A Book A Week

It’s officially feeling like Christmas around my house this week. The weather has cooled, the tree is up and glowing, the lights are strung across the porch, and every corner is decked out in holiday cheer. I’m fully in the spirit of the season. This time of year also nudges my reading habits in a slightly different direction. I still reach for my usual genres, but I also like to weave in a few festive titles.

After more than a decade of holiday reading (ever since I started this blog back in 2012), it’s become increasingly difficult to find new seasonal books to try. So I did what any self-respecting millennial would do: I Googled a list. Richard Paul Evans’s novels showed up on nearly every roundup I came across, even though I’d somehow never read him before. I decided to begin with his first book, The Christmas Box. It's a short, sweet, and sentimental fable with a message I think will resonate with many readers.

Richard is a busy father, working tirelessly to build the life he believes his family deserves. Unfortunately, that often means he’s more consumed by work than by time with his wife and young daughter. Despite his effort, the family still struggles to make ends meet. Then, almost by chance, Richard stumbles into what feels like a miracle.

A wealthy, older woman is seeking a family to live on her estate and help with cooking, cleaning, and other small household tasks. In return, she offers not only a salary but room and board in her spacious home. It seems too good to be true, yet it’s the very blessing Richard has been hoping for. As the family settles in, the arrangement proves to be a perfect fit.

Everything changes when Richard discovers an old box in the attic, filled with letters written by a grieving mother. As he reads them, piece by piece, he begins to understand the quiet sorrow carried by the woman who hired them. Through her story—and his growing awareness of what truly matters—Richard is gently led toward the deeper, more enduring meaning of the Christmas season.

I’ll be honest, The Christmas Box is a book that could be easy to bristle at. In the 30th Anniversary Edition that I read, Richard Paul Evans even admits in his introduction that his writing has evolved since he first penned this story on a whim decades ago. The novella is overtly sentimental, built on a simple premise and a predictable arc. And yet, there’s something undeniably enduring about the message of this story.

At its heart, The Christmas Box is about faith, family, and the importance of being present during the holiday season. It’s a universal reminder to focus on what truly matters, even when that means letting other priorities fall away. As I read, I found myself reflecting on the ways I’ve structured my own life—those late nights spent trying to squeeze in just a little more work, only to wake up and repeat the cycle the next day, often without carving out enough time for family and friends. It all adds up before you realize it, leaving you wondering how the time slipped through your fingers.

And that, I think, is the quiet power of The Christmas Box. Stories like this one nudge us to slow down, live in the moment, and savor the warmth that comes from community, especially at this time of year.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2025, 97)

Such a Fun Age opens with an all-too-familiar and uncomfortable scene. A young Black woman walking through an upscale grocery store with a small white child is confronted by security, who assumes she must have kidnapped the girl. A crowd forms, someone starts filming, and Emira—mortified, angry, and just trying to do her job—is thrust into the kind of viral spectacle that she never dreamed she'd find herself a part of. When the child’s father arrives and clears things up, Emira wants nothing more than to put the whole incident behind her. Little does she know, this is only the beginning. 

From there, we get to know Emira more intimately. She's twenty-five, broke, drifting, and genuinely fond of watching little Briar, the daughter of her boss, Alix Chamberlain. Alix is everything Emira isn’t—wealthy, confident, and used to getting exactly what she wants. She’s built a brand on teaching women to claim their power, and when she learns about the grocery store incident, she becomes determined to “fix” things for Emira. With Emira approaching the birthday that will remove her from her parents’ health insurance plan, Alix sees an opportunity to guide her into a more stable future. But when the grocery store video resurfaces and draws someone from Alix’s past back into her orbit, both women find themselves barreling toward a collision that challenges everything they believe about themselves and each other.

Such a Fun Age finds Kiley Reid delivering a debut that deftly explores race, privilege, and the complicated dimensions of motherhood. She anchors the novel in characters who feel strikingly real and heightens the tension by making her two leads perfect foils. Alix is obsessed with the appearance of perfection—she has the perfect husband, the perfect career, and she’s determined to raise the perfect child. Emira, meanwhile, is both intrigued by Alix’s polished world and skeptical of it. She can imagine the appeal of that kind of stability, even sees flashes of a future she might want for herself, yet she can’t shake the suspicion that the whole thing is built on something hollow. That tension makes for compelling drama that kept me glued to the pages.

