Alliances, backstabbings, and intrigue abound in Merrie England
I read this for Tea & Ink Society’s 2025 Shakespeare in a Year Challenge.
I’d never heard of King John before seeing it on the reading list. Because I had no idea what it was about, I read a summary and looked at the cast list and tried to keep all the characters straight.
I listened to the play (the excellent Arkangel production) and just let it wash over me. I didn’t worry too much about keeping track of every twist and turn. As always, I’m surprised by how much there is here.
King John doesn’t get staged all that often these days, but the political intrigue, shifting alliances, and backstabbing sure do feel relevant.
Like so many of Shakespeare’s plays, this one deals with the question “Who am I?” Am I a king? If so, why? How come that other guy isn’t king instead? He’s illegitimate—what does that mean? Do I even want to be king? Am I fit? Also, who are my friends? Why are they my friends and not my enemies? What does that say about me?
I could go on.
Also, this idea of Who Is in Charge? Who is running England? We see many forces at work that demonstrate it’s not always King John who is calling the shots. At the end, we see nature swoop in and throw a wrench in both the French and English forces. Who is in charge? Could it be an almighty God, or is it random chance? The fact that a unnamed monk (who never even makes it onstage) poisons John (for reasons unclear) and forces the nation into a new era of leadership—it shows that the levers that shift the world aren’t always the big ones. Just because you are a king doesn’t mean you’re powerful. Also, our nations aren’t as strong as we think they are. They can fall apart a lot easier than we think. Just pull a few threads, and the seams rip.
We also see appearance vs. reality, especially with the death of poor little Arthur. What the nobles “see” as reality isn’t reality at all. But nobody is interested in working to uncover the truth about what happened to him.
Alliance and allegiance are big themes, too. Who will the kings and nobles ally themselves with and why? Who do they want close to them and why? What makes England a country? Under what circumstances are we willing to compromise or even collude with our enemies? Why not just let France take over because what is England anyway? Boundary lines change constantly in the play, and most of the motivations are self-centered and not moral. The one scene where we see a moral victory over a political one is when Hubert refuses to kill Arthur.
The women in the play suffer. There are several strong moms, but they suffer. One gal is wedded to the Dauphin as a bargaining chip. Arthur’s mom goes mad. It’s not easy being a woman in this play, for sure.
So far, I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve read by Mimi Matthews. She tends to write clean, interesting romances that aren’t irritating.
Her books are perfect for when you want to drop a romance bomb on your reading life. Romance with a capital R. Her books are decently clean. For example, in this one, there are bedroom scenes between a husband and wife, and even though they’re steamy, they’re not spicy or explicit. In fact, it’s sweet to see the marital bed depicted in a positive light.
What I’m saying is that the romantic relationship is the point of the book. There are side characters and some light subplots, but the two main love interests get the spotlight. There’s a dab of suspense and intrigue. This keeps things interesting and allows external forces to put pressure on the romance and test it.
Most of the action, however, happens internally. Our main character, Philly, is great with wounded animals. That’s why she feels drawn to Captain Heyward (which made me think of Sanditon every time I heard it). The Captian was traumatized in battle and sustained injuries that resulted in lifelong handicaps. Philly is just the girl to make him feel safe. It’s your classic Beauty and the Beast setup—the beast isn’t lovable until he is loved. Philly has a less dramatic arc. She grows stronger and more confident in the face of the girl-bullies who try to cow her, and she becomes a tad more worldly wise to wicked people who hide their true selves.
What I appreciate most about Mimi Matthews is that she doesn’t throw unbelievable or exasperating things at her lovers to keep them apart. A pet peeve of mine is when an author overuses a misunderstanding or presumption to throw an obstacle in the way of love. If the two people would just talk about it, they’d resolve it in one beat. But no, this one unspoken belief keeps them apart for 30 chapters. That gets old fast. In this book, there are many misunderstandings, but the characters clear them up quickly and move on. This is much more satisfying.
Honestly, this all makes for a solid book. It’s not the most amazing story, but it WILL hit the spot if you need to satisfy a Jane Austen craving with some quick sugar.
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.
What’s the deal with Agatha Christie and train murders?
This one was fun! I love how Hercule Poirot books include similar elements, yet they all unfold somewhat differently—always with Poirot’s big reveal at the end. This isn’t on Agatha Christie’s top shelf of best books, but it might be on the second shelf down. I thought it was a jolly good time.
This one starts with a series of character intros, setting all the pieces on the chessboard. Then, crime most foul is committed. Even though the title mentions the blue train, this isn’t a locked-door mystery like Orient Express. It’s much more fluid than that, with characters coming and going to and fro in different settings. That may appeal to some readers who get claustrophobic in tight literary spaces.
