I listened to Faith Moore’s podcast series on A Christmas Carol this year and loved it. She does a great job of narrating the book as well as interjecting short “notes” to clarify what’s going on and bring out important pieces. So, reading her spinoff novel seemed like the perfect companion to the podcast.
This book reimagines Scrooge as a middle-aged workaholic woman named Karol. Unlike Scrooge, she has a family, but she has disconnected from them and isn’t interested in spending time with them. Christmas isn’t a happy time for Karol, as it causes her to remember her mother’s death and her estrangement from her sister. But she does find solace in her career as a lawyer, which is going very well.
Karol believes that her husband and kids don’t need her—they only need her to work to provide money to sustain their lifestyle. She likes the way she feels when she’s at work: in control, successful, powerful. She doesn’t like the way she feels at home: trapped, out of the loop, redundant. This leads her to where she is at the start of the book: A success at work, and a failure at home. But she doesn’t see her homemaking failures as a big deal. She’s a high-powered NYC lawyer…and that’s the very definition of success, isn’t it?
Karol calls her employees to work on Christmas Eve to handle an issue regarding a Very Important Client, but on her way to a meeting, she slips and hits her head in Rockefeller Center and ends up in the hospital—but it’s not your typical hospital. There, she has three separate encounters with the past, present, and future. These cause her to rethink her notions of success and confront the deep unhappiness that she’s been trying so hard to mask with money and makeup.
I really enjoyed this book because I’ve chosen to devote my talents and energies to professional homemaking. I’ve largely phased out of any type of money-making work. I stay at home with my kids and homeschool them. My days are dominated by parenting challenges and household chores. I have chocolate-chip banana bread in the oven as I type this book review. I’m one of those. Naturally, I enjoy reading books that reinforce my life choices.
But, I also believe that what Faith Moore is saying about finding joy is true. Investing in my husband and my kids is something I won’t regret. I may not make any money, but I save a heck of a lot of it. I know my kids inside and out, better than they know themselves. My husband and I agree that we have the best marriage of anyone we know. These are not small matters. They are what a fulfilled life is built on.
Are there days when I wish I could put my kids on the school bus and let someone else deal with them? Sure! Are there days when I die a little bit inside, knowing that I will perform grunt work from morning til night? Of course! Are there times when I look with envy at beautifully dressed women who have important jobs to run off to? Yes. But I wouldn’t trade what I have.
Let me be clear: This book isn’t saying that all women should be homemakers. It is saying that all women should prioritize the human connections in their lives over material gains. Making husbands and kids a priority (instead of an afterthought) will lead to a correct ordering of affection, which leads to joy and fulfillment. No amount of money or success can fill the void when husband and kids have grown cold and indifferent.
Some may find this message grates on them or feels too political, and it’s hard for me to offer an unbiased opinion because I agree with what this book is saying. But, if you value the home and the woman’s role in it, then I think you’ll find a lot to like in this retelling.
There’s no reason why I should’ve liked this book, but I did!
I think portal fantasies work well for kids. You know…Narnia. But for adults, it’s hard not to make them cheesy. In this novel (which started as a podcast series) Andrew Klavan owns up to the cheese.
The main character, Austin Lively, gets unaccountably transported from contemporary Los Angeles to a medieval fantasy kingdom. The only thing that connects the two worlds is a mysterious book. I can barely type it without cringing. It sounds so bad. But Klavan miraculously handles it in such a way that it’s not cheesy after all. He writes in first-person, and Austin’s voice is so strong, so crass, so humorous, and so typical of what you’d expect from a Hollywood hack, that the authenticity of it works.
I sped through this novel not because this is my kind of book but because Klavan is a great writer. He writes legitimately good prose. He had me hooked on the unraveling mystery. I cared about the foolish protagonist and wanted him to win despite his many flaws. I became intrigued by the layers of powerful people involved and wondered what it all meant.
Overall, this story is about a young man who is underperforming in every area of life with no incentive to better himself. How do you take someone like that and transform him into a selfless man of stout heart and right belief? From what I know of Klavan, he believes this is an actual problem in society right now. How can men become men again?
This whole book is kind of a content warning. There is a lot of foul language and violence. There are some scary images, but I’m a wuss, and I did fine. There is a fade-to-black sex scene. Women are praised for being traditionally feminine. I have no problem with this because I embrace traditional gender roles, but I can see why modern tastes may find this unpalatable.
“Public policy can help, but there is no government that can fix these problems for us.”
I cannot agree more with J.D. Vance’s statement here. In this memoir, he describes a web of personal, cultural, and spiritual problems that are so interconnected and tangled that there are no easy solutions.
J.D. Vance, our soon-to-be Vice President, grew up with a bunch of lunatic hillbillies and dysfunction upon dysfunction. A snapshot: Substance-abusing mom, revolving door of “dads,” constant uncertainty and conflict in the home, no special talents or intelligence to distinguish him. How did he rise above that to become a U.S. Marine and Yale Law School grad—and eventually the second-in-command of the most powerful nation on earth?
If we can simply take J.D. Vance’s experience and replicate it through government policies and laws, then everyone, no matter their situation, should be able to achieve what he did, right?
