The time is December 1941, shortly before the Japanese invasion of Penang, when the loyalties of multi-cultural Philip, now the master’s student, will be tested.  The history of the invasion and occupation, with the parts played by the British, Chinese, and Japanese, is the backdrop for this exploration of free will and duty. 

Much is made of these lofty concepts and after a while I was reminded of Dan Brown’s DaVinci Code – mysterious ways, secret societies, allusions to ancient power and knowledge.   I usually like some hints of mysticism, but here, they felt forced.  Duality, the ability to hold two opposing views at the same time, was an important lesson for Philip to learn, and the word sums up my view of the book. Some parts I liked and some, I didn’t.

Eng’s strongest point is his beautiful descriptive language.  In remembering Philip’s youth, “the one impression that remains now is of rain, floating from a bank of low-floating clouds, smearing the landscape into a Chinese brush painting…like threads entwining with the perfume of flowers, creating an intricate tapestry of fragrance.”

Most disturbing is that its subject matter is probably true.  The story is about the infiltration of Russia into the social media of the West promoting discord and radicalizing conspiracy theorists.  One of the tools is large amounts of cash. Not just seven figures; that’s almost laughable.

Part of this book is a tutorial about how vast amounts of money laundering is done.  What is scary is that even after the detailed explanations, I have no idea. I don’t like to think that there is a whole class of people out there (not just Russians) getting obscenely rich – and powerful – by manipulating money, probably illegally, in ways I won’t ever understand.

In Bleeding Heart Yard by Elly Griffiths, newly promoted Harbinder Kaur must look to a death in the past to solve the murder.

Griffiths, as always, does an excellent job of building her characters, who develop from one book to the next. Delightful Harbinder has finally moved out of her parents’ home to a flat in London where she finds herself a partner.  The characters at the reunion, one possibly guilty of murder, are intricately drawn daughters, lovers, old flames.

The exciting and unexpected climax is a bit of a stretch, but these days, I’m glad to have a happy ending.

Yes, we want intricate (but not too confusing) plots with satisfying endings.  But we want to like the detective and his/her friends and family.  If there is no connection, we’re less likely to pick up another book in the series. It isn’t just about solving the case.

She and Jimmy presented themselves as a team; she was his political partner in the presidency. “I can’t stay at home and do Cokes and teas,” she said. Few people complained and she was a respected figure. 

A few years later, there was Bill and Hilary.  She was also a political partner who didn’t want to stay home and bake cookies and serve tea, but she was reviled not respected.

What was the difference?  Maybe we gals should reconsider the demure submissive front.

In The Marriage Portrait by Maggie O’Farrell, sixteen-year-old Lucrezia is looking at the wedding portrait of herself that her husband, twenty seven year old Alfonso, the Duke of Ferrara, ordered to be painted.  In a slip of the tongue, he exclaims over the beauty of his “first” duchess.

Set in Renaissance Italy, this novel creates a slice of court life from the 1500s.  Lucrezia, too independent and artistic, is not a favorite child, but she has value.  Her marriage will cement an alliance between two noble families. Once married, she must fulfill her role.  She must quickly produce an heir to forestall claims to her husband’s position.  Ruthless and powerful, he expects a son. Nightly, he does his part, but when a pregnancy is not forthcoming within a year, he begins to plan for a solution.  Meanwhile Lucrezia has met the artist and his assistants who have been hired to paint her portrait.

O’Farrell excels at creating a richly detailed past and fully drawn characters from a few bits of historical information. Were things really that way?  Probably not. Could they have been? The massive fortress, the dark dripping forest, the talented young girl forced into marriage? I was certainly a believer while I was reading.

This is how I got to enjoy Ozick’s wit – exaggeration, sarcasm – as she pokes fun at New York lawyers, municipal government, lovers, greed, laziness, elitism, charitable works, innocence, idealism, herself.

She describes the Municipal Building as: “…a kind off swollen doom through which the bickering of small-voiced officials whinnied.”  She describes the “right” kind of young men hired by the law firm: “…one or two of them were groomed – curried, fed sugar, led out by the muzzle – for partnership…they developed the creamy cheeks and bland habits of the always comfortable.”  She describes the kind of man she wants: “He’s got this mind.”

In each of the “papers” there is a story about part of Ruth Puttermesser’s life.  First, she is a lawyer; next a civil servant; she has a lover; she takes in a niece who is a Russian Jew; she dies and goes to paradise.  What seems to hold the sections together is the theme of getting what she wants and finding it not what she hoped for. 

She is unhappy as a civil servant and conjures up a golem (I had to look it up) which solves her problems and makes her mayor.  But, alas, the golem continues to grow; it becomes sexual; its appetites grow; everything falls apart.  In another section, Puttermesser is infatuated with the novelist George Eliot and her partner George Lewes.  Puttermesser longs for an intellectual lover like Eliot’s and she gets one with results similar to the golem situation. At the end, she dies and goes to paradise.  Again, she gets what she wants, but even in paradise, it doesn’t last, or lasts forever, which is the same thing.

I suppose there is some erudite philosophical concept that talks about the seeds of destruction being carried within, but even in paradise??  This unusual intellectual book is for the reader who wants to sit by the fire this winter and think about big questions.

Martha’s gentle ways are successful, and soon she has a steady business.  The reader interested in horses will appreciate the detailed information about her job and the animals she loves. 

