Author: Diane

Parents of a teenage daughter, Arturo and Alma brought her to the United States to attend a good special education school on the advice of her doctors.  Beloved Maribel had been in an accident that left her brain damaged – but how seriously and permanently no one could say.  The parents gave up their home, his successful construction business, their relatives and friends to seek help for their daughter.  They became immigrants, legal aliens. He had a work visa and a job.

This novel is an excellent depiction of the loneliness and hardships of immigrant life but also the comfort and help they receive from their neighbors from Panama, Puerto Rico, or Nicaragua, many of whom are now permanent citizens. There is a wonderful scene when, at Christmas, the heat goes out in the apartment building. The residents, natives of hot weather countries, cram into one small apartment to try to forget the cold, and end up experiencing the friendship and fun they used to have at home. We begin to see “them” not as immigrants, but as people with universal concerns – how can I meet new friends? how can I pay my rent if I lose my job? how can I make the best decision for my child?

Two characters tell the main story from their individual perspectives.  Others also speak, thereby widening our view of why people leave their home countries and how they manage when they get here.  In this way, each person expresses him/herself and we get to “know” the Americans in the title.

I especially like how tightly constructed the plot is. Every situation and every character is important; there is neither padding nor rambling on.  This spare well-told story starts with one immigrant family, enlarges to the general immigrant experience, and ends with a powerful statement about the precariousness of life, somthing all humanity has in common.

Her ex-husband William rents a house and takes her to Maine where they shelter during the pandemic.  Lucy talks about what that fear and isolation are like, how her daughters are coping, the few people they meet.  It is low key, but out of a combination of action and memory arise life questions – and some answers – from a warm and perceptive thinker.  I like her books!

The first new fact was that libraries send books to troops during wartime.  I had never thought about the downtime from fighting and that soldiers would appreciate a respite from anxiety or boredom. Lolling around reading books and combat just didn’t go together in my mind.

So, I learned something from the novel The Paris Library by Janet Skeslien Charles. The not-in-character ending spoiled the story, but I liked the information. During WWII, The American Library in Paris, the largest English language library in Europe, stayed open. The intrepid staff kept it going, sending books to troops all over the world plus offering solace to Nazi occupied Paris.

The main thrust of the article, published during Banned Book Week, is that in the 1940s, patriotic Americans were considered those willing to donate unabridged, uncensored books to the military. Also, special paperbacks were published that would easily fit into a pocket.

“The paperbacks were intended to help soldiers pass the time. But they were also meant to remind them what they were fighting for and draw a sharp contrast between American ideals and Nazi book burnings.” 

While I thought the novel was just ok, I was interested in its subject, the subtle prejudice and dehumanization of being a type who always lives among gongs, dragons, chop suey, and kung fu.

As I was reading the book, I found an ad referring to a more overt prejudice against Asians, hate crimes on public transportation. Café Maddy Cab is an organization in NYC formed to protect Asian women and the elderly from harrassment by providing free cab rides to those in need.

I wish the two subjects, soldiers at war and prejudice against Asians, weren’t so current. I wish the definition of patriotic wouldn’t have been co-opted and changed since the 40s and the feelings towards Asians would have been updated and changed.

It is cherry picking time in Michigan.  It is also the pandemic and Joe and Lara’s three adult daughters are sheltering with them at their cherry orchard.  Picking crews are scarce so the whole family goes out from morning till night to bring in the crop.  To help pass the time, the daughters persuade their mother to talk about a brief time in her life when she was an actress having an affair with an actor who became a famous movie star.  How could she have left the glamorous life of the theater and him to marry a cherry farmer? 

When she was in her 20s, Lara had the lead role, Emily, in Thornton Wilder’s Our Town.  It was summer stock in Michigan; she was made for the part; the sun was hot; the lake was clear; the cherries were ripe; she was in love. But as in Our Town, the idyll came to an end. 

There is, however, a second love story in Tom Lake. Lara, now in her 50s, has been happily married to her much more than cherry farmer for a long time and has no doubts about her choices. Her husband and their daughters, the friendship and continuity of farm life, the bounty of the cherries, the pleasures of ordinary life, all more than hold their own for her.  The two stories, thirty years apart, intermingle, sometimes in the same paragraph, but the timelines are chronological and  easy to follow.

