I have just enough interest in and fascination with the paranormal (for want of a better term) to have enjoyed this book. Lexi's adventures in spiritual healing and her perseverance despite the skepticism of family and friends, were admirable. I enjoyed the colorful character of Bea and the nurturing character of Holly most of all. Lexi's husband Shane annoyed me most of all. We all know folks who can't tolerate change, but he seemed particularly obnoxious specimen of the type. I cheered for Lexi as she undertook her new career path. This might be a good book for reading groups; there's a little bit of something for everyone.

I am amazed by how Katherine Vaz was able to take a small fragment of information about the real John Alves and weave it into a sweeping novel that held my attention from the very first page. I learned some things I didn't know before, such as the Catholic-Protestant strife on the Island of Madeira in the 19th Century, and that magic berries are real (I googled it; I invite you to do so too). She created characters I cared about, some of whom I liked and admired, others of whom I would have liked to strangle. Vaz shows us the awful power of jealousy, teachery, deception, and greed, but also the healing power of friendship and love. This is a sweeping novel that stretches from 1843-1919, and shows us both the American Civil War and World War II's effects on those who lived through one or both. Through it all, we have John and Mary and the people in their separate and intersecting orbits to keep us reading and reacting. All in all, a wonderful read.

Perhaps the immigrant group I know the least about is that of the Iranians who came to the United States after the 1979 Islamic Revolution. This novel gave me insights into the world that they forged for themselves as they raised their U.S.-born children and adapted as best they could to the new reality, while attempting to preserve elements of their culture. One could argue that such struggle is common to all immigrant groups, but it must be recognized that each group has its own twist on this struggle. In Pari's novel, by focusing mostly on the women, the author helps us to see that the one aspect of the Iranian story is that the women aren't used to having independence. In fact, at one point toward the end of the novel, Shireen tells Mitra, "…forgive me, but I was not raised in a world where this kind of life for a woman was possible. And I did not have the imagination to see it." (p.295) "This kind of life," is that of a strong independent woman who can choose not to marry, or who can stand up to her husband if she does marry. As the Jahani family deals with tragedy, sexual abuse, and interpersonal conflict, the reader comes to see that family dynamics have across ethnicities are more similar than they are different. I look forward to more books by Susanne Pari and am grateful to her for giving me a vehicle to see into a world with which I was only minimally familiar.

The discussion questions included at the end of the book will, I'm sure, be helpful to book clubs.

There is something both charming and frightening about this novel. The frightening part, the Biblical plagues ("Read the Book of Exodus," says Grandma) become a necessary adjunct to the plot, but lend a surreal quality to the book. Valentina's account of the year she was 12 is charming to this adult reader, and may also appeal to the young adult/teenage reader, the mainstays of the YA genre. I have no idea whether Norton intends to the YA cohort, but in my opinion, the average 12 year old would be able to relate to and understand this book, though they might miss a few subtleties. I myself was slightly bothered by the failure to fully explore certain plot lines, and the unresolved cause of the "plague" events, but not enough so that it kept me from devouring the book in two sittings. In fact, maybe it's a good thing to be left wondering. I would have liked to see the character of Valentina's mother more fully developed, or at least as developed as that of the grandmother, but then, this is Valentina's story more than it is theirs.

As a sometimes translator, I wish to give a plug to Ekin OKlap for the way she captures Francesca Manfredi's style. There is no awkward phrasing and I hope to see more of Manfredi's work appear in English.

I didn't think Julie Clark could top The Last Flight, but top it she did! In Kat and Meg, she has given us two main characters about whom I has a reader came to care perhaps more than I should, given the human flaws of each. This book had me questioning even the very title. Whose lies? Meg's for sure, but Kat's too. When Meg's motives become clear, it's hard to know whether to call her a grafter or a vigilante. Kat's lies get her close to Meg, but her motives are to me less pure perhaps than Meg's. To avoid spoilers, I will just say that in the end the male characters who wronged the female characters get what they deserve (with a possible exception) and this woman, for one, has to come to the guilty admission that she has been rooting for that to happen. The plot details are intricate enough to hold the reader's interest throughout. I look forward to more from Julie Clark.