Of course not! I love that, instead of writing a political book, Vance decided instead to write a memoir, describing what it was like to grow up the way he did. He says again and again that, while he’s not skeptical of public policy, it wasn’t anything the government did that tipped the scales in his favor. It was the people in his life. He describes in the last chapter of the book how close he came to falling through the cracks. If just one family member, teacher, coach, or friend didn’t intervene for him at a critical point in life, he could’ve easily changed trajectory for the worse.
I believe the problems we face are spiritual at the root.
I have a Rich Mullins CD with one of those hidden tracks at the end. This track is at least an hour long, and it’s filled with snippets of Rich’s commentary during concerts and such. In one of them, he says something like this: You know, the scary thing about God is that he didn’t make a Plan B. He created the church, and he gave us a job, and if we don’t do it, there’s no Plan B. The church is the only thing that can make a real difference in this world. The government can’t do it, so stop trusting in the government. Educational systems can’t do it, so stop trusting in educational systems. God formed the church, and it’s our job.
I’m butchering it, but it resonates now more than ever.
What if the world continues on an artificial trajectory until there’s nothing left worth living for?
This dystopian novel is relatively quiet and thoughtful, but I was completely invested in the story and sped through in just a few days. I love the articles and resources that Peco and Ruth Gaskovski offer on Substack, so when I discovered Peco’s novel, I instantly knew I wanted to read it.
The worldbuilding here is so, so good and eerily believable. We’re in North America 300+ years in the future. The vast city of Lantua is a technologically advanced, progressive place where anything goes—that is, anything promoting self-centeredness and dependence on the state. Things like family and religion and privacy are acceptable only when controlled by the government. Couples, married or not, may have one child that is birthed in a bio bag. Body births are icky and illegal. Religion is okay as long as people don’t take it too seriously and it doesn’t usurp the almighty gods of self, safety, and state. Everyone is equal, except they’re not. The society is divided into echelons, and people move up or down depending on how well they follow the rules. Step out of line, and you may get demoted to a lower rung, where you don’t have access to the fine things enjoyed by the upper-echers. In Orwellian tradition, Big Brother is always watching, via “eyes” and drones—cameras and microphones everywhere. Don’t stress, though, they’re just here to help and keep you safe, after all.
Oh my. Can you see it?
The Benedites live in the Territories. They follow the old ways. They farm and raise their own children and go to church and worship Jesus. They, too, can be rigid and exacting. The Lantuan state sterilizes the majority of the Benedites so they don’t have too many kids and outnumber the Lantuans. (Phaoroh, anyone?) The Bennies hate forced sterilization and have managed to revolt and resist from time to time, but rumor has it that they are staging a larger uprising.
This is the backdrop. I don’t much want to comment on the characters or plot because it was SUCH a pleasure to read this book blind—without knowing a shred of what was going to happen.
Just the other day, I read this article about fertility by Peco, and it was such an enrichment to my reading of his novel. Great timing.
This book isn’t as high on action and thrills as you might expect. It doesn’t lean heavily into sci-fi, although I’d classify it as sci-fi dystopian. Instead, it asks those looming, moral questions and doesn’t apologize for it. Those of you who know your Bible will be rewarded with allusions and parallels. Those of you who know Latin (not me!) will need no translator for Bennie slang.
You could shelve this under Christian fiction, but it wouldn’t exactly fit in with its peers there. This is a coming-of-age novel set in the ’60s. Frank, a 13-year-old boy, must come to grips with several tragedies that happen over the course of one life-changing summer. His father is a pastor, but his mother is barely a believer, and Frank must decide what he thinks about God.
Because Frank’s father is the pastor of a small town, and because the book deals with a series of tragic events, many of the characters question God, reach out to God, and fall on the mercy of God. I appreciate how beautifully this is done. Kreuger deals with this honestly, but (spoiler) the verdict falls in favor of Jesus Christ and his grace. It’s rare to find this in a dude book, and this is most definitely a dude book. Think Leif Enger.
It’s hard to discuss the plot without spoiling it. Kreuger said in an interview in the after-matter of the audiobook that he wanted to write a novel that didn’t follow the tight mystery plot pattern that he uses in his Cork O’Connor series—I’ve only read the first one in that series, and it’s good (if gritty). So, this book has a mystery element, but it’s not a classic mystery. It’s more open and fluid. Frank encounters a loss of innocence, and he must figure out how to move forward in a world where bad things happen to good people and where we can’t simply run away from our problems—because sometimes our problem is “who we are” and we can’t run from who we are.
One of the best things about this book is the wide range of men that Frank is exposed to. You’ve got bullies, drunks, wifebeaters, rich guys, preachers, homosexuals, loners, and artists—and Frank realizes that there’s more to each of these men than the stereotypes they portray to the world.
I did feel like the plot was a tad predictable. I didn’t gasp at any twists. And I felt like the characters were a tad slow to figure things out. But, the book isn’t about the plot. It’s about Frank and his family, and it’s good to know that going in.