There were a lot of characters coming and going, and I will say that I did get them confused from time to time listening on audio. But the cast size isn’t bigger than your average Poirot book.
I will say that I had a lot of theories about “who did it,” but none of them were right. I can’t be sure, but I believe this book may reference other Poirot mysteries, as the Belgian detective reconnects with several of his past contacts. If that’s true, then Christie buffs may have an advantage in solving the case, but, on my own, I was way off.
Beautifully written detective novel with a stiff upper lip
This detective story from the early 20th century is not cozy. Not hard-boiled, either. It’s old-fashioned, but not theatrical.
The centerpiece is detective Alan Grant of Scotland Yard. He’s young, handsome, and not like a police officer at all. He’s not what you’d call a “character” in the same way that Poirot, Wimsey, Marple, and Holmes are characters with distinctive quirks and traits—sometimes unbelievable ones. Grant is vanilla in comparison.
This book is beautifully written, with a lot of attention to detail and emotional nuance. But, as far as character and plot, it was just okay. I did get a little bored, truth be told.
The inciting incident is fantastic. A queue of people is waiting outside a London theater to see the final performance of a beloved London actress before she departs for America. I imagine it to feel something like waiting for a Disneyland parade to start. People are squished up next to each other. Vendors are selling stuff. Street performers are doing their thing. When the line finally starts to move, a man drops to the ground. He’s been knifed through the heart! In plain sight of all those people?!?
From there, things proceed in a relatively unremarkable way. Grant is polite and logical, and he collects clues that all point to a certain suspect, yet, in his gut (he calls it his imagination) he doesn’t believe the man is guilty. He’s got lots of proof that points to this guy, but he finds himself with a (rather womanlike) gut feeling…can he find proof that this guy isn’t the murderer?
This is all good, but the execution could’ve been more exciting for my taste. I enjoy detective stories with lots of color. I don’t want to say anything about the outcome because I don’t want to spoil anything, but I do have opinions about how it wrapped up. I guess that’s better than NO opinions, right?
This was solid Christian historical fiction with a heavy helping of romance. You’ll like this book if you enjoy Francine Rivers.
This book is titled The Pesant King, referring to Cyrus, the historical leader. But the book isn’t about him as much as it’s about a young Jewish woman and a half-Jewish, half-Gentile young man and the people associated with them. They find themselves wrapped up in the warring of nations, and they do great deeds to influence the outcomes. Not in the background but very much in the forefront, they fall in love.
Like I said, this was solid. I enjoyed it, and there was plenty of action. I wasn’t crazy about it. I feel like it might’ve been a good book at the wrong time for me. I did feel like the book needed one more editing pass. Just a few nuances of wording, repeated words, etc. that jarred me.
How big of a role does the romance play? Big. It’s not spicy or distasteful at all, but it’s the driving force behind the story for sure. The good news is that there’s a lot going on in the background behind the romance—plenty to keep things interesting!
I read this one to my boys (ages 7 and 9) to enrich our studies of Ancient Egypt. They enjoyed it, although they did get a tad impatient with Ranofer’s daydreaming and anxiety. Ranofer really does remind me of Hamlet. He spends 90 percent of the novel overthinking things, and then suddenly takes dramatic action in the last three chapters. Haha.
Ranofer is an orphan who dreams of becoming a goldsmith in old Egypt. Ranofer lives with his half-brother, Gebu, who is a violent, mean-mouthed, tight-fisted terror. And, as it turns out, he’s also a thief. Ranofer spends most of the book simply trying to get out from under Gebu’s thumb.
Ranofer is a true victim, yet he refuses to act like one, which I really liked. He’s determined to change his life for the better, even though he falls into fits of inertia and even depression (of a sort). And that’s what makes him so relatable. He’s not a bright, chipper, slick-talking Tom Sawyer-type kid. He’s a child who once knew love, who had plenty to eat, and who had prospects for his future—and he’s now starved of all three. He finds two unlikely friends who keep him from despair.
I was impressed by how much suspense and anxiety I felt for Ranofer’s wellbeing, even though not much happens to him for 3/4 of the book. The last, oh, three chapters are a wonderful, speedy rollercoaster ride, and they leave you feeling a sense of great satisfaction (after having watched so much suffering and, frankly, dilly-dallying for most of the book).
This book has a lot of atmosphere, really evoking a strong sense of the historical time period and place (Thebes, the City of the Dead). You learn a lot about what it was like to be an artisan’s apprentice in these times. Hopefully, it’ll inspire kids with lots of gratitude for their amazing parents who love them so. 😉
I was surprised by how rich the language is. Lots of rigorous vocab for kids.
