Hollywood often misrepresents the teaching profession. However, Jennifer Matthieu, a current high school teacher, writes "The Faculty Lounge" with a deep understanding of the profession. The characters and situations she portrays are not just relatable, they are a mirror of the challenges educators face every day. This connection makes the book a compelling read, as it assures educators that they are not alone in their struggles.

All aspects of typical teacher problems take center stage. By way of a worthless gripe, please do not read the Goodreads preview, as it gives away the ending to the first three vignettes. Teachers will recognize the ill-advised relationships, neglecting personal relationships, knowing that they survived but others did not. You will see infidelity happening and root for the characters to avoid the inevitable.

One of the most striking aspects of the book is the camaraderie and general kindness that the teachers share. Even those who may seem cold or disgruntled, like the alcoholic older teacher, find common ground in their shared challenges. This fosters a deep sense of unity and understanding among the characters, making the readers feel not just a part of their world, but a part of a larger community of educators.

Reviews online are funny. Teachers who lived innocent lives like to point out that happy hours, intercourse among co-workers, and bending of the rules do not reflect their experience. In my 27th year in the classroom, I will tell you that I have met all of these people, even the ones who were very different from me. The profession is emotional, and we all cope in our way, some healthy, some not.

Despite Jennifer Matthieu's primary focus on young adult literature and her career as a teacher, 'The Faculty Lounge' exceeded expectations. Cast your colleagues in the pivotal roles!

Pennsylvania history shapes the ethnic neighborhoods of today, and books like 'The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store' by James McBride serve as a poignant reminder of their origins. In a state as vast as Pennsylvania, countless stories exist for the telling. This particular narrative is a unique blend of murder mystery, character study, and historical fiction. The personalities may seem overwhelming initially, but you'll soon immerse yourself in their world.

The story's core lies in the characters, primarily a human skeleton unearthed on a dig and a mysterious deaf boy. McBride takes a bold step by revealing these key elements early, but it pays off. The author's ambition is evident as he introduces new, unique threads, and part of the joy is in deciphering how they all intertwine. You'll find yourself deeply captivated by these characters, their complexity drawing you in and keeping you engaged in their journey.

Exceptional writing is when the expected unfolds, yet you find yourself hanging on to every word. Dodo, our deaf character, faces a harsh sentence for a crime he didn't commit, a twist that keeps you on the edge of your seat. As various other threads unravel, with chapter titles that only make sense in retrospect, the intrigue deepens. It's like a puzzle, and you're hooked, eagerly anticipating the next piece, your excitement growing with each page turn. The narrative keeps you engaged and guessing, making it a compelling read.

The many characters add to the plot because you must determine who will become more significant. There are a ton of subplots, but the fate of Dodo remains in the forefront of your mind. I could see Hollywood taking a stab at having a talented actor try to communicate like he does. Pennsylvanian history never sounded so complete.

Gaunt and Ellwood, resilient in the face of adversity, sit at their English boarding school, pining for each other and contemplating the World War. They enlist separately, their hearts heavy with their forbidden, unspoken feelings. Homosexuality exists in various forms, some healthy some not. In this era, societal constraints, such as the criminalization of homosexuality and the pressure to conform to traditional gender roles, left them with few other options. People silently envisioned their lives of bachelorhood, a testament to their resilience when societal constraints left them with few alternatives.

The tales of romance and war seem like two different novels. The horrors of battle are a lot to read. The mechanics of homosexual sex, which Winn describes in more graphic detail than in most novels, are not just for shock value. They serve to humanize Gaunt and Ellwood's relationship, showing that their love is as natural and complex as any other. Gaunt and Ellwood's emotional relationship is intricate, and few authors bother to create it entirely.

If there's one critique, the author could have delved deeper into the individual development of the two protagonists. We know them as a unit, but their quirks remain a mystery without detracting from the intensity of the battle scenes. The novel takes an unexpected turn with an apparent early tragedy, sparking anticipation and concern for the aftermath's shape, domestically and abroad.

The narrative is full of necessary twists and turns and picks up at the beginning of the final third. The separation of the two men is a pivotal moment, and the use of a dual timeline and dramatic irony works effectively to underscore the emotional weight of this event. You see examples of brotherhood in the face of strife and fear.

