I love a good murder mystery, but this one didn't do it for me. It would seem to have all the required elements -- the murder of a promising college co-ed, an illicit affair, multiple suspects, a former roommate feverishly trying to solve the case 30 years on -- but it just never drew me in. Close but no cigar for this reader.

It's been a long time since I've read a book that I wanted to put in other people's hands. "A Council of Dolls" is that kind of book. The novel tells the story of three generations of a Native American family and the legacy -- and horrors -- of Indian residential schools. The story is told from the perspective of each woman as a child -- Sissy, her mother Lillian and her grandmother Cora -- and her relationship with her doll. But these aren't just any dolls. They are friends and confidantes and provide wise counsel. They get these girls through the hardest of times and give them strength to move forward. I would quote from the book but my copy has so many passages flagged (starting on page 1) that it's impossible to choose what to share. "A Council of Dolls" is a book I wish everyone would read. It's the best kind of historical novel - poignant, powerful and thought-provoking. I will definitely seek out more of Mona Susan Power's work.

I was interested in reading "This Other Eden" both because the topic of eugenics is unique and because it was based on a true story of a settlement on an island off the coast of Maine. The book was at its most interesting to me when it turned to the treatment of the mixed race people living on the island by local health officials. I was horrified when the officials arrived with instruments to measure head diameters and the like, followed by their expulsion from the island (and the transfer of seven families members to a home for the feebleminded. But I was frustrated by the author's failure to provide any insight into how the various families felt about being subjected to this treatment. Do we take from this that they have been beaten into acceptance of whatever is doled out? It doesn't really make sense to me because they've been living on the island self-sufficiently for generations. Wouldn't people suddenly coming onto their land to poke and prod them with no explanation warrant some discussion? Similarly, we were given no insight into the character of Matthew Diamond, a reverend who preached and taught on the island and became their advocate despite an articulated hatred of adult "Negroes." What was driving him? How was he able to overcome his detest when dealing with the adults? There was no indication of his feelings other than a statement to this effect. These issues are two examples of the reasons why this book fell short for this reader.
I also am not a fan of Harding's writing. Some call his style lyrical or poetic. I call it wandering, as his sentences would go on for what seemed pages without really getting to a point.
So, not a book for me. In fact, for me, the "average" rating is a bit inflated, but Harding does have a Pulitzer to his name.

Celeste Ng is clearly unhappy with the way things are going in our country. "Our Missing Hearts" is a family drama of sorts, but that's where the resemblance to her other novels ends. The world Ng envisions is one in which the United States suffered an extended financial crisis that is blamed on China. The Preserving American Culture and Tradition Acts (or PACT) is passed. It's a law that promises to "protect American values" by making citizens promise to "watch over each other." What this law means in practice is frightening in the extreme. Books deemed suspect are banned from schools and libraries. People of Asian descent are similarly shunned, deemed un-American purely due to their ethnicity. But it gets worse. The government is protecting its youth from Chinese sympathizers by removing children from families with parents found to be promoting values deemed un-American and placing them in pro-American homes.

Bird is a 12 year old boy whose mother is Margaret Mui, a Chinese American poet. She keeps her head down during the crisis, thinking it has nothing to do with her. But one of her poems includes the words "our missing hearts," and those words become the rallying cry for those fighting against the new regime. Mui flees so that Bird can at least stay with his father. But of course that's not the end of the story.

"Our Missing Hearts" is a powerful story about a world that bears a strong relationship to what's happening in our country today. It's not an easy book to read, but it is a book I'll put in other people's hands.

"Metropolis" by B.A. Shapiro is primarily set in a storage facility. Yes, the type you rent when you have overflow furniture or are in-between homes. But Metropolis, the facility envisioned by Shapiro, is full of life. Three people are living there for extremely different reasons. A lawyer has set up shop after being fired by his firm. (Trust me, he's a good guy.) And then we have the owner and the office manager, both of whom have pivotal roles in the story.
Shapiro's entry point is an auction of the possessions left in the building's units after Metropolis has been sold. This device gives the reader a glimpse into the lives of people with whom we will become friends over the course of the book. From there Shapiro weaves her story through chapters told from a particular character's perspective. It gets a bit complicated at times -- and Shapiro has a tendency to over-include information learned during her research -- but ultimately it works.
I read "Metropolis" over the course of a few days and found I was always eager to return to it. It's not a book I feel compelled to discuss with friends or to put in someone else's hands, but it's definitely an enjoyable read. Perfect for the lazy days of summer.

In many ways, "The Fields" is your standard thriller, with lots of twists and turns. What makes it different is the role that Big Ag plays in the story. A woman's body has been found in a field owned by a small consortium of farmers. Before long, two other bodies are found in seemingly unrelated settings. Creepily, the bodies have bite marks on them in addition to the deadly wounds. It's up to newly appointed Sergeant Riley Fisher and her team to solve these crimes. (Love a female protagonist!) Somehow, it all comes together by the last page.