N. West Moss was brave to write this book, which is partly an account of her illness, surgery, and recovery, and partly a memoir in which she keeps alive the stories of her Grandmother Hastings, whom I found to be a delightful character. While I got impatient with the medical establishment at times, and truly felt empathy for what the author was going through, it was the reminiscences about her grandmother, and the encounters with her the author's mother, husband, neighbors, and pets that kept me reading. I heartily endorse the author's comment about writing: " When I start to write, Everything will be OK. What makes a person a writer has little to do with being published (as I once thought). I write because, when I am thrown off-kilter by getting lost in Amsterdam, or by a prolonged illness, or by life, say, it's coming back to the page that rights my ship." (p. 290) I, for one, am glad that the author came back to the page and gave the reader "Flesh and Blood."

It is rare to read a novel in which the protagonists are psychopaths, but this author has the professional expertise and background to pull it off credibly. "Never Saw Me Coming" gripped me from the first page. I did like the other characters more than I liked Chloe, but she and everyone else was interesting and complex enough to keep me reading. Most of the non-psychopaths were rather flat, but with two notable exceptions, they were really just background noise anyway. I let many of my daily chores go for two days to finish the book. There were some minor inconsistencies, but not enough to distract from the story. The solution to the mystery was set up well, but nonetheless may catch the reader by surprise, partly because he or she may not want to believe that things can turn out that way. I highly recommend "Never Saw me Coming," and hope the author will write many more novels.

Sara Seager has had an extraordinary life so far. In this book, part memoir, part technical explanations of what astrophysicists actually do (the casual reader may want to skim these parts, though those of us who are fascinated by outer space will love them) she tells her inspiring story. A must-read for parents of daughters; the daughters themselves if they are teen-aged or older; and anyone who has ever felt "different" from peers. I had a hard time putting it down.

Rarely do I say about a book "I didn't want it to end." That is, however, the way I felt about The Paris Hours. Once I got used to the novel's pacing, the jumping back in time between the World War I years and the between-the-wars day in 1927 when the stories take place, and the alternating stories of the four principal characters, I was thoroughly hooked. I found the narratives captivating, particularly the ones involving Camille and to a lesser extent, Jean Paul. That's not to say that Souren and Guillaume's stories aren't also interesting. The famous people hovering at the fringes of the stories, such as Ernest Hemingway and Gertrude Stein, are almost a distraction, though I understand why they are there. After all, they were omnipresent in 1927 Paris. Then there is the painting that is almost a fifth major character in the novel. Without anything away, I will say that the final sentence of the novel ("He pushes open the front door and steps inside.") could be the opening of a whole other novel about what comes next in the lives of the surviving characters. It also suggests a parallel with the painting, whose door didn't appear able to be opened or provide entry into the house. Read this book!

In this remarkable book, the late Dovey Johnson Roundtree and her collaborator Katie McCabe present the history of the U.S. civil rights movement pre and post-Brown v. Board of Education in a way that made me understand both the struggle and the U.S. Constitution in new ways. It also caused me to question the deficits in my own education, in that I had up to this point never read or heard anything about Ms. Roundtree. In her long, distinguished, and inspiring career, she was present for the great moments we've all studied in school, as well as at the low points when it looked like desegregation of public schools, interstate transportation, and even the United States Armed Forces would never happen. Roundtree didn't live to see the publication of this book (she died in 2018 at age 104), but this reader hopes that the book will give accord her her rightful place in history, and will become required reading for those who would understand the underpinnings of the quest for equal rights, and who would acknowledge how far we still have to go. This is on balance a truly wonderful book, even as it lays open thoughts about all that is left to do to make the vision a reality.

I've read a few other books about the period of the Civil War in Beirut, but this one was very different from the rest. Without giving anything away, I will say that the central character, Pavlov the undertaker's son, who is himself an undertaker, has enough quirky traits to capture a reader like me. He loves the Greek classics; loves dogs more than people; and collects unusual friends, to say nothing of his unusual family, particularly Salwa the "hyena" cousin. The title Society is dedicated to providing cremation for the outcasts of conventionality. Pavlov's father is a charter member and the Society's undertaker, and when he dies, the Society approaches Pavlov to take over the role. The book is essentially a collection of anecdotes and character studies, unified by the personage of Pavlov and his work for the Society. It took me a little bit of time to get into the storyline, but once I did, I found myself fascinated and eager to learn what would happen next. There were even touches of magical realism, which I didn't expect at all. My only disappointment was the ending, which I won't reveal to avoid a spoiler, but even that, on reflection seemed to me appropriate, and the epilogue even had a note of redemption. I haven't read Rawi Hage's other books, but now I want to.

