I must start by saying that I have never considered myself to be a "horse" person. Therefore, I was a little surprised to find myself enjoying this book as much as I did! While the premise of the story was a bit unbelievable, I was ultimately the most touched by the observations of and discussions among the animals, Penny's musings while isolated from her family, and the gentle reminders about how to be a good person. Simple, yet moving and profound for me.

Parts of the story were little a confusing at times-it felt like sometimes the author thought we knew more than we did. Eventually, the connections were made, and it all clicked. This worked for me because truly, the mystery was secondary to the lessons learned by the pony as he let down his guard, opened himself up, and made amends for his mistakes. Lessons we all need to learn.

I'm so grateful to have received this book-requested specifically because I knew so little about Haiti, other than as a country embroiled in constant turmoil and disaster.
It took me a long time to read because I often found myself putting the book down to research the events being described.

Sadly, the situation in Haiti was/is even worse than I imagined. The depth of Haiti's troubles really hit me as Fountain described the intake process at the hospital. My heart hurts. His knowledge on the subject is vast!

Yet, Fountain also shows the resilience of the Haitian people and their refusal to give up on their country, specifically for me through three characters affected far less than the rest of population. Both Misha and Alix had the opportunity to leave the country, but they didn't. Misha even abandoned her Ph.D. studies to begin working in a hospital. Dr. Jean keeps his hospital up and running, applying for grants and just showing up every day.

I think there are a lot of devils in Haiti's history, and it is apparent that making deals with them is a dangerous game.

First, I want to state that my review does not negate the relevance and importance of a book such as All You Have To Do Is Call. I am immensely grateful that Kerri Maher told the story of the Jane Network, as I had no idea of its existence. What an inspiration these six are! My biggest complaint is that the book moved too slowly for me. I stopped. I started. I stopped. I restarted... I wanted to feel more urgency as I read, as the overturning of Roe v. Wade has reignited passionate feelings across the country. I wanted the book to land a powerful punch! And even though it didn't for me, it is important enough of an issue that I will recommend it to others.

Here is what was done very well, in my opinion. Maher presented several different female personalities-woman with varying degrees of education, from different socio-economic situations, married, single, conservative, liberal, and of all races. The issue of abortion affects all women whether we realize it or not. I liked how everyone came together despite their differences to support, strengthen, and learn from one another.

I was fascinated by the time frame of this novel - Vietnam, just before the Vietnam War. And I love Montana as a setting for anything. Unfortunately, the book did not overwhelm me in the way I hoped it would. The whole premise of the story, Barbara's disappearance, seemed odd - I never bought into her her just taking off without telling anyone - except her friend, who conveniently kept her mouth shut until after sleeping with Barbara's brother. (And after that deceit and two-ish letters, they get married?!) I found the dialogue between characters unnatural. It felt stunted and awkward. I actually cringed as I read parts of it. I did appreciate the details about how the search was handled. However, even that seemed too convenient, what with everyone involved knowing just the right person who could also become involved. How do you just find a guy walking around LA to bring him to the police station? The author also provided a lot of unnecessary details in my mind. Descriptions went on too long. I think there was a lot of "telling" instead of "showing" that just bogged down the story.

Initially, I was a bit confused by the "timeline" of "Sisters of the Lost Nation". Once I figured it out, it served to drive the story to its powerful climax. It also generated intense feelings as I read, knowing more than the characters did. As powerless as I felt, unable to stop the bullying, the rebellious and reckless behavior, and ultimately the disappearance of more than one member of the Takoda Reservation, the strength of Anna, and her unwavering belief in the old ways of her people as a means of healing kept my anxiety in check.

Anna is an unlikely heroine, as she is constantly harassed by her sister, fellow students, and many adults in her life. Yet she has a reservoir of strength, thanks to the importance of storytelling and her belief that her community is stronger when they remember the people and the teachings that have come before them. Throughout this novel, those beliefs even allow Anna to heal herself, becoming a more confident and able young woman as a result.

Sisters of the Lost Nation effectively addresses many important issues that affect Native Americans - racism, addiction, sudden influx of wealth, missing/murdered women, and cellphones vs. oral storytelling. The only "horror" I would associate with this novel, is the bad treatment many indigenous people still endure. We learn that sometimes, the answers we seek are no further away than a book on a forgotten shelf. Simplistic? Not when you consider that storytelling is about problem solving.

First off, what an amazing look at this point in time in history. I was fascinated by the history of emancipation in British controlled territory, in territories not often written about. After reading this novel, it is obvious there is still so much I do not know about slavery. I am so grateful to Eleanor Shearer for telling this story through the eyes and heart of a mother.

The hard labor, the beatings, the lack of medical care and enough food, having freedom given and then taken away—these injustices are horrific enough. Then add losing the only people to bring you hope and joy… someone hurting your babies and not being able to do a thing to stop it…

This was a powerful story of a mother reclaiming what is hers. Forty years is a long time to live without hope. Rachel shows us what one small sliver can become. Shearer's prose is beautiful, and it wrapped itself around my heart like a song.