Don't get me wrong. I liked parts of "Morningside Heights" and never considered putting it down before finishing. But from the start, I was unclear what story Henkin was trying to tell. He begins with Pru's background going to Torah Academy. Ah, I thought, it's a Jewish story. No -- and the relevance of that vignette nearly became clear. These little sidelines continued throughout the book and frustrated me.
At its heart, though, Morningside Heights is a story of a family -- Spence (brilliant and soon suffering from early onset dementia), Pru (his steadfast wife), Sarah (daughter) and Arlo (son from a prior marriage). For me, only Arlo seemed like a real person. He's angry with his father for leaving him and feels extremely peripheral (and inferior) to the rest of the family. But he's conflicted and wants his father's approval, so he ends up coming and going throughout the book. Arlo's story alone had emotional depth, and I found the book most compelling when the focus was on him.
What most bothered me about the story, though, was the lack of anger and frustration the characters expressed about Spence's dementia. Dealing with a father with dementia, I know the ups and downs of daily life and how emotionally consuming and brutal it can be. And my father is 90 years old, not a middle-aged man in the prime of his life. Perhaps the author has not dealt with dementia in his family. Perhaps he has but without the emotional turmoil. Either way, the characters' reactions didn't ring true to this reader.
At the end of the day, Morningside Heights is not a book I'd recommend. There are too many books and too little time.

In this time of coronavirus isolation, reading would seem the perfect antidote to our boredom and worries. And yet I've found myself lacking the concentration required as I tried various books on my "to read" pile. Until, that is, I came to "Migrations" by Charlotte McConaghy.
Franny, our protagonist, tells her story of a world in which wildlife is rapidly disappearing. "Once," she says, "When the animals were going, really and truly and not just in warnings of dark futures but now, in mass extinctions we could see and feel, I decided to follow a bird over an ocean." And so began her quest to follow the arctic terns as they traveled from the Arctic to the Antarctic. The difficulty was that she had to find a vessel to take her on this journey. When she met the crew of a fishing boat named the Saghani (the Raven), it felt like fate. But it was only by appealing to their own self-interest that Franny persuaded the reluctant captain and crew to accept her and to allow the birds to dictate the boat's course.
As the novel unfolds, McConaghy takes us back and forth between the harrowing search for the terns and Franny's tormented past. The captain and crew of the Saghani are interesting characters as well with their own stories to tell.
McConaghy's writing is lyrical, yet the story is filled with action that will make your heart pound. Your heart will also break as you piece together what drives Franny to follow the terns. "Migrations" is a unique story that will keep you engaged in these difficult times and beyond.

Imagine yourself at a family party in Acapulco. The festivities are underway, and everyone is having a wonderful time. In a split second, gunfire breaks out, leaving 16 members of your family dead. You and your son are alive only because he had gone inside and you went in to check on him. You hear the gunmen -- cartel members you assume -- looking around for survivors. By pure luck and instinct, the two of you survive. But this is only the beginning of the story. And I mean literally. This is not a spoiler, but what happens within the first few pages of the book.
Now Lydia and Luca are on the run as the cartel searches for them to complete the task of wiping out the entire family. As the story progresses, we learn what transpired that led to these heinous murders. We learn of a surprising relationship Lydia, a bookstore owner, has with one of the cartel members. And, most importantly, we learn of Lydia and Luca's struggle to reach the border to freedom in the United States and the people they meet along the way.
Cummins' writing is beautiful and compelling. There are moments of abject terror, but there are also moments of joy. The way Lydia holds it together for her son reminded me a bit of the father in the movie "Life is Beautiful."
"American Dirt" is a novel you will never forget. It is an example of the way fiction can shine a light on an international crisis--immigration, in this case--by giving it a face. A must-read book.

When someone says, "nothing to see here," you know something interesting is happening. In Kevin Wilson's latest book by the same title, the "something" is 10 year old twins who catch on fire when they're upset or feel threatened. It's a less than ideal scenario for their political father who has his eyes on the White House. Plus he hardly even knows these kids, who've been living with his recently deceased ex-wife since they were little.

Enter Madison, his problem-solving wife. When Madison reaches out to her high school roommate Lillian with a mysterious job prospect, Lillian comes running. Being the governess to some combustible children was not what she expected. But, hey, she has nothing better to do.

"Nothing To See Here" is a quick and fun read that shows, once again, you don't have to share a bloodline to be a family. It's funny and creative. And I dare you not to fall in love with these children just as much as Lillian does.

Jessica Chiccehitto Hindman might not be a great violinist, but she's a very entertaining writer. I was hesitant to read "Sounds Like Titanic" because I don't generally enjoy non-fiction. But her humor engaged me from the start.

In her book, Hindman chronicles four years of her life as a "fake" violinist for an unnamed composer whose music bears more than a little resemblance to the theme song from Titanic. Crowds would flock to hear this music, be it at a farmer's market or a concert for PBS. Listeners threw open their wallets to buy the CDs. But here's the rub -- the musicians' mics were dead and they played along to a CD.