A gentle, heartwarming tale set in the Grand Canyon
I dislike animal protagonists, so I need a compelling reason to read a book that centers on an animal. What prompted me to pick this one? 1. Because it’s set in Arizona. There are so few books set in my state. 2. The many great reviews. 3. Brighty the burro existed. I’m more interested in animal stories inspired by real-life animals. 4. It’s short, and I figured we could start and finish it during a long road trip I took with my two boys. We did!
Bright Angel is a donkey who lives in the Grand Canyon circa 1910. He befriended an old prospector who nursed him back to health after a porcupine attack. The wise prospector never tried to “own” Brighty, who is wild and spirited. But, the donkey stayed close to the prospector and carried his belongings and shared companionship with him. Brighty wanted to retain his freedom, but he also wanted friendship. The prospector allowed Brighty to have both. This resonated so deeply. Isn’t that the essence of a happy existence? Freedom and friendship!
This backdrop is where the story opens. Brighty and the prospector (called Old Timer) find a vein of copper in the Grand Canyon. This stroke of good luck is quickly followed by bad, and things go from there. The author includes historical figures, such as President Teddy Roosevelt, in the book, and this factual accuracy does result in a plot that isn’t as tight and straight as what we’re used to in modern times. But there’s a lot to like.
I loved the way the Grand Canyon and the Southwest are portrayed. We live in a part of the world where life exists in spite of the many natural elements trying to extinguish it. But Henry does a lovely job of highlighting the many beauties of the high desert.
Overall, this book was a GREAT experience for us. But I had low expectations because, you know, animal protagonist. I wouldn’t want anyone to go into this book with high expectations. It’s relatively quiet and meandering in parts. But it’s a sweet, comfortable book.
I must say that narrator John McDonough is pitch-perfect. He sounds like a lively grandpa telling the story. His cowboy twang added a fun aspect to the dialogue.
This quick Christmas romance brings second-chance love with You’ve Got Mail vibes
It’s not often you read a holiday rom-com about an estranged wife and husband getting back together, but that’s what happens here. Our protagonist, Fern Gale, is the town recluse. She lives in a gorgeous house in a small town, but ever since her mom died four years ago (and her husband abandoned her) she has been filling it with antiques with vague notions of selling them at some point. Maybe. She’s aimless and alone.
When a pipe freezes and bursts in her historic house, she calls the only person who knows where the water shut-off is buried under the new-fallen snow—her ex. They haven’t spoken in four years. Now what?
This is a simple, sweet book that will make you smile and get you into the holiday spirit. The only thing I wanted to know more about is why Fern’s husband left and stayed MIA for so long. I understand generally why, but I wanted there to be a bigger “last straw” that sent him packing and justified the years-long estrangement.
My sister-in-law is a huge Terri Blackstock fan, and I remember when she told me about this series after she first read it years ago. The premise is fantastic. One day, electricity doesn’t work. Nothing electric/electronic works. Planes fall out of the sky. Cars die on the road. All the lights go out. City water pumps fail. Generators won’t operate.
What would happen to the average American if an outage like that went on…indefinitely?
The Branning family is going to find out. This book is the first of four, and it focuses primarily on Deni Branning, the oldest daughter in a family of four kids. She is home from college just long enough to plan her wedding to an aspiring politician in D.C. She is on the fast track to a job in broadcast journalism. Her future looks bright. Until the lights go out. She’s stuck at home in Alabama with no way to communicate with her fiancee.
It’s not long before the Brannings find themselves hauling lake water to their house, catching fish to eat, and saving half their trash and composting the rest. Their lives change drastically.
Their quiet, affluent neighborhood is rocked when one of the families is found murdered in their home. Who is the killer? Everyone starts suspecting everyone else, and emotions run high.
This is a Christian novel, so the Brannings have to face the fact that they are Christians in name only, and not practice (both inner and outer). The family chooses to rely on God to provide and guide. The Jesus aspect is tastefully done, not cringey or contrived.
Deni escalates the conflict with some truly dumb choices, which bring her and her family close to peril.
This was a great book—perfect for anyone who enjoys Christian mystery-thriller.
I’m walking away from this book not knowing exactly what just happened or how I feel about it. It’s gorgeously written, as I knew it would be, lyrical and emotional. Everything in it feels both small and concrete but also large and allegorical at the same time.
The characters are strong. Rainy is our Orphean narrator, feeling inadequate to his storytelling task. Lark personifies purity of heart and generosity of spirit. You have standout supporting cast members, Kellan, Sol, and Werrick (and Flower if you count the sailboat as a character), but the third-tier folks kind of blended together for me into a tapestry.
Because I listened on audio, and it was SLOW going (not sure exactly why), I think I lost a lot. I may have been more attentive if I’d read this in print, and therefore come to a more cohesive understanding of the story.
Enger takes his time getting started, laying several pieces on the table, and then he does a nice job of smashing everything so that Rainy is forced to leave his normal world behind and venture on a sailboat onto unpredictable Lake Superior.
