A Book A Week

Leila Mottley made waves when, at just 19 years old, she released her debut novel Nightcrawling. That book became a bestseller, an Oprah Book Club pick, and a critical darling. It even landed on my list of favorite reads of 2020. Not bad for a first outing. When her publisher offered me an early copy of her highly anticipated sophomore novel, The Girls Who Grew Big, I couldn’t say yes fast enough. It's another raw, sobering character study about girls forced to grow up too fast and live with the consequences of their choices. 

From the start, Mottley makes clear the kind of unflinching story she’s here to tell. We meet Simone, a pregnant teenager giving birth in the back of a pickup truck. The baby’s father watches in panic as she delivers fraternal twins, right there in the thick, humid air of small-town Florida. There’s a certain brutality to the moment, but also a revelation. For the first time in her life, Simone knows what real love feels like. She isn’t sure how she’ll provide for her children, but she knows she will. She has to.

Then there’s Emory, who was at the top of her class before she got pregnant. She never stopped doing her schoolwork—not during the pregnancy, not after giving birth. Every day, she arrives at school with her newborn in tow, determined to graduate and attend college. One mistake isn’t going to ruin her life. She won’t let it. Not for her sake, and not for her child’s.

Finally, we meet Adela, a sixteen-year-old swimming phenom with Olympic dreams—until her pregnancy sends those ambitions off course. Her parents send her away from their Indiana home to live with her grandmother in Padua Beach, Florida. It’s there that Adela meets Simone, now raising four-year-old twins, and Emory, along with the rest of “the Girls”, a makeshift community of teen mothers doing their best to raise their children and hold onto their futures.

From the outside, it may seem as though these girls have lost their way. But as Mottley makes clear, they’re just beginning to find it.

With The Girls Who Grew Big, Leila Mottley proves the success of her debut novel was no fluke. This new work revisits familiar themes—lost innocence, the impact of poverty, and the paradoxes of womanhood—but it’s far from a retread. Mottley expands her storytelling by shifting perspectives among three protagonists, each of whom faces the realities of teenage motherhood in her own way. Through them, we see how different personalities respond to the same impossible weight.

At times, it can be overwhelming to read. The stories are tragic in a way that makes you pause and reflect on them. But that’s the point. These traumas aren’t uncommon. For many young women, this is real life. The systems aren’t built to support them, and the social stigmas they face are relentless.

The Girls Who Grew Big is raw, emotional, and brilliant. Mottley takes big swings and grapples with even bigger ideas. The novel may feel rough around the edges at times, but that’s part of its power. This is writing with heart. It feels lived-in, honest, and bursting with truth. I have no doubt this book will end up on my list of favorites at the end of the year.

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

(2025, 50)

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)

I consider myself lucky to have a strong relationship with both of my parents, though it hasn’t always been smooth. I’ve never questioned their love for me, but like most families, we’ve had our share of ups and downs. It’s easy to forget that our parents are navigating life for the first time, just like we are—learning, stumbling, and growing along the way. They have their own history, a whole life that existed before we came into the picture, and that history shaped who they are as people and as parents. Andrew Porter touches on this idea in his novel The Imagined Life, where he explores the complex dynamics between parents and children, and the process of reconciling our perceptions of our parents with the fuller, often messier truth of who they really are.

Steven Mills adored his father. What young boy wouldn't? To Steve, his dad was the best—smart, funny, and always someone he could count on. He remembers watching him hold court at their home’s infamous poolside parties, entertaining friends, colleagues, and students with sharp anecdotes about literature, film, and life. Steve would observe from afar, quietly soaking in his father's brilliance and charm.

But the man Steve idolized and the man his father truly was turned out to be two very different people. Even as a boy, he couldn't ignore the tension. He saw the way his mother flinched at his father's jokes, the growing silence between them, the slow retreat of his father into the pool house, where another figure often lurked behind the drawn curtains. When his father's quest for tenure unraveled in spectacular fashion, Steve could only watch helplessly as the world he revered collapsed around him. The parties dwindled, then stopped altogether. His father's desperate letters, pleas to former colleagues, went unanswered.

And then, in 1984, his father vanished entirely, leaving Steve and his mother to pick up the pieces of the life he had abandoned.

Now an adult facing troubles of his own—a marriage on the brink of divorce, a distant relationship with his only child—Steve is determined to uncover what became of his enigmatic father. Each revelation in the present peels back another layer of the past, revealing a portrait of a man increasingly difficult to recognize. And with every new discovery, Steve must also confront painful truths about his own life and how history may be repeating itself.

In The Imagined Life, Andrew Porter crafts a novel that nimbly explores the dichotomies between nostalgia and reality, innocence and enlightenment, love and loss. On the surface, it’s a straightforward story—a quest to uncover the fate of a missing family member—but as the layers peel back, deeper meanings emerge. I was completely invested in Steve’s journey and couldn’t help but see pieces of my own relationship with my father reflected in him. We can never fully know all the complexities that shape the people who raise us. We trust them, learn from them, even model ourselves after them, but relationships are rarely simple. Porter captures that tension beautifully, illustrating the complicated yet unbreakable bond between father and son. The Imagined Life is a daring, brilliant novel that deftly plumbs the depths of our humanity and the intricate connections we build with those closest to us.

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

(2025, 33)

I can recall the days of the internet's infancy, the sheer excitement at the possibilities it would bring to our world mixed with the skepticism that it would deliver on all that it promised. Hefty encyclopedias had long been our gateway to knowledge, but the internet threatened to upend that entirely. Even with its screeching dial-up tones, sluggish speeds, and frequent outages, it changed the world in ways we never could have anticipated. Now, with Wi-Fi considered a basic necessity and AI poised to disrupt our lives once again, we are still grappling with the consequences of our hyper-connected existence.

Our dependence on technology is becoming more prevalent each day, but are we actually more connected to each other? In his newest novel, Twist, author Colum McCann grapples with this question, forcing us to contemplate the fractures that have formed in our increasingly interconnected lives. 

"Mine has been a lifetime of dropped connections."

