A Book A Week

At the ripe age of seventy-seven, Pepper Mills is facing what’s supposed to be her final move. After a minor car accident—one that ends with a priest confiscating her driver’s license and snipping it into pieces—her children decide it’s time for her to relocate to Vista View, a retirement community in Austin, Texas. Pepper has plenty of reasons to resist, chief among them the fact that her ex-husband (and father of her children) already lives there. Still, she chooses not to fight it. It’s easier this way.

As she settles in, Pepper begrudgingly begins to make connections. To her surprise, she finds a sense of community, and even more unexpectedly, the possibility of romance. At seventy-seven, she didn’t think she’d feel giddy about a man again, but life clearly has other plans.

And those plans are just getting started.

Pepper begins to feel unwell—exhausted, nauseated, and increasingly forgetful. At first, she blames the food, but no one else seems affected. As her symptoms worsen, her family braces for the worst: dementia, cancer, something irreversible. But after a battery of tests, the diagnosis is something no one could have predicted.

At seventy-seven years old, Pepper Mills is pregnant.

Enormous Wings takes its title from Gabriel García Márquez’s short story A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings, a tale in which a literal angel is treated as a spectacle rather than something sacred. It’s fitting, then, that Laurie Frankel draws a similar thread in her own work. Here, magical realism becomes a lens through which Frankel explores aging, mortality, bodily autonomy, and motherhood.

What comes to mind when you think of the word sanctuary? In a world filled with constant noise—politics, work, even the demands of family—having a place to retreat can feel more essential than ever.

This spring, I set out to create that space for myself. I went into my backyard and started digging. Weeks were spent pulling up roots (so many roots), turning over the soil, adding nutrients, planting, edging, and mulching. Slowly, a flowerbed stretching nearly 100 feet along my back fence began to take shape. And at the center of it all, I placed a simple bench, positioned just right to take in the birdbath and the blooms.

Piece by piece, I had built my own small sanctuary.

In her novel, These Silent Woods, Kimi Cunningham Grant tells the story of a war veteran who has carved out his own fragile sanctuary deep in the Appalachian Mountains. Cooper, as he’s known, lives in a remote cabin with his young daughter, Finch. Their life is simple—no electricity, no running water—but it’s one they’ve made their own.

Finch spends her days reading from the books that line the cabin walls, learning from the classics while also being taught how to survive in the wilderness. But as any child would, she has questions. What happened to her mother? Why do they live so cut off from the world? The answers exist, of course, but Cooper isn’t ready to give them. For him, it’s easier to protect the quiet life he’s built than to risk unraveling it with the truth.

Only two people know they live there. One is a reclusive mountain hermit who keeps a distant, watchful eye on Cooper and Finch. The other is Jake, Cooper’s former army buddy and the owner of the cabin, who visits once a year with the supplies they need to survive.

But this year, Jake didn’t come.

His absence sets off a chain of events that threatens the fragile life Cooper has built. As the walls of his carefully guarded sanctuary begin to close in, Cooper is forced to confront a question he’s long avoided. Can he keep hiding, or will he finally have to reckon with the past he’s been running from?

There’s a rich sense of atmosphere and place that runs through These Silent Woods. Kimi Cunningham Grant transports readers to the Appalachian Mountains, immersing us in the stark isolation of Cooper’s chosen refuge. His calm, measured demeanor contrasts beautifully with Finch’s bright curiosity, creating a dynamic that feels both tender and uncertain—you can sense he’s doing his best, even as he struggles to fully step into the role of father.

That character work is balanced by a steadily tightening sense of tension as the story unfolds. What begins as introspective and contemplative gradually gives way to something more urgent, pulling the reader deeper into the narrative. The result is a novel rich in character, steeped in atmosphere, and anchored by a story that softly grips you from start to finish. It reminds us how important it can be to carve out a place of peace, even if it can’t last forever.

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

(2026, 35)

Like many readers, I first became aware of TJ Klune through his novel The House in the Cerulean Sea. That book, and its equally fantastic follow-up, showcased Klune’s ability to explore imaginative fantasy worlds through grounded characters, all while thoughtfully examining themes of found family and the persecution of the LGBTQ+ community. He has a gift for balancing heavy subject matter with warmth, humor, and heart. I became an instant fan. So when I had the opportunity to read his newest release, the adult novel We Burned So Bright, I knew I was in for something special.

What would you do if you knew it was the end of the world?

Don and Rodney have spent the last forty years building a life together—devoted partners who have grown old side by side, even marrying once it finally became legal. They always imagined a future together, but not one that ends like this.

A black hole is tearing through the solar system, swallowing planets in its path and heading straight for Earth. There’s no stopping it. No escaping it. The end is certain.

With that reality looming, Don and Rodney leave the comfort of their home in Maine and set out on a final journey west. There’s one last promise they need to keep before everything is gone.

As they cross the country, they encounter others grappling with the end in their own ways—some with compassion and grace, others with fear and cruelty. But no matter what they face along the way, Don and Rodney remain determined to reach their destination before time runs out.