What kid wouldn’t be fascinated by the idea of a whipping boy?
My boys, at ages 9 and 7, loved it. This was the perfect tiny book to slip in right before the start of the homeschool year. Plus, lots of good vocab.
I’m giving this book a lot of stars, but it’s not the end-all, be-all in children’s literature. Still, I loved the morality tale it presents.
We’ve got two main characters, Prince Brat, a terribly spoiled royal child. Then, we’ve got Jemmy, his whipping boy. Whenever Prince Brat gets in trouble, Jemmy gets a whipping (because it’s against the law to lay a hand on a princely hide.) Of course, this is unjust, and kids can see that right away.
In the dead of night, Prince Brat decides to run away because he’s “bored.” He commands Jemmy to go with him. They are terrible runaways and get kidnapped immediately by two highwaymen who stink of garlic. They meet a girl with a dancing bear and a potato seller and a rat catcher, and it’s all good fun in medieval times.
There’s a hearty moral takeaway and plenty of vocabulary words tucked into the narrative and strong historical flavor. But it’s mostly a growing-up / unlikely friendship story that I think will appeal to my boys when they’re a tad older.
This book is set in a mid-century modern Great Britain. So, think cars, cigarettes, socialites, mobsters, schoolboys, and landline telephones. It’s oh-so nostalgic and gritty. The book’s cover has more of a middle-grade vibe to it, but this book falls squarely into YA.
What makes this prosaic world magical? There are two brands of magic in Kazanjian’s alternate history: Alchemy and Illata. Some people are born with an Illata, which can be anything from the ability to unlock doors to the ability to cut off someone’s air supply. You can’t control what Illata you have or if you have one at all. Alchemy is learned magic, something that non-Illata-possessors practice at school and learn from teachers, but it’s a lot more difficult to master than Hogwarts-style magic. And schools are expensive, so Alchemy tends to be the magic of the rich.
I must say that I was completely charmed by the book’s ether. I loved the seedy underlord’s domain and the corrupt upper crust and the powerless kids caught in between. It felt very much like those hard-boiled detective novels, where things could go sideways at any moment.
The plot was simple and moderately paced. It may have benefitted from a faster pace and more subplots, but I will say that the climax of the book was “big” enough to be satisfying.
I’m not sure if this book is the first in a series, but it ended on somewhat of an unfinished note, with the core cast of characters returning (sort of) back where they started with a new goal. I’d love to know if Owl’s Nest has requested a sequel for this one, because I’m here for it.
There is no romance in this book, as is commonly expected in YA, just friendship. There is no gross violence, and there may have been a cuss word here or there, but there may not have been. There is adventure-style peril that doesn’t venture into the gory or morbid.
Opposites attract. Big time. Romance Above All Else.
Oh, Mimi Matthews! She’s one of the queens of period romance. This is NOT what I’d call a naughty little nugget—it was clean—but the romance was laid thick.
I picked it because I needed a quick win after The Shell Seekers, and this came free with Audible Plus.
I will say this. The book is short, and it gets straight to the point. “You here for romance?” Mimi asks. You nod enthusiastically! She doesn’t make you wait even one page to get things started. Hero and heroine meet right away, and it’s off to the races from there. It’s one neat little package.
Besides romance, there’s not much here. Both Valentine (heroine) and St. Ashton (hero) have personal issues to deal with, but they play second fiddle to the romance.
Valentine is a vicar’s daughter, and she’s sweet and innocent, but she also has a blurry past. St. Ashton is a notorious ladies’ man with dubious morals. The morals praised by the book are (by and large) good. Some characters behave badly, but this is never condoned. I was happy with the standards the book set for female-male relationships and what’s okay and not.
How spicy is this, exactly? It’s a closed-door romance with 3/5 jalapeno peppers worth of spice. But I also wouldn’t call it chaste. There’s closeness and kissing, and a lot of it. Okay for a teenager? Yes, an older teen. How cringey is it? I’d say 3/5 on the cheese scale. One of the author’s strengths is that she can write these crazy romances without making you feel foolish for reading them.
Wow, this was long. Too long. I bought the audiobook a while back when Chirp offered it on sale, and when I saw that Haley Atwell narrated it, I was sold. Atwell is a British actress, and her voice was spot-on perfect for this story. I loved her performance. I wish I could say the same for the story.
The positives:
This book feels luxurious and lush, so if you want to revel in sights, sounds, smells, and textures, this book delivers big-time. The descriptions suck you in, and before you know it, you’re physically experiencing another time and place. This is Pilcher’s strength, nay, superpower. She is a gorgeous writer. The protagonist, Penelope, even discusses the concept of “luxury” near the end of the book, and there’s this thematic question of luxury vs. comfort vs. privation, both physically and emotionally, and this was a discussion that I can appreciate.