Reid strikes a remarkable balance between thematic depth, character development, and narrative momentum, crafting a story that challenges you even as it propels you forward. And it all culminates in one of the most satisfying, karmic endings I’ve read in ages. This is a fantastic debut from an author clearly just beginning to make her mark on the literary world.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2025, 96)

December is here, and with it has come some very welcome colder weather in South Texas. My house is fully decorated for the holidays, and I’ve spent the last several nights curled up on the couch by the fireplace, snuggled up with my dogs and a good book. Several years ago, I read and enjoyed Greg Kincaid’s Christmas novel Noelle, the third story featuring characters first introduced in his hit novel A Dog Named Christmas. Even though I hadn’t read that first book, I was charmed by Noelle’s sweet message and told myself I’d eventually go back and start the series from the beginning. This week, nestled between my two dogs on the couch, I finally did just that. 

George McCray has always been protective of his son, Todd. Todd, who faces certain developmental challenges, still lives on the family’s Kansas farm well into young adulthood. George knows his son’s heart is good, but he also knows how unkind the world can be. As Christmas approaches, Todd learns that the local animal shelter is seeking families to foster their dogs for the holidays, giving the animals a brief respite from shelter life. Todd is instantly taken with the idea and longs to bring a dog home for the season. George is more hesitant. The thought of Todd bonding with a dog only to face the inevitable heartbreak of returning it on December 26th fills him with dread.

But Todd’s persistence—and his unfailing optimism—win out. Soon, the McCrays welcome a lovable dog into their home. Still, Todd can’t help but think about all the other dogs destined to spend the holiday in cages. So, using his natural charm and determination, he rallies his entire community to join the Adopt a Dog for Christmas program. What begins as one boy’s simple act of kindness becomes a lesson in compassion that transforms not just his family, but the whole town, reminding everyone of the true spirit of the season.

A Dog Named Christmas is a sweet little holiday story that highlights the power of community, the comfort of family, and the loyal love of our four-legged friends. Greg Kincaid writes with an approachable, heartfelt prose that perfectly suits this sentimental tale. Yes, it’s predictable and reads like something straight out of a Hallmark holiday movie, but honestly, that’s exactly the kind of story I’m perfectly happy to curl up with this time of year. In fact, the novel was later adapted into just such a film.

My only real complaint is the way the book handles Todd’s accessibility needs. Written in 2008, it includes the “R” word, which caught me completely off guard. Having read the third book in the series, it’s clear Kincaid’s perspective evolved with the times, but readers should be aware of that characterization before diving in. That said, I still enjoyed this cozy holiday read, especially while snuggled up with my own two dogs.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2025, 95)

There are some books on my shelves that have sat unread for so long I’ve forgotten they were even there. Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides is one such novel. I picked it up from a used bookstore over ten years ago, drawn in by its Pulitzer win, its pick for Oprah's Book Club, and its unique subject matter. But then—like so many books I fully intend to read—it slipped into the background. It moved with me from apartment to apartment, house to house, until finally, earlier this week, I pulled it off the shelf. And boy, am I kicking myself for waiting so long. Middlesex is a sprawling tour de force, timeless and resonant as ever.

In the opening of the book, we meet Cal/Calliope Stephanides, who “was born twice: first, as a baby girl…and then again as a teenage boy.” The story unfolds like a confession, tracing Cal’s origins from a forbidden love in a tiny Greek village to a turbulent adolescence in 1970s Detroit. Each chapter peels back another layer of the past, revealing the strange inheritance—both genetic and emotional—that quietly shapes Cal’s life long before he understands it himself.

As the narrative expands, we’re given intimate insight into a sprawling family history. Eugenides weaves mythology, immigration, American history, and a deeply personal coming-of-age story into one seamless arc. As Cal digs into the mysteries of his family’s journey to America and the secrets they carried with them, we’re steadily drawn toward the revelation at the core of his identity.

Middlesex is a phenomenal novel. It's epic in scale yet intimate in execution. When it was published in 2002, much ado was made about the story’s exploration of gender identity. It’s a topic that remains fiercely relevant today. And though our understanding of gender has evolved in the years since Eugenides wrote this novel, the prejudice, fear, and demonization of those we deem “other” have tragically persisted.

But to focus solely on that aspect would overlook what makes the bulk of this story so enduring. Eugenides has written a novel that is, at its heart, about family—how it shapes us, changes us, and anchors us to who we become. His characters feel deeply real, the kind of people you might find scattered throughout your own family tree. Their story, full of heart, humor, and yes, tragedy, is impossible to ignore. It’s this emotional richness that makes Middlesex worthy of all the acclaim it has received, and what ultimately left me grateful to have finally pulled it off my shelf after all these years.

For more information, visit Amazon and Goodreads. 

