I loved the behind-the-scenes look at the inner workings of TNO (The Night Owls--i.e. the thinly veiled SNL), and it was completely believable to me that Sally would be confident in her professional abilities as a comedy writer, yet insecure in her personal life. This story had two things working in her favor, though: first, Sally & Noah met in a place where she felt confident, which is an attractive quality to most men, and second, Noah was old enough and had been through enough therapy to be tired of shallow connections. The story wouldn't have worked with younger characters, I don't think.

Actually, I'll add a third: COVID lockdowns. For those of us who lived through the pandemic (which is everyone reading this), we experienced the duality of this chaotic era that both caused massive upheaval but also gifted us with time to reevaluate our lives. And the latter is what allowed Noah to slow down enough to forgive Sally's verbal sabotage of their budding relationship and to reach out and reconnect.

While I couldn't always decide whether I wanted to hug Sally and give her a pep talk or shake her for making so many unhelpful assumptions about what Noah was thinking or feeling, I could definitely relate to her and rooted for the relationship to flourish.

I was in preschool the year that Ann Hood began her career as a flight attendant for TWA, but I do remember a little bit about what it was like to fly at that time, though I most definitely never got to experience the luxuries of flying first class. Her memoir is a fascinating look at what it took to become and remain a flight attendant in the years when the airline industry was undergoing massive upheaval both culturally--the sexism is nauseating in the extreme--and financially, with deregulation bringing both positive and negative changes, and corporate greed causing widespread devastation.

My favorite parts of the book were the ones focused on her personal experiences and growth. Hood's recounting of her time at the Breech Training Academy in Kansas City was captivating. I wasn't surprised that they were trained to do all the obvious things like demonstrate how seatbelts and life vests work, but I had no idea the breadth and depth or complexity of their training, from how to carve chateaubriand (they used to do that on airplanes?!) to how to deliver a baby, and a million other responsibilities big and small. I don't know how many of those tasks are still part of modern-day flight attendant training--I'm assuming the meat carving isn't a thing any more--but I have a whole new appreciation for the men and women who have patiently offered me drinks and hot towels on past flights.

I also found the history of the airline industry itself to be fascinating, though I struggled with the lack of coherent timeline. Actually, that's true for some of her personal recollections as well--she tends to go off on tangents during anecdotes sometimes. All of which are interesting, but the non-linear detours did make it difficult for me to figure out when various events took place. The overall story arc moved chronologically, but the individual threads zigzagged.

One thing that surprised me was that for all the stories of what life was like as a beautiful, young, single woman with an adventurous spirit, and her tales of dating or refusing propositions, there is virtually nothing about meeting or marrying her husband. I thought that's what she was alluding to with her recollection of meeting 47F, but alas, no. Perhaps that means meeting her husband was unrelated to her time as a flight attendant? Perfectly fine to keep that story private, but I admit I was a little disappointed.

All in all, I very much enjoyed reading this memoir. 3 1/2 stars, but I'll round up. Many thanks to BookBrowse and the publisher, W. W. Norton & Company, for the free ARC in exchange for my honest review.

What I loved best about this book was that the author correctly identifies June as a library assistant and NOT a librarian. Becoming an actual librarian involves earning a bachelor's degree in any field AND a master's degree in library science. June hasn't been to college at all and therefore cannot be a librarian. Most people who work at libraries are assistants, and not librarians. Doesn't mean June isn't good at her job; it just means her training and experience is different.

I also loved getting to know the quirky characters, despite them each being well-known stereotypes: the homeless man, the brilliant child, the elderly curmudgeon, the outspoken voracious reader who hates all the books, the teenager seeking a quiet place to study, and the recent immigrant trying to make a go of it in her new home. I loved the way June's fantasies merged into Mrs. B's rants or queries from other patrons. I enjoyed watching June take steps into the world and cringed when she crumpled or was crushed by the Mean Girls. And I appreciated that the plot took a few zigs and zags to keep things a bit less predictable. Also June's impromptu scheme to kill two birds with one stone by redirecting Rocky away from the "hen do" and toward the FOCL rally cracked me up.

What I could have done without were the cliches--like her curly hair being pulled into a tight bun, her uber-lonely life with books as her only true friends, or the fact that despite working in a library for TEN YEARS, she seemed to have never read anything written in this century. I get that June's mom dressed her in random stuff from thrift shops, and she was a nerdy kid, but there is simply no way she was that isolated or clueless. Hurt by her best friend's betrayal, yes, but to the point of never ever making another friend? That just feels like the author is belittling the intelligence and social capabilities of readers, which sets my teeth on edge.