The ending is sad as can be but somehow uplifting simultaneously.

Meandering through generations and cultures, "North Woods" shows more ambition than any novel this year. I saw this to attract some of you to the book and keep others away. It has a plodding start, and many stories start to jell. Many families and descendants occupy the same field, and short stories tell the storied history of New England.  

We encounter a man who devoted his life to an apple orchard and then to his adult twin daughters, who witness his fate tragically and suddenly altered. The crime leads to a shocking discovery. The narrative leaps from one story to another in an unpredictable, erratic pattern, adding a layer of suspense. Each vignette is a surprise and distinctly unique, showcasing the captivating and unique storytelling style of 'North Woods. '

The narrative may have its lulls, but it compensates with significant revelations from each story. The piece about a painter in forbidden love may seem familiar, but it narrates its events in a way that keeps you thoroughly engrossed. The narrative shines when it ties threads together rather than introducing entirely new characters. The story of an older gentleman who penned mysterious letters of unrequited love is a prime example.

Reading 'North Woods ', I found myself drifting off a few times, only to be jolted back by the unexpected connections. Like in 'The Overstory ', you do not realize how many ways a tree could affect us. Author Daniel Mason recognizes their experiences despite their short lifespans. These unexpected connections make 'North Woods' a compelling read, keeping you engaged and eager to discover more.

Before I knew it, I was completely immersed in the rich universe of 'North Woods '. The book's countless stories waiting to be told drew me in and kept me interested, like great literary fiction.

Women can be heroes.

It is a simple line to repeat, but it is appropriate in “The Women” by Kristin Hannah. Frankie wants to serve as a nurse in Vietnam to help the way her male relatives had. Like “Platoon,” we see the war through the eyes of the most inexperienced eyes possible, from a well-meaning civilian with good intentions.

Kristin Hannah excels at taking history stories we think we know and telling them in new, engaging ways. The horrors of war have no way of hiding from the uninitiated. Somehow, the author balances romance, violence, and national pacifism to paint the picture for those who did not live through this time. It questions war for all the right reasons.

Frankie’s world is chaotic, and we experience several “MASCAL,” or mass casualty incidents that would almost desensitize you…and Frankie, for that matter. She does her job admirably despite the shock. Elements of romance appear, and, as is Hannah’s strength, the reader does not know the outcome since the aspects of war do not guarantee survival. The goal seems more profound.

At the novel's halfway point, we experience what life was like coming home from Vietnam, especially for women. At least now, we thank everyone, not just men, for their service. The lack of support from the nation led to a downward spiral of alcohol, anger, and flashbacks, made worse since no one considered the woman’s role as traumatizing as combat.

You endure a lot of suffering and truly experience the various adjustment periods for Frankie. She never seems ready but always endures what comes up. If you finish reading thinking that the author glorified war or that the protesters did not have a point, you read a different book than I did. Kristin Hannah is one of our better authors.

A common refrain from otherwise jovial married men in Mexico was, “Mi esposa está casada. Yo, no.” Men said that their wives were married, but they weren’t. I had no idea that these attitudes led to an epidemic of unreported spousal abuse, but it is rampant there. “Liliana’s Invincible Summer: A Sister’s Search for Justice” by Cristina Rivera Garza tells the story of one such femicide.

As with any life cut too short, we remember Liliana’s youthful exuberance and naivete. Her letters and notes will remind you of high school. A jealous man (in 1990, because toxic masculinity had a name) took that all away. Ángel, the man scorned, functioned as if he did not realize that Liliana was a free individual.

Using Liliana’s letters to tell her story paints the picture of a developing young woman forming opinions of men and dating those who mistreated her. She was flighty, unpredictable, and impulsive; in other words, she was a possessive man’s worst nightmare. Just in case you are one of my friends who thinks toxic masculinity is an American myth.

The fact that femicide exists as a word in this culture is all that you need to know. Words like “hate crime” have a political charge to them, but this book reminds us why they need to exist. Americans look at problems in other cultures as a reason to love their own country, but anyone can learn a lot here.