The book’s middle could’ve meandered if not for Werrick’s pursuit, which kept things moving along. Rainy’s unpredictable journey had that familiar episodic feel to it, the way Greek myth structures itself (and TV series). The setting is a near-future U.S. that has fallen into a soft yet terrifyingly believable dystopia, where citizens have been stripped of the safety and plenty that we are taking for granted at this very moment. I thought Enger did a fantastic job of upping the stakes with each of Rainy’s encounters. The plot was like a fist closing on the poor man. And I did like the ending.
Here’s where I’m not sure I’m smart enough for this book: The message. What is this book saying? I’m honestly not quite sure. The rich get richer and start doing immoral experiments on the poor to create compliance drugs in order to quell rebellion…is this a critique of capitalism or socialism or both? Or is it concerned with neither and none?
In the story world, the Christian church has been weaponized against the good-hearted, and those who possess Bibles are usually villains. There are allusions to the scribes and Pharisees vs. the disciples, but it was all rather muddled, I wasn’t quite sure what Enger was saying about the actual gospel, except that his heroes are the poor, meek, mourning, and persecuted.
It was a good book, very beautiful, but I found myself walking away with more confusion than I thought I would. In a way, it’s good because I will think about this book more than I would’ve if it weren’t so difficult to pin down. And that, in many respects, is what makes a worthy read.
If you love Hallmark (or GAF) movies, then you’ll adore this short, sweet book. Blackstock uses dual narrators. We’ve got Finn, the crabby cabby (a cab driver with a bad attitude) and Sydney the stressed-out lawyer who needs to win a no-win case in order to keep her job. No pressure, Syd.
So, fun fact. In her author’s note, Blackstock describes how she was sitting in the waiting room at her actual doctor’s office when a man wheeled in an elderly lady and then headed toward the door. She asked if he was just going to leave her, and he responded: “Lady, I’m just the cab driver.” That was her inspiration for this book.
Finn gets a call to take elderly and disoriented Callie to the doctor. Who hires a cab to take Grammy to her appt?? Well, it turns out that Sydney does—on a day when she must attend an important work meeting or risk getting fired. That gets the ball rolling, and it’s sweet as figgy pudding front to back.
Callie is spicy and determined to get her way, no matter how sick she is. Finn is prickly on the outside and jello on the inside. Sydney looks like a successful attorney, but she’s broke and hanging on by a thread.
Worldview means a LOT to me when I’m reading a light book like this one, especially a romance. Why read a candy book if the author is saying things about life and love that you can’t stand? I can tell that Blackstock and I share a lot of the same beliefs, and it’s great to see those reflected here. I didn’t have to cringe at anything…you might, but I didn’t. There are a few moments that some people will find politically incorrect, but I actually agree with the author on most things, so I, uh, mentally high-fived her when I read those bits.
Blackstock is a Christian author, but this book does a great job of not getting preachy. There is no contrived altar call moment. We see both Finn and Sydney rethink their spiritual lives, going from dormancy to just waking up. They are on the brink of starting something good with Jesus, but the book isn’t about that. It’s a side effect of their interactions with Callie.
Well, Andrew Klavan co-authors one of my all-time favorite Substacks (The New Jerusalem), and I’ve listened to him on podcasts and interviews, and I knew that he was a novelist. But I wasn’t quite sure where to start with his fiction. Audible helped me by offering this entry point as part of the Plus Catalog.
This is the first in a detective series featuring Cameron Winter, a shadowy man who is both lethal and literary. He has killed people in his earlier days (military? Spy work? We’re not sure), but now he’s a university English prof. Okay, I’m in!
This book introduces us to the classically handsome (and classically read) Cameron, but it leaves a lot of unanswered questions about who he is and what haunts him from his past. He’s lethal. He’s cool under pressure. But he’s also carrying some serious emotional baggage. He has what he calls “a strange habit of mind” in which he clears his head, opens himself to empathy, and then allows all of the pieces of whatever puzzle he’s trying to solve fall into place, and they just do. This “gift/habit” is mostly a mystery.
An old friend asks Cameron for a favor. Can he help her with a murder case? Ex-military boyfriend kills girlfriend in a jealous rage and then confesses to the crime. Nothing to solve. But the facts don’t add up. Something’s off. So, Cameron starts sniffing around.
This is a short book that does a great job of balancing plot and character. You get a handful of plot twists, but there’s a wide range to the cast, and nobody feels like a cardboard cutout. I’m here for book two!
Hertz is a screen-addicted kid who must endure a tech detox
THIS BOOK TAKES PLACE IN MY TOWN! The reason this is so incredibly exciting is that I live in a TINY town at the top of a mountain in Arizona. A town that nobody outside of the state knows about, and even inside the state, it’s iffy. When I read the book blurb and saw that this story takes place in Show Low, Arizona, my jaw dropped, and I immediately bought a copy.
This book is so much FUN! It’s a novel in verse, so any middle-grader can get through it in no time flat. Plus, it deals with an issue that most kids struggle with: screen addiction.
Hertz is always on a screen of some kind. He can’t live without a phone and access to his gaming devices. The internet? Required for life. So, when he’s forced to spend the summer with his great-uncle in the tiny town of Show Low, he is devastated to discover that he’s living in a trailer park with no Wi-Fi and not even a TV.