At 47, Irish writer Anthony Fennell fears his life has plateaued. His novels saw modest success, his plays fared only slightly better, and his personal life is in shambles. Divorced, estranged from his teenage son, and drowning in self-doubt (and whiskey), he’s desperate for a break.

Most of the internet’s data travels through fiber optic cables lying deep beneath the ocean. Cables that, from time to time, snap. And when they do, someone has to fix them. Out of the blue, a magazine editor offers Anthony an assignment to cover the dangerous work of repairing these underwater lifelines. He’s less intrigued by the technicalities of the cables themselves and more by the deeper story they symbolize. He plans to tell a tale of connection, resilience, and restoration.

Joining a deep-sea repair crew led by the enigmatic John Conway, an expert free diver/engineer, Anthony embarks on a journey unlike any other. Isolated at sea with a diverse crew and miles of ocean in every direction, he finds himself drawn into their mission to reconnect the world. But as the cables pulse with the world’s conversations, they also carry news that will change the course of the journey and Anthony's life forever. 

Twist is a fitting title for a novel that seeks to encapsulate the vastness of humanity within a relatively self-contained narrative. Colum McCann’s latest book explores the enormity of the world. There are the sprawling oceans, the cables running beneath them, and the intricate web of connectivity they sustain. Yet, at its core, this is a quietly intimate story.

Anthony is a man searching for purpose, and in John Conway, he encounters someone who, at least on the surface, seems to have found his. Conway is singularly skilled, excelling in his dangerous yet crucial work. But his past remains elusive. Even when Anthony meets Conway’s lover and learns more about his personal life, he is left with more questions than answers. The journey toward meaning is anything but straightforward.

As the novel twists through revelations and unexpected turns, certainty remains just out of reach. Twist becomes a meditation on connection. McCann urges us to seek it not just through technology but in the real world through conversations, experiences, and acts of love. While at times challenging and even frustrating, it is ultimately a novel that compels us to reflect on the bonds we have forged in our own lives and the path we traverse in finding our own sense of being. 

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

(2025, 27)

Like many others, my first encounter with Eowyn Ivey’s writing was through her extraordinary debut novel, The Snow Child. With its rich depictions of Alaska’s rugged wilderness—where Ivey herself lives—woven together with magical realism and heartfelt emotional depth, the novel left an indelible mark on me. It even earned a place on the shortlist for the Pulitzer Prize. When Ivey’s publisher offered me a copy of her newest novel, Black Woods, Blue Sky, I jumped at the chance to read it. True to her signature style, it’s a story that defies genre and immerses readers deep into its emotional core. 

Birdie is doing her best to keep things together, even if it looks different from what others might expect. After growing up with an absentee mother who barely acknowledged her or her sister, Birdie never had a blueprint for raising a child. Now, as the sole caregiver for her young daughter, Emaleen, she’s left to figure it out on her own. She bartends all night and indulges in her fair share of reckless partying. These choices might draw judgment from others, but Birdie is doing what she can to provide. It’s messy and imperfect, but it’s all she knows. No one can say she isn't trying.

Still, Birdie is learning that survival takes a village, even in the isolated Alaskan town she calls home. Luckily, Emaleen has a network of unofficial aunts and uncles—locals who step in where they can. When Emaleen wanders into the wilderness one day, it’s not the usual friendly faces who rescue her. Arthur Nielsen, the reclusive, soft-spoken man with a scarred face that keeps most people at arm’s length, unexpectedly brings Emaleen back to safety. While the townsfolk warn Birdie to stay away from him, she’s drawn to his quiet, unburdened existence. For Birdie, Arthur symbolizes a freedom she’s only ever dreamed of, a life without constraints or expectations. Despite her doubts, she forges a connection with the outcast, setting into motion a journey of friendship, love, and self-discovery that will reshape her life in ways she never imagined.

It’s almost impossible to describe Black Woods, Blue Sky without stripping it of the magic that makes it so unique. When I began reading, I wasn’t entirely sure what kind of story I was stepping into. Eowyn Ivey lets the narrative unfold at its own pace, immersing us in relationships and moments that feel as organic as they are captivating. Her vivid, lyrical prose draws you into the world she so carefully constructs, where the stark beauty of the Alaskan wilderness becomes a stage for the vibrant, deeply human characters she brings to life.

As the true essence of the story slowly revealed itself, I found myself completely enchanted. What begins as a quiet tale blossoms into a fable—a meditation on love, nurturing, and the profound connections we forge with ourselves, others, and the world around us. Like the best fairy tales, Black Woods, Blue Sky carries an undercurrent of tragedy. Triumphs are met with tribulations, and light and shadow constantly alternate. Yet, also like the best fairy tales, this one leaves behind a sense of wonder, a moral resonance, and a craving for more.

The novel culminates in a powerful reckoning with memory and grief, an emotional depth that hit me in ways I didn’t anticipate. Ivey’s storytelling is singular. No one else could have written this novel. Black Woods, Blue Sky is a unique triumph, a literary marvel, and a book that will undoubtedly remain one of my favorites of the year.

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

(2025, 10)

Samantha Harvey's 2023 novel Orbital captured widespread acclaim upon its release, culminating in a Booker Prize win that solidified its reputation as a literary triumph. After months of anticipation, I finally moved it to the top of my TBR list and was immediately intrigued by its simple premise. With Orbital, Harvey ambitiously attempts to tackle profound questions about life, humanity, and our place in the cosmos.

The novel follows six astronauts aboard a spacecraft orbiting high above Earth. Hailing from different countries, they are united by their mission to advance scientific understanding, yet their shared humanity binds them in unexpected ways. Over 24 hours, they circle the planet 16 times, marveling at its beauty while grappling with the emotional gravity of the lives they’ve left behind. When news of a crewmate’s mother's death reaches them, it triggers a cascade of reflections about loss, connection, and the fragility of human existence. As they drift in the vast expanse of space, the astronauts are drawn back to Earth—not just as a home but as a fragile, irreplaceable entity.

