A Book A Week

"Live from New York, it's Saturday Night!"

For fifty years, Saturday Night Live has graced the airwaves, delivering a steady stream of hilarious sketches, iconic guest stars, and unforgettable musical performances to audiences across the country. It has become synonymous with American comedy, launching the careers of countless stars over its half-century run. Yet for all that’s known about the show, far less is known about its creator and long-running producer, Lorne Michaels. The quiet Canadian has long kept a low profile, rarely speaking to the press. With the exception of a brief hiatus, during which NBC foolishly parted ways with him, Michaels has remained at the helm for nearly the entirety of the show’s run, recently completing its milestone 50th season. Now, for the first time, author Susan Morrison has been granted full access to Michaels, offering readers an unprecedented look at the man behind the legendary show and his extraordinary career.

It seems like destiny now, but for young Canadian Lorne Lipowitz, the path to comedy stardom was anything but guaranteed. Raised in a modest household, he discovered early on that he had a sharp wit and a natural ear for humor. Morrison traces Michaels’s journey from those formative years through his time in Canadian broadcasting, where he honed his skills as a writer and producer. She charts the ups and downs of his career, revealing how the groundwork for Saturday Night Live slowly came together long before the show ever aired.

How do you capture a lifetime, especially one intertwined with half a century of comedy history, in a single book? Morrison tackles the challenge by cleverly structuring the biography around the making of a single episode of SNL: the 2018 installment hosted by Jonah Hill. Each section corresponds to a day in the show's intense weekly schedule, from the pitch meeting on Monday to the live broadcast on Saturday night. The format serves as both a behind-the-scenes look at how the sausage gets made and an innovative framework to explore the many facets of Michaels’s life and legacy.

The result is a thorough and incredibly well-done biography. Lorne is insightful, entertaining, and rich with detail. Whether you’re a die-hard fan of Saturday Night Live or simply fascinated by the people who shape pop culture from behind the scenes, Morrison’s portrait of Lorne Michaels is a must-read.

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

(2025, 42)

Being a teenager is tough. For Charlie, it’s even tougher. He transitioned last year, delaying his start at Valentine Academy for Boys. Now, fully transitioned and learning to accept himself, he’s finally ready to begin this new chapter—on one condition: he gets a private room. Charlie isn’t prepared for anyone to know he’s trans, especially at a place like St. Valentine, a campus steeped in old-school tradition and not exactly known for being open-minded. But he mailed the check for the single-room fee well before term started, so things should be fine… right?

Wrong. When Charlie arrives on campus, he finds out the Academy never received his check, and all the private rooms are gone. He’s been assigned a roommate. Panic sets in. Maybe he wasn’t ready for this after all. How can he possibly keep his secret living with another boy?

And then he finds out his roommate is none other than Jasper Grimes, the boy who broke Charlie’s heart the year before he transitioned. Except Jasper doesn’t recognize him. Not yet. The clock is ticking. But there might be a way out. If Charlie agrees to help Jasper write anonymous love letters for the other boys on campus, he'll help him get his own room. Charlie figures he can survive a few late nights ghostwriting romance. What could possibly go wrong?

In And They Were Roommates, author Page Powars crafts a sweet coming-of-age romance that explores identity, acceptance, and the delicate balancing act between standing out and simply fitting in. At a time when trans kids are being demonized for political gain, this story is a powerful reminder that they’re just kids. Yes, some of the challenges they face are uniquely difficult, but so many of their struggles are universal. Growing up is hard, and adults shouldn’t be the ones making it harder. Powars writes with humor, grace, and deep empathy, making this charming romance all the more resonant and relatable. It’s a book that entertains while gently urging us to lead with compassion, and we could all use a little more of that.

Haunted. That’s one word to describe how the past year has left poor Annie Blunt. First, her husband was killed in a hit-and-run accident, leaving her alone to raise their young son, Charlie. Her personal life in shambles, at least she still had her career to anchor her—Annie was the author and illustrator of a beloved children’s book series featuring a lovable penguin. But then, tragedy bled into that world, too. In one of her books, the penguin crafted wings out of cardboard and tape in a whimsical effort to fly, its message clear: you can do anything you set your mind to. Tragically, a young reader took that message literally, fashioning wings of his own and leaping to his death. Annie couldn’t help but blame herself. Now, she’s haunted by everything she’s endured, unable to write, barely able to live.