Of course, Hertz learns that there’s more to life than screens and their snazzy, swift distractions. He makes friends (and enemies) and learns how to live an analog existence—and like it.I love the theme, and I enjoyed the free-verse format. Lots of fun play on words and vivid imagery.
Is the book faithful to the real-life location? I thought so! Purvis does a great job of portraying the quirky local businesses that we have. I can see the pancake house as a sort of Darbi’s. The description of the Chamber of Commerce is spot on. And I love Pops. He’s an overly patriotic elder, which we have in spades ’round here—we COVER the mountain in American flags for all the patriotic holidays. If you don’t believe me, just visit on July 4. We have our share of shady pawn shops, too, although they’re far outnumbered by dollar stores. We have more dollar stores and thrift stores per capita than anywhere else I’ve ever been.
On the flip side, our cops are mostly nice, and we don’t host an annual scavenger hunt, even though we totally should.
Disclaimer. I don’t actually live in Show Low. I’m in Lakeside. (Not Pinetop either.) If you live here, this is an important distinction, but if you don’t live here, it makes no difference whatsoever.
Mr. Wonka and Charlie meet aliens and fool with vitamins
Regrettably, my boys wanted to read this after having so much fun with the first installment. This book, however, got tiresome fast. My two little boys thought it was fantastic, but I couldn’t wait for it to be over.
There isn’t much here except cheap laughs. The book reads like two separate short stories. You’ve got the first part of the book, which takes place in outer space, and the second part, where three of Charlie’s grandparents take Wonka vitamins, which make them grow younger and then older by turns.
The book portrays adults behaving like idiots. The President of the U.S. and everyone in the White House are lunatics (and so politically incorrect that even I was cringing, and I love when things are politically incorrect). The astronauts aren’t the brightest bulbs, either. And Charlie’s grandparents act like the worst kind of selfish children.
Chocolate Factory had a sense of cohesion, with each spoiled child getting what was coming to them…we know this is how it’ll play out, and it’s satisfying to see, in a sense, because we know it’s the point. But this book feels so disjointed, like there’s nothing holding it together as a connected narrative. There are no character arcs. Very few lessons learned.
It’s slapstick but has few redeeming qualities. I think you can skip it for sure.
Content warnings: If you can’t roll with stereotypes, then don’t read this.
If you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself—even if that something is revenge
Yippie-i-oh, it’s a western. Here’s the story of 14-year-old Mattie Ross, a precocious and unflinching girl who is bent on avenging her father’s blood.
She hires Marshal Rooster Cogburn to track down her daddy’s killer—because he’s a “shoot first, ask questions later” type guy. Ranger LaBoeuf also wants to track down the killer to collect some big-time reward money. The three of them journey on horseback into the Wild West in pursuit of the outlaw.
Why is this a classic? The characters. The mix is pure joy. Mattie is sharp-tongued and shrewd, and she has more grit than anyone. Rooster is an immoral drunk, but he discharges his duty where Mattie is concerned, and he has a (non-icky) soft spot for her, due to her spunk. LaBoeuf is a dainty braggart who shows himself worthy of his own high praise—coming through in the clutch.
Everyone is a complex, contradictory mix of good and bad, and when you throw them together—SPARKS.
Mattie’s verbal fencing is the best, and her inner monologue is just as entertaining. This girl is a Piece Of Work, and it’s fun to watch her doggedly badger people into doing what she wants and how she’s determined to have her way in every particular. But she’s not a machine or a rock—she’s soft in her own way. In many respects, this is a coming-of-age story that takes the shape of a quest.
I listened to the audiobook read by novelist Donna Tartt, and it was good. The Jeff Bridges film is perfection and quite faithful to the text!
Content warnings: There is much talk of killing, shooting, drinking, and gambling, but we don’t see too much of this action on stage. There is PG-13 action-related violence. There is surprisingly little profanity and almost zero sex in this book.
It’s the year 2025, and the bloodshot eyes of the U.S. are glued to screens…
If there is one book genre that I actively avoid, it’s horror. I’ve never read a Stephen King novel in my life. TOO SCARY.
But, when I stumbled across this thriller written under his pen name for Signet, I thought…okay, I can probably do it.
Stephen King is skilled and prolific. I wanted to read him, and this seemed like my best shot of not being scarred for life.
This book was published the year I was born, and it portrays the year 2025—next year, at the time of this review.
In King’s dystopia, the divide between the “haves” and “have nots” in the U.S. has grown into a chasm. Every home is required by law to contain (get this) a Free-Vee. (I have a similarly named app on my television.) Programming is dominated by reality TV—game shows in which people compete in all manner of deadly games in hopes of winning prize money. Contestants are largely comprised of the have-nots.
Our protagonist, Richard, is one such contestant, driven to apply for TV so that he can earn money to buy real medicine for his baby, who is sick with the flu.
Because he’s smart, Richard gets picked for the highest-rated show on TV, The Running Man. Here’s the game: Richard runs for his life, and Hunters try to kill him. He earns money for every hour he stays alive. Stay alive for 30 days, and you win. Nobody has lasted more than eight days.
