families, each member’s reality is different, each relationship tainted or bolstered by witnessed events. While they make the difficult decision of what’s to become of the aging house that binds them as a family, secrets are revealed, perceptions shattered.

The writing is both skilled and poetic, but the diverging storylines, if not trite, are expected; the characters clichéd. Which is disappointing. The author is a beautiful writer but, in this case, the story seemed a vehicle for the delightful prose instead of the prose being a vehicle for the story.

The children and, I would argue, the parents are all stereotypes. The successful, seemingly wealthy, older brother is cold and obsessive. His siblings snicker at him behind his back. And, of course, the reader is told he was a “Bush voter.” (For once, I’d like to see a successful person be characterized as something other than cold, heartless, and obsessive or a Republican. Are there no successful businesspeople who are Democrats?) The lesbian sister is kind and tentative about her siblings’ possible reactions to her chosen partner. (Sorry, but this felt like the perfunctory gay character, another social issue checked off the list.) The wild, promiscuous artist with the unwanted pregnancy and requisite difficult decision. (Another social issue? Check.

And, are there no sensible artists out there? How do any of them produce meaningful or prolific works with such a lackadaisical attitude?) The youngest child, coddled by his parents, especially his mother, is incapable of functioning in the world. (Is the youngest child anything other than this?) The addle-headed but well-intentioned mother, Scarlet, who is willing to live with her husband’s dark secret. The seemingly loving husband who, as mentioned, has a dark secret. It’s as if the author wanted to pile as many au courant socio-political issues as possible into the novel. All novels should aspire to teach us something, but the learning should be like a hidden nugget to be ferreted out. The reader wants to feel as if they are on a scavenger hunt for hidden meanings and symbolism, or else they would have chosen non-fiction. When a reader sees too much of the author on the page, it takes them out of the story.

But, in spite of its flaws, readers who love descriptive writing will find North Haven worthy. And, I must admit, while I found myself, near the end, skipping over some of the more repetitive descriptive narrative, and while the psychoanalyst’s playbook definition of personalities based on sibling birth order took me out of the story at times, I still managed to enjoy the novel. 

I would definitely try this author again.

SQUAWK OF THE YEAR

Wherein we squawk about our favorite books from 2016.

Bill Kirton:

A lot of my 2016 reading was escapist – stories by the best sellers who’ve earned their reputations as reliable providers of thrills, suspense, twists and satisfaction and who don’t need reviews from me to confirm their excellence. On the other hand, there were others who had nothing like the exposure of these big boys and girls and yet who produced highly individual, accomplished novels which deserve a wider readership. Black Sheep Boy is one of them.

I bought it on the recommendation of a friend, otherwise I don’t think it would have registered on my radar. As the title suggests, it’s a series of episodes in a life, but a life far removed from that of a comfortable old guy living in Scotland. The first person narrator is a young boy who lives in the Louisiana bayou and, as well as sharing his personal pains and pleasures with us, he evokes this highly individual context and its customs. Throughout, the fact that he is, as the blurb warns us, ‘small, weak, effeminate’, frequently creates conditions, oppositions and alliances which set him at odds with that same culture with its fixed notions of how men and women should be.

So the exoticism of the content is already fascinating to a reader far removed from its everyday manifestations, but the main power of the book is the voice in which it’s related and the way he shares with us the discoveries his experiences bring to him. The rhythms and music of the prose, the delicacy of the images he conjures up, and the beautiful mix of ‘normal’ English and the gentle patois of the bayou are captivating. Interest never wavers, from the simplest stories he recounts to the questions of identity he asks of others and himself as he grows into and struggles to understand and withstand the dilemmas and threats posed by his sexuality and his gender. Themes of mysticism, justice, impotence and survival weave through it all, taking different guises in the various relationships he forms and experiences he enjoys and/or endures.

And, in the end, so closely do we empathise with his thoughts and feelings that the specificity of his sexual and gender-related issues broadens into reflections on identity and purpose which relate to the whole process of how we become who we are and continue to evolve through more of its iterations. It’s beautiful, thought-provoking, essentially human and an excellent read.

Pat Black:

I thoroughly enjoyed Frances Larson's Severed, a grisly but compelling history of decapitation. I also loved Peter Hill's memoirs of his time working on Scottish lighthouses, Stargazing.

But the blue rosette goes to a book I haven't reviewed - I, Partridge, by Alan Partridge. The audiobook is narrated in-character by Steve Coogan and was probably the funniest book I've ever come across. As if I needed to look any more of a lunatic on the morning commute. Eat my goal! 

Marc Nash:

I had a year of big thick post-modern works and lots of non-English fiction in translation.

Most of the Po-Mo was pretty disappointing with the honourable exception of Sergio de la Pava's "A NakedSingularity", but it was the non-English fiction that blew me away this year. Valeria Luiselli's "The Story Of My Teeth" was good fun, both of Yuri Herrera's 100 page novels were very evocative and lyrical in their brevity. Both of those authors are Mexican. But the winner was Korean author Kan Hang's "The Vegetarian" which despite a completely redundant third section, parts one and two were so stunning and beautiful and haunting that the limp part 3 simply didn't matter. Highly recommended. 

Worst read of the year Gillian Slovo's "Ten Days" purportedly about the London riots of 2011 in which just a single rioter makes an appearance and he's rescuing a child from a burning building. utterly misses the point. 

Melissa Conway:

After a lifetime spent reading whenever a spare moment presents, I’m lately in this weird bubble of book avoidance, with the excuse that I simply can’t spare the time. I didn’t read much in 2016, but even if I had, my year’s best pick would have stood out from the rest. Rebecca Lochlann’s The Sixth Labyrinth is the first book in the second Child of the Erinyes trilogy, a love triangle driven by divine destiny to be reincarnated through the ages. Great writing, highest recommendation.