The book is character-driven, and there is a colorful mix of characters. By far, the best mix is Penelope and her adult children, with whom she doesn’t connect. This discord makes the scenes between Penelope and her kids the best of the book. It seems like everyone else gets along too well…sees things similarly…and this was too serene for so long a book. For example, when Penelope discovers she’s going to have a baby out of wedlock, everyone in her life is incredibly supportive. It would’ve been much more interesting if someone, anyone, had put up some fireworks—at least there would’ve opened the door for a nuanced picture of Penelope’s predicament. But overall, the characters are good.
The negatives:
There are so many intertwining storylines that it’s hard to know what you’re supposed to care about. This book reminds me of Anna Karenina—a deep dive into the interpersonal relationships and inner lives of a handful of people at a specific place and time in history. That’s exactly what The Shell Seekers is. But, like Anna Karenina, the plot is meandering and slow. Pilcher slows WAY down, describing things in such minute detail that I got distracted and a little impatient. Why does this matter? She’s moving so slowly, it’s got to have some significance…but it doesn’t.
Also, this is an adultery story. I cannot express how much I dislike adultery stories. And this one largely condones the adultery. Most of the characters give the adulterous relationship a huge thumbs-up. This robbed the story of the conflict inherent in such morally fraught actions, nor does it challenge the reader to think about something like adultery from many angles (like Anna Karenina does).
At the end of the day, what frustrated me most was that I couldn’t condone the morals that the story praises, by and large. The writing is 5 stars, but the story was much more like 2, which evens out to three. So, there you go.
Content warnings: Characters commit adultery and have sex outside of marriage, and this is largely condoned. Nothing is graphically portrayed, and the romance is tastefully written, but morally disappointing.
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.
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.
Roald Dahl’s books are morally fraught. They just are. They are a mixed bag of incredibly human impulses. If you try to sanitize his stories, you will erase the very heart of his characters. Danny and his dad are good guys, but (there’s no getting around it) they do some bad things. Funny things. But illegal and low-down, nonetheless.
If I’d known HOW morally mixed this story is, I may NOT have chosen it for our first summer read-aloud with my boys. But, it was a good opportunity for me to casually introduce them to the idea that sometimes the main characters in a book don’t always do the right thing.
What is so morally complicated here in this harmless children’s book?
Well, Danny and his dad are the two sweetest guys you’ll ever meet. They live a simple life in a camper next to the gas station that they own and operate. Danny is only 9 or so, still a kid. One day, his dad confesses that he’s a poacher. He wants to poach pheasants off of a rich neighbor’s land. The rich neighbor is a big, bad meanie, so who cares about him? Danny comes up with a brilliant idea for how they can poach over 100 pheasants in one night and ruin the rich man’s annual shooting party, embarrassing him in front of all his hoity-toity guests.
Um, that’s mean. And illegal. It’s robbing the rich to feed the poor, except nobody is starving, and Danny’s dad says outright that he loves poaching because of the thrill, not because he needs food. Danny and his dad are praised and never condemned for their actions or attitude. Their plot goes off with hilarious results…but the laughs are rather cheap.
Because Danny comes up with the grand idea for the poaching scheme, he’s dubbed the champion of the world. Sigh…this is wish fulfillment for kids. What kid wouldn’t want the grown-ups around him to lift him high and praise his brilliance? BUT…
…at the same time, I love how Danny is given independence. His dad doesn’t baby him. Danny isn’t a listless, depressed, anxious kid who feels like his life is meaningless. He is well on his way to maturity at the tender age of 9, knowing how to problem-solve, handle responsibility, and take calculated risks. There is a degree of merit here, especially for boys.
But, as a mom, I wanted there to be more of a reality check to balance this out.
Hey, it’s Roald Dahl, and you’ve got to know that going in.
What happens when a selfish lord decides to help a poor family get a foothold in London society? Rrrrrrrromance! (Roll the “R.”)
This was delightful. Georgette Heyer is often described as the inventor of the regency romance genre when she started publishing novels like this one back in the ’20s. This book is like Jane Austen with antics, haha.
Frederica is determined to see her drop-dead gorgeous younger sister, Charis, have one London season. That’s all she needs to make a comfortable match with a gentleman. Since Frederica lost both her parents and has long been in charge of her younger siblings, it’s up to her to make this happen for Charis.
Frederica appeals to a distant cousin, Lord Alverstroke, who agrees to help her (at first) only to needle his bothersome sisters. But then, Alverstroke realizes that Frederica might just be his kind of gal. Romance ensues.