It would be best if you read this because it is not typical. It tackles spousal abuse, grief, loss, and patriarchy without focusing on one at a time. It celebrates Liliana and, appropriately, does little to develop the perpetrator's character. We celebrate a life even though it ends tragically and suddenly. We live the “invincible summer” before the long winter.

"Time Shelter" by Georgi Gospodinov may not be your favorite novel of the year. Still, it won the award for best premises. A man tries to treat Alzheimer's and dementia by recreating a different one on each building floor. Not surprisingly, people without diagnoses begin to seek out the comfort of this place to escape reality for a while.

While movies like 'Click' delve into the pain of looking back, 'Time Shelter' offers a narrative that will stimulate your intellect. The therapeutic qualities of unlocking core memories will captivate your attention and provoke your thoughts. As you read, you'll find yourself pondering these ideas. The narrator's struggle with the use of 'time' and 'place' adds an intriguing layer to the story, affecting the characters and the plot.

The novel eloquently explores the idea that the past is inevitable while the future is uncertain. This uncertainty leads more and more people to retreat into the past, raising questions about the future of culture. The result is a series of vignettes that vividly depict the adverse effects of this societal trend and the architect's unwavering commitment to his mission. Reading 'Time Shelter' will make you more aware of these societal trends and their implications.

The twist in the story occurs just before the halfway point, revealing some unexpected political motivations behind the desire to live in another time.

As people create the ideology they want, the plot turns fascinating. The mixture of eras confuses the characters and the reader as well. When we involve other countries, we inevitably compare to America and wonder how a skilled director could transfer this to our country.

In the trendy genre of Speculative Fiction, we often see decisions as if we will have no future. Mark this down as the first author who takes that literally.

"Kairos," the lesser-known god of fortunate events, lends his name to a post-unification Berlin tale. This story, about the unexpected affair between a married 50-year-old and a 19-year-old, is not your typical romance. Their relationship, with all the elements of a star-crossed meet cute, is a compelling exploration of love and sacrifice, even when their future is uncertain.

American history classes often focus on the fall of the Berlin Wall, a significant event that symbolized the end of the Cold War and the reunification of Germany.

However, the periods before and after this event are equally important in the context of our story. The strong ideologies that defined this era serve as an unwitting backdrop to an unbalanced, dominating love story. In this narrative, the societal and political upheaval, rather than physical boundaries, are the characters' primary concerns, providing a rich historical setting that will inform the reader.

In this story, the young woman and the older gentleman act predictably, but their actions reflect the German landscape in 1987. The societal norms of the time, influenced by the aftermath of the Cold War and the unification of Germany, dictated their choices. Even after translation, the author assumes some political knowledge that required me to look up a few things.

Just past the halfway point, things take a dark turn, which, in retrospect, the author foreshadowed sufficiently. The plot twist, while effective, evoked a sense of discomfort in me, a testament to the author's skill in crafting a compelling narrative. Without revealing too much, realize that it is hard to read about gaslighting and emotional abuse, whether it is a country or a boyfriend committing it.

It all makes for an engaging but squirm-inducing novel. Our generation knows little about German life, but this educates us about it.

“Night Watch” by Jayne Anne Phillips, with its unique stream-of-consciousness writing and a multitude of characters, is a novel that may not resonate with everyone. It transports you to the post-Civil War era, where 12-year-old ConaLee is thrust into adulthood with her mute mother. Their journey unfolds in an asylum, forcing them to assume new identities and blend in. The novel's depth is shaped by its diverse cast of characters and multiple points of view, which may be a lot to take in for some.

The quick change to other topics will annoy some. When we go back to Eliza, the mother, to find out why she doesn’t speak, we read about a sexual assault that is even worse than usual. Dearbhla, the neighbor and surrogate to ConaLee, fancies herself as spiritual and senses conflict from afar. Her use of tinctures will remind you of “The Lost Apothecary.” Switching between stories makes you yearn to know what is happening in another.

On another note, we meet a man known as “The Sharpshooter,” who is recovering from war-related injuries and cannot remember his name. His process grounds the novel with the realities of combat. It will remind you of your first “Pulp Fiction” viewing as you try to connect all the dots. For once, reading reviews helped me as it enabled me to think about what the book had to say about women’s health, specifically, and mental health in general.

