"Chenneville" by Paulette Jiles defies gender stereotypes. It has the emotional sensibilities of your best female authors and the lonely Western adventures you expect from the top male writers. Our protagonist, Jean-Louis Chenneville, suffers a massive head wound and returns home to find his sister and family murdered. It reads like a deliberate Western after the costly Civil War.

Imagine an episode of "Law and Order" set up in 1866 with a vigilante interviewing people for information instead of a police officer. Then you have angry, determined John Chenneville. He talks to any helpful soul who has a chance of knowing anything about suspected serial murderer John Dodd. His military experience with Morse Code helped him a great deal.

A novel like this requires an intriguing character since we spent so much time with John. His service and subsequent head wound provides enough engaging stories to tell the reluctant helpers. Since the mission focuses on a singular event, the author needs various techniques to keep the reader interested. You feel isolated as John in the wilderness and long, lonely roads.

Once the outcome becomes more apparent, the tension mounts. How can you assess guilt without knowing the motive or the suspects' whereabouts? Police work was challenging then. The lawlessness leads to some surprising relationships on the road that make the setting more essential to the plot. It took the nation a long time to figure out who it was postwar.

A tall man in a Western-type story with a mystique around him? Could Hollywood do this? Liam Neeson? Vince Vaughn? Joe Manganiello? I am already anxious to see the screen adaptation. Paulette Jiles writes with a distinct patience and deliberate style that I hope Hollywood will respect. If normal award-winners are too much for you, here is some true action.

“In the Time of Our History” by Susanne Pari shows what happened when two Iranian-American sisters followed entirely different paths. Literature does not always allow those from Iran their humanity. When one woman suffers an untimely death, her family unites for the “One Year,” an Iranian tradition meant to commemorate death. America in 1998 serves as our confused, transitioning backdrop.

The best books simultaneously make you experience something new and cause you to nod with recognition. Imagine returning to a city you left behind to mourn the same person. Picture a father who disowns his other daughter and cuts his child out of family pictures to drive his point home. These are typically Iranian events only Pari could have created.

I would argue that the first 100 pages are slow, but things start happening quickly after that. I cared enough about Mitra to root against some cliches happening. She has a good but unsatisfying relationship, and her decision not to have kids follows her in all her interactions. Gender roles in her society greatly influence what happens to her.

I spoke about spoilers the other day and stuck to my rule of not revealing anything that happens after the halfway point of the novel. I will say that cultures like Iranians that Americans do not fully understand will handle things as a tragedy when we do not see it that way. We do not need to agree to show empathy.

The issues raised (patriarchy, apostasy, tradition, gender rules) have existed in books before but not so convincingly. Mitra does nothing that we consider outlandish, but Iran begs to differ. Seeing how different people confront these questionable traditions makes this novel unique. It shows that the choice to question and refuse to question defines the lives of frustrated women in Iran.

“Poverty, by America” by Matthew Desmond does much research and pulls no punches. It will rev up those who blame poor people for their problems unfairly and prematurely. His previous work, “Evicted,” exposed issues in the rental industry and showed why no easy answers existed. He also reveals why both sides of the political aisle have faults in addressing disadvantages.

We live in a world where people do not trust statistics. The most important one is the percentage of increase in salary compared to the higher average rental property. From 1985 to 2022, median household income increased by 216 while home prices rose by 423. If you scoff at last, realize how hard it is to break the renting cycle.

Rent prices, since 1985, have exceeded income gains by 325 percent, making saving for a down payment on a home problematic to anyone trying to live the American Dream. Desmond talks about things as simple as how reproductive choice (birth control pills, specifically) increased the educational levels of women and how home ownership led to financial freedom, benefitting the whole society.

Desmond’s plan is ambitious and reminds us that most Americans vote in a way that benefits them personally, leaving the intent to help people experiencing poverty and integrate housing out to dry. The division of this nation is a problem because everyone thinks that only one side does it. Read the reviews of this. People did not even try.

No regular American comes off as innocent here. Some politicians give breaks to the rich when so many desperately need much more. Other ones talk about a good game and then do nothing about it. They want integration, but not in their backyard. You may agree or disagree but do not doubt how much Desmond has devoted to the topic.