This book is CUTE. Clean romance. Regency period. Sparkling morals. Sweet to the bone. But, unlike Jane Austen, this isn’t all quiet action in parlor rooms and gardens and country estates. Here, we mix with people of all classes. We have adventures—barking dogs, hot air balloons, steamers!
The only critique I have (and it’s a small one) is that the writing can be clumsy to read at times. It’s not seamless. I found myself halting through some passages, especially those thick with period slang and colloquialisms. Also, Heyer uses exclamation marks with zero hesitation!!! Haha.
The next time I read a Heyer novel, I’d like to listen on audio. I bet that would be even better.
Side note: I can’t believe that filmmakers haven’t picked up on Heyer yet. Instead of making bad adaptations of Jane Austen, they could pick ANY Georgette Heyer novel and run with it.
Content warnings: None. The romance is as clean as it gets.
We see how love, loss, and jealousy play out in the lives of an interconnected group of Russians
I don’t usually go into a book this long on a whim, but I did this time. I thought I’d listen to a little of the audiobook to see if I liked the narration, and then, I thought, maybe I’d start it for real in 2024. Before I knew it, I was through part one and totally invested.
I think the short chapters propelled me on. And it was great listening on audio because the complex names didn’t trip me up. Also, this book has that “train wreck” quality that makes it impossible to NOT gawk. I just zoomed through!
This book probably hits everyone differently, but, for me, the central question of the book is “What do we live for?” Ourselves? Our passions? Our families, work, religion? Do we live for God? Each character grapples with this at some point, and I love that there are no tidy answers.
It was fascinating to watch Anna go from a “good” woman to a “bad” one. To watch her get increasingly self-centered and consequently more unhappy and paranoid. When you look at her, you realize that it can happen to anyone. Easily.
I love how life is portrayed in all its complexity and how everyone’s life seems both good and bad, one way from the outside and another way from the inside. And it’s always changing.
Content warnings: Nothing is portrayed graphically. The book deals heavily with adultery, but there are no bedroom scenes. There are some gristly deaths, one of which is suicide.
Deep in the Russian mountains, two peasants discover a magical realm. But will this power bring good fortune or bad?
This book hit the spot. I loved it, and I thought it was even better than The Arrow and the Crown. The dual protagonists were lovable. The villains were mysterious and not made of cardboard. I also loved the supporting cast.
This book is based on a fairy tale that I’m not familiar with, so, for me, it read like a story set in a fairy tale world. It didn’t feel strange or contrived in any way, which sometimes happens with a retelling when you aren’t familiar with the source. You don’t NEED to know the source story to enjoy this one.
This is a sweet romance, too! Perfect for teens who want clean, mature romance. No spice, just heart.
I’m very much looking forward to Emma C. Fox’s next book!
This book wins the award for Cutest Romance That Isn’t Cutesie
It was a slow start, but once I got my mental bearings, I was hooked.
The reason that this book started a TAD slow for me is because the author throws a lot at you right away. There’s a deep cast of secondary characters, and there are businesses, locations, and other things that can cause some early “who’s who?-type” confusion. But just push through that, and you’ll be glad you did.
Set in a fictional European city in the late 1800s, the story opens with Quincy St. Claire, owner of The Q, a newspaper that consists entirely of reader-submitted questions. Kind of like the Classifieds, but anything goes. She’s a brilliant businesswoman with a fiercely independent spirit. Quincy doesn’t need anyone or anything in her life except The Q. It’s her meat and drink.
She works for her uncle, who owns The Q. When he dies, his will states that Quincy can’t inherit The Q unless she meets a set of 12 requirements. The catch? She can’t know what the requirements are. The only person who knows (and who will determine if she meets them) is The Q’s lawyer, Mr. Arch.
Quincy and Arch are tossed together a lot due to this “requirement business,” and they combine like oil and water. Their tart banter is a highlight of this book. Ever so slowly, Arch gets Quincey to open up, and she does NOT want to do this. She prefers accounts, data, and machinery. People are way too unpredictable—not a smart investment.
So, you can see where it’s going, but the journey is worth every page. This is a LONG 500+ page book, and Beth Brower doesn’t rush Quincy’s transformation. Thus, we as readers do feel like we’ve made a big investment in this St. Claire woman, and we want to see how things turn out for her.
Overall, this was a great book that I’d recommend to anyone who loves Jane Austen but with way more sass.
Can a group of 20 French kids protect a group of 10 Jewish kids during WW2?
My two boys were RIVETED to this story. Granted, it starts slow, but by the end, they were hanging on every last word. This book contains five short chapters. You could read the whole thing in an hour or two, and it’d be well worth your time.