In Christopher Nolan's Interstellar, there's a scene where the protagonist returns to his ship after spending hours on a planet where time moves much faster than on Earth. Though only a brief time has passed for him, decades have passed back home, and he's hit with the emotional weight of realizing that life has moved on without him. This poignant moment, both unsettling and thought-provoking, serves as a catalyst for deeper contemplation. It’s a feeling I anticipated as I began reading Orbital. Harvey crafts an intriguing premise, aiming to explore humanity's place in the vast cosmos. However, the concept behind the novel feels more impactful than the execution itself. Without a solid character or plot to anchor the reader, the story becomes a collection of abstract reflections on human frailty, punctuated by long descriptions of Earth below. While the writing had moments of brilliance, I could not fully connect with it. It’s a bold attempt at something profound, but in the end, it didn’t resonate with me.

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

(2025, 5)

As the year winds down, I’ve spent my days leisurely working through one final novel. My introduction to Alice McDermott’s reflective storytelling came last year with Absolution, and ever since, I’ve been eager to delve deeper into her work. Her 2017 novel, The Ninth Hour, was widely acclaimed upon its release and even garnered the prestigious National Book Award. This profoundly moving story spans the twentieth century, weaving the tale of a widow, her daughter, and the nuns dedicated to serving their Irish-American community in Brooklyn. I was utterly enthralled by the richly drawn characters, making it the perfect book to close out another year of reading.

The novel opens with a harrowing tragedy. Jim, a young Irish immigrant, has reached the end of his rope. Recently dismissed from his job in the subway system and unable to envision a future where he can support his pregnant wife, he makes a desperate choice. Opening the gas taps in their Brooklyn tenement, Jim's despair culminates in a fire that ends his life in a heartbreaking flash.

In the aftermath of this devastating loss, his widow, Annie, is left to face an uncertain future with an unborn child on the way. Seeking solace and direction, Annie turns to the church, the one place that offers a semblance of hope amid her grief. Enter Sister St. Savior, a beacon of compassion who provides Annie with work in the convent's basement laundry and, more importantly, a sense of purpose and stability. Sally, Annie's newborn daughter, grows up at her mother's side, peacefully resting in a basket as Annie toils in the steamy confines of the basement.

As the story unfolds, we are drawn into the lives of these richly crafted characters across generations. Through themes of love and sacrifice, guilt and forgiveness, hope and despair, The Ninth Hour offers a poignant exploration of human resilience. Alice McDermott’s prose brings a quiet urgency to even the most mundane moments, imbuing them with significance.

While I was already impressed by McDermott’s writing in Absolution, I found The Ninth Hour even more moving. The novel pulled me into the lives of its characters as they navigate the challenges handed to them, making the best of their circumstances with grace and determination. It’s a quietly powerful read that lingers long after the final page—a fitting way to close the book on 2024 and turn toward the promise of a new year.

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

(2024, 95)

Reflecting on the impact of presidents throughout American history, it’s clear that some figures hold a particularly consequential place in shaping the nation. Their actions and legacies resonate through time regardless of popularity or party affiliation. Abraham Lincoln is undeniably one of these figures, a president who guided the divided nation through its bloodiest conflict. In Lincoln in the Bardo, George Saunders reimagines a small, deeply personal moment from Lincoln’s life, crafting an imaginative and haunting narrative unlike anything I’ve read. The novel captures the gravity of history and the intimate, human experiences that unfold within it, making for a truly unique exploration of one of America’s most storied leaders.

The year is 1862, and the Civil War has been tearing through the country for nearly a year, with mounting casualties and no sign of resolution. President Abraham Lincoln, already a polarizing figure, is under tremendous strain as he tries to unite a divided nation. Tragedy strikes Lincoln personally as he faces the country’s collective grief. His eleven-year-old son, Willie, fell gravely ill in the White House. Despite hopes for recovery, Willie’s condition worsened, and within days, he passed away, leaving his parents heartbroken.

Mary Todd Lincoln, overwhelmed by sorrow, is unable even to attend her son’s funeral. Shattered by the loss, Abraham spends countless hours alone in Willie’s crypt, confronting the enormity of his personal and national burdens.

Meanwhile, young Willie finds himself trapped in the realm between life and death—a purgatory known in Buddhist tradition as the bardo. Here, he encounters a menagerie of spectral characters, each suspended in this liminal space. These ghosts share reflections on their lives, contemplating their choices and the meaning they find, as Saunders intricately weaves their stories with Lincoln’s profound loss.

Finding a genuinely original novel is rare, but Lincoln in the Bardo is precisely that. George Saunders brings an unparalleled voice to this story, transforming a small historical fact into a profound exploration of metaphysics and shared humanity. The structure is striking: Saunders intersperses quotes from various historical sources, creating a layered tapestry that contemplates loss and grief. The bardo itself has a rhythm that may either captivate or alienate readers—I’m still undecided on how well it worked for me. Nonetheless, Saunders has crafted an emotionally resonant novel that reached deep into my own experience of loss, confronting sorrow while offering glimmers of hope. At a time when the U.S. stands on the brink of another pivotal political chapter, this novel feels all the more timely and significant.

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

(2024, 85)

Sometimes, a book captures the spirit of the times, perfectly reflecting the emotions and experiences of humanity at that moment. In the fall of 2020, as the world grappled with the uncertainty and fear brought on by the pandemic, the threat of COVID-19 was overwhelming. We watched helplessly as this invisible virus upended our lives, changing them forever. The worst part was that we could not do anything but hope to stay safe. Tragically, many lost their lives before a vaccine was developed, and we slowly began to adjust to our new normal.

Rumaan Alam's novel Leave the World Behind was released that October and quickly captivated readers around the globe. The story of two families forced to coexist under one roof as the world around them spiraled into chaos mirrored our new reality and resonated deeply with readers. As is often the case, I avoided reading the novel during its initial hype, only recently rediscovering it on my shelf. I started it eager to see if the story still had the same impact as during that unprecedented year.