I haven't researched the state of British libraries, so I cannot speak to the likelihood of closures like this where over half the council seems oblivious to the obvious benefits to society of having a functional, funded library, or where greedy council members push a nefarious agenda, but it was reminiscent of both The Bookshop on the Corner by Jenny Colgan and The Library at the Edge of the World by Felicity Hayes-McCoy, so maybe it's a trend in the U.K. & Ireland?

Overall this book was a solid 3 stars out of 5 for me. I liked it, but it had serious flaws also.

Katherine Sharp Landdeck's detailed account of the day-to-day experiences of the women who flew for the Army Air Forces and the long-term machinations and political maneuvering involved in the evolving alphabet soup of acronyms is riveting. Her extensive research included interviewing and becoming friends with dozens of the women; reading their letters, diaries, memoirs, and speeches; combing through newspaper archives, photos, accident reports, and government documents; and triple-checking everything. My husband is an air force officer, and he's a military history buff, so I enjoyed the opportunity to read about one of his favorite subjects but from a female perspective.

It's endlessly astonishing to me how sexist (and racist) beliefs can persist when they are so demonstrably false and utterly ridiculous. Still more astonishing is that they persisted during WWII when sheer practicality should have rendered them moot: women not only could fly anything and everything, they NEEDED to do so in order to maximize the number of men able to fight. (Never mind that women could have also done an excellent job of fighting.) Landdeck's meticulously researched "The Women with Silver Wings" brings this absurdity into sharp focus.

Father of Lions is a fascinating glimpse into life in Mosul before, during, and after ISIS (Daesh) control. Until the last quarter of the book or so, it focused far less on the zoo and the few animals struggling to survive than it did on the humans, however. I hadn't expected this, so it seemed almost like reading a civilian survival story and its animal-rescue-themed sequel. Louise Callaghan has done an amazing job of evoking the tense, dusty waiting and mortar-driven hiding inherent in an urban battlefield. Her pacing intensifies throughout, although sometimes the timeline gets a bit confusing with seasons apparently passing during the span of days. For a Western reader many thousands of miles from the fighting, however, Callaghan's portrayal brings the conflict down to a comprehensible human (and feline/ursine) level. It should appeal to anyone interested in either animal welfare or the fight against ISIS.

History buffs looking to learn more about Auschwitz and how it evolved from a brutal concentration camp for Polish prisoners to the efficient genocide machine that murdered millions of Jewish men, women, and children will find The Volunteer fascinating. Witold's widespread resistance network accomplished astonishing feats and suffered painful setbacks. It's a difficult book to read, both for the subject matter and the density (the confusing array of characters alone rates more than a dozen pages in a supplemental section at the end of the book), but book clubs will find plenty to discuss, particularly when comparing political climates then and now, as well as recent revelations about similar camps and practices currently in use in China against the Uyghurs.

The author's meticulous and extensive research is evident on every page and in the thick End Notes and Bibliography sections. It's a compelling story that sometimes moves along quite quickly and other times feels like the book lasts as long as the war, with the timeline a bit of a muddle, despite the author's best efforts to keep the myriad details organized.

If you could speak only 100 words per day, what would you choose to say?

Jean used to be apolitical, never imagining a fringe movement could gain such power. Now she's fighting for the lives of everyone she loves as part of an underground resistance network. Her tension, frustration, despair, rage, and fear are palpable. I could almost hear relentless, urgent music playing in the background as I read. It was particularly haunting to alternate reading this novel with listening to the third Maggie Hope mystery, set primarily in WWII Berlin. In the era of a Trump White House, this cautionary tale should inspire you to exercise your right to vote, speak up, and join protest movements...while you still can.

Do not read this at bedtime because you'll either try to sleep and fail, or keep reading through the night until you finish the book.

For readers' advisors: story doorway is primary, character and setting are secondary. There is quite a bit of profanity, some sex, and some violence. Plenty to talk about for book clubs. Good choice for fans of The Handmaid's Tale or Future Home of the Living God.

Many thanks to Bookbrowse.com and the publisher for the ARC I received in exchange for my honest review! I don't usually read dystopia, but this was excellent.