Her agent suggests a change of scenery, somewhere far from the noise and reminders of her life in New York City. A quiet town in upstate New York might give Annie and Charlie the space to heal, maybe even help her start on the next book in her series, for which she’s already been paid an advance. Their new surroundings are peaceful, if a bit too quiet, and boredom soon begins to creep in. That is, until Charlie discovers an old, forgotten train set hidden away in a locked shed on the property. At first, Annie is relieved to see her son smiling again. But there’s something off about the toy. At night, Annie wakes to the sound of a train, despite the nearest tracks being miles away. And strange things begin to happen around the neighborhood. Most unsettling of all, Annie finds herself compulsively sketching a new character—one that has no place in a children’s story, and one she doesn’t remember creating. Despite her quest to escape her grief, Annie’s misery may only be beginning.

Only in the capable hands of Linwood Barclay could a model train set become the stuff of nightmares. I first encountered his writing with the stellar thriller A Noise Downstairs, so when his publisher offered me the chance to read his latest, Whistle, I jumped at the opportunity. There’s a timelessness to this terror. Barclay sets Annie’s story in the present day but also takes us back to 2001, offering glimpses of the horror that was and hints of the darkness still to come. We’ve seen where the tracks go before Annie does. All we can do now is look on in dread as it all unfolds. Whistle reads like a classic Stephen King novel. It's full of unsettling scenarios (some of which are genuinely hard to read), but anchored by well-developed characters who bring even the most outlandish moments into sharp, chilling focus. It’s the kind of summer page-turner that demands to be read. Quick, eerie, and thoroughly enjoyable.

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

(2025, 40)

Carl Hiaasen has built a career out of sharp, satirical novels set in his native Florida—books that blend tightly woven plots, eccentric characters, and a dry, biting wit. I hadn’t read one of his novels in several years, but when his publisher offered me a copy of his latest, Fever Beach, I jumped at the chance to dive back in. I’m glad I did.

Fever Beach begins with Dale Figgo, a man so astoundingly dim he was kicked out of the Proud Boys—not for his hate, but for his stupidity. During the January 6th insurrection, Figgo proudly smeared feces on what he believed was a statue of Ulysses S. Grant. In reality, it was Confederate General James Zachariah George. For the Proud Boys, this was a bridge too far. Not the act itself, of course—just the misdirected target.

Banished and undeterred, Figgo doubles down, founding his own fringe extremist group, the Strokers of Liberty. Yes, you read that right. A band of conspiracy-loving MAGA castoffs who are united by their far-right paranoia and, incredibly, a shared passion for masturbation. This is Carl Hiaasen at his most unhinged—and, somehow, his most on-point.

Enter Viva Morales, a broke, newly divorced woman desperate for housing, who ends up renting a room in Figgo’s crumbling apartment. She works for the Mink Foundation, a supposedly philanthropic organization led by grotesquely over-surgeried billionaires Claude and Eletra Mink, who, behind closed doors, are quietly bankrolling the far-right agenda. Viva eventually joins forces with Twilly Spree, a wealthy environmentalist with a volatile temper and a tendency to cause public scenes. Together, they're pulled into a tangle of dark money, political corruption, and motivations murkier than a Florida swamp.

Hiaasen presents a rogue’s gallery of misfits and monsters in a sprawling satire of political chaos, personal vice, and pure Floridian madness. Fever Beach delivers everything readers have come to expect from him: tangled plots, outrageous hijinks, environmental subtext, and a parade of morally suspect characters. But in our current post-truth era—shaped by the shadow of a Donald Trump presidency—Hiaasen’s political satire feels more pointed than ever. And he doesn't hold back. Fever Beach is a blistering commentary on disinformation, corruption, and the cult of personality, with Hiaasen’s trademark humor cutting through the absurdity like a machete in the mangroves.

Is it subtle? Not at all. But it’s wildly entertaining. Equal parts screwball crime caper and scathing political farce, Fever Beach reminded me why Hiaasen has remained a distinctive voice in American fiction for decades. This one’s political, folks, and it’s all the better for it. Buckle up. It’s a wild ride.