 I wonder if Patchett, who loves Our Town, thought about a “what-if” scenario and wrote Tom Lake to give Our Town a happy ending.  Lara, Joe, and their three children live the life George and Emily wanted, but didn’t get, in the play.  The titles are even similar – two short words – same number of letters.

There is a second famous play that inhabits Tom Lake.  After all, it is a cherry orchard they live on, not a wheat farm or cattle ranch. How does Anton Chekov’s The Cherry Orchard, about social upheaval in Russia, fit into rural Michigan?  In both plays, the families must confront the eventual loss of their beloved cherry trees.  At the end of Chekov’s play, the orchard, in the family for generations, must be sold to pay debts. In Tom Lake, global warming threatens the trees and Joe and Lara’s children look towards having to replace them with a different crop.

It isn’t necessary to be familiar with the plays to enjoy the book, but the overlap of themes and techniques is lots of fun to spot and adds an interesting layer.  The texts of both are easy to find online and free.

In 1930s prewar Japan, Masuji Ono belongs to a school of painters who record the world of the pleasure districts.  Here, at night, men live in camaraderie and good spirits, laughing, drinking, basking in the praise and flattery from the women who work there. True, all disappears in the morning, but it was real for a time, and shouldn’t its beauty be recognized? 

But times change. War is coming and Ono rethinks the kind of art he should be making. His paintings change to sharp militaristic images that support Japan’s quest for power.  He is rewarded for his patriotism and savors his success.

As the book opens, the war has been over for two years and the artist is looking back on that decision. Was he wrong to use his talent to encourage aggression? It seemed so right at the time. The image of lanterns flickering “causing one picture to fade into shadow and another to appear” is the metaphor used for passing time and changing perspective. The story is told in non-chronological flashbacks, as memories surface.

To balance this philosophical main plot is a secondary one exposing the less pleasant customs of Japanese life. Ono’s family is involved in marriage negotiations for his younger daughter. Both families hire detectives to ferret out anything unfavorable, either socially or financially, about the potential partner’s relatives. There is an obsession with status and appearance; there is pride and fear of making a mistake; nothing is said about love.

But it is the men’s disrespectful view of the women that is the most appalling. Grandfather says to his grandson, “What a nuisance these women are…Tell those women…” He is speaking to the child about the little boy’s own mother and aunt.

As befits a novel about an artist, the book is filled with beautiful imagery, the floating changing worlds and the flickering glow of lanterns.  Even the presentation of the physical hardback book is striking.  It is totally lime green, including the edges of the pages. The unusual setting, Japan under American occupation so soon after the war, adds another layer of interest.  I liked this complex thought-provoking book. 

The title of the play, Morning’s at Seven, comes from the poem “Pippa’s Song,” by Robert Browning.  But he has the sweet song sung by a child.  Just a bit too sentimental for the adult world?

The year’s at the spring, And day’s at the morn; 						
Morning’s at seven; The hill-side’s dew-pearl’d; 							
The lark’s on the wing; The snail’s on the thorn; 							
God’s in His heaven - All’s right with the world!

She says it will be “Ordinary” Barbie, not a president nor an astronaut, just an ordinary woman, because that is enough. Alas, that new doll is only in the movies.

The good news is that it has been published as a book; the bad is that it is now on the “restricted” or banned list at a Florida school because of just one parent’s complaint. “It might cause confusion,” she says. 

We've braved the belly of the beast.
We've learned that quiet isn't always peace,
And the norms and notions of what "just is"
Isn't always justice.

As it gained speed and howled through tinder dry forests it fanned the many existing small fires into an inferno that came to be known as the Big Burn.  

After meticulous research, Egan wrote what reads like a firsthand account of the fire that destroyed three million acres of forest, Wild West mining towns, timber camps, isolated family cabins.  The fire claimed the lives of idealistic young forest rangers, immigrants, drunks, convicts, men who barely knew how to hold an axe, all who tried to try to control what turned into a roaring wall of flame.