“Remember Us” by Jacqueline Woodson is the kind of Young Adult Fiction that reminds you while adults seek out the genre. If your kid has any identity issues, read it. Seeing a rising seventh grader navigate her stuff while the only neighborhood she has ever known goes up in flames will inspire you and your adolescent children to face anything.

Goodreads classifies this as Historical Fiction, Middle Grade, or Young Adult, so the issues remain relevant regardless of the setting. Sage, our hero, sees herself drifting away from her friends. Even in a world where a child with a deceased father seems to populate every Pixar movie, this material seems fresh and relevant. I see it in my students daily.

I once thought I avoided Middle-Grade Literature because it was juvenile, but now it can remind you of the painful, forgotten moments from childhood. Like the underrated movie “Click” (one of the only Adam Sandler movies I liked), we learn that looking back at your youth can bring up emotions you do not want.

Sage lives in an area called “The Matchbox” due to many house fires. Since Sage’s deceased father was a firefighter, she has a complicated relationship with fires. Like any middle school student, she does not always process her confusion well. Our wisdom makes us want to shake her and get to the bottom of her latent issues.

Sage frequently mentions the “once was,” where she classifies things that no longer exist. It is as mature a way to deal with loss as possible. I encountered very little loss at that early age. Our hero reminds us how little control a middle schooler has over their circumstances and how that leads to frustration and anger. It is perfect for 11-14 year-olds, my eldest included.

"This Other Eden" by Paul Harding is a short book with a late climax. I recommend, as always, not to read the flap before enjoying it. The basic plot outline reveals things that do not happen until page 180. Explaining the plot without recognizing its primary meaning would be challenging but allow the book to run its course.

The critics mention a lot of biblical allegories, and I felt dumb that I did not recognize that, but the ending hits you like a ton of bricks in that regard. Like "Saving Private Ryan" and "Schindler's List," I acknowledge the book's greatness, but thanks to one horrifying scene, I would probably never reread this. I assume that most parents would agree.

The experts claim that Harding based this on a true story of an island off the coast of Maine populated by people of mixed-race origin. How much you resemble a person of color will determine your livelihood. People wanted you away from them but then wanted you to vacate a beautiful place. That explains race relations in the early 1900s.

For those tired of race as a primary topic, you may appreciate the subtlety of this book. No one even mentions ethnicity, much less uses a racial slur. Citizens oppress. Like "Milkman," a Booker Prize winner from about five years ago, they single out people from different lands for petty issues, leaving them nowhere to go.

After about 100 pages of character development, the novel's point hits you like a sledgehammer. It would be shocking if this occurred (since the author based this on grains of truth). As Americans studying their history would tell you, learning from the past and pushing away what we do not want to know is a constant struggle. Bravo to Paul Harding, nonetheless, for this.

“Covered with Night” is an expression among the Native American community in the 18th century to describe someone overcome with guilt. In a time when we called people “savages” to rationalize horrific treatment of them, the words meant more than you would imagine. I fixated on the part in which an accused murderer served as a translator for the plaintiff at his trial. That tells you all you need to know.

I was disappointed by the slow start since the murder happened immediately, and you get the point. Since the abuse of Native Americans is something that the average American knows, and not specifically, the book has more ways to illustrate that as it goes on. Seeing things from the perspective of a wife with her husband in jail and Native Americans encountering alcohol for the first time are just two ways that Eustace sets herself apart.

With so many tribes and languages involved in the Native American community, greater unity existed at the level of the colonists. Although this story has a singular focus, it explains other aspects of history. As a native Pennsylvanian, I could not believe how I knew places like Conestoga without knowing anything about the happenings there in 1722.

Like “Killers of the Flower Moon,” an outstanding book, you will meet a cast of characters unlike what you usually encounter in non-fiction true crime. The similarities end there, however, since Eustace takes one incident and stretches it out over an entire novel, for which she should receive praise.

People will give up this novel quickly but give it time to make its point. Not all of you will compulsively leaf through the notes and bibliography like I do, but trust that Eustace completed significantly exhaustive research considering that the topic only dealt with one event.

London, 1926. I am not a history guy, but I love that I have many friends who could tell you so much just from those details. “Shrines of Gaiety” by Kate Atkinson tells the story of a life of excess in the British club scene but gets to its point deliberately. You will not know the story for quite some time, so read no blurbs and discover its goal.