D-Day Girls, described on the cover as being about the spies who armed the resistance, sabotaged the Nazis, and helped win World War II is a remarkable book. By profiling five women and four men, giving details of their exploits in France during the war as well as their personal lives, Sarah Rose makes the reader genuinely care about these brave spies who contributed so much to the Allied efforts in the war, particularly in the period leading up to the invasion at Normandy. I found myself admiring the characters, and wishing that what they, especially the women, did during the war hadn't had to remain classified until 2003. If it had been known in specific ways just how valuable women were to the war efforts and if they had been allowed to remain in responsible professional position after the war, instead of being relegated back to the shadows, how different might the struggle for equal rights for women have been?

In any event, Sarah Rose has done a great service for people everywhere by bringing to light the history of these brave women (and men) today. Her book is meticulously researched, while at the same time being completely readable. I would say it is a "must read" for anyone interested in the history of World War II, and for anyone interested in women's history.

The Affairs of the Falcóns puts a human face on the struggle of hard-working undocumented immigrants. This novel especially hit home for me, as a resident of New York City, which is where the action takes place. Yeas ago, I taught English to new immigrants, many of whom were undocumented, and all of whom worked hard for everything they got, just as Ana and Lucho do. The novel is especially timely, as opposing sides in the United States continue to debate immigration policy. By making us care about the characters, Rivero seeks to make us see the immigrants' side of the story, and for that I thank her. I found the ending particularly chilling. Book clubs with diverse membership from all sides of the political spectrum would have lively discussions if they made this novel their selection.

"My Lovely Wife" is a page-turner. Almost from the beginning we know what the couple is doing; we gradually learn the why and the how. Along the way, we learn about the children, the friends, the acquaintances, the everyday life in the affluent area in which the family lives, and the victims, but not too much about the narrator, husband of Millicent, the "lovely wife" of the title. I went back over the novel a few times to see if the reader actually knows the narrator's real name. We know it's not Tobias, and most probably not Quentin, these being personas he adopts for the "extracurricular activities," in which he and his wife participate, seemingly as partners. As the novel unwinds, the reader, or at least this reader, is surprised by a brilliant plot twist toward the end of the saga, and a horrific denouement that is perhaps not so unexpected if we've been paying attention. As I read this novel, I found myself mentally casting the movie in my head, because there is a cinematic quality to the book that cannot be overlooked. "My Lovely Wife" could easily be 2019's 'Girl on the Train.'

"Anatomy of a Miracle" is in many ways a remarkable book. It is written in a style that mimics a documentary closely enough that I actually found myself Googling Cameron Harris (interesting name, there is a real Cameron Harris who is somewhat notorious in the "fake news" world). That is, I knew it was a novel, but I found myself questioning whether it was, in the same way people in the novel question whether Cameron's healing is a miracle or a hoax.

Another thing I liked is that a lot of careful research went into the writing; for example, description of the Vatican process investigation of miracles when considering someone for sainthood is quite accurate. At first I questioned the author's decision to withhold an essential fact about Cameron until more than halfway through the novel, since the development of that aspect of his character was important to the story, and to how people's reaction to the miracle changed when Cameron's true self was revealed. However, the sensitive development of this aspect of Cameron (no spoilers here) was essential to the plot line, and gave the novel an ending that is hopeful and optimistic.

There is something for almost everyone here, and don't skip the last chapter before the epilogue; that chapter has a lot to say about the nature of imagination and storytelling, put into the mouth of a minor character who doesn't make an appearance until very close to the end of the novel (although he was mentioned in passing earlier). All in all, "Anatomy of a Miracle" is well worth the reader's time, and will leave you with much to think about on several topics.

I was stunned by how much I enjoyed this book! Susan Meissner is so skilled at writing from multiple points of view that I am left in awe of her talent. The four female characters (Pauline, Evelyn, Maggie, and Willa) who tell the story in alternating chapters captured my attention and interest from the first page. Add in some truly memorable male characters (especially Jamie, and though he has a very minor role, Mr. Weiss) and "As Bright as Heaven" becomes a book with wide appeal. The Spanish flu pandemic of 1918 is practically a character in this work of historical fiction, given that it is the flu that influences just about all that takes place for the Bright family. Above all else, though, for me, this is a book about love in its many manifestations. As Pauline comments midway through the book: "If we were made of stone or iron, we would be impervious to disease and injury and disaster, but then we could not give love and receive love, could we? We'd be unable to feel anything at all, and surely incapable of spreading our wings and flying…" These characters to a person give and receive love, and the sisters Evelyn, Maggie, and Willa, surely spread their wings and fly in three very diverse fields, psychiatry, mortuary work, and jazz. Loving parents support most of the children in the novel, and, were it not for the flu and World War I, their lives would be too perfect to believe. But the history against which the novel is set lends a necessary dose of reality.