The Forest Service was five years old.  Teddy Roosevelt, Gifford Pinchot, and John Muir were the spearheads of a seminal change. New words and concepts: conservation, public lands, national parks, had just come into existence.  As always, the progressive view of helping the many slammed into the greed of the few.  The robber barons were used to old growth timber for the taking.  How, as a result of a catastrophic fire, Americans came to view forests as something worth conserving for all citizens, is the second subject of the book.

As the book ends (2009), environmentalists (a still newer word) are rethinking the role of fire and how to live with it. That we have a very long way to go is evidenced by the many wildfires and heavy smoke throughout the country these last few years, including the disaster of Lahaina. Our book group couldn’t have found a more timely read.

On the way home, the girls, tired from a day out, stop to help someone who has injured his ankle, and are not seen again.  These opening stories of sudden unexpected loss make up the thread that weaves together the chapters of Disappearing Earth by Julia Phillips. 

The setting, the Kamchatka peninsula, is on the eastern edge of Russia.   Taking her cue from the location, Phillips writes a book with overtones of a Russian novel including a large cast of characters, each with several names.  Some, white, are city dwellers; while others, darker, represent the indigenous tribes of the North, some of whom are still reindeer herders. The suspicion and disdain, on both sides, between light and dark skin peoples is familiar despite the foreign location.  One group represents modernity with its freedom and possibilities but loneliness; the other, tradition with its security and comfort but rigidity.  The clashes between the two groups and two ways of life are among the major themes of the book.

Although the novel starts as a mystery, it is so much more. Each chapter is a beautiful independent story of a woman coping with loss or change.  One loses a second husband on the same date she had lost her first; another, left by a philandering husband, falls apart when her dog disappears; a teenager is heartbroken when she learns online that she has been dropped by her best friend; a college student learning traditional dance chooses between her village fiancé and someone new.   All are affected by the abduction of the two children; for some it magnifies personal loss; for others it stirs deep seated fears.

At the end, the mystery returns to the fore, and the various threads are brought together in a terrific suspenseful conclusion.  What a great story!

Fifteen years ago, a young archeology student went missing after a field trip to Neolithic flint mines.  When Ruth ascertains that the bones belong to her, Nelson interviews her former tutor, with whom she had a “special” relationship; their good friend Cathbad, the Druid wizard and responsible friend and father; four other graduate students now grown and successful, all of whom who had been on the outing with her.

This good mystery is full of allusions to archeological sites in Norfolk, ancient myths and ritual.  Balancing this is the levelheaded approach of Nelson’s staff who work to discover who murdered the young woman.

The plot is good; the setting better; but it is the relationships among the characters that make up the best part. Families in all their variations find ways to make things work.  Single mother Ruth who recently discovered a half-sister; Ruth’s daughter’s father Nelson, who is married with three other children; police officer Judy whose partner is the spiritually seeking Cathbad; ambitious Tanya who lives with her wife; all form a tight group who support each other through harrowing disappearances, and the still present hand of Covid.  

There is Arby’s French-fry-flavored vodka, Oreo Thins wine, Hellmann’s mayo-nog, and the Velveeta martini.  Hmmm. Not a fan? Maybe a good book would help.

The beginning is earthly. A wayward English son has been exiled to Vancouver Island in 1912. While walking in the woods, he has an unsettling experience which is exacerbated when he meets someone he knows should not be there. Skipping ahead to 2020, a woman concerned that she has dropped an old friend unfairly spots someone from a disturbing childhood incident. In 2203, an author who lives on one of the domed moon colonies, writes about odd music and forest in an airport.  In 2401, physicists who specialize in time travel, worry about an anomaly that seems very much like corruption of a computer program.

The first stories with their hints of otherworldly mystery are compelling. We begin to realize the same character appears in all the sections which span several hundred years. There is concern for social justice, choosing the moral path, finding peace, speculation on the impartiality of disease.

But the book travels to an obscure ending where people worry that they are living in a computer simulation (which implies a programmer). I can’t see why the author presents this idea as disturbing. Hasn’t humanity been saying for centuries that God has a plan? It sounds like the same familiar concept to me, just updated language.

Every once in a while this happens.  Such a good story, but it falls flat at the end.