I am what is known to Nancy Pearl fans as a "character doorway" reader. Since this novel definitely has character as its primary doorway, I expected to really enjoy it. However, I never really connected with any of the characters, and the structure of the story didn't quite gel for me either--it lacked cohesion, which further distanced me from caring about the people in it. I really struggled to figure out what was going on when each section was narrated from the point of view of a different character, and some sections rambled or jumped around in time, making it incredibly difficult to construct a mental timeline or know what to pay attention to. I spent too much energy focusing on details of timing rather than becoming absorbed in the story itself. Had the book better matched its blurbs, particularly the one on Goodreads, I think I would have loved it. I'm sure plenty of readers would disagree with me, but I think tightening up the narration and not starting with Rachel's point of view would have made a world of difference. This novel strikes me as the book version of a student essay written without a clear thesis statement: nuggets of goodness but scattered, and with loose ends dangling.

I don't mean to sound harsh. I didn't hate it, and I can see how some readers will absolutely love it. I did enjoy the narrative conceits of letters to a pen pal and choose-your-own-adventure. Even though it took me a while to finish, and the pace of the story arc was very slow, it still felt like it read fast, particularly the final chapters.

Readers' advisors will want to note that there is a fair amount of profanity, and since it's centered around a sex scandal, there are references to sexual activities, including anal sex, and plenty of face-palmingly poor decisions.

Cara Brookins' tale of rebuilding her family by building a house from scratch with her children was inspiring and riveting. She told the tale in alternating Rise/Fall chapters, and I could only read it in the daytime thanks to her vivid portrayal of the domestic violence they lived with for so many years. I am amazed by their strength and resilience after surviving not one but two terrifying husbands.

Since I read an ARC, I hope some minor issues with timeline confusion and a repeated sentence on the last page will have been caught and corrected by the time the book goes to print in January. Mostly I wish the book had been a bit longer so Ms. Brookins could have explained more about things like how she escaped her second abusive husband and how the many problems caused by stoned electricians were able to be fixed.

I think book groups would enjoy discussing this memoir.

This is a good choice for fans of Sarah Addison Allen, as it had a similar feel and concepts (semi-sentient fruit trees, anyone?). There were quirky and engaging characters, a charming town, and magic in the air. A delightful read, to be sure.

It would make an excellent book club selection--there were so many times I wished I could discuss this book with someone! For example, does anyone else feel like there should have been more significance to the poisoned plum tree--how it got poisoned and what might have happened when it was ripped out? Or Rachel's family photo--I was surprised Rachel didn't use it as proof both with her parents at the time of the accident as well as with Ashe when the truth about her brother came out.

This book also made me want to eat pie. Lots of pie. And sit on a porch enjoying the shade on a hot, sunny day.

For readers advisor's: character, story, and setting doorways were all strong. There is a fair amount of swearing, which didn't bother me but might bother some people (things like "damn" and "bat-shit crazy"). Some kissing, touching, and removal of a shirt but no actual sex scenes. No violence.

It took me a couple of chapters to really get into the story and figure out what was going on, but once I did, I was hooked. Haunted, really, and not in the "scary-ghost" sense of the word, but in the "can't-stop-thinking-about-it-long-after-lunch-breaks-ended" sort of way. Reincarnation isn't a new idea, but this novel had me thinking about the possibility in an entirely new light. Hoping, in fact, that it might be true, and that these reborn souls might be able to bring peace to themselves and their previous families if we would just listen and help reunite them.

The intense, palpable pain and despair felt by each and every character broke my heart--even the killer's. I'm amazed that Ms. Guskin managed to make the book feel ultimately hopeful, given all that anguish and loss. It struck me that not a single character seemed to have a support network of any type--no really close friends, family, or faith community to rely on in any way. I think that fact is crucial to the story; if any one person had been less lonely, isolated, or in the depths of despair, I think the novel would have collapsed or at least gone in a different direction.

For readers' advisors: there are some crude situations and language, including some profanity and teen drug use. There is also love that survives anything, even death.

Don't we all have a moment or moments in our childhoods that shaped us, nudged the trajectories of our lives just a little bit, changing the course of who we would become? For Caroline Jacobs, a meek mouse of a woman, these included losing her father, her best friend, and her sister. The wounds of adolescence molded her into a conflict-averse mother and a talented photographer afraid to risk rejection. And then one day, at a PTO meeting, an insult aimed at someone else snaps her virtual bonds.

Every story has different perspectives, though, and Caroline begins to see the shades of grey in differing realities, eventually learning to forgive herself as well as others for their all-too-human mistakes.