Amanda and Clay are eager for a getaway. They’ve rented a luxurious Airbnb in a secluded part of Long Island, far from the stress of the city. Along with their teenage son and daughter, the couple plans to spend the next few days relaxing and unwinding, free from the burdens of their everyday lives. But little do they know that everything they’re trying to escape is about to intrude on their vacation, starting with a knock on the door on their very first night.

When Amanda and Clay open the door, they find an older couple, Ruth and G.H., who claim to be the owners of the house. Why are they here? The couple is clearly distressed, explaining that a massive power outage has hit the city. They've arrived at their country house in search of their own safe haven. But can Amanda and Clay trust them? With no way to verify their story—since phone and internet services have gone out, and the power is soon to follow—they have little choice but to let Ruth and G.H. in, becoming reluctant housemates in an increasingly uncertain situation.

A growing sense of uneasiness permeates each page of Leave the World Behind. Rumaan Alam crafts a narrative where characters are thrust together by sheer circumstance, generating interpersonal drama that echoes the outside world's chaos. As I read, I couldn't help but recall the days of quarantine, confined within the walls of my home with little certainty about what the future held. Even years later, that lingering anxiety haunts me. Alam captures this feeling brilliantly, weaving it into the plot and the characters themselves.

Tensions simmer between the two couples, divided by age and race, adding an extra layer of mistrust that fuels the mystery of what’s happening in the world. Why has the power gone out? Why are flamingos flying in the sky? And what was that deafening noise that shattered the windows? Answers are elusive, but that’s not the novel's purpose. Alam invites us to question everything, knowing full well that drawing conclusions may lead us astray. While this approach may yield mixed reactions from readers, I can see why this story has resonated so deeply with many. We lived through a unique moment in time that left us with more questions than answers. Leave the World Behind offers a chance to reflect on that experience through the lens of fiction, providing a sense of catharsis that only a well-crafted story can deliver.

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

(2024, 62)

The past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind. We finally began repairing and renovating our home, addressing some storm damage from April and updating a few other things. Just as all this work wrapped up, Hurricane Beryl hit, leaving us to deal with days without power, downed limbs, and some new damage. Thankfully, we are safe, and the damage is minimal this time. Although I've been less active on the blog amidst all this chaos, my reading hasn't slowed down. With that in mind, I'm excited to finally return with a review for one of my most anticipated reads of the year.

Liz Moore's 2020 novel, Long Bright River, was a standout for me. The dark and visceral mystery captivated me with its deeply drawn characters, grounded realism, and compelling plot. It wasn’t an easy or light read, but it stayed with me long after I finished it. After four long years of eagerly waiting for something new from Moore, I was thrilled to receive a copy of her latest novel, The God of the Woods, from her publisher. Like her previous work, this novel centers on a missing person's case, but this time, it unfolds across multiple characters and timelines. Moore's unique, gripping, and thought-provoking writing style shines in this novel, exploring different themes and subjects while seamlessly weaving together another compelling read.

The sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon at an Adirondack summer camp when a counselor notices an empty bunk. It's 1975, and Barbara Van Laar, the camper who should be there, is missing. The counselor, Louise, doesn't initially panic. After all, each cabin is dutifully monitored by one of Camp Emerson's counselors. Surely, they'll know where Barbara is. When Louise discovers the hungover counselor, who very obviously didn't spend the night ensuring the safety of her charges, the reality of the situation begins to set in. Barbara isn't just any camper; she's a member of the Van Laar family, one of the region's wealthiest and most prominent families. The Van Laars own the camp and employ many of the local residents who run it. This is a disaster. 

The urgency to find Barbara is heightened by several other alarming factors. News of an escaped killer has broken, and he is suspected to be hiding in the very woods surrounding the camp. Even more concerning, this isn't the first time a Van Laar has vanished in these woods. Decades ago, Barbara's older brother, Bear, disappeared among these trees, sending his parents, Peter and Alice Van Laar, into a tailspin. With Barbara now missing, locals fear history may be repeating itself. Could these two cases be related? Can Barbara be found alive?

In The God of the Woods, Liz Moore delves into the complexities of wealth, expectation, and legacy through a multifaceted missing person's case that will keep readers guessing until the very end. The story's intricate structure takes time to settle into as Moore alternates between various characters' perspectives across two different timelines. The past, set in the 1950s, revolves around Bear's disappearance, while the present, set in the 1970s, centers on Barbara's. This nonlinear narrative gradually reveals each character's motivations, withholding their true intentions until the story's climax. While this approach can initially feel tedious, I was utterly absorbed in the mystery by the halfway point, captivated by Moore's narrative craftsmanship.

The richly portrayed setting further enhances the story's allure. The woods become almost a spiritual realm, providing the perfect backdrop for Moore's intricate narrative. The grandeur and mystery of the forest create a constant, grounding presence amidst the shifting perspectives. This setting, combined with the complex characters and central mystery, makes the story's narrative acrobatics more engaging. The conclusion is both tragically poetic and deeply satisfying, delivering final revelations that feel both shocking and inevitable. The God of the Woods is another standout work from Liz Moore. It offers an unconventional take on the mystery genre that encourages contemplation of its deeper meanings while enthralling readers with its compelling story.

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

(2024, 52)

"Nothing mattered but the stories, my understanding of them, how the stories affected me, and the dreams the story ignited."

The year is 2015, and Tatum feels settled in life for perhaps the first time. She lives in Chile with her partner Vera and works at her dream job in an art museum. It's a stark contrast to the life she once thought she wanted. Tatum spent the previous decade in New York, believing all her dreams would come true, but now she has doubts. Much of that time was consumed by her admiration for acclaimed author M. Domínguez, whose novel Happiness captivated her with its portrayal of the Latinx experience. It was the first time she felt represented in literature, prompting her to write a heartfelt fan email to the author. To her surprise, he responded, sparking a decade-long relationship that Tatum still doesn't fully comprehend.