J.S. Colley:

My have-read list for 2016 is woefully short. I will mention HillbillyElegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis by J. D. Vance.  The author’s family moved from addiction-ridden Appalachia to Ohio, where he was able to overcome his inherited geography and make it to Yale Law School. Although it didn’t fully live up to my expectations, it came close.

I’m currently reading Nineveh by Henrietta Rose-Innes, published by the newly-formed Aardvark Bureau, about South Africa’s only “ethical pest removal specialist.” So far, I’m enjoying it. Perhaps I’ll write a review when I’m finished.

I wish you all happy reading in the new year!

THE FLIGHT TO MECHA

Milleniad Book #1

by Rod Kierkagaard, Jr. and Kris Carey

340 pages, Curiosity Quills Press, ARC

Review by J. S. Colley

As with previous Kierkegaard novels I’ve read, this book is replete with interesting characters, out-of-this-world imagination and subtle humor. Set in the far distant future, The Flight to Mecha begins on the planet Eden, where Adam Wetherall has taken his captives, Eve and Gracious. But Eden isn’t a paradise; it’s a mold-infested Yurth-like rock plagued by constant solar storms and radiation, where Adam fights imaginary demons and the very real Nephilim. After Adam’s death, Eden is left to his wives and children: Eve, Lilith, Cain, Abel, and their children. Soon, the Family escapes the fungus-infected planet and the sponge-like Nephilim. Cain laments, “Everything on this planet tries to kill you. […] You just have to stay a step ahead...”

The Family commandeers the deceased Adam’s starship, the SV Golddigger, and ventures into the Beyond, but soon discover they are radioactive and are “toxic to others and only safe around each other. […] Maybe they’d escaped Eden, but they could never escape each other.” (Rather like all families, don’t you think?) On their journey, the Family meets Yumans and Xterrans, and all manner of life. Everyone wears smartsuits that are capable of communicating with the wearer as well as other “comms.” The Family’s suits do double-duty and block their Eden-inflicted radiation (the stain of their “original sin”?) so they can safely interact with others. All smartsuits and machinery are named when they are “born,” mostly “chosen from random comms chatter” — which leads to some interesting nomenclature.

The Family eventually lands on Spartak. As the rest of the Family settles into their new home, Lilith and Cain become elite Starwolf agents. Meanwhile, Awan, Cain’s fragile sister-wife, survives by hooking herself into their starship and it becomes the SV Awan Golddigger. His now sister-wife-ship helps Cain on his missions. His newest assignment is to find a smalltime Xterran gangster and possible plague-carrier, while Lilith sets out on her own tasks.

Cain’s mission leads him and SV Awan Golddigger on a wild adventure to several exotic planets and into unimaginable dangers. After apprehending their target, the motley group that has accrued end up on Mecha, a dry, dusty planet used by gamers as a virtual reality playground. There they battle against the gamers in real-time, with the help of Mechs and human mercenaries. There are spectacular action-packed scenes that will appeal to sci-fi adventure enthusiasts.

While Cain is fighting for his and Awan’s survival on Mecha, Lilith confronts the Eden Plague — the embodiment of the vengeful Adam as a radioactive spore contagion, which threatens to take over the entire galaxy.

Kierkegaard is a seer — a prodigious evocator of future technology and social norms and mores. The reader can imagine the places, technologies, and complex societies he creates on the page are real, or will be one day. Many of the futuristic elements and social norms in his earlier novel, Obama Jones and the Logic Bomb, have already come true. The humor is smart and subtle. As with his other novels, I’m sure I missed many of the inferences, but the ones I did catch made me chuckle.

Beyond the more obvious, broader metaphors about religion, myths, and society in general, I sensed Kierkegaard might have been reflecting on his own life — his own mortality. How death slowly invades us like a tenacious fungus, with no chance of escape. Of course, this was co-written with Carey, with whom I have no previous experience as a reader, but Kierkegaard’s style shines through.

This is an exciting first book in the Milleniad series.

THE CHILDREN'S HOME

by Charles Lambert

208 pages, Aardvark Bureau

NetGalley ARC

Review by J. S. Colley

Morgan Fletcher is scarred, both emotionally and physically. After his father and mentally unstable mother die, and his sister abandons him, he becomes a self-imposed recluse on the family’s sprawling estate. A benevolent housekeeper, Engel, mysteriously arrives to take care of him and, soon after, stray children begin to appear. First comes five-year-old David and then others, sometimes one at a time, sometimes in groups. Morgan takes the children’s comings and goings in stride, but he occasionally looks askance at them and wonders exactly who they are and where they came from.

When one of the younger children becomes ill, we are introduced to another major character, Dr. Crane. The doctor all but abandons his other patients to provide medical care to the household and companionship to Morgan. He soon procures a room in the vast house. Like Morgan, he is trying to understand how he fits into the world. His innocent curiosity leads him to discover strange, hidden items on the estate.

The first two-thirds of this book had me making notes such as: keeping me deliciously off-kilter; I don’t know what is real and what isn’t. What is the meaning of the strange items the children and Dr. Crane find? Are the children—all of it—a figment of Morgan’s imagination, made manifest in order to help him come to terms with his life, or are they something more sinister? The answer is not what I anticipated.

This is a beautifully written and atmospheric novel. While personal redemption appears to be the underlying theme at the beginning of the story, the narrative shifts focus during the climatic events. If readers approache this novel as a scary, gothic tale, they might be disappointed—although it is that—but, in the end, it takes on a broader symbolic meaning.

As an allegory, The Children’s Home can be interpreted in many different ways, depending on your political and social ideology: is it a treatise on corporations and inherited wealth, or a commentary on how we “grow” our children and send them out into the world, or is it an indictment on how we treat our unborn? Even if we can’t quite put our finger on it, we know that there is evil in the world and this author is attempting to show us just how entrenched it is.

On a more personal level, Morgan must accept his scarred face—not turn away from it—as if he is at fault for the moral failings of those around him: his father, as a collector of wealth and objects; his mother as a self-absorbed narcissist; and his sister for how she controls the old family business.