I loved this book! The only things holding me back from a 5-star rating are the contradictions and errors that might have been the result of it being an advance copy that I read courtesy of NetGalley and the publisher. I'm hoping the final edits caught the timeline confusion regarding how old Caroline was when her father left, and so on. Details like that yanked me out of the story a few times, which was frustrating. Otherwise, though, it was a great story with well-developed, nuanced characters who evolved over the course of the novel.

I hate to post a negative review here, but I find myself making excuse after excuse not to pick this book up to finish it because I just do not like the main character. She lies and makes stupid choices all the time and for no good reason, doing all kinds of unnecessary damage to herself and others. I can't stand spending time with her, and I'm having a hard time seeing how any college would think she were smart enough to be accepted, which makes the foundation of the story completely unbelievable. I was really expecting a book that told the story of a first-generation Latina college student trying to cope with unfamiliar customs and traditions, which I guess this is, but she'd have a much easier time adjusting if she were a nicer, smarter person with even an ounce of common sense. :( I'm basing my review on the first 115 pages of the book, so feel free to take my opinion with a grain of salt if you read the whole thing.

Sarah Addison Allen's book, Garden Spells, is one of my all-time favorite novels, so when I had an opportunity to win a free Advanced Reader's Copy (ARC) of First Frost from Bookbrowse in exchange for my honest review, I jumped at the chance. First Frost picks up the story of the Waverley women of Bascom, North Carolina, ten years after the end of Garden Spells. Bay is now fifteen, her mother is happily married to Henry, and her Aunt Claire is happily married to Tyler. The tension in First Frost, thankfully, isn't due to stress in the marriages--I absolutely hate when sequels ruin love stories just to provide plot points. Rather, each of the Waverley women is struggling with a different issue in her personal life.

I loved being able to revisit the enchanting world of Bascom. The story is delightful--perfect for a cozy fall or winter evening. I didn't want to put it down.

What I did want, however, is for the mysterious stranger subplot to have been better developed. I felt like it started to go in an interesting, magical direction and then sort of fizzled out by the end. Otherwise, though, I loved spending time with these characters and this story.

For readers' advisors: character doorway is primary, language secondary. It's a lovely story about family supporting and nurturing each other. There is no sex (well, mention of it as Sydney focuses on conception but not any real sex scenes), violence, or swearing that I can recall.

This would make a great book group selection. When I finished reading, I desperately wanted to talk it over with someone, to discuss and analyze what really happened back in January of 1850.

The story alternates between 1849 and 2009, primarily, and I found myself getting nervous reading the historical sections because the atmosphere felt so dark and oppressive that it didn't seem likely Imogen and Gavin's story would end well. Emotionally it was easier for me to read the modern-day sections, even as Julia struggled to finally face the truth of what happened the day her mother died a quarter century ago.

For readers' advisors: character doorway is primary, story and setting secondary. There are only a couple of mild swear words that I can recall, and no on-screen sex scenes.

I received this as an Advance Reader's Copy (ARC) from Bookbrowse.com, and when I started reading it, I questioned my sanity in requesting it in the first place. Not because it's a terrible book--it's not. Rather, because a woman in her late 30s, six months pregnant for the first time with a much-anticipated daughter should probably not read a story about a woman in her late 30s who just gave birth for the first time to Freya, an unexpectedly severely handicapped baby girl. Anna's despair, frustration, and need to control something - anything - in her out-of-control life rang out so strongly, I had a hard time disengaging my own emotions from hers.

Anna's husband shirks responsibility and provides virtually no support - emotionally, financially, or practically. I kept wondering why she stayed with him. She supposedly loved him very much, but I really didn't see why. He ignores her for most of the book and spends most of his time shutting out the world while he works on composing movie music and flirting with Lizzy, the flibbertigibbet teenager they pay to help take care of Freya...which she never actually does.

Anna becomes increasingly short-tempered and shrewish as the book progresses and her exhaustion (mental and physical) mounts, which is certainly a realistic reaction to her situation. I didn't always like Anna, but I also could empathize with how she was feeling, and I certainly don't claim I'd react any better were I in her shoes. How does one cope with the collapse of one's dreams of parenthood? How do you face a lifetime caring for a child whose brain never fully developed and who has constant seizures, a lack of muscle control, and will only ever be, in essence, a gigantic infant, no matter how long she lives, never capable of caring for her own most basic needs.

For readers' advisers: character doorway is primary, setting (they move from England to a village in France) is secondary. To me the tone of the book was...heavy and frequently depressing. The secondary characters are quite well-developed, and the mystery of their neighbor's mother's death during WWII was intriguing. I think this would make an excellent choice for an adult book discussion group.