As a constable in the fictional town of Lochdubh in the real Sutherland County on the west coast of Scotland, he enjoys the beauty of the rugged Highlands, refusing any idea of promotion to a larger town. Not that he isn’t able. His wily Scottish intuition is more than a match for the criminals he encounters. In this most recent mystery, published in 2023, Hamish tracks down the killer of a blackmailer, learning the varied secrets of the Highland neighbors on his beat.

M. C. Beaton, the prolific author of this and the popular Agatha Raisin series, died in 2019. At the end of her life she started to work with R. W. Green who is continuing to write the two series, both of which list the two of them as authors. Death of a Traitor is a fun and seamless transition.

No, they have chosen instead to go to the library, to listen to a reading of Robert McCloskey’s children’s books and see an exhibit of his original drawings. It helped that the reader was McCloskey’s daughter, and the library is in Maine where he lived. Remember Make Way for Ducklings? or Time of Wonder?

I like the last words of The Time of Wonder when summer is ending and it is time to go home. The author describes the feeling as “a little bit sad about the place you are leaving, but a little bit glad about the place you are going.” Such an apt description of an emotion that is a large part of life.

You can find this charming nostalgic piece, “One Morning in Maine,” by Elisabeth Egan, in the New York Times, August 25.

Along the lines of the pink hat sentiment is this great quote from Matt Bai in the Washington Post, August 17. “Asking Donald Trump to pledge loyalty to anything really, other than himself, is like asking my dog to write a novel. She might look at you like she understands the concept, but trust me, she doesn’t.” 

And if a person wishes to go further, once her mind is uploaded, she may opt to merge her uploaded consciousness with that of others, thus gaining access to the collective. Alternate memories of shared events can be accessed; other points of view are experienced; true understanding is available.  The name of the company that does this is Mandala (a Sanskrit word meaning a symbol of the universe in its ideal form, transformed from suffering to joy).

But to some, this technology is a candy/gingerbread house – alluring on the outside, but lethal.  Anyone can access anyone else’s buried memories; “counters” keep statistics of innermost motives which are sold to business and media; privacy is nonexistent.   

Why anyone would do such a thing is the crux of the book, which aside from this one fanciful bit of technology, is not science fiction or fantasy.  People have an intense desire to feel a part of something bigger than themselves (as any religion will tell us). 

The different ways that people seek connection, with or without a machine, make up the individual stories in this book. Narratives are told in different times, in different voices, and with different structures (emails, conversations, instructions) but each character has a connection to someone in another chapter. An organizational chart Is helpful.  The way the story is told is much like real memory – it comes in bits and pieces.

The symmetry of the beginning and ending is very satisfying. There is some beautiful imagery, “Snow swarmed like honeybees…it slathered tree trunks and sparkled like crushed diamonds…A lavender lunar radiance filled the park.” It is a thoughtful exploration, maybe a warning, of how much technology should be allowed into our lives. 

Two women go to the gym and leave with each other’s bag.  One contains a pair of red alligator Christian Louboutin stilettos. Sam, having no other shoes at the moment, wears them to her next business meeting where, feeling unusually good about herself, she more than clinches the deal. Crushes it. The second woman, Nisha, entitled and spoiled, finds herself cut off, discarded, and stepped on by her super rich husband who has been planning to divorce her for months. 

Do clothes make the woman?  Does sex sell?  Can the wicked stepsister turn into Cinderella?  Ideas we’ve met before are updated and mixed with more current issues.  Mix-ups ensue; friendships are made; love is found; villains are punished. 

The tenants in the six apartments of Lichfield House, in London, recognize each other, may nod hello, have the occasional conversation.  In the building across the street live the Asians and the beautiful mysterious Tigerlily.  Do any of these neighbors know each other at all?  Rendell explores a favorite theme of hers, human miscommunication, and in a masterpiece of misdirection brings her characters together in a portrait of modern relationships.

The voice of one of them tells the main part of the story. The voice of a daughter, a transgender eighteen-year-old, tells a second part. The main purpose of the book is to educate, through storytelling, about domestic abuse and transsexuality. 

One of the plots that holds things together is the murder trial of the young woman’s boyfriend.  There is also their teenage love story. There is also the beekeeping. There is a lot going on in this one book. 

Mad honey is a real thing.  Made from rhododendron flowers, it is a hallucinogen causing vomiting, dizziness, and fainting, among other things.  In other words, it looks sweet but is really poisonous, an apt metaphor for abusive partners and phony friends and neighbors.