(2025, 94)

In the early part of 2020, my husband and I decided it was finally time to start looking for a house. We’d been saving for years, and although we were excited at the prospect of becoming homeowners, we were also overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all. Fortunately, we ended up with the best-case scenario. We found the perfect place on our very first day of home tours, made an offer the next day, and closed just a few weeks later. The week after we moved in, the entire world shut down for the COVID-19 outbreak. We still can’t believe how lucky we were.

But for many, the journey to homeownership isn’t nearly so smooth. Bidding wars, soaring prices, impossible competition—buying a home has only grown more stressful in recent years. It’s that very pressure that inspired Marisa Kashino’s debut thriller, Best Offer Wins. So when her publisher offered me the chance to read the book, I was far too intrigued by the premise to say no.

Margo Miyake has spent years trying to build the perfect life. She’s got a great job as a publicist, and her husband Ian is smart, kind, and devoted—the perfect partner. But there are still a few pieces missing from the picture she’s trying so hard to complete. One is a child. Despite their best efforts, they haven’t been able to conceive. And of course, a baby won’t matter if they can’t get out of their cramped one-bedroom apartment. Finding the perfect home hasn’t been the challenge, but actually buying one has. After eighteen months and eleven lost bidding wars, the heartbreak feels never-ending.

Then Margo gets a tip about the perfect house in the perfect neighborhood, set to hit the market in one month. She drags Ian on a “just to look” drive-by and instantly falls in love. Naturally, she has to see the backyard. The tire swing beckons her closer. And when she’s spotted by one of the homeowners, caught in the act, she offers a harmless excuse and promises Ian she won't cross any more boundaries. Still, Margo can’t let this place go. It’s now or never, and she’s determined to make this house her own.

So what if she starts slipping into the lives of the couple preparing to sell it? Some might call it stalking; others, trespassing. But to Margo, it’s simply the game you have to play in today’s cutthroat housing market. As her obsession deepens, she becomes undeterred by normal boundaries. No act is too bold—or too inappropriate—if it means claiming the life she’s always dreamed of.

Best Offer Wins might just be the most over-the-top, propulsively readable thriller I’ve picked up this year. I alternated between reading the physical book and listening to Cia Court’s excellent audio narration, and I was equally enthralled in both formats. Kashino has written a thriller rooted in the stress and chaos of today’s housing market, pushing her protagonist just past the edge of sanity and polite society. And the remarkable thing is, we’re rooting for her the entire time.

As Margo buckles under the pressure of trying to conceive, trying to find the perfect house, and coping with that stress in increasingly disturbing ways, we can’t help but think, yeah… I get it. Good for her. Sure, there were a few moments when I had to roll my eyes at her choices, but even as the story shifts from clever satire to something darker and more twisted, I couldn’t look away. Best Offer Wins is a must-read thriller for our times and absolutely one of the best of the year.

For more information, visit Amazon and Goodreads. 

(2025, 93)

In the never-ending list of great authors I keep meaning to read, Walter Mosley has been near the top for years. I’m a crime-fiction lover at heart, and he’s one of the most celebrated voices in the genre. But for whatever reason, I never actually delved into his work—until now. And oddly enough, it wasn’t one of his crime novels that finally pulled me in, but a more philosophical tale that caught my eye. When I read the synopsis for The Man in My Basement, I knew I had to read it. 

Charles Blakey is nearing his breaking point. He’s lost his job. He’s drinking too much. He’s behind on his mortgage payments and on the verge of losing the house that’s been in his family for generations. Then, one day, there’s a knock at the door. Standing on the other side is a man—a white man—with a strange, unnerving request. He wants to spend the summer living in Charles’s basement.

Why on earth would this stranger want to rent his basement? Charles doesn’t even want to imagine the possibilities, but the truth is, the money would help. And when he learns that Anniston Bennet is willing to pay him nearly $50,000 for the privilege, desperation wins out. Charles does what any down-on-his-luck man might do. He lets Anniston stay. But as the boarder begins transforming the basement into what looks alarmingly like a prison cell, Charles realizes he’s stepped into something far stranger and darker than he could have anticipated.

The Man in My Basement reads like a fable, one grounded by Walter Mosley's matter-of-fact approach to his writing. The scenario itself veers into the surreal, yet in Mosley’s capable hands, it all feels disarmingly real. And that makes it all the more unsettling. Mosley layers in contemplations on race, class, and atonement. It’s all quite heady and philosophical. But don’t let that fool you. The Man in My Basement is still a page-turner, even if the thrills are those of the mind. Life rarely provides neat answers, and Mosley’s story doesn’t either. Instead, it asks us to think, reflect, and draw our own conclusions. It makes for a memorable read and an excellent first impression of Mosley’s work.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2025, 92)