We Burned So Bright sees TJ Klune step away from his more fantastical storytelling in favor of something quieter and more introspective. Here, he explores the depths of humanity—how we connect, the impact we have on one another, and the choices we make when faced with the inevitable.

At first, I was a bit taken aback by just how inward-looking the novel is. Plot-wise, not much happens, but the emotional journey is where the story truly unfolds. This is a novel rooted in reflection, one that asks readers to consider our place in the world and the legacy we leave behind. More than anything, it highlights the enduring power of commitment, community, and the shared experience of navigating life’s highs and lows. There are moments where Klune’s message leans a bit too overt, but for the most part, its sincerity carries through. It’s a contemplative, quietly powerful story that will leave you in deep reflection even after you finish reading. 

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

(2026, 34)

Before I dive into just how much I enjoyed the film adaptation of Project Hail Mary, based on Andy Weir’s novel, I have a bit of a confession. I didn’t love the book. Sure, it was entertaining—a fast-paced, inventive spin on a buddy story—but I found parts of it stretched my suspension of disbelief a bit too far. I had fun with it, but it didn’t land anywhere near my favorite reads of the year.

That said, late last year, some coworkers started a buddy read of the novel in anticipation of the film, and they absolutely loved it. Experiencing their enthusiasm made me reconsider my own take. So earlier this week, I made my way back to the theater—something I admittedly don’t do as often these days—and gave the story another shot on the big screen. From the moment Daniel Pemberton’s score swelled over ethereal, pulsing visuals, I was pulled into this world in a way I never quite was with the book.

We first meet Ryan Gosling’s Ryland Grace as he emerges from a plastic cocoon, disheveled and disoriented, hooked up to wires and monitors. We know as little as he does. Who is he? Where is he? As he stumbles through the spacecraft, searching for answers, he discovers two other pods—both occupants dead. When he finally looks out a window and sees the endless black of space, the truth hits. He’s alone and adrift among the stars.

Like the novel, the film intercuts this mystery with flashbacks, slowly revealing Grace’s past as a scientist-turned-middle-school teacher whose once-dismissed research may hold the key to saving Earth. A mysterious organism is consuming the sun, and humanity is running out of time. Grace, against all odds, may be the one person who can stop it.

One of the film’s most surprising choices is how openly it embraces one of the book’s biggest twists: Grace’s encounter with an alien lifeform. Rather than treating it as a reveal, the film leans into the relationship that develops. Co-directors Phil Lord and Christopher Miller bring the character of Rocky to life through the work of James Ortiz, who creates, performs, and voices the rock-like alien. What unfolds between Gosling and Ortiz is unexpectedly moving—a story of two beings from different worlds, united by a shared mission and an even deeper need for connection.

The result is a film that balances action, humor, suspense, and genuine heart. I found myself fully invested this time around, riding every emotional high and low as the story built toward a conclusion that feels both optimistic and earned. It’s rare for an adaptation to elevate its source material in this way, but for me, Project Hail Mary did exactly that. It's a must-see film that transformed a story I merely liked into one I truly loved.

A few weeks ago, I read Boyfriend Material and was completely blown away. Romance isn’t a genre I usually gravitate toward, so I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed Alexis Hall’s fresh take on the fake-dating trope. Hall filled the novel with characters who felt complex, messy, and authentic. While I didn’t necessarily think the story needed a sequel, it didn’t take long for me to pick up Husband Material. And to my surprise, it takes these characters in a direction I never quite expected.

It’s been two years since Luc and Oliver’s unlikely relationship began. What started as a fake-dating arrangement has grown into something real—and, by their standards, surprisingly stable. Oliver remains as careful and reserved as ever, while Luc still wrestles with lingering doubts about his own worth, but together they’ve found a rhythm. They’re solid. They’re in love. They’re, dare I say, happy.

But what comes next?

That question is thrust to the forefront when Luc runs into his ex, the same man who sold their relationship to the tabloids. Luc wants nothing to do with him, but is caught off guard when the man not only apologizes, but invites him to his upcoming wedding. At first, Luc’s answer is easy: absolutely not. But the more he sits with it, the more it begins to feel like something he might need—closure.

And with wedding bells ringing, Luc and Oliver can’t help but turn the question inward. What does their own future look like? Are they ready for that kind of commitment, or is happily ever after more complicated than they imagined?

I’ll admit I was a bit apprehensive going into Husband Material. I loved the first book—like, I was genuinely surprised by how much I fell for those characters—and it already felt like they’d earned their happy ending. Add to that the more middling reception this sequel received, and I wasn’t entirely convinced there was a reason for this story to exist.

But as I read, I was reminded exactly why I connected with the first book in the first place. Alexis Hall writes with a blend of humor and compassion that brings these characters to life in such a natural, engaging way. It’s also worth noting that this isn’t really a traditional romance novel like the first book was. Husband Material is more of an exploration of what comes after, as Luc and Oliver navigate the reality of building a life together. That's an important distinction that helped me better understand where the story was going. 

And while the ending isn’t necessarily what I expected, it feels honest to who these characters are and where they find themselves. With a third book on the horizon, I’m still very much invested and eager to see where Hall takes them next.