Their bond was complex—sometimes a friendship, sometimes a romantic entanglement, a mentor-student dynamic that defies any simple definition. When a reporter contacts Tatum about multiple assault allegations against M., her carefully constructed separation between her past and present begins to unravel. She is forced to confront the true nature of her all-consuming relationship with the author. The questions and uncertainties she had pushed aside resurface, challenging her understanding of the past decade and compelling her to reevaluate the impact M. had on her life.

In her debut novel Like Happiness, author Ursula Villarreal-Moura invites readers to delve into the intricacies of relationships, power dynamics, sexuality, identity, and memory. The story unfolds through a dual narrative, alternating between Tatum's present day and a letter she writes to M., recounting and reclaiming their complex relationship. This structure reflects the protagonist's struggle with her past, emphasizing the back-and-forth and uncertainty she faces. Villarreal-Moura doesn't provide easy answers or steer readers in a specific direction; instead, she infuses her characters with raw emotion, making them relatable even when their situations are far from straightforward.

I loved reading a novel where the main character grew up in the same city as I did. San Antonio will always be home to me, and Villarreal-Moura beautifully captures the people, places, and history that make it unique. There is a profound sense of humanity throughout Like Happiness, allowing readers to easily immerse themselves in the story and reflect on its themes. With this debut, Villarreal-Moura establishes herself as a distinct voice in literature, leaving me eager to read more of her work. Like Happiness is one of the best novels I've read this year, and I'm grateful to the publisher for providing me with a copy.

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

(2024, 46)

There are moments when we, as readers, indulge in books for pleasure and enjoyment, while other times, we opt to challenge ourselves. I've always been a mood reader, gravitating towards whichever story captures my interest at a given moment. However, there are certain books that I choose to read as a means of expanding my literary horizons. When packing books for my recent Caribbean cruise, I primarily selected quick page-turners and crime thrillers. Yet, once on vacation, I yearned for something more substantial. I turned to my Kindle, where Hernan Diaz's Trust had been waiting since I impulsively purchased it after it won the Pulitzer in fiction last year. Disconnected from the rest of the world and fully absorbed in the ship's gentle rocking and the soothing hum of the waves, I began to read. The title is fitting, as 'trust' is precisely what you need when embarking on this novel, presented in four distinct parts. If you trust and stick with Diaz's writing, you'll soon be rewarded...mostly.

Part one unfolds as a brief novella titled "Bonds," a creation by a long-forgotten author, Harold Vanner, from the 1930s. It narrates the story of America's wealthiest man, Benjamin Rask, a man so accustomed to his privilege that he could never anticipate the tragic turn his life would take. In contrast to his father, who amassed a substantial fortune in the tobacco industry through his sociable nature and knack for sales, Benjamin relished in his solitude. While he might not have cultivated the social connections his father was known for, he possessed a talent for handling money. Benjamin turned his significant but not colossal inheritance into an unimaginable fortune, catching the attention of his colleagues and competitors. From the Roaring 20s to the crash of 1929, he employed an almost preternatural intuition to profit and sell, remaining oblivious to the devastation the crash would unleash on everyone else.

Benjamin's life transformed when he encountered the woman who would become his wife. She serves as a perfect counterpoint to him—equally at ease in her contemplative solitude, eccentric yet private. The couple captured the fascination of society, an allure that intensified as they withdrew from the public eye. Speculations about corruption within Rask's fortune began to circulate, particularly as he navigated the financial minefield of the Great Depression, unscathed. As if to demonstrate that even mere suspicions of impropriety must face an inevitable reckoning, the narrative hurtles toward the forewarned tragedy—a climax that manages to both shock and satisfy. Just as "Bonds" concludes with its tragic finale, Diaz seamlessly transitions to the second part of his novel, initiating the next layer of his intricate narrative.

Trust initially presented a challenge for me to navigate. Following the opening novella, which echoed Fitzgerald's cautionary fable in The Great Gatsby, the second part unfolded as a memoir by an American financier. While this narrative shared some parallels with the initial section, I grappled with understanding their connection and questioning why I should invest in this new storyline. It wasn't until the third section, roughly halfway through Trust, that the true essence of Diaz's narrative began to unveil itself, with connections becoming more apparent and the emotional journey drawing me further in. As a cohesive whole, this book stands as a masterfully crafted tale, making me marvel at Diaz's ability to inhabit distinct voices and styles within each of the four sections and seamlessly bring them together into a unified whole. While the ending fulfilled my desire to witness the integration of the diverse narrative threads, the story's emotional impact left me yearning for something more. The conclusion lacked a grand revelation or thesis, but I sense that might be the book's intention. These influential individuals channel all their energy into amassing fortunes, only to succumb to the same fate awaiting us all. In the end, Trust captivated and confounded me, expanding the definition of a novel and encouraging me to seek out more challenging reads in the future.

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

(2024, 14)

Like many wives of the era, Tricia finds herself in Saigon in 1963. Her husband has taken a job contributing to the war efforts, leading the newlyweds to spend the initial years of their marriage overseas. While the men are occupied with work, the women engage in various charitable activities, primarily involving cocktail party fundraisers, all aimed at making their own contributions. When Tricia attends one such event at Charlene's house, she is immediately impressed by the woman's polished exterior. Charlene, a corporate wife and mother of three, is motivated by her desire to alleviate the world's hardships. Their connection deepens when Charlene's youngest child unexpectedly vomits on Tricia, igniting a bond that will reshape both of their lives.

Nearly sixty years later, Rainey, Charlene's daughter, reaches out to Tricia, who now lives a quiet life as a widow in Washington. As they reconnect, they reminisce about their time in Southeast Asia and the complex woman they both share in common. While there are joyful recollections, the narrative delves deeper into their lives, shaped and limited by Charlene's pursuit of "inconsequential good." Through flashbacks and Tricia's introspective moments, we witness how these women, and many like them, lived and learned during this significant historical period.