My favorite critic is an older British woman, and I agree with her often. Some books seem “too feminine,” “too British,” or “too old.” The book was all three until the story started; it was a prolonged burn, and I was confused after the first quarter. Since it is all set up, I wondered if I was missing anything. I did understand, and that is all there was at that point.

A friend told me she gave books fifty pages to see if she wanted to keep reading. “Shrines of Gaiety” takes about 150 pages. Protagonist Nellie Coker has six kids, and they all have a story. Because no one is an expert on the nightlife of London in the 1920s, Atkinson provides a great deal of background information. It rewards the patient.

You feel guilty waiting for someone to die, but once bullets start flying, the book picks up. You see the potential of wealth to find quick fixes and sweep things under the rug. The line of the book stuck with me: “You cannot make money off of your vices, but you can make money off of the vices of others.” Nellie does just that, but not everyone is what they seem.

I have often compared books to my favorite movies; the last two reminded me of “Forrest Gump” and “The Shawshank Redemption.” This book is like “The Departed,” in which every character has depth and requires a top-notch actor to deliver their message. There are many people to keep track of, but don’t let that keep you from enjoying it.

“His Name is George Floyd: One Man’s Life and the Struggle for Racial Justice” by Robert Samuels and Toluse Olorunnipa breaks “Becoming’s” record for most reviews on Goodreads by people who did not bother to read it. I write these so people can discover a new book they may enjoy. I have a loyal following of about ten people, but I am sure more fringe friends will come out of the woodwork to regurgitate TV news talking points and pass them off as original thoughts.

The author tries a narrative technique that works. He tells the incidents leading us to the infamous arrest and returns in time. We learn about Floyd’s ancestors, fatherless upbringing in Houston, and segregation that still existed in the 1970s. Teachers will recognize “that kid” with a rough background who goes down the wrong path despite promise. His life path is equal parts horrible choices, decisions, and a cycle he could not break.

I did not read this as a white man but as a teacher. Some kids lack the most basic skills, and you cannot help but wonder what happens to those kids in the real world. George Floyd did not seem to fit in academically and athletically and did not pick up skilled trades well. I have read several Facebook trolls stating that Floyd’s death shouldn’t matter because he was a criminal. He was, but those fools do not acknowledge the roadblocks that keep ex-convicts from turning their lives around.

The book required research, as with most non-fiction efforts that win awards. Interviews with those who knew Floyd and witnessed the incident had their frustrations with the lack of rehabilitation but knew many of his great qualities. His lack of a father figure and drug use set him up for failure, but most recognized that his good traits meant that he deserved to live.

Reviewing books like this is a challenge; most people who believe its message do not need more evidence, and those who do not are likely to dismiss it before even picking it up. To my conservative friends: recognize that we should acknowledge George Floyd’s humanity. To my liberal friends: as Mr. Rogers said, look for the helpers. Members of law enforcement were directly responsible for the administration of justice in this case.

“Trust” by Hernan Diaz is a lot. “Books within books” test your abilities, and you must reread a lot. That doesn’t mean it isn’t worth the work. You will feel more competent when you finish. The main character, Benjamin Rask, is wealthy and mysterious, earning a great deal on the market but remaining disdainful of excessive wealth.

The novel picks up when we learn about mental illness, solitude, and the 1929 stock market crash. Benjamin Rask navigates it so well that some of his peers hold him responsible. The part that the reader forgets is that you are reading a fictional novel about a fictional story, leaving you to doubt the reliability of the narrator and the “facts” that he presents.

When one “story” ends and another begins, the confusion doubles. You have to meet and absorb a lot of new characters, and you will not get the point right away, but the reveal is rewarding. Men in the business world will respond well to the financial aspects divulged and how they tie in with the familial strife presented by the author.

Since the novel spans a century, you will identify with some parts more than others. The third “novel” by Ida Partenza speaks of life as an Italian immigrant at the turn of the century, and I wanted more of that. For this reason, the book requires patience, but you have my word that it is worth it. A little knowledge of the stock market wouldn’t hurt, though.

Novels like “Trust” do not come around often because one could easily do them poorly. You have to do a great deal to keep the stories straight; your enjoyment will depend on how intriguing the story is. I found the presentation of contradicting facts interesting, but you had to re-learn everything.