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

(2025, 39)

There’s a phenomenon that tends to crop up in long-running horror franchises. After a while, the formula gets stale. Desperate to recapture former glory, the creators throw the rulebook out the window and attempt a reinvention. Think Friday the 13th's Jason X, where Jason slashes his way through a spaceship, or Wes Craven’s New Nightmare, where Freddy breaks through the fourth wall to stalk the cast of a movie based on Nightmare on Elm Street.

Adam Cesare’s Clown in a Cornfield 2: Frendo Lives didn’t quite recapture the lightning-in-a-bottle energy of the first novel, but it ended with a compelling tease that hinted at something bold. Against my better judgment, I dove into Clown in a Cornfield 3: The Church of Frendo, curious to see how Cesare would land this trilogy. Like its cinematic horror counterparts, this final installment takes a sharp left turn into new territory—but does it work?

Picking up where book two’s epilogue left off, we find Quinn Maybrook on a mission. No longer just a survivor, she’s become a hunter, tracking down the violent disciples of Frendo across the country. But what began as vigilante justice becomes something far more ominous as she uncovers just how deeply the cult of Frendo has taken root. Back in her hometown, the clown has transformed from a symbol of chaos into the central figure of a burgeoning religion—one fueled by the same hate and extremism that first sparked the bloodshed.

Clown in a Cornfield 3: The Church of Frendo is Adam Cesare at his most unhinged and ambitious. It’s wild, grim, and over-the-top in a way that pays homage to horror’s most infamous third acts. Not everything lands, but there’s a certain satisfaction in seeing the trilogy go out swinging, embracing the bizarre while still holding onto the raw, bloody heart that made the original so memorable. If nothing else, it proves Cesare is unafraid to take risks—and in horror, that counts for a lot.

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

(2025, 38)

Dan can pinpoint the exact moment his life changed forever. He was just a child when it happened. His father had pulled into a quiet rest stop so Dan could use the bathroom. As soon as he stepped inside and saw another boy standing there alone, he knew something was wrong. Their eyes locked—briefly, urgently—and Dan could feel the danger. From the last stall came a faint whistling, a deceptively cheerful tune that masked the malevolence waiting within. Dan should have done something. He should have taken the boy’s hand and run. But when the whistling stopped, and the man in the stall realized they were no longer alone, Dan panicked. He hid in the nearest stall, trembling, listening. Then came the chilling words: “No one sees, no one cares.” Moments later, the man was gone, his whistling fading into the distance. The boy walked dutifully behind him, resigned to whatever fate lay ahead. 

“We are shaped by our pasts, not defined by them.”

Years later, Dan still lives with the guilt of that day. He would eventually learn that the man he encountered was known as the Pied Piper—a serial killer responsible for the disappearance of countless boys. The child Dan saw was almost certainly one of his victims. Now an adult, Dan works as a criminal profiler, devoting his life to saving the innocent lives he once failed to protect. But when his father dies under suspicious circumstances, Dan is pulled back to the place he thought he’d escaped. As he investigates the final days of his father’s life, a terrifying truth begins to take shape. The monster from his past may never have left.

The Man Made of Smoke sees Alex North return to the kind of chilling, standalone thriller that first put him on the map. I was introduced to his work with his breakout debut, The Whisper Man, and this latest novel draws on the same atmospheric dread and psychological intensity that made that book such a standout. Only here, it feels even more urgent, more unsettling.

North is a master at preying on the imagination, understanding that what we conjure in our minds is often far scarier than anything he could explicitly describe. In The Man Made of Smoke, mere suggestion becomes nightmare fuel. There were moments I had to pause just to collect myself before diving back in. The story alternates between Dan’s present-day investigation and the haunting perspective of one of the Pied Piper’s abducted victims from two decades earlier. North weaves these timelines together with precision, gradually building toward a final act that’s both terrifying and emotionally resonant.

This is a remarkably effective thriller—dark, original, and full of psychological menace. The Man Made of Smoke will have you second-guessing what’s real, what’s imagined, and what’s lurking just beyond the shadows. Keep the lights on for this one.

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

(2025, 37)

I’m back home today after an extended Mother’s Day weekend that also included attending a wedding. I’ve mused before about the emotional convergence that weddings tend to bring—the blend of joy, family tension, and personal drama that often threatens to eclipse the celebration itself. What should be a weekend devoted to love and union frequently becomes a showcase for old grudges, awkward reunions, and complicated dynamics. It’s precisely this fertile ground that Anne Tyler draws from in her latest novel, Three Days in June.