The story is simple. Twenty French children have been sent away to live in the safety of a convent during World War II. One day, the nun in charge introduces them to 10 new children, Jews. She tells them that the Nazis want to hurt these children, and they must all keep them safe and hidden. She makes each of the 20 French kids solemnly promise not to betray the 10 Jewish kids—no matter what.
All goes well until the Nazis pay a surprise visit when the nun is away on an errand. What will the children do when faced with this pressure and without any adult protection?
The story is told in the POV of one of the French girls, and this works so well because we’re better able to relate to her dilemma—things get tricky when the Nazis show up, and the kids have to think on their feet.
The book crescendos at the climax, where you’re not sure how things are going to play out, and then everything comes full circle, and you’re glad you read that first chapter, which started off slow, because it makes the ending all the more satisfying.
Content warnings: It’s made clear that the Jewish kids will be in danger if they are caught.
A stifled young girl finds freedom and purpose on P.E.I.
I love children’s stories where the little protagonist starts out as an underdog (like Mary Lennox or Anne Shirley) and then has a chance to blossom into who they truly want to be. Jane is just like that.
Jane lives in Toronto under the thumb of her impossible-to-please grandmother. She also lives with her mother, who is a total pushover and won’t stand up to her mother. Grandmother makes life miserable, and Jane is afraid, friendless, and talentless. Who is Jane’s dad and where is he? That’s a mystery, until one day, a letter arrives. From him. Requesting that Jane spend the summer with him on (you guessed it) P.E.I.
Like so many Montgomery books, this one is an ode to the wonders of nature and a free-range childhood. Many passages linger on dewdrops and whitecaps and fenceposts. Montgomery is never too busy to slow down and look at nature.
Jane expects to hate the island and her father, but she instantly falls in love with both. Instead of being told to act like a little lady, Jane gets to decide for herself who she’ll be and what she’ll do. She decides to work, work, work. She delights in all the housework that most modern women can’t stand. Laundry, cooking, gardening. Haha! She finds purpose in caring for her father, her pets, and her plants. Instead of living to please her grandmother, she finds joy in living to serve her family and friends. What a difference!
But will her father and mother ever reconcile? What drove them apart? These are big questions for little Jane, but she must face them.
This isn’t my favorite Montogmery novel, but it’s a charming one. It’s beautiful to see a picture of what a healthy childhood could look like in an idyllic, intimate community.
Content warnings: Jane’s parents are separated. Good to know if you’re reading it with kids.
Oh boy, I’m a sucker for a Regency romance, and this one came on my radar when I learned that Sarah Eden crowdfunded enough money to have this made into a film. That’s impressive. My library had it, so I thought I’d read it.
This is a loose retelling of the Hades and Persephone myth. You’ve got Adam, a duke, who is fearsome and solitary and self-conscious about his scarred face. Then, you have Persephone, who is young and lively and completely devoted to her father and siblings. The result is a classic Opposites Attract story with heavy Beauty and the Beast overtones.
Adam and Persephone agree to marry, sight unseen, each for their own reasons, and they have a bear of a time getting along.
There were times when the Hades and Persephone myth was too on the nose for my taste, but it was neat to see how Eden translated different elements of the myth into the Regency era.
These stories rely on misunderstandings in order to keep the lovers apart, and there were plenty of them here. Adam and Persephone are strangers when they marry, and neither of them will speak plainly or open up. This book almost reached my personal threshold of tolerance for miscommunications, but it wasn’t bad.
In fact, I devoured this book in just a couple of days. It was a quick, wholesome and enjoyable read.
How spicy is the romance? Like three out of five jalapeno peppers. I thought the romance was one of the most tasteful I’ve read. It didn’t feel cheesy, which is impressive. I truly believed that they were falling in love because they wanted to—not because the author told them to. 😊
Did you know how bad communism was in Romania in ’89?
Me neither! I had no clue.
To think—while I was eating Cheerios and watching Care Bears and playing Barbies, these families were living off of chicken feet and tiny potatoes, with only black-market access to anything remotely Western. They couldn’t even get proper medical care without bribing people with packs of cigarettes. Electricity and heat were hit or miss. Eating a banana was something that only happened in your dreams. All the while, one corrupt family in power was living the high life. Oooh, shudder.
I almost wanted to categorize this as “dystopian.” I feel like this will hit home with a lot of young adults simply because it really happened—and can happen again.
It brings to spine-tingling life what happens when dictators have absolute power. It portrays the human dilemmas that regular people were shouldering under this inhumane regime. There was forced privation. Constant suspicion of neighbors and even family members. Who is listening? Who saw? Will they tell on me? Talk about anxiety! Also, zero hope that things will get better.