Having read about these concerts, I still don't quite get how they got away with, as Hindman calls it, their Milli Violini performances. Nor, without being able to hear the music myself, do I understand why it was so wildly popular. One of Hindman's conjectures was that people just don't that much attention. I think she has a point. I still haven't reached my conclusion about how "bad" what they were doing was. Yes, it's fraud of a sort, but did it really hurt anyone? Isn't it a good thing to encourage people to embrace classical(ish) music?

Hindman's recollections of the group's travels on their "God Music America Tour" will have you laughing. But the impact on her was not anything to chuckle over. She ended up having panic attacks during every performance and eventually had to spend what sounds like an extended period of time at her parents' home to recover. One of the shortcomings of the book was that I didn't quite understand the connection between her work and the ailment. Why, exactly, was the gig so anxiety-inducing? Guilt, I get. Anxiety, not so much.

The book also became repetitive as the group went to concert after concert after concert. But perhaps that ultimately was the point.

In Vox, Christina Dalcher imagines a world in which the US government has imposed a restriction limiting females (including small girls) to 100 words per day. They wear "bracelets" (pick your own color!) that monitor their outtake and receive electric shocks if they exceed the limit. Cameras have been installed in homes and in the outside world to prevent cheating through note writing or sign language. Needless to say, the work force is comprised totally of men. And education for girls is limited to developing the skills required to run a household. People who violate the new world order face even more draconian consequences.
Our protagonist is Jean, a cognitive linguist in her former life. Jean is conscripted back into service when the President's brother has a brain injury affecting his ability to understand language. But the situation is more complicated than that.
The book has its weaknesses. At times it seemed slightly derivative and the ending felt rushed. But for anyone who enjoys a dystopian read, this is a book not to miss. Dalcher vividly envisions what this world would be like. Vox also plugs into the #MeToo movement and the popularity of The Handmaid's Tale. Perhaps most importantly, it makes a point relevant to today.
When Jean is told the situation isn't her fault, she thinks to herself, "But it is....My fault started two decades ago, the first time I didn't vote, the umpteen times I told Jackie I was too busy to go on one of her marches or make posters or call my congressmen."
And, ultimately, that's my takeaway from Vox. We are all responsible for the world in which we live.

Expectations are a dangerous thing. "The Resurrection of Joan Ashby" by Cherise Wolas was one of my favorite books of 2017. I loved it from the first page. I thrust it into other people's hands. And so I was excited when I heard about "The Family Tabor" and thrilled to have the chance to read an advance copy. Sadly, it could have been written by a different author entirely.
The writing has none of the literary quality of "Joan Ashby." By way of example, the third chapter starts off with a short paragraph that uses the word "luck" four times. Where was the editor? To make matters worse, luck wasn't even one of the themes of the book!
The story also left me cold. Without including too many spoilers, the biggest issue (of many) for me was the premise that the father buried deep in his psyche a series of actions taken in his earlier life that were totally counter to the person he'd become. When he woke up one day and "remembered" what he'd done, his corrective course of action was beyond unbelievable.
Perhaps if I had come to "The Family Tabor" without having read "Joan Ashby," my reaction would have been different. But I don't think so. In fact, it's a book I would have set aside well before the final page if I hadn't been obligated to write this review.
Sorry, Ms. Wolas, but I know you can do better than this.

While the book had some enjoyable aspects, I ultimately found Phillipa highly irritating and unappealing. I finished without any understanding of her interior life (other than "woe is me") or how either the long-suffering Michael or the sexy Lucius could put up with her, much less love her. Nor did I understand her compulsion for immediate confession -- it seemed selfish more than anything else -- or the whole spanking scene. What was THAT supposed to represent??? I did like the chapter in which Phillipa dreams of a Nazi collaborating family for her mother-in-law, but I didn't get her obsession with her hated mother-in-law's secret past. It seemed a very forced as a tie-in to Lucius' work. Overall, a book that has some potential, but not one ready for prime time.

John Boyne throws the reader in headfirst in "The Heart's Invisible Furies." We immediately meet Catherine Goggins, a 16 year old Irish girl who's expecting a baby. She is in the process of being verbally assaulted and physically thrown out of the Catholic church by a priest while her family looks on. We are simultaneously meeting our protagonist--Cyril--who's in vitro.

From there, Boyne checks in with Cyril at seven year intervals. We watch him grow from a child being raised by very peculiar adoptive parents to a young man struggling with his sexual identity to an old man happy with who he's become. Cyril's story takes lots of twists and turns, many of which will cause readers to shake their heads and be thankful society has made some strides towards accepting people for who they are. The price of bigotry is way too high.

Weighing in at 550 pages, "The Heart's Invisible Furies" looked a bit daunting at first. But I found myself galloping through it, eager to find out what would happen next. While Boyne might have wrapped things up a bit too neatly, the story is well worth immersing yourself in.