 A few reviewers have noted a dissatisfaction with the ending, perhaps because Morgan’s connection to this greater symbolism is oblique. The reader is left feeling slightly unmoored while contemplating the loose tie between Morgan’s personal, wounded life and the evil that defaces the entire world. But maybe that’s the point—we are all personally, and universally, conduits for what happens in this world, even if we can’t always fathom the connection.

This is one of those novels where I’d love to sit down and have a conversation with the author. As is, if I discussed things in any greater detail, there would be spoilers.

SQUAWK OF THE YEAR

Wherein we squawk about our favorite books from 2015

J.S. Colley:

The books I enjoyed this year are, in no particular order:

Etta and Otto and Russell and James by Emma Hooper, a story about an 83-year-old woman who sets out to hike 3,232 kilometers across rural Saskatchewan, Canada to the sea. She leaves a note for her husband, Otto, that reads, “I will try to remember to come back,” and a box of recipe cards so he won’t go hungry. Russell is their neighbor who has loved Etta from afar for years, and James is a coyote who befriends Etta on her long journey. It’s a poignant novel covering a myriad of themes, ranging from aging, illness, death, friendship, love and loss.

The Life and Loves of Lena Gaunt: A Novel by Tracy Farr. After losing her mother and her father, Lena Gaunt is introduced to the Theremin, a musical instrument that is played without physical contact. (This is a real instrument—who knew?) Sounds are produced by the oscillations of the musician’s arms and hands. But that’s not the only odd thing about this novel. The protagonist is a bisexual, octogenarian junkie. While I thought a few of the plot points were forced—something that has annoyed me with a few works of modern literature—it was, overall, an excellent read.

It’s fascinating what will spark a novelist’s imagination. Tracy Farr read about the Theremin and, from there, created this whole world—this fictional life—of Lena Gaunt. Imagination truly is a gift, for both the reader as well as the writer.

The Moon Casts a Spell: A Novella (The Child of the Erinyes) by Rebecca Lochlann. I wanted to give a shout-out to this companion novella to Lochlann’s larger volumes in The Child of the Erinyes series, which follows the lives of three people through various incarnations. In this installment, fate brings them together on the “windswept isle of Barra, in Scotland's Outer Hebrides.” The atmospheric setting casts a spell over the reader. Will the trio ever discover their link to the ancient past? This novella will help Lochlann’s fans endure the wait until the next full-length novel in her new series is published.

Bill Kirton:

Lisa Hinsley was a very gifted, sensitive young author. I first came across her through her book, My Demon, which I enjoyed very much. Through a friendship on Facebook, I also came to know her as a warm, compassionate person who had lots of time for other people and was perennially positive. This was true of her even as she fought cancer for three and a half years, telling us of her tribulations but with never a sign of the self-pity or ‘Why me?’ which comes so naturally with the condition. When she went into hospital for the last time, she was the focus of an online party which she herself described as, literally, 'a party till you drop’. It was a joyous event which went on for many weeks, filled, on Lisa’s insistence, with laughter and happy, uplifting contributions. If any partygoer let any of the underlying sadness show, it was Lisa who raised their spirits through her astonishing bravery and example. She died on December 9^th this year, just 2 days before her birthday, but left an example of how to live for everyone who knew her, even if only online.

So, while it’s always difficult for me to say which of the books I enjoyed is ‘better’ than the others, this year the choice is easy. It’s Stolen, by Lisa. Not because of its deathless prose, its insights and revelations or any particularly literary qualities (although it has plenty), but because it was written by one of the most inspiring people I’ve ever known. I don’t believe in an afterlife but I really wish there were one - just for Lisa.

Pat Black:

For new books, I enjoyed Sarah Lotz's The Three. Part ghost story, part conspiracy thriller, written in a unique style. Extremely unsettling. 

But my choice is Roger Deakin's Waterlog. Classic nature writing, one of the best books I've read in years. 

Marc Nash:

Michel Faber - The Book Of Strange New Things

A story that dissects a husband and wife's love so expertly.

A book that tears back the veil of communication and how double-edged it is and how easy to misinterpret meaning.

A science fiction world that wears its inventiveness very lightly, yet somehow manages to authentically conjure up a truly alien sensibility.

A novel about religious faith which I would normally run a million miles from rather than read and enjoy.

Superlative.

AFTER A WHILE YOU JUST GET USED TO IT

A Tale of Family Clutter

by Gwendolyn Knapp

256 pages, Gotham

Review by J. S. Colley

After A While You Just Get Used To It is a memoir. The narrative focuses on the author’s years growing up in Florida and, later, on her great escape to The Big Easy. But she doesn’t escape for long. Her pack rat mom, with all her baggage—physical and mental—soon follows.

What can I say about this book? It’s funny. It’s raw. It’s heartbreaking. It’s real. It’s honest. It’s GROSS! At times it makes you squirm.

And I can relate.

Like Gwendolyn (Wendy) Knapp, I spent a good part of my youth in Florida. In north central Florida, to be precise. And while my family’s dysfunction is not exactly like Knapp’s (all families have their own unique brand), I recognized that which is uniquely southern.

Unlike Knapp, I cannot call myself a true Florida Cracker. My family was not indigenous to Florida. We migrated, moving there for my mother’s health (Ha. The doctors were wrong—all that mold!). But I lived there long enough to recognize eccentricities unique to that steamy peninsula, if not to all the deep south. If the Knapp family were to have a prayer, they should never have moved to The Big Easy, another locale where the weather imitates the conditions of a Petri dish; but it does make for an interesting read.

Maybe that’s the element that makes southern writers so unique. Their writing ripens in the hot, sultry atmosphere. The kind of atmosphere that enables beautiful things grow, but also makes them rot.