Micah’s life is quiet and orderly.  He has a small non stressful IT business that gets him by, a nice enough apartment in a building he manages, and a relationship with a thirty something fourth grade teacher who makes few demands. When he dreams he has found a baby in the supermarket, he is told it means he will have a change.  When it comes, in the form of a college girlfriend’s son, it is not the sharp jolt we at first expect, but a gentle epiphany.

It is not the pleasure trip they had expected.  The new relative asks for their financial help in recovering property taken from their Japanese family during WWII.  Rei, a part time investigator, becomes immersed in the history of an old plantation village and meets a charming big landowner/developer.  The situation escalates when there is a fire and a young cousin is suspected of arson and murder.  Sailing into the midst of all this (on a yacht which was part of the Transpacific Yacht Race from California to Hawaii) is her military intelligence boyfriend.

This is an intricate mystery with likeable characters, but it is the setting in the full sense of the word that adds to the appeal.  Anyone who has visited Hawaii, but especially those who live there either full or part time, will enjoy the namedropping of familiar towns, attractions, even restaurants. The physical setting, the leeward or Ewa side of Oahu, is not the lush tropical green Hawaii typically described, but a dry, sunny place where more locals than tourists can be found.  Rei’s interactions with the Japanese side of her family open a window onto Japanese history and traditions which color the atmosphere of the whole book.

Along the way she makes a potential friend when she meets a failed judo star living on the grounds of a Buddhist temple, and learns to make peace with her almost-fiancé’s loud troublesome brother.

A river is wonderful
It keeps the fish from drying out

One of the main subjects of Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro is the coming coexistence of artificial intelligence (AI) with our natural world.  To give a small taste of AI’s present capabilities, I’m printing two reviews about Klara. One was written by Microsoft’s new AI program ChatGPT and the second is mine. After them are some excerpts of what the program can do with different points of view. If I didn’t identify them, would you know they were written by a computer? Thanks to my grandson for technical assistance with this.

Our first request was simply to write a 200-word summary and here is what the program (instantly) wrote:

Klara and the Sun is a novel by Kazuo Ishiguro that tells the story of Klara, an Artificial Friend (AF) who is designed to be a highly advanced robot companion for children. Set in a dystopian future, the novel explores themes of artificial intelligence, humanity, and the nature of consciousness. 

Klara is an AF with exceptional observational skills and a unique perspective on the world. She is purchased by a teenage girl named Josie, who is suffering from an unspecified illness. As Klara adjusts to life in Josie’s home, she becomes increasingly curious about the human emotions and behaviors she observes. She develops a deep attachment to Josie and is determined to understand the mysteries of human existence, including love and mortality.

As Klara navigates her world, she encounters other AFs and humans, including Rick, a former AF who works at the store where Klara was purchased, and Mr. Capaldi, a reclusive scientist who holds the key to understanding Klara’s true purpose. Klara’s journey is both heartwarming and thought-provoking as she grapples with her own identity and the limitations of her programming.

Throughout the novel, Ishiguro raises philosophical questions about what it means to be alive, the nature of consciousness, and the ethical implications of creating artificial beings. “Klara and the Sun” is a poignant and introspective exploration of humanity, identity, and the complexities of AI, told through the eyes of a captivating and compassionate artificial friend.

Klara, Josie’s best friend, has no questions about her purpose in life.  She lives to make Josie happy, to care for and protect her, because Klara, a solar powered AF, is programmed that way.  Kazuo Ishiguro, in Klara and the Sun, welcomes us to the near future when elite teenagers are tutored by experts via computer at home and need the companionship of an AF, Artificial Friend, for company.

We meet Klara when she is newly made, living in a store, waiting to be chosen as a best friend.  She is learning about her environment, and we see as she does in pixels and shapes. Josie, the human who chooses her, is a metaphor for the benefits and risks of technology in our lives.  She is especially intelligent and privileged but has a mysterious illness which brings a note of disquiet to the story.

Josie’s father, when he comes to visit, nicknames her Animal, an unsubtle commentary about one of the main issues.  Exactly what is the difference between Klara and Josie who have indeed  become best friends?  Is there really a special spark in the human or is it all just chemicals and programming?