The perspective widens as Martha settles in.  It is 1917 and the war in Europe that seemed far away is starting to affect their small community.  She meets the neighbors who, she is not surprised to learn, have familiar problems: alcoholism, illness, lack of farm sense, prejudice against the families with German names.  The young people, including someone in particular, enjoy simple entertainments, ice skating on a frozen lake, hunting for petroglyphs, sleigh rides to the movies.

I was stunned to think that the main character felt safe riding up to isolated strange farms asking for a job and shelter and this was presented as normal. I was surprised that some of the remote ranches were owned and run by women – equal opportunity was already a fact.  And an unusual small bit of information, as Martha’s eventual fiancé tells us: it was illegal to send condoms across state lines then.  Not all change is bad.

“She cut brush all day, grubbing out thickets by the roots with a blunt mattock…It was black and cold inside the shack…she took the dead rats out of the traps…She felt along the quilts cautiously looking for vermin…her hair was not entirely dry, she hoped it would not freeze overnight.” 

Molly Gloss grew up listening to stories about her four pioneer great grandmothers, all “westering women,” in addition to reading diaries, letters, and journals of women who settled the West.

“It’s impossible to read the sad saga of Mr. Bankman-Fried without thinking he, and many of those around him, would have been better off if they had spent less time at math camp and more time in English class. Sometimes in books, the characters find their moral compass; in the best books, the reader does, too.” New York Times

His main idea is that the tasks of the first half of life are different from the tasks of the second.  In the first half of life, young people ideally flourish in a family and community that is loving, secure, and has boundaries.  They concentrate on themselves, learn how to get along, and build their identities according to the established framework of their culture.

As they mature, it is time to reconsider the comforts of the familiar, think independently, find the true self, and give to others.  Moving to this second phase can be painful; people who begin to think or behave differently from their peers are often discouraged.  Others don’t want to change but are pushed out of the comfortable nest by circumstance.  All stumble and fall, but this zig zag path is the way forward, or upward.  My interpretation is probably more secular than the author had in mind as he talks quite a bit about the spirit that is doing the guiding.

Rohr’s ideas are not new, as he says himself, but he does a good job of gathering and presenting them in an understandable and memorable way. This is a short book, dense, and like many religious and philosophical books, sometimes obscure. But the main points do emerge and offer timely ideas to second-half-of-life individuals.

This happened recently with Gravel Heart by nobel prize winner Abdulrazak Gurnah.  I read and wrote about it two years ago  (Skillful Writing). Then, I was interested in the plot.  What is the family secret that causes so much trouble? This time, I knew the answer and could emphasize setting and character.

I could enjoy the visual details of the setting, a village in Zanzibar, where our hero, Salim, grows up.  Later, when as a young man he travels to London to study, there is the immigrant experience he shares with other single men from Africa.

There was time to think about the characters’ behavior.   Why does Salim’s father react to betrayal by withdrawing into permanent self-imprisonment?  Salim, despite his apparent advantages, cannot find a place between his two worlds.  Maybe “gravel heart” has a more subtle meaning than the obvious selfish or evil intent.

In addition to this Wonder Woman, Bonnie Garmus in Lessons in Chemistry also gives us a fairy godmother and a daughter nicknamed Mad, an allusion to the comic books.

But there is lots of science.  Eizabeth’s research is an esoteric subject, abiogenesis (the study of the origin of life from an inanimate substance).  Her popular television show, Supper at Six, deals with the intricacies of the chemistry of cooking as well as turning out great dinners.

Raised by her bootstraps in the 1950s, independent Elizabeth does not suffer fools gladly.  She has few friends, never mind dates.  But then she meets Calvin Evans, Pulitzer Prize nominee for chemistry.  A soulmate!  However, as Elizabeth tells us, life is chemistry and chemistry is change, and change comes for Elizabeth leaving her a single mother of a daughter.

This delightful story with its quirky characters is more than a fun read.  Garmus has a point to make and like any good teacher she repeats it often. “Sometimes I think that if a man were to spend a day being a woman in America he wouldn’t make it past noon…Too many brilliant minds are kept from scientific research thanks to ignorant biases like gender and race…No more holding yourself back. No more subscribing to others’ opinions of what you can and cannot achieve” When Elizabeth is congratulated on being forward thinking for wearing trousers, she congratulates the man right back for wearing them also.

Is there really a need for another book about equal opportunity for women and the elimination of harassment in the workplace?  As our heroine says, to educate we must repeat, repeat, and repeat.

Should I ignore Gauguin’s paintings because he abandoned his wife and five children to run off to the South Seas?  Should I not support the Audubon Society because its founder was racist?  Should I give up my Tesla because I dislike Elon Musk?

Recently, this question has come up in publishing about an author who is not guilty herself of doing anything, except by association.  Adania Shibli is Palestinian but neither a member of Hamas nor a terrorist.  Yet, an award celebration for her new book, Minor Detail, was cancelled by a prestigious book fair because of her nationality and its subject, which is the gang rape of a young woman by members of the Israeli army.  Should this book be shelved until a more appropriate time? Or is doing so the equivalent of book banning?

Pamela Paul, in a thoughtful article for the NYT, “A Chill Has Been Cast Over the Book World,” October 18, gives a stirring answer.

Cher is talking about the many older music groups that are putting out new albums and having a resurgence. The younger generations are finally starting to realize that oldtime rock n roll really is the best.

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?