The structure of the book is perfect for YA. Short chapters propel you forward. Action and mystery and dilemmas at every turn.
I also loved the back matter, showing photos of people, places, and objects that figure into the story. I’m impressed by the depth of research that Ruta Sepetys put into this book.
Lots of potential for discussion here. But not a favorite of mine.
Pearl S. Buck’s novel The Good Earth was a formative reading experience for me in my 20s, so anything with her name on it gets my attention.
This story, however, was…hmm…
I’m not sure exactly what it’s trying to say. What was Buck, a Christian missionary, trying to capture here? I get the sense that she’s not necessarily portraying her own view as a Christian but perhaps giving a snapshot of an alternate cultural viewpoint…
The story (which is very short) takes place in a Japanese seaside village. The fishermen and their families have a deep fear of the ocean, even though it’s what sustains life for them. They know that, at any moment, a storm or tsunami can devesate them and take their lives. They build homes with no ocean-facing windows because they don’t want to…face the fear, I guess? Inland, there’s an active volcano that causes earthquakes. The people know that, between the ocean and the volcano, it’s just a matter of time before disaster strikes. This is true of life, no matter where you live or how safe you may feel.
The characters conclude that living in a dangerous place makes them brave and helps them better appreciate times of peace and happiness. I guess this is true in a general sense. We can see the light because of the darkness kinda thing. I just wish there was a clearer, firmer foundation to build on than what Buck offers here. The ending of the book sees one of the main characters literally building a house on sand. What are we supposed to make of that?
The best element of the story, for me, is when Jiya must decide whether to live with the poor farmers or the rich old gentleman. On the one hand, he can claim a life of safety, plenty, and opportunity. On the other, he can live humbly but also in the midst of uncertainty and possible privation. Most people don’t get to make this choice, but if they did, what would they choose?
When a young woman in regency-era England is forced to flee home, where will she turn?
This is the second Julie Klassen book that I’ve DNFed since the beginning of the year. I tried listening to Castaway in Cornwall on audio first, and then I got bored at the 35 percent mark. I decided to start this one, and I find that I’m forcing myself to go back to the audiobook…I have no desire to continue, so I’m going to just stop.
I don’t know if it’s the audio format or if it’s just not the right time for a regency romance. The books aren’t bad, but I think they’re lacking the conflict and emotion that I’m craving right now.
There are times when a relatively sedate and buttoned-up story is just the ticket. But, that’s falling flat for me at the moment.
Not giving up on you, Jules! I’ll be back.
Content warnings: Nothing graphic, but there was one scene when a man made unwanted advances toward the protagonist, and she got away.
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.
After hearing Sarah MacKenzie from Read-Aloud Revival (I love her) interview the author, I was ready and rearin’ to love this book, and maybe my expectations were too high. I liked it but did not love it. Now, I do love the premise: There are portals to other worlds. They exist, just like in fairy tales. All we have to do is find them. That’s a common childhood fantasy, right? But the execution felt a tad off for me.
The protagonist is young Eva, an American who travels with her mom to visit her Grandmother in England for the first time ever. Soon, she realizes that her regal Grandmother was once a queen in fairyland.
Positives: Complex female relationships—whoooo-wheeee. Women. We can be weird. We don’t always treat each other right, and this book is packed with strong females who all seem to have fraught relationships with one another. This didn’t detract from the book at all and was one of the highlights for me.
Negatives: The writing wasn’t as immersive as I’d hoped. The pacing of the plot did drag a bit for me. I found myself wondering more than once, “Where is this going?” Eva was always finding clues and making little discoveries, but they all seemed a tad disjointed. I couldn’t see how the story was building to any sort of climax. The chapter-ending Ternival tales (fictional excerpts from a book of fairy tales) were a little hard to follow. It was a lot of new information to keep track of.
Thank you to NetGalley and WaterBrook for an ARC of this book in exchange for my honest review.
Content warnings: I wouldn’t hesitate to let any teenager read this. There’s nothing graphically scary or violent, and there is a sweet romance but it’s very much a side note until the end, and even then, there’s just a hint.
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 is really more of a short story. I can’t remember how this tiny paperback came to me—my LFL? Pearl S. Buck’s novel The Good Earth was a formative reading experience for me in my 20s, so anything with her name on it gets my attention. This story, however, was…hmm…
I’m not sure exactly what it’s trying to say. What was Buck, a Christian missionary, trying to capture here? I get the sense that she’s not necessarily portraying her own view as a Christian but perhaps giving a snapshot of an alternate cultural viewpoint…
The story takes place in a Japanese seaside village. The fishermen and their families have a deep fear of the ocean, even though it’s what sustains life for them. They know that, at any moment, a storm or tsunami can devasate them and take their lives. They build homes with no ocean-facing windows because they don’t want to…face the fear, I guess? Inland, there’s an active volcano that causes earthquakes. The people know that, between the ocean and the volcano, it’s just a matter of time before disaster strikes. This is true of life, no matter where you live or how safe you may feel.