In Absolution, Alice McDermott writes less about the history of the Vietnam War and more about the profound impact it had on the women who experienced it. The titular theme of absolution centers around Tricia, the main character, as she grapples with redeeming herself from various sins—as a wife, a mother, and as part of a nation embroiled in an unwinnable war. McDermott skillfully navigates this complex introspection with a graceful subtlety that is truly remarkable. Not driven by a specific plot, the novel serves as a character study, sometimes appearing disjointed yet intricately weaving various events into the tapestry of Tricia's life. It stands as a deeply moving exploration of how we navigate the uncertainties that life presents. I found it to be a remarkable and contemplative read, providing a serene space for reflection within the recesses of my own thoughts and expectations.

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

(2023, 91)

The summer of 1974 proved to be a turbulent period in Boston. A scorching heatwave blankets the city, mirroring the simmering civil unrest beneath the surface. The city's decision to support the desegregation of all public schools triggers significant upheaval, as it means students will be bussed across town to foster greater integration on school campuses. In "Southie," a proud, long-standing Irish enclave steeped in tradition, the residents are deeply disgruntled. Desegregation jeopardizes their way of life, regardless of its inherent prejudice, and they are willing to go to great lengths to prevent it.

Amid these tensions, Mary Pat Fennessy is also deeply troubled by the news regarding the schools. But she's grappling with more immediate concerns. As a single mother, she struggles to stay one step ahead of bill collectors. One night, Mary Pat's teenage daughter, Jules, stays out late and doesn't return home. The same evening, a young Black man meets a tragic end, struck by a subway train in mysterious circumstances. Initially, these two occurrences appear unrelated. However, Mary Pat begins to uncover deeply unsettling connections, propelling her into a relentless quest to locate her missing daughter. Desperate for answers and undeterred by potential consequences, Mary Pat embarks on a journey that leads her to confront mobsters, politicians, and fellow citizens, all entangled in the tumultuous backdrop of the era.

Dennis Lehane's novels, such as Mystic River and Shutter Island, are among my all-time favorites. Thus, when I first got wind of his latest offering, Small Mercies, I quickly included it in my reading list. Lehane possesses a narrative style that cuts to the core, unafraid to illuminate the most unsettling facets of our history. By situating his latest creation within the backdrop of the civil rights movement, Lehane introduces an inherent tension that simmers to the surface in several heart-wrenching scenes. The connection between Mary Pat and her Black co-worker generates one of the most emotionally charged moments I've encountered in any book this year. However, that's just skimming the surface of this exceptional literary work.

Beneath the racial complexities that form the foundation of this tale lies a deep contemplation on the essence of motherhood. In Mary Pat, Lehane has molded a woman in the throes of desperation. She grapples with the desperate struggle to stay afloat, both financially and emotionally. Her desperation is magnified by her desire to be a good mother, offering her daughter a chance at a life better than her own. As her daughter vanishes, she becomes consumed by the desperation for answers, willing to go to any lengths to find closure. Mary Pat is a profoundly multifaceted character, wrestling with her own personal demons, including deep-seated racism. Nevertheless, I found myself drawn into her story, empathizing with her predicament and rooting for her path to redemption.

Lately, Lehane has been heavily immersed in writing, producing, and showrunning television series. In interviews promoting this book, he hinted that it might be his final novel. If Small Mercies marks the culmination of his literary career, it serves as a remarkable note to end on. Nonetheless, for the sake of readers, I hold out hope that more stories are waiting to be told by this gifted author.

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

(2023, 87)

“The stories that are familiar will always be our favorites.”

As part of my ongoing mission to discover new authors, I've turned my attention to Anne Patchett, an author I've been aware of for some time but have never had the chance to read. Her latest work, Tom Lake, has garnered attention in the literary world. This novel combines elements from the classic play Our Town with a contemporary exploration of a family's history during the COVID-19 lockdowns. While familiarity with Our Town isn't essential to comprehend this book, it can certainly enhance one's appreciation of Patchett's captivating storytelling.

Lara's promising acting career began unexpectedly when she couldn't resist stepping onto the stage during auditions for a community production of Our Town. She secured the role of Emily and believed it would be the start of her thriving career. Her journey, however, took a different turn. Lara ventured to Los Angeles for a film role that promised stardom but found herself stuck in limbo due to post-production delays. Desperate to keep her momentum alive, she joined a summer theater group in Michigan, where she shared the stage and a passionate romance with Peter Duke. Duke eventually became a household name, but Lara's path diverged significantly.

Fast forward to the year 2020, when Lara, now married with three grown daughters, finds herself quarantined in her Michigan cherry orchard due to the COVID-19 pandemic. The family is brought together under one roof, tending to the farm and sharing stories during their confinement. Lara's daughters are particularly fascinated by her summer fling with the famous actor, Peter Duke. With ample time to reminisce, Lara reluctantly agrees to recount the story of that transformative summer, revealing a side of herself that her daughters had never fully known.

Tom Lake offers a remarkable exploration of youthful love, ambition, and the enduring power of family. Although the novel unfolds during the pandemic, it avoids being categorized as a typical "COVID novel." Instead, Anne Patchett uses this unique moment in time as a backdrop to unite her characters and encourage them to share their stories. The book highlights the contrasting priorities between Lara's carefree young adulthood and her children's heightened concern for the state of the world and their roles within it. The work prompted me to reflect on my own life, my relationships, my achievements, and my apprehensions about the future. Patchett's characters come alive in a subtly impactful way, and the integration of Our Town adds depth to the narrative. Regardless of your familiarity with the play, I think you'll have no difficulty connecting with this story. Tom Lake stands as exemplary character-driven fiction and serves as an excellent introduction to Anne Patchett's writing.

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

(2023, 75)

Nathan Hill made a significant impact with his debut novel, The Nix, upon its release in 2016. The book, spanning numerous decades and hundreds of pages, delved into the story of a man determined to uncover his family's hidden secrets in his quest to reclaim his own life. Both critics and readers were captivated by its intricate narrative. Although I missed the chance to read that novel, I promised myself to keep an eye out for whatever Hill would create next. When his publisher offered me a copy of his second work, Wellness, I eagerly seized the opportunity to dive into it. This latest tale, while more intimate than his previous work, retains the sprawling and impactful quality that characterizes his writing.