At the heart of the novel is Gail Baines, a woman caught at a crossroads. After years of loyal service as second-in-command at a private girls' school, Gail is passed over for the headmistress role in favor of a younger, fresher face. Worse still, the incoming headmistress plans to bring in her own assistant, leaving Gail not just overlooked but out of a job, just a few years shy of retirement. Rather than wait to be pushed out, Gail storms out first. 

She barely has time to lick her wounds. Her only daughter, Debbie, is getting married tomorrow, and there’s no shortage of things to stress about. She wasn’t invited to the mother-of-the-groom’s spa day, and she’s beginning to worry she’s losing her daughter to this new family. As if that weren’t enough, her ex-husband Max has arrived—rescue cat in tow—and due to the groom’s allergies, he’ll be crashing at Gail’s place for the weekend.

Annoying? Certainly. Manageable? Gail hopes so. But when Debbie confides in her parents a secret about her soon-to-be husband, it throws the entire wedding and their already complicated family dynamic into question.

Three Days in June showcases Anne Tyler’s sharp understanding of human nature in a brief yet emotionally resonant novel. This was my first experience with Tyler’s writing, and I was immediately struck by her witty nonchalance and ease with emotional nuance. For such a short book, it’s impressively layered, balancing humor, heartbreak, and rich character development with graceful precision. The novel plays almost like an anti-romantic comedy. Gail, our wonderfully dry and self-sufficient protagonist, serves as a counterpoint to the wedding festivities—a celebration of union set against her solitary, hard-won independence. I was in awe of Tyler’s ability to tackle big themes, such as loneliness, aging, and the fragile bonds of family, while grounding the story in warm, often laugh-out-loud humor. The result is a novel that both challenges and charms. It's a deceptively light read with surprising emotional heft.

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

(2025, 36)

With a hurricane bearing down on Galveston, Charlie Book gives his team the night off. They've been stationed offshore with the Texas Parks and Wildlife Service, studying the Christabel—a half-sunken 19th-century freighter swallowed by Gulf waters and tangled in a lattice of mangrove trees. Over time, nature has turned the wreck into something strange and beautiful, a ghost ship wrapped in living roots. Book has grown obsessed with the vessel’s eerie stillness, isolation, and secrets. He plans to ride out the storm alone aboard the ship, despite the warnings.

Just as he’s about to depart, Ruby appears on the dock. He hasn’t seen her in years. Their relationship ended in pain, the kind you don’t easily talk about or forget. Now here she is, soaked in rain and panic, not alone but with a frightened woman and an infant in tow. They beg him to take them aboard the Christabel. They're running from a coven of witches, no less, and believe the child is marked for sacrifice. Book knows it sounds insane. He almost laughs. But something in Ruby’s eyes makes him pause. Against his better judgment, he agrees to help.

As the storm closes in and the wind howls through Christabel's broken ribs, something stirs in the dark. The night birds are circling, watching, waiting. What seemed like an act of mercy may have just invited an ancient terror aboard.

I'll admit, the setup of The Night Birds struck me as a bit over-the-top when I first read the synopsis. A coven of witches chasing a woman with the intent to sacrifice an infant? It sounded more pulpy than genuinely terrifying. And yes, there are certainly moments in this story that invite an eye-roll or two. But Christopher Golden is a master of horror for a reason, and that expertise is on full display here.

Golden conjures a setting that’s as eerie as it is beautiful—a half-drowned ship tangled in mangrove roots, isolated off the Texas coast. It’s the kind of place that keeps you off balance, unsure whether to marvel or shudder. The forest-aquatic atmosphere alone generates a steady undercurrent of unease, and when Golden decides to go for the scares, he delivers. Several moments in this novel had me reaching for the nearest light switch.

Is The Night Birds my favorite of his? No. That title still belongs to The House of Last Resort. But it’s always a thrill to dive into horror that’s atmospheric, original, and unapologetically weird. The Night Birds might be a little silly, but it’s also a creepy, fast-paced blast. And really, what more could you ask for?

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

(2025, 35)

I was first introduced to Alex Finlay’s writing through his 2023 novel, What Have We Done, a fun, fast-paced thriller, if a bit over the top. I liked it well enough, but it didn’t leave me eager to rush into more of his work. Still, when I came across the premise of his latest novel, Parents Weekend, I was intrigued. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good mystery, and this one had a setup that hooked me right away. Even better, the kind folks at Macmillan Audio gave me a copy of the audiobook. With curiosity piqued, I dove in.