Phillips is a skilled writer because this is too much for the average author to balance in a 275-page novel. If you enjoy non-linear, unconventional books, this is for you, but exercise some patience. The ending is rewarding, sad, and wonderful all at the same time. Even the characters who seemed minor will come out as significant and worth the wait.

“A Day in the Life of Abed Salama: Anatomy of a Jerusalem Tragedy” by Nathan Thrall tells a story that will pull at your parent strings. Imagine hearing that your child was in a bad bus accident, but your Palestinian status keeps you from being anywhere near him. The author provides many back stories, so we know that these restrictions are expected of Palestinians.

Abed's life is a complex tapestry of experiences, a narrative many Americans can only begin comprehending. With multiple marriages, the constant fear of divorce, and rejections based solely on his last name and reputation, his story is one of resilience.

However, it is Huda, a doctor who has weathered periods of ethnic cleansing, who truly captivates us. Despite the oppressive rules, she fearlessly defies them to ensure the survival of refugees, embodying a level of compassion that is truly remarkable.

The account of the bus accident is a vivid and chilling narrative. Coming from a country that typically finds a way to aid the less fortunate, Abed’s numerous roadblocks left me uneasy. The sheer number of people involved in the rescue mission, including individuals from the IDF and ZAKA, is a testament to the collective effort to assist without compromising their unwavering, deeply rooted beliefs.

Thrall is an Israeli historian with degrees in literature and politics. At first, the numerous maps and political talk distracted me, but I soon figured out why it was there. A scholar like Thrall will answer any questions about this never-ending conflict.

I have very opinionated friends about Israel now, and my lack of knowledge usually makes me shy away from arguments. Thrall writes for curious people like me who wonder how we got here. The families of victims show a mixture of acceptance and resignation. They wanted their kids back.

Upon completing 'Tripas: Poems' by Brandon Som, the recent recipient of the prestigious Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, I was captivated by the unique blend of Spanglish and multiculturalism that permeates the book. Drawing inspiration from the rich narratives of his Chinese and Mexican grandparents, the poems, while not always immediately apparent to a non-poetry enthusiast like myself, still managed to evoke a powerful sense of nostalgia.

Dr. Brandon Som, a distinguished poet with an M.F.A. from Pitt and a U.S.C. Doctorate in Literature and Creative Writing, infuses his work with a deeply personal connection. Having resided in Squirrel Hill, he beautifully captures the essence of the West. Yet, his poignant exploration of his family's struggles and their use of ancient technology and techniques to secure a better future for their children and descendants truly resonates. The poet's invitation to readers to share his journey of understanding is a compelling aspect of his work.

While I found the subject matter compelling, poetry was also challenging to interpret. However, Dr. Som's constant discussion of Spanish phonetics and idiosyncrasies made the work more accessible and enjoyable for me. His grandparents' occupations feature prominently in his writing, serving as the ultimate show of gratitude. The flow of language is lyrical and rhythmic, creating a conversational feel that reassures and comforts the reader.

I'm still deciding whether to recommend this book. It's a short and easy read, but it may not appeal to fiction or nonfiction readers who are not already fans of poetry.  I enjoyed the stories of his family and the honesty with which he presented his life. My yearly vacation with poetry was successful. I would love to hear your stories about poetry and what has worked for you in the past, as I doubt my inherent intelligence.

“Disobedient” by Elizabeth Fremantle, author of the phenom “The Queen’s Gambit,” masterfully bridges the gap between the 17th century and today’s society, a feat that top-notch historical fiction often accomplishes. As a reader, I was captivated by the narrative, even though I had no prior knowledge of the real story. The book's ability to resonate with modern readers, such as myself, is a testament to its relevance and the author's skill in storytelling. I found myself relating to the protective father’s overbearing nature, a universal theme transcending time.

Historically, Artemisia Gentileschi is a famous artist constrained by the limits on women in 17th-century Italy. She suffers a horrible indignity you may know about if you studied her. A little knowledge of art, which I do not have, would help as we examine how people admire and simultaneously dismiss the female artist’s work and treat her like an object.