I received a free advance reading copy (ARC) of this book from Bookbrowse.com, and I'm excited to discover a new mystery author to follow, for this is the first in a new series by debut author Susanna Calkins. I really appreciated the Historical Note at the end of the book, detailing how the author worked to make the novel historically accurate aside from some minor tweaks to things like the duties of magistrates and constables, as well as updates to the spelling and phrasing.

There were enough twists and red herrings in the story to keep me from guessing the killer--always a plus. My one quibble is that Adam, the magistrate's grown son, is a bit uneven in characterization, especially related to his actions and treatment of Lucy. Yes, he is drawn toward her, and yes, he feels honor-bound to leave her alone, but his behavior is a pendulum that swings a little too far for plausibility, in my opinion. Still, I have high hopes that their relationship will be better developed over time in subsequent novels.

For readers' advisors: character and setting doorways, primarily, with story secondary. There was no sex and only very mild historical swearing, to the best of my recollection.

There is no mystery how this book will end: Lincoln survives his journey and is inaugurated as President of the United States. And yet somehow Daniel Stashower has turned historical fact into a nail-biting thriller. I was expecting essentially a biography of Lincoln's time leading up to his presidency, but the whole first third or so of the book is really a biography of Allen Pinkerton, the man who created the profession of private investigators. It's fascinating! I cannot wait to give this book to my history buff father-in-law. And maybe buy copies for my husband and my dad while I'm at it. And my mom, and....

Nearly two years ago, my husband and I honeymooned in the Florida Keys. Joanna Brady's vivid descriptions of Key West--the heat, humidity, and history of "wrecking" (the practice of salvaging goods off wrecked ships for profit)--had me feeling like I was right back on the islands. Of course, that may have been due to reading most of the book while sitting in the hot sun of the terrace during my lunch breaks, but I prefer to think of it as "sensory immersion."

There really were female lightkeepers back in the 1800s, primarily widows or daughters of lightkeepers who died or became incapacitated. Emily Lowry is a fictional member of that sisterhood. When her husband vanishes without a trace, she takes over as lightkeeper of Wrecker's Cay, struggling to raise her three young children and another on the way. One day an escaped slave washes up on shore during a storm, and her children persuade her to let him stay and learn to be her assistant keeper. Emily's views on slavery evolve over the course of the next couple of years, as Andrew shifts from being a mistrusted stranger to the love of her life. But storms of all sorts blow across the islands, and nothing lasts forever. Deception and harsh social realities of the 1840s pull her family apart, and loss shadows her every turn.

I am very thankful to have read this novel in the sunshine. The constant specter of death and grief often left me feeling melancholy as it was, so I'm glad gloomy weather did not magnify that effect. I am also grateful for the times of joy and peace which balanced the mood.

What kept my rating from being five stars were the anachronisms that jerked me back out of the story, thinking, "Huh?" For example, the part where Emily notices 10-year-old Martha starting to develop breasts. It wasn't until the last two or three decades that girls starting hitting puberty so young. Before concentrated animal feeding operations (CAFOs) began giving growth hormones to cows, chickens, and pigs and spraying everything in sight with petroleum-based pesticides and fertilizers, girls did not enter puberty until they were, on average, 12 to 14. Possibly as old as 16. So Martha growing breasts at age 10 seems highly improbable.

Likewise, when a visiting lightkeeper collapses on the tower stairs due to a bad heart, and he has Emily hand him his medicine, I was confused by the implication that she gives him a nitroglycerin pill to put under his tongue. Really? In an age where doctors still tried to bleed patients and balance their "humors," they had nitroglycerin pills? I sincerely doubt that.

And what was up with the random pot-smoking? I could understand the first time as being a plot device to break down inhibitions, but why continue? What did it have to do with anything else in the story? It added no value, in my opinion. Rather, it lowered my opinion of the characters who partook. And of the author.

Still, it was a delightful book overall--a haunting love story, set in a unique time and place.

For readers' advisors: setting and character doorways are primary. Story is secondary. There are a few scenes with sexual content but nothing especially graphic.

I'm nothing like Ginny--I don't much like to cook and I'm very social--but while reading _The Kitchen Daughter_ it was like I was inside her head. I don't personally know what it is like to be anywhere on the autism spectrum, but now I think I have a much better understanding of how it might feel. So I definitely would recommend this book to anyone who has a friend or family member with Asperger's. I'd also recommend it to foodies and fans of magical realism. For readers' advisers, the character doorway is primary, and I'd say that story is secondary because there were some plot twists I was not expecting!