Sound like the Hunger Games? Yep.
The ending is hauntingly reminiscent of something that ended up happening in real life nearly 20 years after this book rolled off the press.
It’s crazy how many of King’s presentiments have come to pass. The book’s government is irreparably corrupt, and the networks are out for nothing but profit. Today, don’t we feel the same way about Washington and Silicon Valley? People are doping themselves to avoid reality—with entertainment and pot, whatever you can afford. Sound familiar? Everything from the air to the food is polluted. Uncanny.
Content warnings: The entire book is a content warning. There’s foul/offensive language with no filters whatsoever. The book mentions every vice you can imagine, although there’s comparatively little that’s graphically portrayed on the page. There’s no horror, just thrills. Clean? No way. But King knows his Bible, and there are references sprinkled throughout, so there’s that.
I’m intrigued by Higginbotham’s new book on the Challenger disaster, so I thought I’d try one of his earlier and shorter true-crime books. This one describes how a dude made a bomb, put it into a casino, and attempted to extort money. Why did he do it? Did he succeed? Did the bomb, you know, go off?
This was a punchy, intriguing read. I listened to the audio narrated by the author, and it was great.
Because the crime happened back in 1980, before the Internet and cell phones and such, it was fascinating to learn how this dysfunctional man (a real piece of work) got the dynamite, rigged the bomb, placed it, and communicated with authorities…back in the Stone Age. 😂
But even MORE interesting are the family dysfunction and interpersonal dynamics at play here. Nobody does this kind of thing JUST for the money. Nor does a person do it alone, with no accomplices or stooges. The WHY behind the crime was most interesting for me.
I do not like grotesque true crime, where children are abused and people are graphically dismembered. This was a great read for someone like me who enjoys exploring the psyche and motives behind crime, but who can’t stomach graphic violence.
A gang of troublemakers want to be in the church Christmas program. Hilarity ensues.
Seeing this play with my Brownies Troop was one of the formative events in my childhood. I still remember the girl who played Imogen swinging the baby Jesus doll around and Mrs. Robinson urging her to hold him like he was precious.
Reading this story was just as good as it’s ever been for me. It asks the question: What would happen if the neighborhood hooligans showed up at church and wanted to star in the Christmas pageant? What is a funny romp for kids is quite convicting for the parents who are reading it. At least it is for me.
My boys loved this book and laughed a lot. We read one chapter a day for a week, and it was a great experience.
Content warnings: The Herdman children smoke, steal, lie, and set things on fire, but it’s all melodrama, not real.
How can you stand out when you’re lost in a sea of siblings?
I adored this novel in verse. Mari reminds me a lot of myself—introverted, creative, wondering how she fits in. Mari is the middle child in a family of nine kids. Her busy family, chaotic home life, and her clingy little sister, whom Mari is always stuck babysitting, often push her to her limit, requiring her to hide in the closet or lock herself in the bathroom for some peace and quiet.
Mari feels like she’s a side note in her family, often forgotten while louder voices get the most attention. But she’s not defined by resentment—she loves her family and is devoted to them, even though she finds them exhausting. She’s just wondering how she fits in as an individual in her own right (beyond her perpetual role as babysitter to her younger siblings). What in this world is JUST Mari’s? Who is she?
This a sweet, understated story that explores universal emotions that all kids can relate to. Do my parents really love me? What am I good at? Is she still my friend? Why am I so upset? I love books that are content to portray the ordinary highs and lows of everyday life.
I love Mari’s mixed cultural experience, which adds richness to her life. I love how the book throws all kinds of poetry into the mix, as Mari’s teacher assigns certain forms, we see Mari’s attempts at haiku, limerick, acrostic, and free verse. This book would make a fantastic addition to a homeschool poetry unit, because, as Mari learns to master some of these forms, she remains supremely focused on expressing herself and pouring her heart into her writing. The tension between self-expression and artistic constraint is where the magic happens for her.
Also, the doodles are such a fun addition! The book is beautifully laid out visually.
Overall, I loved this! I’d recommend it to any middle-grader, and I loved it as an adult, too.
A group of kids must escape a game-maker’s library in order to win the grand prize
This was our last read-aloud for the school year. I selected it because I hoped it would be a fun, exciting story to start the summer. My boys did enjoy it, but I was a tad underwhelmed.
I must say, though, that the ending made up for what I thought was a snoozy middle.
When I finished reading the last couple of chapters, my boys (7 and 8 years old) were literally jumping and rolling off the couch and around the carpet. All the tension and excitement they were feeling was manifesting in these funny physical gyrations, and it was hilarious to watch.
The story premise is great. An eccentric game-maker, Luigi Lemoncello, has built a state-of-the-art library in his childhood hometown, and he invites twelve 12-year-olds to a lock-in at the library. The next morning, they opt into an epic game to “escape” the library and win fame and fortune as Lemoncello spokes-kids.
The clues and puzzles were excellent. I felt like they were difficult enough to warrant the fanfare surrounding the game event. The only thing, though, was that SO much went over my boys’ heads. As the adult, I caught all the allusions and Easter eggs, and I wanted to explain them to my boys, but I refrained, haha.