And there is a lot of “rot” in this story. From rotten teeth (her Aunt Susie had less teeth than prison stays), to mangy dogs, roaches, cat-peed couches, soiled khakis and a staph infection that comes to a big, ugly head. I admit that it was hard, at times, to ingest all the sad squalor, to not be turned off by it, but Knapp’s humor and her terrific writing skills made it not only palatable but rewarding. Amid all the omg! stuff is a lot of laughs and humanity. Without giving anything away, there is a scene where Wendy lies down among the flowers, if only for a few minutes, as if to be cleansed of all the tawdriness. Good for her.

Knapp has a talent for capturing the essence of a character, or a scene, though keen observation. She captures this absurd situation when she goes with her boyfriend to pay the rent at his gay, drug-dealing slumlord’s house:

People wanting to buy dime bags or pay rent or get their bangs trimmed mingled around the enormous black marble island in the kitchen.

There are many quotable passages, but I’ll leave them for readers to discover on their own.

The story did jump around a bit in the first half. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, events don’t have to be told in a linear fashion, but a few times I had to stop and think. And there were a lot of similes. Three or four on one page. Don’t get me wrong, I like similes and metaphors. They were well done (“their instrument cases hovering like censor bars”) and, especially in the first half, gave the reader a sense of the Florida Cracker personality, but they can become distracting if overdone. Especially if you are clueless to what something is being compared to, which I was on a few occasions. In the second half, though, the narrative becomes smoother and the similes rarer.

This is a great read—funny, sad, tragic, and hopeful—everything a good memoir should be. I’m looking forward to reading more from this talented author.

THE HEADMASTER'S WIFE

by Thomas Christopher Greene

286 pages, Thomas Dunne Books

Kindle Edition

Review by J. S. Colley

I picked up this book after finishing Gone Girl. Flipping through the first chapter, I thought, Oh, no! Not another jackass character doing jackass-y things. I didn’t know if I had the stomach for it; but I had heard, on good word, that this was a worthwhile read, so I trudged on. As the hackneyed phrase goes, I’m glad I did.

This is a masterfully crafted novel. The way the story unravels; how the reality of the first half of the novel is revealed in the second—all wonderfully done. Greene is able to hold the same poignant tone throughout. Any writer who wants to learn how to avoid passive voice should study it, and readers will recognize that they are in the hands of a skilled author.

The Headmaster’s Wife does have similarities to Gone Girl in that things are not always as they seem and it’s a story about a husband and wife, but the similarities end there. Even though the characters in the former do and think things that exemplify less than our ideal image of human behavior, the reader is not left with the same I-need-to-take-a-hot-shower feeling after turning the last page, as many reviewers seem to have experienced after reading the latter.

What makes this difference? I’m not quite sure. Perhaps it’s the same thing that distinguishes an excellent beach read from a piece of literary fiction—sometimes the variances are so nuanced they are hard to define. In both novels, we get a sense of how shallow, self-centered and indulgent we humans can be. But The Headmaster’s Wife is more. It’s a complex, nuanced and poignant look at love and marriage, life and grief; that what we do, or fail to do, early in our lives affects us until the end of our days.

She considers the past. She measures it and weighs it and holds it in her hand like a plum…moments that happened years before. She turns them over and over in her mind, things she has not thought about in years, and she can see now how obvious it all is. Every small event begets another one, each one built off the other until you have a chain of events that all lead to…this…

What it all comes down to is the fact that there is no avoiding life. Even in the pampered world of the academic, it still intrudes:

Not to have to worry about shopping or meals or where they would live? All that would be taken care of. Teaching—even running a boarding school—is another form of arrested adolescence. Even in their responsibilities, they are all playing Peter Pan, the real world something that happens outside these ivy-covered walls.

…

A perfectly scripted life, in other words, with regimented days and seasons defined as much by the rhythms of school as by the weather.

This makes one wonder if entrusting our children’s higher learning to lifelong academics is the right course to take. Part of an education should be how to live in the real world, but how can that be effectively taught by people who have never experienced its difficulties—or its own brand of rewards?

As with any good novel, this one makes you think about things other than what’s happening in the forefront.

But I digress.

The title of this novel is misleading (just as in Gone Girl) because this novel is not all about the wife; the husband plays a major role also. In fact, the first part of the three parts (“Acrimony,” “Expectations,” and “After”) of this novel is his story, as told to the authorities who found him disoriented and wandering the park.

In “Acrimony,” we learn that, like his father and his father’s father before him, Arthur Winthrop is the headmaster at Vermont’s elite Lancaster School. As he’s being questioned, Arthur’s story unravels, but what begins as one thing morphs into something quite different.  

In the second part, “Expectations,” we get his wife, Elizabeth’s, more reliable side of the story; and in the last (and much shorter) section, “After,” we see the sum—the aftermath—of the two other parts.

Part love story, part mystery and part tragedy, this is a remarkably crafted novel. It is, ultimately, a poignant look at how we deal with grief.

This is one of the best books I’ve read in a long time. 

DISRAELI AVENUE

by Caroline Smailes

170 pages, The Friday Project

Reviewed by J. S. Colley

Disraeli Avenue is a companion piece to Smailes’ full-length novel, In Search of Adam, which centers on child sexual abuse. The protagonist in the novel is a girl named Jude. The setting of the novella is the street where she lives.  Each chapter opens a door to one of the row-houses lining the street and reveals a secret—sometimes funny, sometimes poignant, sometimes frightening, something uncomfortable, and sometimes evil. You can live next to a person your entire life and never really know them. Everyone harbors secrets, no matter how significant or trivial.

I haven’t read In Search of Adam, but I’ve read some of the reviews. The varied reaction doesn’t surprise me. For people who’ve never experienced abuse—sexual, physical, or psychological—it’s hard to fathom. But statistics don’t lie: one in four children will be sexually abused at some point in their lives. For those readers who don’t think the stories are realistic, who have been fortunate enough to be one of the three out of four, then I will repeat what a pediatric nurse friend of mine once said, “We live in la-la land.”  