The characters conclude that living in a dangerous place makes them brave and helps them better appreciate times of peace and happiness. I guess this is true in a general sense. We can see the light because of the darkness kinda thing. I just wish there was a clearer, firmer foundation to build on than what Buck offers here. The ending of the book sees one of the main characters literally building a house on sand. What are we supposed to make of that?
The best element of the story, for me, is when Jiya must decide whether to live with the poor farmers or the rich old gentleman. On the one hand, he can claim a life of safety, plenty, and opportunity. On the other, he can live humbly but also in the midst of uncertainty and possible privation. Most people don’t get to make this choice, but if they did, what would they choose?
Lots of potential for discussion here. But not a big favorite.
Reading this at night as a fabulous yet decidedly middle-aged mommy who is worn-out tired by the end of the day…I will admit that I found myself nodding off during the first half of this book.
But the second half is worth it!
It’s been a long time since I’ve read a kids’ book with such a grand payoff at the end. I almost don’t want to write anything more so that you can enter this book as blindly as I did.
Now, I will say that the first line of this book is a knockout, but after that, I was a little disoriented and unsure where it was all going. It took me a few chapters to get my bearings and figure out which characters were important. This book isn’t nearly as disjointed as Everything Sad Is Untrue, Nayeri’s debut. It’s much more cohesive with a linear plot and all that. It just took me a bit to sink in.
The plot picks up greatly after we learn that Samir, who is not the protagonist, is being pursued by several colorful bounty hunters. What could be a tense chase is rendered by Nayeri into a thumping frolic along the Silk Road.
I’m a sucker for a solid theme, and this book has one. Friendship and family—what are they, and is life worth living if you have none? What are friendship and family worth, and what would you trade them for? The worldview is not overtly Christian, but there is good moral soil here.
HOWEVER, this book does not shy away from the truth that people are complex. For example, Samir is kind and loyal, but he’s the folkloric version of a used car salesman, exaggerating and outright lying on the regular. Most characters are a mix of good and bad, which makes them interesting, but some young readers will need guidance here.
Content warnings: Samir is almost assassinated six times, but these encounters are not overly gruesome or graphic. As long as your kids are mature enough to understand what a bounty hunter is, then they’ll be fine. Some parents will want to know that a mix of faiths are shown here, and none with great reverence. Samir often lies that he belongs to a certain religion so he can butter up a customer. I find this good material for age-appropriate discussion with kids.
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.
This is my second Georgette Heyer novel, and I went into it blind. I enjoyed this old-timey Regency romance for the most part, although there was a saggy bit in the beginning-middle, which I pushed through, and I’m glad I did. This book illustrates the age-old truth: you don’t know what you got till it’s gone.
The first few chapters race along because the setup is superfun: A rich, young, and hunky lord decides (on a whim) to marry a childhood friend of his. She’s young, like 16, and he’s not much older, like early 20s. They don’t love each other, but they’re chums. They’re marrying for convenience. The Viscount Sherry gets his full inheritance bestowed upon him when he marries, and our sweet young heroine (aptly named Hero) agrees to be his wife to avoid the woeful fate of becoming a governess.
After they get married, Hero proves that she has no idea how to be a proper lady, but Sherry can’t be bothered to teach her. They are both so young, and they just wanna have fu-un. Sherry is a bit of a wild boy, flirting and gaming. Hero is a fun-loving, ready-for-anything teenager.
The beginning-middle of the book shows Sherry having to clean up after Hero’s many social fumbles—taking the grownup role for the first time in his life. Hero realizes how much she loves Sherry, but Sherry is oblivious to this. Hero wonders if he regrets marrying her, and she never asks him, so she’s left to stress over it.
The book title probably comes from the traditional poem “Monday’s Child.” According to the poem, Friday’s child is “loving and giving,” and that is exactly what Hero is. She is not an Amazon or a Matriarch or any power-archetype. She’s entirely at Sherry’s mercy, yet, through her love and goodness, she saves him.
Sherry is not—ahem—politically correct, shall we say. This whole book, in fact, is delightfully incorrect in so many ways. Sherry is flawed. He doesn’t appreciate Hero and treats her like a possession. His nickname for her is “Kitten”—barf! Even after his transformation, he’s not exactly fighting for her right to be prime minister or anything like that. But he does teach her to drive, so there’s that.