I felt like the writing and the characters were on the weaker side. Granted, this is a plot-driven adventure story, but I was expecting a bit more in the character department. That would’ve helped support the middle of the novel, which dragged for me.
There wasn’t much “there” there, even for our hero, Kyle. The most interesting character is Charles because he’s a worthy villain, who tries to weasel and fake his way to the top. It’s good to see him taken down a notch—my boys loved it—but he’s also something of a caricature.
If each character could’ve displayed more internal conflict, our interest would’ve skyrocketed. There’s one point at which Kyle is tempted to play video games instead of help his team look for clues, and after a quick pause, he resists the temptation. Had the characters had grown and changed to a greater degree, the book would’ve had more to offer.
Also, the grand prize (being a Lemoncello spokesperson) seemed a little strange. I would not wish fame on these poor kids!
I love Andrew Clements, but this was not a favorite for me or my boys. The book came with our homeschool curriculum, and it sounded intriguing—”two mysteries in one,” says the cover. I think that skewed my expectations. I was anticipating something heavy on clues, puzzles, twists, and gasps.
But this book was very quiet and unassuming. The drama is small, just like the town of Plattsford, Nebraska, where the story is set. The main character, Ted, is a sixth-grader who stumbles upon a family squatting in an abandoned farmhouse, and he does what he can to help them.
The book has gold-standard values, I will give it that. But, everyone in the book seemed to be on his/her best behavior. It would’ve been interesting to have a mischief-maker or a bad guy in the mix to liven things up. There wasn’t enough conflict for me.
The climax of the story is a huge bust—and it’s supposed to be. This made for some interesting discussion. My boys and I were rooting for a magical ending where everyone cheers and the kids hug and the parents cry while the soundtrack swells to a crescendo. The book deliberately bursts your bubble. Asking “WHY?” is a good exercise for kids.
Overall, though, I wouldn’t recommend this to anyone who is looking for a page-turner to keep the interest of a reluctant reader. Good but not great.
How will 10-year-old Esther survive now that her family must move from the city to a farm due to the Great Depression?
What a sweet, heartfelt book! I read it in just over a day, and it’s perfect for kids who love pioneer or homesteading books. It’s the Great Depression, and we see one year in the life of 10-year-old Esther. All she wants is to earn her mother’s love. Her Russian immigrant mom is exacting and superstitious. She scolds easily, worries constantly, and hugs not at all. What can Esther do to make Ma love her?
When Esther’s dad loses his job in Chicago, the family moves to a Wisconsin farm to try country life. How will Esther adjust?
This story has two strong journeys: the outer journey: Will the family make it on the farm? And the inner journey: Will Esther at long last receive her mother’s love? This makes it a simple yet layered growing-up tale.
It is a sweet story, with lots of emotion. I got teary-eyed a few times. I appreciate how the book doesn’t villainize the city or the country. I also love how there is a faith element. The family prays and goes to church. Ma and Pa also carry a lot of superstitions from the Old Country, and it’s interesting to see how that’s handled.
The reading level is low, so younger kids should be able to tackle it. The plot touches on many universal “kid dilemmas” that anyone can relate to, and it also opens a window to a distinct time in history and how people lived back then.
I got this book recommendation from this list of page-turners.
Content warnings: Nothing graphic or overly scary. However, one character has a medical emergency that requires hospitalization. One character chokes on food.
An awkward orphan girl is adopted by a big family who lives on a tiny lighthouse island
What a delightful story. Like Anna Rose Johnson’s debut, this book has that classic, vintage feel. What’s more, Lucy Landry is Anne Shirley reincarnated. She’s dreamy and inattentive, but it’s obvious that her behavior is a coping mechanism, and so, even though she makes us cringe, we FEEL for her.
This is one of those stories where the young protagonist is plopped into a completely new life. Think Sara Crewe, Mary Lennox, and, of course, Anne. Lucy Landry has lived primarily alone with an elderly caretaker. When she’s adopted by a couple with six children who live on a tiny lighthouse island, she’s utterly unprepared for the chaos and conflict. I’m glad that the author didn’t shy away from this conflict. It was HARD for Lucy to fit in, and this constant tension made the story interesting.
I loved the mystery of the long-lost necklace that’s woven through the story. While this is a subplot and not the point of the book, it adds a layer of interest to liven up the main plot, which is Lucy’s transformation. Plus, finding the lost necklace gives Lucy a goal and deepens her connection to her past.
This book is short and easy to read. It’ll appeal to kids (and adults) who want a quick win.
Also, Lucy deals with some debilitating fear. Since so many kids struggle with fears, this is another touchpoint that will appeal to anxious kids without triggering them (I think).
And a huge WOO-HOO to the depiction of a homeschooling family. This is rare! (But spilling stuff all over our school supplies is, sadly, not. Haha.)
Thank you to NetGalley and Holiday House for a digital ARC of this novel.
Content warnings: Lucy is afraid of sailing on the water. The book shows her getting anxious about the prospect of (and the reality of) getting on a boat. She and one other character freeze up in panic, but it’s not depicted as a detailed panic attack. Mentioning this just in case it’s relevant for your youngster.
