Our House, while an intriguing concept, fell flat for me. Not for a lack of interesting twists and turns and a surprise at the end; all of that kept me going. But I struggled all the way. Perhaps because of the way it was written, jumping from present to past, from his head to hers. It didn't feel like each narrator had a distinct voice or a sense of urgency. Overall, for me, it lacked an emotional intensity that I crave in a book of mystery and suspense.

If you're looking for a non-detective-centric, decently-written mystery with a healthy dose of twists and turns, The Chalk Man is for you. It is creepy and interesting, and it will keep you guessing until the end. That being said, The Chalk Man is not without it's faults. The alternating points of view (1986 Eddie and 2016 Ed) both sound like they are being told by the older Ed, and there are many instances when Tudor could show us what happened, but instead she tells us, making for a dry read. Perhaps it's a little predictable at times, and a little convoluted at others, but as a first novel, C.J. Tudor could do much worse. Looking forward to her future work.

Heather Harpham knows words well. She knows how to craft a lyrical story; funny, poignant, heartwarming. While I'm not normally the type of person to pick up a unknown author's memoir, I'm so glad I did, because this one read like a fiction. Better than most fiction, to be honest. The only thing that I didn't like was the title. I get it; this is Harpham's road to happiness: a bumpy, thrill-ride through life's ups and downs to get to where she is today. But to me, this book was more about the courage of a woman and mother, one who faces both rational new-parent anxieties as well as unbelievably heart-wrenching circumstances. This book stayed with me a long time afterwards. Highly recommended.

With six different points of view, The Gypsy Moth Summer reminds me of an overgrown garden, where characters' lives are like tangled roots that weave in and out of one another, desperate to feed and bloom.

Fierro's prose is thick with detail; I often had to reread sentences several times, not an easy feat for a novel so long. Deconstructing her heavy sentences was worth it however; I was transported back to the 90's, mostly through the young and impressionable Maddie, ripe with the culture of her decade. At times the vernacular felt forced, but not enough to detract from the story. Fierro's robust descriptions made me I feel like I could pick each of her characters out in a crowd of millions. Not that I would want to; each of them with their own buried secrets, some deeper and darker than others.

At times the novel barely crept along, like a newly sown seed. At other times it seemed rushed, blooming overnight. And so much, maybe too much, happened in those last pages; as if someone took a weed wacker to the garden, hungry and merciless.

In the end, I wouldn't mind rereading The Gypsy Moth Summer and spending more time in Fierro's fine, albeit dense, garden.