The statistics are disturbing, and one with which I have some first-hand experience. While my story isn’t very horrific, it did have an effect on me. In fifth grade, I attended a Catholic school in central Florida. It was a small school and the janitor also served as bus driver for those of us who lived outside the city. Each day the driver would pass the last two bus stops (two sisters and myself) and head for the country store where he bought us a cold chocolate soda before circling back and dropping us off. You get the picture.

Around that same time, I was chosen to create all the calligraphy for the school and the annual science fair was only a week away. I went to the school on a Saturday to finish lettering the banners when I realized I needed more India ink. I headed for the supply room, which was set back from the outdoor breezeway. I met the janitor/bus driver there and he started to chat. I remember feeling nervous, for reasons I didn’t understand, and then, suddenly, my back was pressed against the girl’s bathroom door and the man was kissing me. To this day, I don’t remember how I got from standing in the middle of the alcove to inside the bathroom. I snapped out of whatever fog I was in, pushed the man with all my might, and ran back to the classroom.  

The most horrific thing about it was that I didn’t tell anyone. Not my teacher. Not the principal, who I was on good terms with (her Feast Day and my birthday were the same). For all my youth, I had a foreboding prediction that if I spoke up all hell would break loose, and I would receive much unwanted attention. While I was confident the principal would believe me, there were other adults around me that I didn’t trust.

For years, I lived with guilt because I didn’t speak up. In my defense, just before we moved I cautioned my friend to watch her younger sister around this man—a parting warning.  I noticed that he often called her up to stand by him while he was driving and he’d put his hand on her leg. The thought of it makes my stomach turn. How could I have not told anyone? It’s something I have to live with, but it is also something that far too many children do—keep quiet. And this is what the pedophiles count on. How to educate our children without explaining too much too soon and shattering their innocent years? I wish I knew the answer.

Even though nothing horrible happened to me physically, the incident had a profound psychological effect just as I was entering that stage in life when one becomes interested in the opposite sex. I don’t feel sorry for myself, though, because others have had much, much more to overcome.

So, please, if there is a child in your life—a sister, brother, niece, nephew, or friend—who suddenly changes, becomes quiet or angry, ask questions. Ask if there is something bothering them that they want to talk about. A child’s natural state is not to be sullen and withdrawn. Don’t put your head in the sand.

                                                                                                                

I could have left out the personal anecdotes in this review but that would have been cowardly. I wanted to speak up, however late. The author of Disraeli Avenue, Caroline Smailes, is speaking up, and she’s giving away the royalties earned on the sale of this novella to the One in Four charity, founded by, and for, those who have experienced sexual abuse.  I’d urge you to buy the book. It’s available in both the UK and USA. You can’t lose—a compelling read, plus contributing to such a useful and, sadly, necessary cause.

THE HUNDRED-YEAR HOUSE

by Rebecca Makkai

339 pages, Viking Adult, Digital Review Copy

Review by J. S. Colley

I should have written this review a week ago, but I was on jury duty and, to be honest, this is going to be a very hard review for me to write, so I've been procrastinating. How to not sound self-righteous nor like a pedant? I don’t know, but I will try, because my intention is not to be either of those things. I will say this author is a talented writer. I highlighted many passages that I found well-crafted or otherwise remarkable. But one’s overall reaction to a novel is very subjective and this review will be just that—one person’s opinion.

I’ve had debates with readers (and writers) about the fairness of judging a book by the “likeability” of the characters. Is it the responsibility of the writer to make the reader love every character? Do we expect to agree with the protagonist on all issues in order to enjoy a book? My answer is, of course not!  How boring would that be? Don’t we learn something about human nature when we read fiction? Isn't that what writers do—reveal, unwashed, the innermost workings of the human mind and take us places we might never go in real life? But where is the line drawn between unlikeable characters and characters so shallow that, because of their very lack of depth, there is no room for us to gain any insight? There is only room for us to wallow around in the muck with them; only wanting to escape.

This story is told in a reverse timeline, starting with the present inhabitants of The Hundred-Year House and working back to the original occupants. The book covers, as indicated by the title, one century. The decisions and actions of the characters during each of the eras are, at best, mean-spirited and, at worst, unethical and immoral. Do all protagonists have to be ethical to be compelling? Again, no. But the actions of these characters—which ranged from blackmail (twice) to stolen identity—were excused by the author for the flimsiest, most selfish of reasons. An example is when one of the several protagonists sets up her colleague to be falsely charged with watching porn on his work computer so her husband might have his job after he’s fired. This woman sees nothing wrong with her actions, in fact she feels supremely justified, because she doesn't hold the same ideological views. Here’s the problem: when the writer has an agenda and it shines through, with no subtly or attempt to make the reader work for it—shoving it in their face like a shaving-cream pie—it jars (if not offends) them.

As viewers, we didn't “like” Norman Bates as he was stabbing Janet Leigh in “Psycho” but neither were we expected to think his behavior was acceptable, no matter that Ms. Leigh had just robbed a bank. He was a compelling character because we knew he was off-balance. And here’s where we might find the real problem: if the author of this novel intended the reader to see that these characters were somehow unhinged, then it was not apparent, at least not to this reader. Was the house supposed to be possessed? Was it evil and made anyone who inhabited it become evil too? In fact, it would have made the book more gripping. If there was even a hint of this, then I missed it and, if I did, then I apologize.

I could go on and on to try and explain my visceral reaction to this book. I could quote and give more examples, but it's probably better to just fall back on that old standard of book reviewers; the characters weren't likeable. Unfortunately, this trumped everything for me, even the splendid writing skills of the author.

Thank you to NetGalley for the review copy.