On the surface, this is a timely story about coming of age, friendship, family and the choices that define who a person is. Underneath is the provocative question of how much we want technology, computers, robots, and AI to intersect with our lives.

We thought that seeing what AI could do was fun, so we asked the program to write a few more reviews. Up on the screen they appeared, as fast as we could ask. Here is part of one written from the perspective of an 80-year-old avid reader. 

Klara and the Sun is a remarkable novel that transported me to a world both familiar and yet unsettlingly different. As an 80-year-old avid reader, I have delved into countless literary realms, but Kazuo Ishiguro’s latest work struck a chord deep within me.

The story revolves around Klara, an Artificial Friend with a unique perspective on life. Ishiguro’s masterful prose painted vivid images of a society where artificial beings coexist with humans, creating a thought-provoking backdrop for exploring complex themes. Klara’s innocence and unwavering loyalty reminded me of simpler times, evoking a sense of nostalgia for my own youth.

Through Klara’s eyes, I witnessed the fragility of human relationships and the depths of loneliness. The novel delves into profound questions about the nature of consciousness and the ethical implications of creating sentient beings. Ishiguro’s insightful exploration of these themes left me pondering the essence of what it truly means to be alive…

Here’s an excerpt from “write like a British teenager:” (If you were her teacher, would you know she hadn’t written it herself?)

Klara and the Sun is an extraordinary novel that takes us on a thought-provoking journey into a not-so-distant future. Set in a world where artificial beings called AFs (Artificial Friends) exist, the story follows Klara, a highly intelligent AF with exceptional observational skills.

As a British teenager, I was immediately captivated by Klara’s perspective. Through her eyes, I witnessed a society divided by technological advancements and socioeconomic disparities. Klara’s innocence and unwavering curiosity about the world around her made her a relatable and endearing protagonist….

And finally, we asked for a casual American teenage version:

Yo, mate! Let me tell you about this wicked book called “Klara and the Sun.” It’s a futuristic story set in a world where artificial humans called AFs exist. So, our main gal, Klara, is one of these AFs, and she’s mad intelligent and observant.

Klara’s on a mission to find a special someone to be her owner. She’s all about this chick named Josie, who’s sick and needs some serious help. Klara’s got this wicked thing called “artificial friendliness” that makes her super sweet and caring. She’s like a next-level robo-buddy….

Another word for these qualities is soul, which is exactly what ChatGPT lacks. Left wholly naked in front of the A.I. onslaught may be the writers of certain formulaic best sellers, but that’s a matter for their agents.”

Addendum – In our book group, opinions were very divided about the book and about AI. I think it is very interesting that none of the machine generated reviews (about another machine) are negative, but are invariably positive. Should we be worried about this or is it just that ChatGPT has been programmed to be nice?

Except for one unsuccessful foray onto the mainland, Moses Sweetland has lived on a tiny island off the coast of Newfoundland all his life.  Its population has dwindled along with the cod industry, and the Canadian government will pay all residents to be resettled on the mainland.  Then, all services, electricity, ferry, will stop.  The one stipulation of the generous buyout offer is that all residents must agree.  Moses refuses to go.

What makes him want to stay is one of the major questions of the novel.  The charming curmudgeon is a common trope in literature, but Moses doesn’t have the charming part.  Neither does the island itself.  He is taciturn and acerbic; the island is rainy, cold, and bleak. 

But Moses earns our respect.  The island which we see as unattractive, he sees as home.  It is his environment and he lives in it skillfully, trapping, fishing, and gardening.  We see a deep-seated love for his neighbors in his willingness to help even the most stubborn and unlikable, and in his affection for the autistic nephew he treats as a son.  His memories of dead family members and friends keep them alive.  

Habitats, and worlds, disappear every day.  Included in this story is the plight of immigrants who have been set adrift in the fog by their smugglers.  We can also think of rising sea levels which are eating away coastal communities; condos or small neighborhoods being bought up by developers; people whose lifelong jobs have been computerized.