Perhaps I should not have been surprised by the gender politics in Italy during this era, but it was extreme. Any sexual assault was essentially the woman’s fault and expected. Artemesia becomes an unlikely symbol of feminism for reasons you would learn from a simple Wikipedia search; nevertheless, do not do that so that the book still surprises you.

Retellings remain one of the trickier genres to tackle since they involve taking actual, well-known events and trying to insert thoughts and feelings into them. Empathizing with strong-willed Artemesia is easy.

The themes of self-reliance, feminism, sexual assault, and individual autonomy remain relevant today. Knowing Artemesia’s work makes the story more interesting. It effectively puts you there. Our heroine refuses to follow orders and norms to make her life easier. Art and personal freedom matter to her, and she feels no need to take the easier route. She wanted the right to live.

I had never heard of Hansen’s Disease and had only heard of leprosy in passing; therefore, I had no idea that “leprosy” and “leper” were unacceptable slurs in modern English. When they packed people afflicted into clinics, it reminded you of how people with lesions from AIDS feared public perception. “King of the Armadillos” by Wendy Chin-Tanner tells this story.

Victor Chin tests positive for Hansen’s disease, and they ship him to a community in Louisiana. As a Chinese boy living in America, he fit the stereotype of a spreader. Preconceived notions about immigrants from China have plagued him his whole life, and this place is no different. He meets another afflicted Asian boy and fears the comparisons to him.

We jump back and forth between stories of Victor’s past in the family’s laundromat in New York and the facility in the South. The 1950s in New York were a rough place to be Asian. Victor’s temporary home, Carville, becomes the source of comfort, routine, and Stockholm Syndrome. The procedures walk the line between necessary and racist.

The rest of the book tells of friendship, young love, common bonds, and a love of the arts. If you awaken through music, your body develops abilities that your ailment says you should not have. Above all, Victor is a young man, developing crushes and broken hearts as anyone else would. I identified with him, feeling different and worrying about what others thought.

I enjoyed the stories about Victor’s father, Sam, as he struggles to improve his family's life in America. They help paint a picture of Victor's current state. Like any coming-of-age tale, the emotions fluctuate frequently. A typical 17-year-old, Victor experiences first love hardship and personal victories. The book does the little things right to develop characters you want to meet.

David Grann's “The Wager: A Tale of Shipwreck, Mutiny, and Murder” tells an entirely different story than his previous masterpiece, “Killers of the Flower Moon,” in the same captivating way. Understanding the complex life of a sailor, a journey that requires a great deal of background knowledge, is an adventurous experience that intrigues and excites you. You feel like Grann is learning as he goes, adding to the thrill of the narrative.

The early stages of the novel are dominated by tales of scurvy and typhus, a setting that resonates with modern-minded readers. The mission, a glorified treasure hunt, unfolds in a less-than-ideal manner. Even without the historical details, the shipwreck itself is a thrilling read. Grann’s masterful skill in immersing the reader in the star-crossed boat, making you feel transported and involved, is commendable.

Roger Ebert often quoted Francois Truffaut, who said you couldn’t make an anti-war film because movies excite intense combat scenes. Surprisingly, that same theory applies to life at sea. The crew of the Wager had few rations and a barely functioning boat, but they still attempted to complete their mission. I have trouble getting through a lesson without the Internet.

Since the title promises shipwreck, mutiny, and murder, we should see all three coming, but how the crew disintegrates is the stuff of legends. When you write your law, this can happen. The mutineers kept detailed records so Grann could illustrate the depths of this mayhem. Regardless of what was available, the amount of research involved was astronomical, just like his other work.

I felt guilty enjoying the ride when such suffering appeared imminent. Grann (if you haven’t read any of his books, get on that) has a knack for finding horrifying, intriguing, and unknown pieces of history. What a book!

“Prophet Song” by Paul Lynch would seem like a novel stunt if many award-winning Irish books did not seem similar. There are not many paragraph breaks and quotation marks here. You get the point of dystopian suffering even when unsure what is happening. Although this is fiction, it echoes the complicated fears of the Irish today.