THE GREAT AND CALAMITOUS TALE OF JOHAN THOMS

by Ian Thornton

300 pages, The Friday Project

  

Review by: J. S. Colley

Tale: 1) a fictitious or true narrative or story, especially one that is imaginatively recounted

At the age of seven, Johan Thoms outwits a chess master, but on June 28, 1914, at the age of twenty, he discovers he can’t drive a car in reverse. While chauffeuring the ill-fated Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his pregnant wife, Sophie, he takes a wrong turn and haplessly delivers the couple into the hands of an assassin, and thus, (in his mind) starts a world war. Unable to face the ramifications of this horrific blunder, he flees Sarajevo into a life filled with regret and self-blame (but not without adventure).

This is a “tale,” of course, and while the assassination of the archduke and his wife is historical fact, there is no historical Johan Thoms. In truth, historians can’t be sure who was chauffeuring the royal couple that day. (Was it Leopold Lojka or Franz Urban? The debate is still not settled.)

When Johan takes flight from his nightmare, he leaves behind his eccentric (at best) father and loving mother, his closest friend, his flamboyant benefactor, and the love of his life, the beautiful Lorelie. As he journeys out of the city, he begins to acquire a menagerie of new friends (including the faithful dog, Alfredo) and eventually crosses paths with many of the “players” of that era. (How could one not mention Hemingway when discussing the Spanish Civil War? Or Dorothy Parker?) The history of that time is used as a vehicle to deliver an epic tale.

I could ask questions about why Johan does (or doesn’t do) certain things but, to quote the book, “‘Exaggeration is naturally occurring in the DNA of the cadaver known as the tale.’ [...] this part of the game was not to be taken lightly.” (Also, if I posed these questions here, I’d have to include a spoiler alert.)

This is a story born of tragedy, of luckless blunders, of faults in perception and judgment, of misplaced guilt and missed opportunity, of squandered love. But, for all Johan lost, he made up for in his newfound friendships. For all the ugliness of that day on a street in Sarajevo, Johan meets much beauty as he runs from it—from the angelic women who nurse him, to Cicero, to the Hooligans, and even the perceptive dog, Alfredo. He makes a positive impact on the lives of so many, and who knows if he would have been able to do this if he’d stayed behind? Is this his redemption?

The Great and Calamitous Tale of Johan Thoms is clever and erudite, rich in detail and complexity without taking itself too seriously. It’s a tour de force of craftsmanship. It has elements of magical realism, and themes abound. The humor is quiet, sublime. The reader has to pay attention to be in on the joke. Some of the references, either overt or covert, require a level of knowledge that not all readers will possess, and I’m sure I missed a few. Asides, oblique mentions, footnotes, all pull the reading into the narrative—as if it is a true story being recounted and not just a work of fiction.  This type of rich, lush book is uncommon, not only due to a rarity of talent but, as the author revealed in an interview, it was seven years in the making. Well worth the wait.

As a footnote about the history behind this fiction: I do not believe the driver of the car carrying the royal couple accidently turned down the wrong street. It is too big of a coincidence. However, I suppose bigger ironies—coincidences—have happened in real life. I read on the Internet (but how reliable is anything you read there?) that Lojka, one of the men attributed to being the driver, was given a stipend and opened a hotel where he displayed the bloodstained suspenders of the archduke and an item of the duchess’. If he had been innocent, would he do such a thing, especially since an innocent child was killed in the process? Perhaps so, the world is so wicked. But I prefer to believe the driver would have felt some remorse, some sense of guilt, like the fictional Johan.

HOLY WAR

by Mike Bond

406 pages, Mandevilla Press

Review by J. S. Colley

This is a story of the Siege of Beirut during the Lebanon War.  It’s a disheartening, yet thought-provoking, look at a religious war—about how utterly senseless and mystifying it is to onlookers.

The story is told through three points of view. These characters’ lives intersect in strange coincidences that are usually only believable if they happen in real life, but Bond makes it convincing.  First, there’s Neill, a war correspondent from England sent on a mission for MI-5 because he is the ex-boyfriend of Layla, the now wife of Mohammed, who is a powerful and dangerous Hezbollah leader. Second is Andre, a French commando out to avenge his brother’s death at the hands of terrorists during the bombing of a US base. 

Third is Rosa, a twenty-something Palestinian who sees no side but her own. Although Bond does a good job of keeping his personal political opinions from seeping into the story, I found Rosa the most disturbing, as she appears the most uncompromising in her ideology. Even if her leader, Mohammed, might seek an end to the war, she will have none of it.

On all sides, there seem to be those few who want peace, but their voices are drowned out by those calling for blood and more blood. But how do you stop the inculcation of youth to whatever side they happened to be born? This quote says it all:

“Calm down, brother! Tell us, what religion are you?”

 The man … trying to gain time to decide if these men who had grabbed him out of the darkness were Christian or Muslim, Druze or Hezbollah, Sunni or Shiite, Maronite, Syrian, or Palestinian or Israeli.

“Answer right and I kiss you,” one of them said. “Answer wrong and you die.”

As always, a novel is as interesting as its characters, and the players in Holy War do not disappoint. Each character brings his/her own perspective to this baffling conflict.

This is a gripping, chilling novel about the futility of war—especially one based on differences of religion.

Thank you to NetGalley for the review copy.

FURTHER CONFESSIONS OF A GP

by Dr. Benjamin Daniels
327 pages, The Friday Project/HarperCollins

Review by J.S. Colley

I received an ebook for review purposes.

Further Confessions of a GP is, as you might guess, the second in a series. I haven’t read the first book, Confessions of a GP, but it didn’t surprise me that there could be further tales. Several members of my family are in the medical professions, and I worked as a medical receptionist in my youth. Need I say more? But, since this was written by a UK physician, could I relate to the stories? It turns out dealing with the public in the UK isn’t vastly different from dealing with them in the USA.

This is the kind of book that can be read in snippets. Coincidentally, it’s the perfect reading material to take along to a doctor’s appointment so you’ll have something other than magazines with last year’s winner of the sexiest man alive on the cover. It’s also great to keep by your bedside to read a chapter or two before bedtime. Hopefully, you’ll drift off to sleep after reading one of the more poignant stories rather than one of the more disturbing.