The coming of age story of young Vale moved a bit to slowly for my liking. Obviously, this was an important and memorable time period for the main character, as the entire book was based on her memories of this time. However, It was difficult for me to feel Vale's angst and empathize with her during this time-even though I understand the complexities of relationships among women, especially between mothers and daughters. It seemed to me that in many instances, the book lacked essential background information or context for me to fully feel a part of it.

I found the prose beautiful and was particularly moved by a recollected conversation Vale had with her mother near the very end of the book. The "aha moment" just arrived a little too late for me.

A very funny thing happened to me days before I sat down to read "Some of It Is Real". I was asked to be a palm reader at a Mardi Event that would raise money for student scholarships. How could I say no, right? The only problem was that I had no idea how to read palms and just a week to prepare.

I opted to go the "not so serious" route, so I wasn't at all surprised that Thomas' character was out to prove psychics are con artists. In fact, I was amazed by his research into the methods psychics may use to be more effective, such as checking the social media accounts of attendees. This was an aha moment for me, like discovering how a magician actually does his tricks. And in my own role as a palm reader, I couldn't help chuckling at the people who told me I was spot on or that I gave them goosebumps.

Yet... haven't we all experienced a tingling sensation at some point in our lives, or known something, or felt or seen something that we can't rationally explain?

The author did an excellent job of bringing both sides of the argument to a "happy medium", or at least, she opened the door for me to be more open and imagine the possibilities.

I struggled with the secrets kept about who Syvie really was and how deeply conflicted her relationship with her adoptive parents was. That wasn't as genuine to me as the exploration of her craft. However, the message about following your true passions and trusting who you are was a definite strength and a point very well received.

Matt Bell has truly written an epic story of climate change, man's relationship with the world and its resources, and ethics in science. I appreciate the genius of his imagination, but I often found myself confused as he used elements of fantasy, dystopia, AND science fiction. I had to work harder as I read to make connections, I also spent way to much time asking myself "Why a faun?" If Bell provided the answer, I sure missed it! I felt there were a few gaps in Bell's storytelling; he rushed through some seemingly important parts while providing excruciating details in other sections that didn't necessarily add to the story for me. His characters' ideas/problem solving to combat climate change and save the world was incredible! (But I sure hope we don't have to rely on their plan!) 3.5 stars

Unlikely alliances, meticulous planning, out of the box thinking, deep family love, and more money than God are STILL almost no match for men of privilege. I admit to feeling discouraged throughout the book, specifically by "the ol' good boy network" and the fact that this is still even a thing.

Dirk Wittenborn has created four incredibly strong, incredibly different female characters who joinn forces to expose one man and his horrible behavior, but end up discovering a NETWORK of men and THEIR horrible behavior, protected by money, class, and one another. What the men will do to preserve their privilege is unnerving (and disgusting and disappointing), but also, sadly, somewhat believable.

Wittenborn effectively turned his setting into a powerful character as well. Breathtakingly beautiful and equally harsh, nature and place played a role in the in the fight for truth and justice.

While there were moments of predictability, The Stone Girl provided plenty of twists and turns that kept me emotionally engaged with the characters, the setting, and the message.

Diaz offers a gut wrenchingly honest and unapologetic look at her life, the people, and the places that shaped her. Her title implies that the way she and her friends lived was "ordinary", or perhaps more common than we think. "All those people, they just didn't get that there was no way in hell we could care about homework, or getting to school on time- -or at all- -when our parents were on drugs or getting stabbed, and we were getting arrested or jumped or worse." When WILL we get it?

Diaz's memoir reads somewhat frantically - I could feel the beat of the music she danced to, the fists pounding against her, the heart racing fear she experienced, the alcohol flowing down her throat... I felt myself bobbing up and down as I read about the highs and lows in her life.

I wished she hadn't glossed over the moments of sheer strength and perseverance she found deep inside her to escape the cycle of addiction, violence, and mental illness because her achievements, in light of all she faced, are anything but ordinary.

After reading several emotionally tense books as of late, I needed the sweet simplicity of Ellie and the Harpmaker. I wish I was as eloquent as Dan in my description of the world around me! I loved how the words he used floated through the air like music and wrapped themselves around my heart- -and obviously, Ellie's too!

What I struggled with here was all the DRAMA required for Ellie to be okay with realizing and then accepting that her experiences in the harp barn and with an honest, open, creative individual had changed her. Ellie's husband, Clive, was what she needed at one point in her life. As Ellie opened herself to new experiences, what she needed and saw for her life took a different form. I think she should have been allowed to choose that without such extreme consequences. Those extreme consequences felt too over the top for me. For example, there is very little mention or evidence of Clive's excessive drinking throughout the book, until he is a full blown alcoholic downing bottles of whiskey in a matter of days.