Eilish Stack is a typical Irish wife and mother. Still, her husband is a trade unionist for the country’s workers, a controversial position that results in his sudden capture and eerie interrogation. Ireland descends into chaos and confusion, and the author has the challenge of projecting the nation's bewilderment without confusing the readers. Their leaders are paranoid, vicious, and suffocating.

There is a lot of detailed setup and character development, but I was most interested in the main plot’s story arc: this woman living without her husband and at risk of losing her son. Eilish hangs onto the past because nothing about their future seems promising.

History reminds us that The Troubles eventually improved, but we do not see it coming here in Dystopia.
The echoes of modern culture, where doubt and skepticism surround news from specific sources, resonate strongly. When the government controls information, confusion reigns. The depiction of war from within adds an extra layer of mayhem, mirroring the complexities of our world. The perspective of an innocent resident creates a palpable sense of claustrophobia, drawing the reader into the narrative.

The writing style, characterized by long sentences and much longer paragraphs, may initially feel overwhelming. However, it quickly immerses you in the narrative, intensifying the sense of loss and bewilderment. This is not a book for those seeking an easy, low-key read. The subject matter and writing quirks ensure a challenging, thought-provoking experience.

I love books and movies and compare them. “Rough Sleepers” by Dr. Tracy Kidder is the heart-wrenching story that the fictionalized movie “Patch Adams” wanted to be. Yes, the movie was a comedy, but Dr. Hunter Patch Adams wished to be known for more than humor.
Dr. Jim O’Connell gets the hero’s welcome he deserves for serving people experiencing homelessness.

Like most award-winning nonfiction, I recommend this with a caveat: It is heavy! If you read and survived “Evicted” or “Poverty, by America,” expect similar tugging of the heartstrings. The one positive is that the government funded the program better than you would expect. The glaring negative is that few could break the cycle of living as “rough sleepers.”

Next is a series of anecdotes in which the rough sleepers dodge their rough pasts and drug addictions to find roles for themselves, arousing more sympathy than judgment. You may have taken your access to physical and mental health for granted, and reading books like this will keep that from happening. I had difficulty complaining after hearing these horrifying stories.

I often wonder if I would survive like these subjects (Kidder wisely seldom mentions their race), becoming so accustomed to doing without that they do not recognize their health needs. The characters are sympathetic, which is hard to do since we have all read books about these types of disadvantaged people before, with potential and subject to unfortunate circumstances.

I can be opinionated but never argue about medical issues with doctors. Helping a group of people is a human trait, but when the odds are stacked against them (for environmental and self-destructive reasons), you know Dr. O’Connell’s frustration. The author appropriately mentions Sisyphus a few times, but you cannot help but root for these patients to get over that hill.

Shelley Read's “Go As a River” does readers a favor by revealing little in the flap. A farm and drifter meet. Tragedy and romance ensue. That gets you to page 25. What results is a family drama about loss, grief, and development that will remind you of “Where the Crawdads Sing” with its love of the outdoors and its surroundings.

The Colorado landscape in a peach-growing community in the late 1940s serves as the backdrop, and the casual racism will surprise you but should not. It was a strange time. When crimes up to and including murder receive rationalization, you realize that people had a lot of hatred that they needed to release. A $20 reward motivated many narrow-minded people.

Heroine Torie goes on a journey of self-discovery under challenging circumstances, and you do not know how the story will go. You are meant to discover this on your own when the middle of the book reminds you of “Cast Away,” which turns out to be the false dawn. Like a river, you go from plotline to newer plotline seamlessly.

At the halfway point, you start to question how much pain and suffering an author can put on her main character. Reviewing this book is tough without revealing its trials. Some stories have their inevitable happy ending, but you must endure a lot to get there, and “Go As a River” is no different. Be prepared for the worst.

If you read a lot, you may predict what will happen, and that’s fine because star-crossed Victoria earns and deserves her happiness. She has a “Shawshank Redemption” level of hope and blind faith. The ending, which I will not reveal, has a nod to the power of writing in bringing people together that those who wanted to write professionally would appreciate.