What struck me most about the doctor was his compassion. Even while relaying less-than-flattering stories about his patients’ antics, his respect and concern were apparent. Also, he admits physicians aren’t all-powerful. He acknowledges that, most often, doctors are merely a sounding board for patients while time and nature cures them. I found the stories entertaining, enlightening, poignant and, at times, downright gross. Everything I’d expect in a GP’s tell-all. 

One can’t talk about health care in the UK without talking about the NHS and Daniels doesn’t shy away. Since the US is going through the sometimes-painful implementation of a new health system, I was both interested in learning more about the UK system and, frankly, sick to death of hearing about the politics of it all. There were only a few instances where politics bled through, so it was tolerable.  

However, I have to correct the doctor on two statements, one where he claims the US’s “private health-care system” has scared the public into thinking they need a yearly colonoscopy screening, and the other where he claims US doctors gave a woman suffering from false pregnancy a C-section.

Regarding the first claim: the American Cancer Society recommendations are for a colonoscopy every 3-5 years, if indicated, and every 10 years if the first colonoscopy is normal. They do advise a “yearly fecal occult blood test.” (Poo is talked about in the book, so I won’t avoid it here.) I also looked up the guidelines for a “private sector” health insurance company and found the same recommendations. I do have first-hand experience with this. After my initial colonoscopy, my “private sector” doctor told me that I didn’t need another for ten years. And believe me, if I’m told I don’t have to go through that nasty test for a decade I’m not going to argue. Daniels may be confusing American celebrities, who have scared people into believing they need this test once a year, with the recommendations of the (paraphrasing) “money-hungry private health care system,” but the official American Cancer Society and insurance guidelines are clear.

The second claim regarding the woman with false pregnancy appears to be true, but it was in Brazil, not the USA. Perhaps there was some confusion because Brazil is in South America. I give Daniels the benefit of the doubt, as perhaps he knows something I don’t. But, when I google it, all the news stories claim this happened in Sao Paulo.

The doctor takes a few jabs at America’s health care system to bolster the opinion of his own. Some of his criticism may be deserving, but he fails to mention that we (even before the Affordable Care Act) have Medicaid—a government sponsored health insurance for the poor. 

Also: “Every region has hospitals operated by state and local government (public hospitals) as well as some nonprofit hospitals that provide a safety net for anyone who needs care, regardless of ability to pay.”  And this: “…hospitals […] required to provide treatment under the Hill-Burton Hospital Program. Hospitals that receive construction funds from the federal government must provide some services to cancer patients who can't afford to pay for their care. Approximately 300 hospitals take part in this program.”

Daniels does, in a self-deprecating fashion, give a disclaimer after one of his accounts, where he admits he has no idea if the story is accurate or not, but he says he “read it on the internet, so it must be true?!” It is all meant to be fun and, in the end, I have no problem with the Daniels upholding a system he believes in but, if he is going to be specific, he should ascribe the correct horror story to the correct country, even if it is meant to be anecdotal. This type of thing is what helps perpetuate false impressions.

I give credit to anyone who enters the medical field, it is often a stressful and underappreciated profession, where nothing less than perfection is expected. If the reader takes away anything from these “confession” books, I hope they understand that physicians and nurses are only human, who want to do the best for their patients even when the patients are being unreasonable. And, despite the few brief forays into the political side of things, I thoroughly enjoyed the candid tales.

 

THE LONG SHADOW

by Loretta Procter
480 pages, Amazon Digital Services

Review by J. S. Colley

The Long Shadow is an historical novel set in England and Greece. The storyline spans two generations, beginning just before the start of the World Wars. It’s about family secrets, about those not-spoken-about things that lie just under the surface in an oft-failed attempt to spare heartache and embarrassment.

Andrew, the son of Dorothy and a mysterious "Greek officer and spy," makes a decision that will alter his life, and those closest to him. As a child, he glimpses a photo of a man he assumes is his father. His mother keeps the memento in a box in her childhood bedroom. While Andrew is visiting his grandmother over Christmas holiday, he decides to examine the contents more closely in an attempt to learn more about the man. He not only finds the photo, but his mother’s diary as well. Knowing it is wrong, Andrew takes the diary to his room and reads it anyway.

The diary entries comprise the middle section of the novel and explains, in vivid detail, his mother’s life in England just before the beginning of World War I and as a nurse stationed near the Greek village of Salonika. The narrative provides insight into life in a WWI medical camp under harsh conditions, and the horrors of war for soldiers as well as for the civilians living in the places they occupy.

The use of diary entries to advance a story is not a new one, and I wondered at the narrative-like quality of Dorothy’s musings until I came across an explanation by the author. Here is what Proctor tells Lucy Walton during in an interview in Female First:
How difficult was it to write in the format of a diary entry?

Not at all difficult.　 It came naturally, plus I had all those real diaries to base my ideas on.　 I tried not to let the language appear too stilted but needed to give the feel of the slightly formal way people expressed themselves in the early 1900’s.　 Naturally, no one would write a diary that was quite as detailed as Dorothy’s!　 It’s simply a plot device to tell the story in the first person and give the atmosphere of the Greek hospital camp, plus to tell Dorothy’s love story.　 I felt it was best to write the diary from the start to finish of her account rather than jump back and forth as many books tend to do.　 Basically I couldn’t bear to tear myself away from Dorothy’s story!

A lot of books are using diary entries as a means of telling a story now, so was this something you set out to use in the early stages of writing this book?
Yes, it was a necessary part of the story because Andrew discovers this diary and it opens his eyes to why his past is such a mystery and never spoken of by his mother or relations.
To be honest, I couldn’t think of another way to relay Dorothy’s story, and Proctor used this time-honored device effectively.