In spite of a climax that just felt too overdone for me, this is a book I would definitely recommend--if for nothing else than the beautiful gift of the author's description of what is right in front of us when we take the time to see it.

Ana finds that the better life she dreamed of for her family in the United States is not necessarily so. True, they are safe from rebels and the army and the racial discrimination so pervasive in Peru due to where one is born and what blood runs through veins. And yes, there is a greater opportunity for Ana and Lucho's children. But life as an undocumented immigrant IS NOT easy. There is no welfare check, no food stamps, no subsidized housing, no free insurance as some would have us believe. And a hidden existence leads to stress, worries, and constant fear. Relationships deteriorate as the sole focus becomes on survival. I appreciated this book very much for showing that getting to a "better" place is only half the battle--

The number one determining factor for me in choosing a book is the setting. I love learning about places I have never been or know very little about. And, yes, some of the things I learn about new places are tough, and heartbreaking, and they make me angry. But the unhappy, ugly, heartbreaking stories MUST BE TOLD too.

The book moved slowly for me. And it worked. In a land of hot, humid, oppressive heat, stories take longer to tell. And Claire Adam told it beautifully. She didn't show us the glorious warmth of a beach vacation. This heat was suffocating. It held me down. It made me uncomfortable. That is powerful writing.

And it built until it exploded- -into a horrific crisis for an entire family, but particularly for the father, who was forced to make a decision no parent should have to. And then later for a son and brother who really knew the true cost of his dream.

I was not at all sure what to expect from this novel, in fact, I almost did not participate in this go around because I was not sure any of the offered titles would appeal to me as a reader. Whoa! Am I glad I tried something out of my comfort zone. And two weeks after finishing this story I am still deeply moved. And honestly, a tad raw.

I'm not sure if my reaction to this book had to do with the fact that I was spending more time than usual with my own mother while I was reading it, giving me the chance to be more contemplative of my family and Rafiq's. Maybe Fatima Farheen Mirza just put everything I felt as a child (teen, young adult, parent) into such eloquent, rich, powerful prose--I was lulled in by the beauty of her words and forced to examine them more closely, and as a result, myself.

I related strongly to her Haida, always striving to meet the expectations of her family, even if she was not true to herself. Similarly I identified with Amir, the younger, rebellious brother who struggled to be accepted for himself; he did not want to meet the expectations of others, but to be true to himself. Mirza showed me something about myself in both of these characters that I was ignoring or minimizing; and she did so beautifully.

And just when I thought I could take no more, we heard from Rafiq, the father. My heart was ripped out again as I thought of my relationship with my own son and how my actions, reactions, and decisions could have (okay did) affect him.

This was a powerful book for me personally, and that happens rarely. The time the author took to weave her story, the attention she paid to her word choice, the beauty of her writing, will surely have a profound affect on others whether the reader recognizes him/herself or not in the pages.

Fierro does a remarkable job creating tension in this book from the get go. It kept building and building. I wanted it to end just so I could breathe! At the same time I didn't because it was so apparent something horrific would occur. In spite of my "knowing", I was shocked by the ending. Fierro's beautiful prose, vivid descriptions, and glimpses into the different "realities" of various characters from their own viewpoints allow her reader to feel the unsettledness of the story deeply.

It took me three different tries to finally get through Jacob's section, which, unfortunately, was the beginning of the book. The writing seemed cumbersome and indulgent; overly (and unnecessarily) wordy. The author seemed to relax as he made his way into the telling of Edith's and Moses' stories. I found myself more engaged at this point. I did not find myself laughing at parts that were probably supposed to be funny, and it was difficult for me to empathize with the various family members the entire 402 pages. At some point, one must take responsibility for his own life, regardless of damage inflicted by parents.

First of all, I absolutely love the setting and historical aspects of this novel. The author's description of the community and ranching lifestyle are what kept me engaged. In spite of those descriptions, however, many of the characters seemed flat or one-dimensional to me. Not one of them "jumped" off of the page and "grabbed" me like I really wanted them to. I felt very little emotional attachment to any of them. I'm still trying to figure out the author's purpose for adding the 1985 crime. It didn't add to the story in any way for me; rather I found it distracting, unconnected, and unnecessary.

I truly did really want to love this book. Unfortunately, I didn't. For the most part the characters were flat and one dimensional. The historical context was a mere backdrop and seemed unnecessary-it neither added or took away from the story. For me the book did not realize it's potential. It worked as a beach read, which is exactly where I read it.

This memoir just didn't do it for me. Just because you know writers doesn't necessarily mean you are a writer too. I found the writing dull-like Neltje was just going through the motions-emphasizing the unfortunate aspects of her fortunate life. There was a lack of connectedness for me as she described the lack of love from her parents, her sexual abuse, and the alcoholism. the writing was rather rote without much emotion. Just as Neltje seemed on the brink of disclosing a feeling or making a discovery, she shut it down. I got the sense that Neltje was much more at peace with who she is now, and that made for much better writing and a much better story.