“Black Cake” by Charmaine Wilkerson tells the story of a deceased woman who leaves behind a cake for her estranged children. You do not understand why, but the book reveals its details methodically. Wilkerson has a story to tell from the past; however, that introduces a bevy of other characters, so keep up.

The dynamic between Byron and Benny is complex, with the man being famous and thriving and the woman dropping out of school and having a relationship with a woman. Byron does not understand his sister’s aloofness, but we do. The back story with a swimmer connected to a murder intrigued me, but we did not get the connection for a while.

A big reveal/twist arrives early in the novel, but do not worry since the author will provide more characters whose tie-ins you need help identifying. A pattern of running away emerges, making you sad, but also wonder what it would be like if you could repeatedly go away and change your identity.

Stories of changed/multiple identities can be complex to follow without revealing too much. I liked the characters, so I went along, even though they solved 90 of their problems with more communication. I was frustrated by these people that I cared about.

I already have my favorites for the year, but I must give “Black Cake” the award for the most ambitious. The number of characters and twists could cause a casual reader to DNF. Stick with it, though. You will connect with the family, immigration, gender role, or mystery themes.

“Lessons in Chemistry” by Bonnie Garmus tells the story of women in the sciences in the ’50s and ’60s confronting the type of sexism we wish was hyperbole, but we probably know better. My favorite reviewer, who happens to be female, rated this one of the best of 2022, but I think your gender will directly affect how you experience the rigid roles of the day.

Elizabeth Zott, a chemist who cooks with the same passion that she does scientific experiments, works hard and pairs off with famous scientist Calvin Evans. Both are damaged and do not usually pursue relationships as a top priority. Chemistry plays a key role, as Elizabeth attacks every problem, even grief and sexism, in a search for a solution.

Since I always read the flap summary, I realized that the blurb only covers about the first 100 pages. Many trials and tribulations await Mrs. Zott, and she has predictable results in unpredictable ways. We understand early on that the theme of sexism will permeate the story, but we do not know the depths and the subtle changes over the years.

Our heroine walks backward into a hosting gig on a local cooking show, and she becomes an overnight success. She deserves happiness after a laundry list of bad news came her way. Nonetheless, the plotline follows a predictable pattern since her failure would not have made for much of a story. Since I liked Elizabeth, I went along for the ride willingly.

The Internet shows varied reactions to the book, some inspired by the feminist message and others annoyed by the Zott character. Elizabeth has no filter, and that makes for fun reading. It takes a turn at the beginning of the last quarter, but I enjoyed it and thought it probably represented the ‘50s and ‘60s for female scientists well.

“Peach Blossom Spring” by Melissa Fu starts in a haphazard, chaotic way that only tales of war can. China is under siege by the Japanese, and the war tears Renshu’s family apart in more ways than one. American history classes did not talk much about this, so there is no shame if you are learning about it for the first time.

The novel starts as a tale of a horrific but oddly familiar war-torn nation. As China exits World War II only to enter a rift with itself, things pick up as Renshu and his mother, Meilin, fight to survive.

Meilin fights to shield her growing son from the horrors of their civil war, but they struggle to find money. She lands a job at an emporium, which works until the Nationalists lose their wealth to spend on such extravagances. Even though she is a seamstress, a man assumes he has the right to rape her because she worked in an emporium.
Since the story spans decades, the family has multiple obstacles to overcome as China goes from one conflict to the other.

A brilliant scroll that Meilin possesses drives the beginning of the story. It has many inspiring stories, but one that stands out asks, “How do you know this is not a blessing?” every time something tragic happens. Renshu begins to think positively after each trial and tribulation as a result. After all of this, you start to root for the characters, even when cliché parts about the ultimate dream being a trip to America occur. Meilin was one of my favorite characters this year.

I connect “Peach Blossom Spring” to “Homegoing” because it sweeps through history and covers a significant period. To go through two wars and then experience the Kennedy assassination as an outsider covers a great deal of the Chinese and American experience. The best moments come between Renshu and his mother. I will not dare reveal the events later in the novel, but the strong character development made me want the best for our heroes.

The immigrant experience, which I can only imagine, feels authentic here, and we see both sides of the internal debate. Do you flee from a nation of strife, or do you stick to the culture you know and love? Seeing China through America’s eyes is a challenge. Seeing the political drama that faces mixed-race people is tough since we sometimes assume that only America has that problem. You will learn and understand so much more about Chinese life.