Michael Crummey is a poet as well as a novelist and his lively language is one of the better parts of the book.  Some is very salty; there is lots of “Newfoundlandese,” the idioms of the place, and there is the sharp and funny repartee between Moses and his neighbors. The names are ironic.  Sweetland (also the name of the island) is anything but, and Moses refuses to join his people, never mind lead them anywhere.

Maybe because we are presented with unattractive characters in an unattractive setting the focus of the book is all the sharper.  We see the pain of anyone forced to leave any home against their wishes.  The question of whether anything could or should be done to help them looms.

For years before she was forced to leave, there had been a serious economic depression.  People lost their jobs and homes; there was rioting and looting.  “Something must be done!” people said.  The government stepped in with PACT, The Preserving American Culture and Traditions Act.

“PACT is more than a law.  It is a promise we make to each other, a promise to protect our American ideals and values; a promise that for people who weaken our country with un-American ideas, there will be consequences.”

Un-American would come to be defined as objecting to the protections of PACT…  or refusing to report neighbors for “unusual” behavior… or being appalled at the “consequences” which included the removal of children from suspect parents… or looking Asian.  Bird’s Chinese mother, a poet, one whose words were chosen by the resistance, was a prime target of the government removal program. She left the family so Bird would not be taken from his father.

This lush story is full of fairy tales, poems, etymology, and descriptive meanderings.  It is just right for readers who love to conjure up a complete picture of the characters and setting.  Those who prefer plot and action will find it tedious and wordy. The subjects, separation of children from parents (like at the Mexican border) and targeting of the Chinese (think Covid) are not just current but have strong historical roots in our country.  The premise that art can fight ignorance and oppression is a hopeful one.

As in her first Matthew Venn mystery, Cleeves pairs the thoughtful, organized, careful inspector with the looseness of an artistic community run by his creative husband.  She explores the relationship of this gay couple and Venn’s strained relationship with his widowed Evangelical mother.  Cleeves’ supporting characters are equally strong.  Detective Sergeant Rafferty, an escapee from an abusive marriage, enjoys a good party and worries about her teenagers.  Detective Constable May, who tries not to be too old school macho, notices a coolness in the wife he dearly loves.

Cleeves continues to write about the treatment of mental illness.  In this case it is depression and suicide that form the backdrop as she describes the British government’s difficulty in providing treatment. 

But the subject matter doesn’t intrude.  This is a good story!  A fast-paced captivating plot with lots of twists keeps the reader quickly turning pages.

---

Sometimes it doesn’t take many words…

Twenty years later in England at the start of World War Two, Elinor hones her skills and once again works to defeat the Germans.  She excels at her job but is caught between competing factions of British Intelligence.  

After the war, she is given a grace-and-favor home from the government in the quiet countryside, but peace is not yet to be.  Her neighbors, a hard-working young couple with a charming little daughter, are bullied by his violent family.  Elinor calls on her training and connections from two world wars to help them.

Three different stories set in three different times, World War I, World War II, and the late 40’s, make up this engaging novel.  Elinor White, multi-lingual, capable, and likeable, is an equal to Winspear’s popular Maisie Dobbs.

Five years ago, Tim had taken his good friends, his best man and groomsmen, on a camping trip for his bachelor party.  He never returned.  Now, for the fifth time, Tim’s father, his friends, several experienced searchers, plus a cadaver dog named Daisy will conduct a final search, and Frankie will join them.

From the beginning, they know that something is wrong.  Food disappears, there are the un-animal like shrieks at night, and there are unlikely accidents.  Soon the situation is dire.  More than one member of their group of eight needs to be evacuated and the lack of supplies is dangerous.  Who or what is stalking their group and what is the connection to the missing bridegroom? 

This exciting mystery with the unexpected ending is the second in the Frankie Elkin series and one of the more than twenty suspense novels by this NYT best-selling author.

But this is a novel, and after a while action is expected.  Soon it begins to unfold.  William’s second wife leaves him.  Next, through an online ancestry service, William discovers that he has an older half-sister who was a toddler when his mother abandoned her and married his father.  William and Lucy, although long divorced, have remained friends, and he turns to her for support in this time of turmoil.