“The House of Doors” by Tan Twan Eng tells interconnected tales about characters within the same realm. A married couple, Lesley and Robert, allow a famous writer and his assistant to live with them in a time of personal trouble. Secrets about their marriage arise, and drama they did not expect arises. Malaysia serves as the backdrop.

What was going on in China at the time significantly affected the day-to-day life of this young family. Gender politics are the main struggle when Lesley’s closest female friend shockingly murders her alleged attempted rapist, and everyone assumes her guilt prematurely. Out of context, the comments to women would especially shock and anger you.

You will need some knowledge about Chinese revolutionaries in the early 20th century, but nothing that a few fiction books could not provide. This requires the backstories of all present, including writer Willie and his assistant Gerald. They placed a particular interest in revolutionary Dr. Sun Yat Sen, and his story will cure Willie’s writer’s block and search for something new. Adultery shows double standards despite widespread bigamy.

Following along is easy since the storytelling has fewer characters than usual but more plot lines. I wanted to stay in the book, and this only increased as the story progressed. I received a cultural knowledge of “angmoh” (white people) living in Malaysia and China that I would not have known otherwise. Lesley questioned traditions that others would not.

The engaging novel's themes echo throughout each character arc: homosexuality, gender equality in marriages, and the Chinese revolutionaries in the 1920s. All historical fiction worth its salt shares this. These novels exist to remind us how little we know about Chinese history and why so many of these stories exist. My favorites from the past two years have been by Asian authors.

“Let Us Descend” by Jezmyn Ward requires a strong stomach, like most novels about slavery. The reader wants realism, then reads about rape and technical incest and wishes for less. The protagonist, Annis, takes us on a journey inspired by Dante’s Inferno when her Sire (father) cruelly sends her mother away.

“Magical Realism,” one of the suspicious genres assigned to this intense book by Goodreads, is my kryptonite. I get lost if I struggle to transition from the real to the fantastical. When Annis meets spirits, however, she thoroughly introduces us to them. Having a caring spiritual being with whom you could consult while going through the humiliating process of a slave market provides promise in an otherwise hopeless situation.

I watched a Jezmyn Ward interview on the Seth Meyers show in which he described this as an “easy read.” I needed several double-takes to comprehend everything. I simultaneously thought the action was a horrifying representation of slavery and that I did not know what was going on. I had a professor to help with “Inferno,” thankfully.

Still, you will enjoy Annis as she struggles to find creative ways to have freedom. Annis finds solutions despite her struggles, some of which are too late in the book to mention here. The author based this story on the journey process instead of a sequential plot or specific destination. Dante’s classic “Inferno” qualifies as the same quirky classification.

I read for the same reason I teach: I like “A-Ha” moments. This book had them, but you had to go a long time between them. It was a grueling experience. I wanted to like it more than I did, but my comprehension started to slip, which had a detrimental effect on my interest in the characters and the storyline.

"Tom Lake" by Ann Patchett tells the story of a family that hears a long story about an actor's connection to the mother and creates nostalgia for the recent pandemic. We know what happened, but we go back and forth from the present day to the mother's acting debut, and we still have so many questions to consider.

Novels about someone telling a long story can be tricky because you must allow for details, show the listeners' impatience, and keep moving. Luckily, we have three siblings whose lives are changing rapidly. It would be best if you learned their quirks. The claustrophobia of early 2020 makes secrets come out and see the women's complicated relationship. You will keep reading because of this.

The daughters run together for the first half of the novel, so I thank the author for naming them in alphabetical order. Each has a separate set of farm goals. When one announces she does not want to have kids despite her impending marriage, conversations about the world's fate arise. It brings them all together as one.

Once the twists start coming, Patchett hooks you. All literary characters have a back story, and Nelson's Cherry Farm has them in spades. The book has a different goal than you anticipated. The segues from the past to 2020 happen seamlessly as the author writes in italics to indicate setting changes.

Someone asked me why I wrote these. I do it for the same reason I play fantasy football. I wanted to be a writer and became a teacher instead. A book like this makes you feel like you accomplished something. Learning about normal family relationships with a deeper meaning is good for the soul and brain. “Tom Lake” is that kind of novel. Please pick it up and enjoy it.