"Africa Is Not a Country" by Dipo Faloyin starts by explaining what Africa is not. As with people who have taken a safari or done missionary work, it is easy to forget that cities and organized towns exist where no touristy activities occur. More to the point, assuming that places lack their own culture just because someone conquered them 200 years ago damages a country's reputation. When those imperialist countries draw random borders and separate ethnic groups, the problem grows.

The West's impression of Africa drives the novel, as even philanthropic efforts damaged the continent's reputation as a dark place with backward people. The term "White Savior Complex" may be overused, but the author shows how the United States tends to oversimply with its desire to help. In a land with seven different dictatorships that are all different, Africa needs help that would best occur locally as the citizens know which areas need help and which are doing fine.

Faloyin dedicates much time to demonstrating how seven African dictatorships existed for vastly different reasons. He finds democracy to serve as the solution for these countries but argues that citizens should solve those problems instead of thinking that the answers come from white Europeans. With 48 countries on the mainland, it saddens me to realize that Muammar Gaddafi's actions could make Americans avoid and stereotype a whole continent.

A fellow reviewer described this book as a "collection of eight essays" instead of chapters, making the transition from dictatorships to Hollywood's horrible depiction of Africa make sense. They focus on wilderness and do not give African towns a personality or Africans their storylines. He credits "Black Panther" (no surprise) and "Coming to America" (minor shock) as films that allowed Africa to develop a unique personality, despite Wakanda and Zamunda being fictional.

It all adds up to a cultural experience like no other. So many of us have studied abroad and learned that the most exciting thing about different continents is how they go about their business in such similar ways. Africa has fought to maintain its identity while generations of pillagers have stolen from them. Come for a different perspective but stay for the celebration of Jollof Rice and the introduction of travel options you did not know you had. Call some "shithole" countries if you want, but no blanket statement you make covers them all.

"The Colony" by Audrey Magee tells the story of a small island off the coast of Ireland. It reads like a poem with short, choppy one-line sentences, proving that those in the UK are likelier to honor a book with a unique narrative structure. I enjoyed it, mainly as the bond between visiting artist Mr. Lloyd and native islander James develops, but it adds up to a much quicker read than its 376 pages suggest. Magee's style is hers and hers alone.

Mr. Lloyd and Jean-Pierre Masson both visit the island with very different goals. One wanted a quiet place to draw, and another was to study the language and keep it alive. Of course, the two men share a tiny space. The linguist's desire to keep the language alive and the artist's desire for a vacation spot that has evolved slightly find themselves immediately at odds. The love of tradition and the willingness to change will also barely conflict with each other.

The three conflicted souls, James (given name Seamus, as Jean-Pierre insists on calling him), Jean-Pierre, and Mr. Lloyd, focus on the part of their lives that they hold dear. Protecting their art, language, and future are their singular goals. Due to the story's timing, the author regularly takes to non-connected stories about men killed in the IRA conflict. The islanders live disconnected from these troubles, but the incidents show how the language and culture are also dying.

The family on the island repeatedly says that they do not discuss politics on the island when the murders come up. Religion as the basis for the violence makes the conversation even more difficult. It makes the bickering about the language seem trivial. For that reason, I was a little anxious for the stories of the murders and our guests to mesh together since the arguing about the language became repetitive after a while. I felt we were supposed to agree with the linguist, but he came off as petulant.

That is not to say that isn't a lot of good stuff here. You could learn a lot about the significance of art, family, and tradition. I enjoyed the artist's apprentice theme and visual imagery. The author even had a way of building suspense over a large canvas. “The Colony” will be the quickest 370-page read of your life.

“Remarkably Bright Creatures” by Shelby Van Pelt starts with an animal as a main character, and if you have seen “The Shape of Water,” your first fear is a recreation of that quirky top twist. We alternate chapters between Tova, an aquarium custodian, and an octopus. Because we accept this as a work of fiction, we go along, despite our doubts, about which aquarium dwellers would have the best mind for crime-solving and why Van Pelt chose the eight-legged one.

Cameron, a third character, has a bad breakup and loses his job. Now, we have three lives that need to intersect, and it does not take long for you to care about them. Tova’s misanthropic characteristics somehow make her more intriguing. The incident when all three of these remarkably different characters come together happens early in the novel but still qualifies as an “a-ha” moment. Each is a bright creature in its way, and they will surprise you.