The last section of the book deals with the ramification of Andrew’s reading the diary. As any young man would do, he sets off, with all the impetuousness and intensity of youth, to find out everything about the father he never knew. Along the way, he experiences life as he never would have back home and meets people who broaden his perspective of the world. Andrew makes mistakes but, more importantly, he learns how to forgive and be forgiven.

The Long Shadow is rich in detail, history, and insight into human nature. Above all, it is a love story—love of family, country, fellow man, and romantic love. I enjoyed it immensely.

THE STATE OF ME

by Nasim Marie Jafry

512 pages, The Friday Project (HarperCollins)

 

Review by J. S. Colley

 

After reading the blurb for this book, I expected it to be different, but I say that in a good way. I expected it to be full of accounts of doctors’ visits, of woe-is-me narrative, of medical terms and explanations. While it contains a smattering of some of those things, the main focus is the inner life of a twenty-something girl, living in the 80s in Scotland, who’s striving to become a responsible adult and who also happens to be struggling to cope with a little-known, and little understood, disease called ME, which stands for myalgic encephalomyelitis. I think the title says is all, The State of Me, with lower case e. 

This is one of those books that tells a story through the "quiet everyday." The beauty of it is in the unadorned telling. This is not an action-packed story but rather an unfolding of events. If you look, there’s a lot of meaning packed into simple statements, like this foreboding, and telling, proclamation when the protagonist, Helen Fleet, is skating with friends and is about to experience the first signs of the disease: "I could skate better backwards than forwards. I had more control going backwards."

What I found interesting is that—even though I have also dealt with an often debilitating, non-visually-apparent disease (my own made-up non-medical phrase!)—I, at times, found myself thinking, try and enjoy yourself, Helen; go to that party; make an effort! So, it’s easy to imagine people who’ve never experienced anything like it being unsympathetic to Helen’s condition. But Jafry does not beat the reader over the head in an effort to convince anyone of the validity of ME. This is not a preachy book. The author doesn’t spend a lot of time bashing the often inept medical profession or the skeptics. And that’s why it works so well. Jafry simply tells her story, often with a touch of humor.

I have to note this: I started reading the book late at night and, about a third of the way into it, I thought the dramatic tension might be getting lost in the simple unfolding of events. I didn’t know if it was because I was tired, or because of my own issues with "brain fog" and fatigue, but I closed the book for the night. When I picked it up again the next day, I found that I was fully engaged in the story again. So, if you find the book slows down a little, keep going, it’s worth it.

I can’t do this review without stating that one of my favorite characters, although he doesn’t have a huge role, is Nab, Helen’s stepfather. I’d love to have someone like that in my life—patient, calm, kind, and understanding. Another thing I enjoyed was Helen’s imaginary conversations with a stranger. I thought this was a really clever way of giving the reader information about the disease without it being boring.

One of the major relationships explored in the book is between Helen and her boyfriend, Ivan, whom she met before contracting the disease. Would the dynamic of their relationship have played out differently if she’d never gotten sick? (Of course it would have, as would have all her relationships.) Did she give Ivan too much leeway? I wonder. (I could talk a lot more about this, but then there would be spoilers!)

There are many other notable characters, like Brian, Helen’s uncle who has Down syndrome. Brian gives another perspective on what it’s like to be disabled, since his condition is outwardly apparent, while Helen’s is not.

The story is set in the UK, and there are some references I didn’t understand, (how nice it is to be able to look words or phrases up on my Kindle Fire!), including references about their health and welfare system, but it didn’t deter me from enjoying the story.

Finally, I loved the way the book ended, which surprised me, to be honest. I can’t tell you why it surprised me, because it would contain spoilers. However, I can tell you the reader is left with a sense of hope.

The State of Me is not just for those who suffer with ME, or a similar illness, but anyone who enjoys a well-written and engaging story. It’s about family, friendship, and love, and standing up to what life throws at you.

LIFE FIRST

by R.J. Crayton
254 pages, Kindle Edition

Review by: J.S. Colley

Note: I received a free copy for review purposes.

In this dystopian thriller, R.J. Crayton tackles more than one controversial subject.

The world's population has shrunk to drastic levels due to a series of pandemics, and new laws have been introduced in an attempt to ensure the continuation of humankind. FoSS (formerly part of the United States) requires strict adherence to these laws, and to the ideology behind the "Life First" campaign, in return for citizenship. Ostensibly for their health and well-being, every citizen is implanted with a life monitoring system, but the computer chip can also be used as a tracking device. A heavy penalty is imposed on anyone who tries to shirk responsibility toward a fellow citizen, as dictated by the government.

The free-thinking protagonist, Kelsey Reed, has been marked to donate a kidney to a man who is her biological match. But Kelsey doesn't fully embrace the "Life First" mantra and all it implies. Should she be forced to put her own health in peril for a stranger? Shouldn't it be her choice? She makes it clear that she'd willingly give a kidney to her best friend, or even someone she doesn't know, if it was her decision and not a bureaucrat’s. Crayton presents a chilling scenario of just how powerful a government can become under the pretense of "doing good."

While the basis for this novel is forced organ donation, some parallels are drawn to abortion. For sake of this review—because I know this issue will come up in the reader's mind—one could argue there is a significant difference. In the case of abortion, the woman's actions (where it was her decision!) led to the pregnancy. Therefore, her responsibility for that life is innately greater, compared to the life of a stranger. Birth control fails. No matter how responsible a sexually active woman tries to be, there are still risks and, by taking that risk, the woman has already made a choice. And, one could argue, this is precisely where the parallels begin to diverge. But, no matter where you fall in the midst of current political arguments—right, left, or somewhere in the middle—Crayton lays out a solid, logical argument for Kelsey's decisions, and I would be loath to have to debate her on any subject.

Life First is a thought-provoking novel. Not all readers will agree with the implications, but isn't that what a good novel is supposed to do? Make us think? I would venture to say this novel will lead to a lot of discussion.

If you like dystopian thrillers, then you'll enjoy this well-written novel and will be waiting, impatiently, for the next in the series.