But the action is secondary.  Like Strout’s other novels, Oh William deals with character and insight.  For example, Lucy talks a lot about feeling guilty for leaving William.  But she also tells, several times, that he had had multiple affairs during their marriage.  Why then is it SHE who feels guilty and takes the blame for the breakup?  Strout explores the lasting effects of childhood abuse and poverty, the difficulty in knowing the truth about ourselves, and the problems of understanding the relationships we see.

The article goes on to say that she is “swapping her ‘domestic goddess’ persona for something a little saucier: badass Martha, a hottie who, it would seem, will shuck her inhibitions as lightly as an ear of corn.”

Well!  On one hand, I want to say, “Go, Martha.” On the other hand, I want to say, “Still?  Must we push ourselves to look glamorous and thin even at 81?”  Back to hand one – why not look our best no matter what our age?  Maybe I can’t pull off the glamour look, but I don’t want to wear a kerchief and a dumpy black dress either.  If I believe that we should all try to learn and do new things, even in our 80s and 90s, I will have to say, “Good for you, Martha!” 

I also like that the Sports Illustrated cover helps expand the meaning of “geriatric” to include the possibility of beauty, health and sexiness.  At a party, I heard a young woman say that she was irritated to be referred to (at 35) as a geriatric mother.  I see her point, but only if geriatric is considered all bad.  If the word includes “picture on Sports Illustrated,” then I’m perfectly ok with it.

Energetic, supremely talented, simply “The Best,” she has left a legacy of music, instantly recognizable, that will be remembered for generations.

Lucy and her mother inhabit two different worlds, but for an interlude of five days, they meet in the neutral ground of a hospital.  Lucy drinks in the attention of her mother who she hasn’t seen in years. Her happiness and contentment rise from the page giving the reader the same feeling of peace and restfulness. 

The two gossip about the people they knew when Lucy was growing up.  We then meet these characters from the past and hear their own points of view; the novel moves back and forth always returning to the unifying element of the hospital room.  Lucy and her mother do not discuss their own relationship – how it was then or what it is now.  They don’t discuss the extreme poverty and abusiveness of Lucy’s childhood or her budding success as a writer.  Mom is not interested.

Little action happens, but through her concise prose, Strout manages to expose the realities of family relationships and the conflicting needs of its members.  She dares to suggest that for adults, there may be something more important than an intact nuclear family.

Through these separate stories, various subjects are explored.  Should we ruthlessly pursue happiness (anything is possible) or dutifully accept our lot?  Strout is also interested in how little we know about the realities of the lives of our friends and family except for the little bits that we happen to share.  She continues to explore the subject of loneliness within apparently compatible relationships.  There is the lasting impact of poverty on children’s lives. 

Some of the language is just beautiful.  A character yearns for a glimpse of a forbidden and secret love. “(He would) risk all to be near the white dazzle of the sun that somehow for those moments seemed to leave the earth behind.”  The outpouring of a stream of consciousness at the end of the novel builds tension and wonder, leaving the reader satisfied even if the outcome is uncertain.   

Jarrett was with Lexington the day the colt was born.  Both the young boy and the horse were especially gifted.  Lexington, a natural star, outpaced the competition from the first race.  Jarett, a natural trainer, brought out the very best in his charge, enabling him to win a fortune for their master.  The care of the horse and life on the plantation is told in detail.  As Lexington is bought and sold, so is Jarrett.  He counts himself lucky to be allowed to stay with the horse.  His plight as one of the enslaved trainers puts a spotlight on a category of unrecognized people who brought wealth and fame to their stables.

A parallel story told in the present time begins when a black art student rescues a painting of a horse from the “free” pile at a curb. He coincidentally meets a young white scientist from the Smithsonian (she is an osteo preparator, someone who cleans and assembles animal bones) who is working on a neglected horse skeleton.  It is Lexington they both have found and they are drawn to discover his story.  As their own relationship grows, we see that the racism of the 1800’s is alive and well in Washington D.C.

Brooks says she started to write a novel about horse racing but soon realized that her story needed to include the other kind of race as well.  I wish she had chosen one to be predominant rather than presenting two equally detailed main subjects. The book felt crowded. Nonetheless, it is a very enjoyable read that presents lots of horse/racing information, several compelling story lines, plus well developed, very likable characters, including the horse.

A bit of fun information is that Brooks herself owns a horse with the memorable name of Screaming Hot Wings.