An octopus as an omniscient narrator sounds like a hokey idea, but Van Pelt makes it work. As the winner of BookBrowse’s Best Debut, it is unique and not surprisingly like nothing you have read. Van Pelt most likely has a few more stories in her. I read a few reviews that stated how horrible of a human being Cameron is, but that shows you how skilled Van Pelt is. Loveable idiots are hard to produce, so I credit the author. She also creates chapter titles that mean nothing until you read, a tactic that works like the “Frasier” TV show.

Predicting endings or twists is not my skill set, but I saw this coming. It did not take away from my enjoyment since the characters meant so much to me then. How would the average person respond in the face of so much loss? Tova leads the novel as a woman who goes about her business in life because what else can she do? Marcellus, the Giant Pacific Octopus, has the advantage of knowing everything as a literary device in which we see the tragedy behind the character’s ignorance.

It is too early to predict that this will be the best of the year, and I cannot see anything passing up this and “In Love.” The story arc travels at the right pace, and I did not want to put it down. All three main characters had nothing in common with me, but I still related to them. When everything starts coming together and you see the finish line, you cannot help but feel relief and pity simultaneously. You took this journey with all three of them and hoped for closure.

“Then the War” by Carl Phillips will remind you of high school English class, not in a good way. I wanted someone to explain it and get it over with. Some of the images are pleasant and deep, but I did not understand enough to recommend them, and what I did understand took so many re-reads that it seemed like a chore.

A 22-page entry called “Among the Trees” works so well that it redeems the first part, as Phillips explores how we use the forest to conceal and escape—nature as a metaphor motif has permeated poetry for generations, and the audiobook does that justice.

There is a great deal of skill here, as Phillips makes points and casually makes sexual references that come out of nowhere. Understanding his work will require a lot of re-reads, and how motivated you are to do that will most likely determine your enjoyment.

The book is my least favorite of the last five Pulitzer poetry winners, but I do not think I am the target audience. Many poets tend to be gay men and have a unique perspective on things that authors tend to dance around, so I am glad that their demographic exists.

Phillips teaches poetry at Washington University in St. Louis, and I would like to take his class to figure out how to communicate this way. Some of the images are beautiful. It doesn’t add up to something I can recommend or expect to turn non-believers on to poetry.

“Stay True” by Hua Hsu won the Pulitzer this year for Memoir/Autobiography, a new category I was excited to see. It is partly about being the son of immigrants, part a recollection of the 90s and part about grief and loss. The children of immigrants will relate to the beginning, and any 90s kids will identify with the alternative music zines the author writes.

Hsu develops a friendship with Ken that you will recognize from your college days: he is too “preppy” and “cookie-cutter,” but they form a bond based on proximity. If you went to college in the mid-1990s, their pop culture conversations would make you cringe with recognition, but the philosophy discussions are beyond anything I produced in those days.

As a college student in that decade, I struggled to find an identity through music. I liked the popular songs by edgy bands, and Hua struggles to reconcile liking what others do. My age bracket may relate to this more than others. 90s kids struggled to find an appropriate identity and blend in without conforming. It sounds paradoxical, but to me, it made sense.

When we reach the halfway point, where Hua and Ken are still discussing music, philosophers, and film, we realize that the writer focuses on life instead of death. When the deadly carjacking occurs, we have already grown attached to Ken and see why this untimely demise hit Hua so hard. He already illustrated why Ken had so much promise.

If you had not read the flap, you would not have known what was coming, and the climax would have hit harder; nonetheless, you miss Ken and realize that the songs and movies would forever remind Hua of him. After the death of a friend, how do you find meaning in the rest of the world when your loss makes everything seem secondary?

“Take My Hand” by Dolen Perkins-Valdez features a nurse who works with sexual and reproductive health that receives the odd task of injecting birth control into eleven and fourteen-year-old sisters. Again, we go back and forth between the past and the present, foreshadowing that something went wrong with that arrangement.

I have to give an odd moment of props to the summary writers on the flap because they keep most of the plot points a secret. Of course, once the story progresses, you see where it is going, but that happens organically. Civil, the nurse, tries to help the kids and their families by giving them a new apartment, clothes, and cleaning supplies but finds out that the decision to provide them with birth control shots causes them more harm than good.