So, cancel your appointments for a day and settle in to read "As Bright as Heaven." You won't be sorry.

Anyone of us who have lived through a "Gypsy Moth Summer" knows that nothing good comes of it—disgusting caterpillars and denuded trees seem a harbinger of even worse things. Such is the case here. The foreshadowing in this book is there almost from the first page. The reader knows something terrible is going to happen, but even an alert reader probably won't guess just how terrible the events will be. My expectation was for one tragedy to occur that summer; the reality all but took my breath away.

The story is written from multiple points of view: the "kids" Maddie and Dom; the "adults" (and I use the word loosely) Leslie, Jules, Veronica, and for one chapter the demented Colonel. This technique enhances the narrative, although it at first seems a bit disjointed. Set against the backdrop of the caterpillars noisily chomping on every leaf of every tree on the island and the black sludge they excrete, making being outdoors unpleasant, the story has us constantly asking just how bad situations can get. Sometimes the atmosphere seems stifling; the self-contained world of Avalon Island is a place from which I would run screaming, so I certainly sympathized with Maddie and with Jules, the two who most want to leave. I don't want to put spoilers into the review, so I'll leave it at this: Read "Gypsy Moth Summer" for the plot, the richly drawn characters, the evocation of atmosphere, and the emotional impact.

I enjoyed this book a lot more once I stopped trying to see the parallels with The Great Gatsby. I'm quite sorry the publisher chose to promote it that way. No One is Coming to Save Us stands alone as the engrossing story of a family beset by the problems that so many families face: failed relationships; death of a family member; a changing economy leaving some of them behind; infertility; unfulfilled expectations; and always wishing for just a bit more. For me, the character JJ (Jay) Ferguson was my least favorite. He's, of course, the "Gatsby" character. The women, especially Sylvia and Ava were much more resonant with me and made me keep reading to see what would happen to them next and how they would resolve their inner and external conflicts. So, forget the publisher's marketing ploy and enjoy the book as a family saga.

"Home Sweet Home" is the first book by April Smith that I have read. Now I want to go to the library and get all her books. This one is a must read. The story is based loosely on a real series of events, but so fictionalized that anyone familiar with the details of the real story won't recognize it. As a backdrop, the book encompasses the history of the U.S. from the great depression, through World War II, the McCarthy era, the Kennedy years, the civil rights struggles, and up to 1985. Smith shows us the terrifyingly destructive power of hate, fear, innuendo, and political intrigue. By focusing on the Kusek family, she takes the reader through the events on a personal level, and provokes a wide range of emotions, no matter where the reader stands on the political spectrum. The horror of the 1985 crime that begins the book and is interspersed throughout the other parts of the narrative cannot be denied. Yet ultimately, the book is redemptive. The final section, taking place ten years after the crime, is appropriately called "Peace." It closes the story on a hopeful, uplifting note. This is a particularly appropriate book for our times, and I think it will be read and discussed for many years to come.

It is somehow fitting that I would be reading "Rise" in October, which among other monthly designations, is Domestic Violence Awareness month. Women react in many ways to intimate partner abuse. In Cara's case, she had not one, but two abusive husbands. She also had four children to consider. Once she had finally disentangled from the consecutive abusive situations, her solution for healing the family was to build a new home from the ground up. Her plan was quixotic in the extreme, since none of them knew anything about construction. However, Cara was nothing if not resourceful, and she managed to convince a bank to lend to her and set out to learn all she could. Her children signed onto the plan, with the three oldest being active member of the construction crew and the baby enlisted for some simple tasks. Who knew one could learn so much about building a house from YouTube videos? The intrepid Cara and her kids found that out. Granted, there were times when they had to enlist experts, such as for the electrical work, but mostly, the family did everything. By so doing, they grew as a family and healed from their past. The story is inspirational, and largely positive. I admit to being sometimes distracted when the narration would suddenly shift back in time, but once I got used to that, I realized it served perhaps better than a strictly chronological recounting might have. Toward the end, at a point when Cara is questioning whether all the sacrifices they'd made in the year of building were worth it, she overhears Drew (her older son) tell Jada (her younger daughter), "You built your own damn house, you can do anything." For Cara, and for the reader, that is a culminating moment. Cara knows and we know, that the house built the family as much as the family built the house.