This book has been on my radar for a while simply due to the title. That title. I didn’t realize the phrase comes from a poem by William Sharp (Fiona MacLeod): “Deep in the heart of Summer, sweet is life to me still, But my heart is a lonely hunter that hunts on a lonely hill.” That’s something right there.
This book is something, too. But, in many ways, it’s a mess. This is one of those beautifully written, literary books that gives you a lot to think about, that stirs your emotions—but that also feels like a bucket of odds and ends that the author shakes, and it’s noisy and interesting, but we’re not sure exactly what it all means.
The book is not what I’d call entertaining. Not in the same way that To Kill a Mockingbird is entertaining, apart from everything else it brings to the table.
I’m perplexed by the paradox of this book. On the one hand, there are strong themes that you don’t have to be an English major to sniff out. But there’s a striking lack of coherence. Again, like a bucket filled with objects that clearly symbolize certain things, but they’re just crashing around in the bucket, and what does it mean at the end of the day?
As the title suggests, this book explores the theme of loneliness. John Singer is a deaf mute living in an ordinary mill town in Georgia. He’s the hub of the story. He attracts the other four main characters to him. These people pay separate but regular visits to Singer because they like to talk with him—or TO him. They believe he understands them. They’re lonely and desperate to offload their thoughts, feelings, dreams, and convictions on another human being and be understood. But, we know, through the narrator, that Singer doesn’t actually understand them. They just think he does. And they rely on him to listen. They imagine him to be who they want him to be.
Each of the four supporting characters represents different parts of American society. Mick represents the poor whites (she’s also young and coming of age). Dr. Copeland represents the “Negro race” as he puts it. Biff represents the establishment—capitalist, white working man. Blount represents the communist malcontent. The book is described as a parable because each of these characters is representative of larger ideas and societal problems.
Mick stands out as, by far, the most sympathetic and sweet, followed closely by Biff, who is thoughtful, fair, and observant. I love when Mick describes her “inside room.” It’s the inner space where she can dream and be creative. She dreams of learning music and composing songs, and she even tries her hand at writing some songs. But she doesn’t share this dream with anyone. It’s her own “inside” secret that she cherishes. The second-to-last chapter when she describes how, after a long day’s work at the mercantile, she cannot manage to get into the inside room anymore—that’s heartbreaking.
Portia’s good-faith attempts to make peace with her father are exquisitely written. Blount and Copeland’s rage-fest where they’re agreeing but disagreeing—it was perfectly rendered. There’s so much here, but it felt very meandering, like you’re not sure exactly where the story is.
I did not love this book. It was a slog. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a lot that will stay with me.
Wow. I inhaled this trilogy, and I’m very picky when it comes to my teen dystopias. This series has a lot in common with The Hunger Games, but it’s much less depressing. In fact, it is incredibly life-affirming. But it’s most definitely for teens—no younger.
So, we’ve got a strong female lead, who lives in a futuristic society that’s tried to rid the world of inequality by making people the same—as “same” as they can get them. All aspects of life are controlled by the powers that be. Our young, female protagonist works as a Breeder. Her job is to birth babies for the new world. You already recognize a slew of elements from other popular YA books, right?
Well, something happens to our main character, Pria. She begins to feel discontented with her “perfect” life. She begins to ask questions—gasp! This puts her in danger, and she must face the truth about her society and the role she plays within it.
The strength of this series is the plot and pacing. It’s tight and effortless to read. There is a satisfying character-driven B plot.
Honestly, if you’ve got a thing for YA dystopia, this series is a really great choice!
The most astonishing thing about this reading experience is that I consumed this novel almost entirely at night, in the dark, right before bed. For someone who scares easily, I’m mighty proud of myself.
A man and his boy (never named) are trying to survive after a cataclysmic civilization-ending event (never explained), and they spend the novel dodging bad guys (cannibals) and figuring out how to not starve or sicken to death.
This book asks the question: Can we still be good even when everything around us is bad? Having just finished reading a lot of fairy tales, this question is not unfamiliar. Fairy tales ask this question over and over. Under what circumstances, under what pressure, do we compromise our integrity, stretch the bounds of morality, allow anger to rage, and succumb to despair?
The boy repeatedly asks his father, “We’re still the good guys, right?” Since they’re barely clinging to the bottom rung of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs (basic survival) and there’s nothing higher to live for or aspire to…it’s important to the boy that they’re “good guys.” This is all the boy can hope for in life beyond simply existing. Which begs the question: Are people born with an innate sense of right and wrong? I believe so.
The Road is a journey with no destination. There’s no safe harbor for the characters to aim for. Every time they stumble upon a good place, they can’t stay long. Someone might find them. There’s always this sense of impending tragedy. Every time the man left the boy somewhere, I had to quickly skim ahead just to make sure he was okay.
The book also asks “What’s the point of continuing to live?” These characters live in a world that’s bad beyond anything that I’ve ever experienced. Why not just give up and find a peaceful place to starve or freeze to death? I’m glad that this book takes a life-affirming approach, for all its bleakness.