As with most Jim Crow novels set in the 1970s, I had to question how close to reality this fiction lived seriously. If such experimental procedures existed specifically on Black Americans, how recently did that occur? If they decided on a tubal ligation for little Erica and India before they even had relations (or their periods, for that matter), where did one draw the line about what was too intrusive for people with low incomes?

Like most award-winning novels about hard times and dark periods in our nation’s history, “Take My Hand” takes the opportunity to find positivity just as the characters do. Erica and India went through hell but still acted like kids. However, when we realize that the problem goes much deeper, we enter a legal drama to address a widespread problem in which health organizations play God and deem others unfit to reproduce.

A co-worker whose opinion I trust said that I read the most depressing stuff. When you pick award-winners, you will get a hold of the Holocaust, civil rights, and war. I like what they make me think about. If the world thought involuntary sterilization was acceptable in the 70s, we must question how much fiction was. It changes the whole abortion debate, too, not that I ever want to have that conversation.

“Daughters of the Flower Fragrant Garden” by Zhuqing Li tells the story of two sisters who end up on opposite sides of the Chinese Civil War of the 1930s but still succeed in life. However, like any war book worth its salt, you do not take sides and recognize the hardship of finding out that you and your sibling now live in separate countries for reasons that are neither your fault nor your concern.

Jun takes a teaching job in Taiwan and sides with the Nationalists, while her sister Hong marries a bigwig in the Communist Party and cuts off all communication with Jun, as remaining neutral is not an option. Both women start as somewhat apolitical, but Jun finds an opportunity to write speeches for a top member of the National Party, and leaving the island becomes an impossibility during the war.

Min and Jun’s marriage becomes complicated when Min’s son from a previous marriage returns after showing signs of sympathizing with the Nationalists and receiving a beating because of it, putting his father in danger for giving him money. On the other hand, Hong saves lives and becomes a national hero until people learn of her connections to someone from the “other side” and use that as an excuse to ransack her home.

The Nationalist/Communist debate could go on all day, and the paranoid “re-education” system of the Communists will frighten you. Still, you cannot primarily relate to a world where someone takes someone’s medical license away, forcing them to farm. So Jun and Hong find ways to make their situation work for them, which ends up more inspiring than sad in a land where women have limited opportunities.

I did not know much about this conflict; it shocked me that some of my friends’ parents lived through it. But unfortunately, the United States did not seem to have a complete grasp on what side they were on at times. Jun and Hong make great heroes, though, as they find ways to help out their fellow beings in a time when their superiors want to dictate their every move. Those looking for success with business and medical innovation will find inspiration.

“The Story of Russia” by Orlando Figes has a wealth of information about Russian history and recognizes that it is more complex than most realize; for example, the book contains a lot of maps, and you will need them to describe the provinces at different points throughout history. But, as is the case with historical summaries like this, the author can either err on the side of being too accessible for history buffs or too detailed for the casual reader: Figes chooses the latter, and you will learn something.

I am reasonably well-informed, but the 1500s are not my strong suit. Nevertheless, hearing about a period in which leaders and the clergy worked in unison, and tsars quoted the bible to rationalize their crimes was sobering.

The sheer volume of religious conflicts and wars was shocking. In the 1600s, when the West began to acknowledge that Russia had power, many deaths occurred, leaving citizens to know nothing but that life.

Russia had the unique position of affecting European and Asian life. As they attempted to expand materialistically, they embraced foreigners but banished Jews in the late 1700s, possibly changing the sentiments of Europe. When culture and religious wars heat up in the 1850s, Figes achieves the tricky balance of respecting the Russian viewpoint while still painting a picture of revolution and violence.

If I were to judge public sentimentality by my social media feed, people are fascinated by the philosophy of Marxism but hate Communism. But, of course, you can do both and remain fascinated by the events that led to Lenin’s ascent to power. I had no idea that so many different groups opposed each other in the time of World War I and the Russian Revolution. Their methods of propaganda do not differ much from today’s.

My biggest weakness when posting these on social media is obsessing over what my conservative and liberal friends will think. Fear not. Figes views Communism as a fast-rising phenomenon and goes into great detail as to how it failed. I am amazed by how much I did not know about Lenin and Stalin. If anything, it created empathy in me for the Russian people, as so many lived under poor leadership without any knowledge or capacity to fix it.