This book was a very good read and, as I reviewed the posts already written in praise of the book, I do not want to be redundant. I do want to add, though, that this would be an excellent book club selection because it has the multiple levels of plot structure, character development, and just plain good writing that we all enjoy.

I often lean toward historical fiction when looking for a good next book to read. A balanced novel of well-researched facts and talented fictional writing is pure delight.
Ms. Callahan presents both of these talents but leaves the story lacking. A good editor would have, perhaps, made the book more compelling but, instead, although filled with exclamation marks and cliff-hangers at the end of chapters, the book became tedious with repetitions of the same high-octane emotions and plot points. The novel read as a YA entry and not as a novel I found satisfying.

Katy Regan writes about big topics such as homelessness, family secrets, loyalty, fear, and the balm of nature. Within this extensive web, she carefully builds characters who bring us intimately into these worlds. The powerful vignettes that describe moments in time with Emily, Stephen, and their mother are heartbreaking, heartwarming, and riveting. I would especially recommend this book to book clubs because there is something for everyone. Make sure you have plenty of time because multiple discussions will be ignited by the rich narrative of these stories.

Beasts of A Little Land grabbed me immediately. The first chapter was elegantly written, with the setting, character, and plot poised to launch a great book. Then the writing continued as if two different authors were writing the book. While it introduced us to compelling characters during a time many of us have not read about until recently, the plot fractured and did not flow well. The people we had been introduced to appeared and disappeared without maintaining their "wholeness" in the story. Who is this? What was his/her background? Most disturbing, was the all too often 21st-century slang, "...so don't look so fucking hurt, moron" and "This is all great, but have you anything else?" The last chapter felt as though it had been dovetailed from another book altogether, leaving the reader untethered and unsatisfied.
There was so much potential in Beasts of A Little Land and I was both frustrated and disappointed that this was not realized.

"The dead have insistent voices; they cut and jab. His father's especially." "The same sprung vigilance to her posture, though; like she was ready to dodge an oncoming hazard."

I often read before going to sleep and so it was with The Blind Light. There was little sleep that night and so daytime reading was the default. This book is a heavy lift at 533 pages but the heavy lift is not in its length but in its content. The story is relentlessly grim, manipulating, mean-spirited, humorless, and fragmented. While Stuart Evers is clearly a talented writer and can offer beautiful prose, he presents a nightmarish monotone of anxiety, human disconnect, and non-linear plot shards that leave the reader scrambling.

This book could have been a literary gift, taking us through 70 years of tumultuous western history and the lives of three generations. However, reading the unsuccessful stream of consciousness and third party narrative I staggered through it to gratefully greet the last page.

It is usually not a good idea to start the review of one book by immediately comparing it to another. This, however, seems to be a good time. All the while I was reading The Smallest Lights in the Universe, I was thinking of Lab Girl, by Hope Jahren. Women scientists telling their stories to a wide audience! Imagine that!

In the case of Sara Seager, we have an author with an unblinkered narrative voice that takes no prisoners. When she is angry, or is scared, or is jubilant, you know it and this unfiltered journey from childhood to a second marriage and spectacular professional success is quite a ride.

Know much about astrophysicists? Not to worry. You will learn and be grateful for it. This book illuminates on many levels, voiced from the heart.

Only once have I simply stopped reading a book and put it down because it was so bad. If it were not for my responsibility as a reviewer to finish Sandra Tsing Loh's new book, this would have been the second time.

What has happened to Sandra Tsing Loh? Her books were a joy, smart, funny, irreverent. We now see an often frenetic, fractured writer who is narrating the dry run of a stand-up gig that has gone terribly wrong. That said, there are passages of beautiful and heart-wrenching writing, such as the moment with her father right after his death. There are also passages of real, knee-slapping humor found in "Me and My Massage Chair". That said, the alarm is signaled early on in the book, "I literally have no idea what I just said." The last few sentences sweep up the pieces and blow them into a dark place, "Ah, well. For today there are tipsy four-year-olds who got into the margarita punch, savoring their first Bic lighters. Waving them, cackling, in the dark."

I loved this book and not only because it made me guffaw. Hornby has written this little masterpiece in a slightly edgy 21st century Jane Austen voice to create a new perspective on the Austen family story. Needless to say, all the themes are there: financial vicissitudes, spinsters and wives, the power of the male, too much sense and too much sensibility, bad judgment, hubris, and enlightenment. What Hornby has added and what is especially fresh and delightful is a more contemporary voice. We hear it through Cassandra for most of the novel but we also delight in it through the beautifully composed letters and lesser characters, my favorite being the maid, Dinah, who add a great deal to the narrative.
A triumphant novelty in this story? No happy denouement with wedded bliss the highest achievement. No, Reader, Cassandra does not marry and, as she says, "A patch of earth of one's own, to tend as one wishes; one small corner of the glory that is an English country village: It is the most we can wish for in this life of ours." And "…with the true bonds of sisterhood…the happiest of all possible happy endings"

Tishani Doshi is a poet and for me, Small Days and Nights was a an Odyssean poem trapped in a novel. The raw physicality and sensual passages throughout this book left me emotionally engaged, frustrated, and anxious. This is not an easy read and its intentional lack of straightforward chronological narrative makes it feel more dream-like than plot-driven. If the reader is not already familiar with structural elements such as Downs Syndrome, Indian politics and culture, life in the American south, and the streets and canals of Venice, there is much to try to figure out on your own. I would not read this book for pleasure but I would recommend it to a sophisticated reader who would like to take this journey.

Good historical fiction teaches at a gut level and Cartier's Hope does not disappoint. As we follow our main character, a woman with two identities, one inherited the other invented, through the streets, townhouses and tenements of New York City in the early 20th century, our senses and emotions are bombarded with visceral detail. For example, you experience the growing anxiety, then outright terror, of women marching in protest, followed by a group, then a gang, of men taunting them initially with words then with physical brutality.
That said, there is a disappointing glut of stale language, as well, and early in the book my eyes were rolling with sentences like, "...I try to pretend I am not really crying. That what looks like tears are simply snowflakes melting on my cheeks."
There is also a Wikipedia-like narrative when M. J. Rose gives the reader necessary plot information, such as the history of the Hope Diamond. Her fine ability to create realistic dialog fails her when she needs to give us facts.
Overall, this book is a good read and would appeal to many audiences. The mystery, gender issues, emotional appeal, and historical re-creation make it ripe for book club discussions.