It was supposed to be the perfect weekend. At this celebratory gathering, proud parents would visit their children at a small private university in California, eager to reconnect and acknowledge their kids’ hard work. The festivities were set to begin with a formal dinner, bringing students and families together. But when five students fail to show, what initially seems like harmless college rebellion—maybe a party, a last-minute change of plans—soon takes a darker turn. As the hours stretch on with no word from the missing students, concern gives way to panic. Campus police join forces with outside authorities, and by morning, a full-scale search is underway. Are the students simply off the grid? Or is something far more sinister unfolding on the beachfront campus?

Parents Weekend hooks you with a simple setup and unspools into an effortlessly engaging thriller. Alex Finlay has a knack for crafting fast-paced stories. His latest is no exception. That said, it’s not without its flaws. The novel revolves around five missing students, and Finlay toggles between multiple perspectives—students, parents, and investigators—creating a large cast that initially feels a bit unwieldy. It took me a while to get everyone straight. Fortunately, Brittany Pressley’s narration in the audiobook helps to distinguish the characters, and by the halfway point, I was able to settle in and just enjoy the ride.

And really, that’s the best way to approach a Finlay novel. Just go with it. Are the characters deeply developed? Not particularly. Will the twist blow your mind? Probably not. But Parents Weekend is pure popcorn entertainment—absorbing while it lasts, even if it doesn’t leave a lasting impression. For me, that makes it a perfectly fun summer read.

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

(2025, 34)

It’s been a while since I’ve done a Friday Flicks post here on the blog. Yes, I’m still watching plenty of movies, but I’ll admit that reviewing them on top of my weekly book coverage can be a bit much. Still, Conclave (2024) has been on my watchlist ever since I saw the trailer. When I found out it was based on a novel by Robert Harris, an author I’ve enjoyed in the past, I decided to read the book first.

I’m glad I did. The novel was a fantastic read, immersing me in the intrigue and tradition surrounding the election of a new pope. With Pope Francis's recent passing and a new conclave about to begin in real life, it felt like the perfect time to finally watch the film adaptation.

Edward Berger’s Conclave is a tense, cerebral thriller that pulls the curtain back on the secretive inner workings of the Vatican. The film immerses viewers in the centuries-old ritual of selecting a new pope following the sudden death of the Holy Father. Cardinal Lomeli (Ralph Fiennes), a man defined by his unwavering faith and moral conviction, is tasked with organizing the sacred proceedings. Though still mourning the loss of his mentor, Lomeli is bound by duty to shepherd the Church through this critical transition.

From the outset, it becomes clear that the conclave, intended to be a solemn, divinely inspired process, is just as vulnerable to earthly vices. Beneath the surface of reverence and ritual lie political machinations, long-held rivalries, and whispered ambitions. As 118 cardinals are locked inside the Vatican to cast their votes, Lomeli uncovers a shocking secret hidden in the late pope’s private correspondence—one with the potential not just to upend the outcome of the election, but to shake the very foundations of the Church itself.

Conclave is a masterful adaptation that faithfully brings its source material to life. Like the novel, the film challenges viewers to contemplate the fine line between divine duty and mortal failings. Ralph Fiennes delivers a quietly powerful performance as Cardinal Lomeli, a man torn between his spiritual obligations and the all-too-human flaws he observes within the Church’s highest ranks. Fiennes plays him with a calm intensity, grounding the film even as its stakes steadily escalate.

The supporting cast is equally impressive. John Lithgow, Stanley Tucci, and Isabella Rossellini all bring gravitas and nuance to their roles, elevating the ensemble. Director Edward Berger approaches the material with a measured, deliberate style, allowing the story’s ethical questions and political intrigue to unfold without flashy distraction. Stéphane Fontaine’s cinematography captures the grandeur and shadowed secrecy of the Vatican with stunning precision. At the same time, Academy Award-winner Volker Bertelmann’s somber score infuses the film with a haunting sense of weight and urgency.

Part political thriller, part spiritual meditation, Conclave is a layered and compelling viewing experience that lingers long after the final scene. As both a fan of the book and someone always on the lookout for smart, gripping cinema, I’m thrilled to say that this Friday Flicks pick more than lived up to expectations.