Do you believe in love at first sight? Jack and Elizabeth certainly did. In the early 90s, Jack, a struggling art student, stood on the verge of greatness after escaping the mundane life of rural middle America for the vibrant art scene of Chicago. With the advent of the internet, his work gained recognition, and Jack embraced his newfound subversive identity. Elizabeth, seeking an escape from her wealthy and regimented upbringing, found everything she desired in Jack – an edgy, adventurous artist deeply in love with her. They married, fully expecting their happily ever after.

Twenty years later, their life is far from what they envisioned. The once-blissful couple has succumbed to the routine of married life. Jack, unable to recapture the brilliance of his early work, churns out repetitive images while working as adjunct faculty at a university. Elizabeth, on the other hand, has achieved professional success, manipulating consumers' perceptions for corporations implementing cost-saving measures. Their relationship has lost its spark. Balancing the challenges of co-parenting a difficult eight-year-old and saving for their dream "forever home" takes a toll on Jack and Elizabeth. The idea of separate bedrooms in their new home, which would have been an outrageous thought just a few years ago,  seems like a practical solution to ensure their new life together functions in a way that suits their evolving needs. To prevent the deterioration of their relationship, Jack and Elizabeth embark on separate journeys of self-discovery, risking the loss of the most precious thing they share – each other.

Nathan Hill's Wellness left me with much to contemplate. It depicts the erosion of a relationship and the extraordinary efforts required to reignite the flame of love. While this remains the central theme of the story, Hill skillfully leads readers into explorations of numerous other subjects. He delves into topics like modern marriage, polyamory, psychology, art, and algorithms, among others, adding depth to his central characters and shedding light on their lives. Simultaneously, the novel serves as a timely commentary on the first part of the 21st century, offering insights into both the intricacies of marriage and the state of the world. Despite its substantial length of over 600 pages, Wellness never feels overly long.  Hill's skillful storytelling draws readers into the narrative, making us think and feel through all the complexities of his tale. It is a nearly flawless American novel and is undoubtedly one of my favorite reads of the year.

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

(2023, 59) 

Many epic war novels echo the sentiment that war is hell. Despite my initial fascination with war-related fiction and nonfiction, I found many of these narratives blending together over time. I'm more discerning now, choosing to engage with titles that offer a unique angle. Alice Winn's debut novel, In Memoriam, which centers on a gay couple during WWI, does just that. The book conveys the grim realities of war while also providing a nuanced character study. Amid navigating external battlefields, its protagonists grapple with the internal turmoil they carry within themselves.

Set in the year 1914, during the tumultuous times of World War I, the story begins within the confines of a small English boarding school. As the violent chaos of war rages on, these young men find themselves immersed in the world of poetry and literature, far removed from the actual horrors of combat. This stark contrast in privilege isn't lost on them, and even as news of the valiant soldiers' deaths reaches their ears, the notion of joining the war becomes a tantalizing idea. It offers the prospect of the kind of honorable heroism they've only encountered within the pages of their schoolbooks.

For Gaunt, a student of mixed German descent, the actual battles unfold within. Struggling with his forbidden affection for his charismatic and intelligent friend Ellwood, Gaunt grapples not only with the societal hostility directed at his heritage but also the complexities of unrequited love in a world that won't accept it. Seeking to protect his family and find solace from his inner turmoil, Gaunt enlists in the army and is met with a shocking revelation. Driven by his own motivations, Ellwood has joined the front lines, too. Soon, the entire class is thrust onto the war's brutal stage, forcing them to confront the grim specter of death and the capriciousness of fate.

In Memoriam offers a stark portrayal of the harrowing reality of death and despair within war. Alice Winn's descriptive prose vividly captures the frontlines, evoking scenes that are sometimes emotionally challenging to read. The novel effectively conveys war's immense devastation and loss, painting a grim tableau rarely encountered in fiction. What sets this book apart, though, is its exploration of an additional, equally compelling turmoil. The journey towards self-acceptance, especially in an era hostile to non-conforming sexualities, becomes an absorbing undercurrent. Winn's characters may appear subdued compared to the vivid war scenes, but their growth, stemming from their reactions to external circumstances rather than mere personal agency, adds to their sophistication. The understated yet profound battle against love and shame propels the story forward. The book's emotional impact comes not only from the horrors of war but also from the poignant challenges these young men face. It underscores the idea that just as war presents its own form of hell, life itself can be an arduous journey. In the midst of such adversity, the complex relationships they build become a source of solace and redemption.

For more information, visit Amazon and Goodreads. 

(2023, 57)

It can take a long time to come by originality. Think about it for a moment. When was the last time you encountered a truly original work? Most of the best novels owe their existence to inspiration from something else. In a world filled with content of all kinds, finding something that feels fresh and new seems like an impossible task. Enter debut author Monica Brashears and her novel House of Cotton. On the surface, it is a continuation of the Southern Gothic literary tradition of countless works that have preceded it. Inside, however, lies something that defies classification. It is a searingly original tale that manages to draw great empathy from the reader while challenging the very conventions that inspired it. 

Magnolia is only nineteen years old, but she already feels as if she has reached her breaking point. It isn't as if young Black women like herself have ever had it easy, but life has been especially difficult for her. Magnolia's only parental figure, her grandmother Mama Brown recently passed away. In the wake of that death, she is left alone. Now the bills are all hers. Try as she might, she can't escape the predatory landlord who demands rent, the deadbeat job at a local gas station that will never earn her enough money to live off of, or the ghost of the woman who raised her, haunting and taunting her about the state of her life. And that's not all. Magnolia spent her last few dollars on the pregnancy test that has confirmed the latest misfortune to rock her life. No, life is not easy for Magnolia. 

Her salvation reveals itself in the unlikely form of a slickly dressed white man named Cotton. He waltzes into the very gas station where Magnolia works and seems smitten by her. When he offers her a modeling job on the spot, Magnolia is skeptical. The money, even if it is an unlikely reality, would be life-changing for her. Against her better judgment, she travels to the address that Cotton provided. The place isn't the studio that she expected. Instead, Magnolia finds herself at the front door of a funeral parlor. Could this place of death be the key to her life? With red flags abound Magnolia does what any desperate woman would do. She goes inside. The money, after all, is why she is here. This peculiar employment by an eccentric man could be the salvation Magnolia covets. The extraordinary things that await her behind that door, could also bring about her demise. 

Take any expectations or preconceived notions that you may hold about House of Cotton and toss them to the side. I can assure you that the story Monica Brashears has concocted is both better and worse than anything you could possibly imagine. Whether or not that is a positive thing will mostly depend upon your taste. There are elements of Southern Gothic fantasy permeating each passage of this novel. The story is unabashedly set in the present day yet it feels like a timeless fable from long ago. Brashears deftly melds timely contemplations of race, class, and gender into a mind-bending story that will have you questioning what is real and what is imagined. Humorous moments balance dark, graphic, sex-fueled flurries that are at times difficult to read but essential to deepening our understanding of the main character. Even as I've finished reading the book, I'm still unsure about how I feel about the work as a whole. The underlying sense I come away with is a profound empathy for the characters who inhabit the world of the story. Through the odd, uncomfortable, and offbeat moments that occur in this novel, it is these grounded characters who more than uphold the weight of each passage. I'm not certain that everything perfectly came together for me at the end, but I was in awe of the book's boldness. Brahsears debuts as a force of literary heft and imagination. She is a unique voice that had me hanging onto every last word. 

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

(2023, 40)

Do you remember the moment you lost your childhood innocence? For some people, that passage into adulthood is a vague series of events that slowly change them from childhood to adulthood. For others, there is a defining moment in their life when their childhood was irrevocably ripped away. In her debut novel Last Summer on State Street, author Toya Wolfe explores that coming-of-age journey through the lens of poverty in America. Her poignant exploration of girlhood within the projects of Chicago proved to be as moving as it is enthralling. 

The year is 1999. Young Fe Fe lives with her protective mother and older brother in one of the many Robert Taylor Homes in Chicago. There is no denying that this is a community stricken by poverty, but for Fe Fe, this is the only home she knows. That summer, she and her two best friends play in the streets, a blissful time filled with double-dutch and laughter. This innocence isn't to last. The new millennium is upon them, and Fe Fe's life is about to change forever. 

The change comes first with the introduction of a new friend Tonya. Fe Fe's mother scolds her for visiting Tonya's home, making the girl promise to never set foot in that building again. Fe Fe doesn't understand this new rule. She's visited her other friends' homes. What is so different about Tonya? One night, there is a commotion around the building. Police enter Fe Fe's home and arrest her older brother. He stays behind bars for only one night, but he is forever different. He is not the same brother he was before. Finally, Chicago's Housing Authority announces that Fe Fe's building is the next one set to be demolished and redeveloped. This will be her last summer in this place. With all the changes around her, this may be her last summer of childhood too. 

Last Summer on State Street is a dazzling coming-of-age story that reflects upon the impact of place, community, and family. Toya Wolfe writes the novel from the perspective of her young main character. By only describing the events that unfold from this child's perspective, we witness her transition from the innocence of youth to the harsh realizations that come with maturity. At just a hair over 200 pages, the novel unfolds at a brisk pace, moving from scene to scene with an urgency that builds with each turning page. The journey depicted here is constructed in layers, simultaneously illustrating the personal growth of the main character, the distortion of a family and friend group, and the radical alterations to the fabric of a community. The heavy subject matter stays grounded through deliberate prose and a perspective that I immediately empathized with. All told, Last Summer on State Street is a remarkable debut novel from a skilled new voice in literary fiction. 

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

(2023, 26)

In the scope of American history, racism and police brutality have gone hand in hand. They are codependent evils founded on ignorance and hate. Sadly they are evils that continue to exist in the present day.  It seems like every week, there's a shocking new video of another unarmed black man being killed by the police. Society seems to be more and more aware of these issues, but the people in power still seem unable to put a stop to them. It is natural that artists would turn to their craft to address these difficult subjects. Percival Everett's 2021 novel The Trees attempts to do just that. 

“You should know I consider police shootings to be lynchings.”

Money, Mississippi isn't the kind of town most people have heard of. The small rural community is one rooted deeply within its own past. A deeper investigation into the town's history would reveal that it played host to one of the most disturbing pieces of American history. Money, you see, is the place where the notorious lynching of the young boy Emmett Till took place. All these years later, the townsfolk continue to live their lives as if nothing has changed. They act and speak with the casual racism of their Jim Crow ancestors. 

The novel gets moving straight away when a white man named Junior Junior is discovered murdered. He's been castrated and strangled with rusty barbed wire. As if this isn't gruesome enough, another corpse lies next to him. This second body looks eerily like the murdered Till boy, brutal beating and all. Soon this crime is repeated in another town. The method of execution is identical, and the remains of the Emmett Till lookalike are present again. Over the next several days this exact scene unfolds in various locations across the country. Who is behind these killings? Is the past finally catching up with the people who deserve to see justice?

The Trees sees Percival Everett write an explosively powerful novel that subverts nearly every attempt to classify it. The plot is driven by a fast-paced murder mystery, a crime that seems too implausible to be real. Everett characterizes the racist southerners in his work as sheer clowns, mocking their stupidity and obtuseness. This gives the work a quick-witted humor that I wasn't expecting from a book about lynchings.  Here though, it works. The comedy lies hand in hand with the more poignant and disturbing elements of the book. Everett doesn't shy away from the violence that comes with hate crimes, using the horrific details of the events to highlight the bitter reality. It is in the 105-year-old character Mama Z, that I found the most emotional impact. She has taken it upon herself to write the names of every lynching victim in her lifetime, a solemn labor of dignity and respect in a world where decency seems to be in short supply. The Trees is as propulsively readable as it is challenging. It is a masterwork of modern fiction. 

For more information visit Amazon and Goodreads. 

(2023, 10)