I don’t think I understand Patricia Highsmith, but that could be due to the fact that I haven’t read any of her suspense novels, so haven’t yet enjoyed the sense of atmosphere most people ascribe to her writing. The Price Of Salt is more romance novel than any other genre, and I get that it was a seminal work given the plot, but oh my God, is it dull. Therese, our heroine, is quiet and generally inarticulate. Carol, the object of her affection, is mercurial and aloof. Together, they are an intensely uninteresting pair. Oddly, I don’t fault the plot at all, or even the characterization (tho it likely helped that I visualized Rooney Mara and Cate Blanchett the entire time) but the writing, which is shallow and numbingly cold. Essentially, the entire book is: Therese does this. Therese does that. Carol is mean, or at best ambiguous, to her. Things happen, good and bad. The end.
I mentioned, partway through reading the book, that it feels a lot like reading the diary of an unimaginative and not very articulate young woman, written, for no discernible reason, in the third person. But there are moments, such as Waterloo, and sentences, like this one:
Happiness was like a green vine spreading through her, stretching like fine tendrils, bearing flowers through her flesh.
where the beauty of love shines through and it’s almost a worthwhile read. But had this been published today, it would be quickly dismissed as of slight interest, which I think is less of a slur against the book than a compliment to our present society of readers and writers.
Ugh, Liane Moriarty, you genius. How did you know that my favorite Enid Blyton stories were the ones titled things like “A Bit Of Temper”? You’ve managed to write a novel both complex and heartening that still manages to satisfy that unsophisticated need in me for neatness in the universe. Your characters are whole and difficult and at once easy to understand and sympathize with: the perfect thing to read out on the deck with a cup of tea, quietly laughing and crying and glad for the fact that the neighbours on that side haven’t moved in yet. I did think the epilogue (excepting the bits about Janie) was a touch unnecessary, but otherwise this was popular fiction at its near finest, and I only say “near” because Big Little Lies was an even better example of the genre.
TRUST is a young adult, mythological, urban fantasy thrill ride about the darkly fantastical, supernatural Museion that has secretly protected humanity’s greatest treasures for millennia, and Anna, the sixteen-year-old New York girl who is the unknowing Heir to it all.
I received a copy of this ebook for free from Netgalley in exchange for an impartial review. Normally, I have a strict “no self-published books” rule for my reviews. However, I decided to make an exception for Trust because it offers something I believe is sorely needed in today’s market, especially in YA fiction: Diversity. Both the author and the protagonist are women of color and that was enough to persuade me to take a chance on this book.
I couldn’t be more pleased with my decision. In her debut novel, Jodi Baker introduces the audience to a protagonist who is smart, funny, and relatable. Although I did notice a few issues that can be attributed to lack of writing experience, overall Ms. Baker manages to weave history and mythology together to create an intriguing story told with an engaging voice.
Trust opens with a prologue that thrusts readers into the final moments of Hypatia of Alexandria. In Jodi Baker’s fictionalized account, Hypatia is the last living descendant of Ptolelmy, founder of the Great Library of Alexandria, and is heir to the position of Head Librarian. Desperate to save the precious scrolls from being burned, Hypatia attempts to escape through a magical portal hidden in a wall. But there is a price. Humans are only allowed to use the portal in the presence of a Guardian for safety. To attempt entry without a Guardian is certain death.
The next several chapters recount the strange childhood of the novel’s main protagonist, Anna. Raised in New York City by her single mother, Kali, Anna knows her life isn’t typical, but she doesn’t understand why. She only knows that she must “stay in the middle of the pack” lest a mysterious They discover her existence and take her away from her mother.
Kali takes pains to isolate Anna from the outside world. Anna is homeschooled and the only time she sets foot in public school is to participate in annual testing. Despite Anna’s high intelligence and the advanced curriculum in which she has been instructed, ranging from learning to read ancient Greek to zoology lessons, Kali coaches her daughter to ensure Anna’s test scores are never above average. Anna has no friends her own age, nor is she allowed to speak to strangers. In her whole life, Anna has broken her mother’s rule only once – when, as a young child, she dared to speak to a boy in the antique bookstore she and Kali visited twice a year. After that incident, Anna and her mother never return to the store.
If anyone thinks Kali’s behavior borders on psychological abuse, you’re not alone. The only other reason to be that obsessive about maintaining secrecy is if Anna and her mother were in a witness protection program. Which is why I had a hard time suspending my disbelief when Kali meets a boisterous man named Patrick while she and Anna are visiting Central Park, immediately begins dating and then marries him a few months later, culminating in Patrick and his teenage son, Clayton, moving in with Anna and Kali.
Without giving too many spoilers, Patrick turns out to be a throwaway character who gets stuffed into the Fridge to fuel the rest of the plot. With both her mother and step-brother incapacitated by grief, fifteen-year-old Anna is forced to take on the role of “pack alpha” and manage the household, beginning her journey into adult independence. Eight weeks later, Kali drags herself out of mourning and leaves on a mysterious errand. She tells Anna to “stay in the middle” until she returns. Anna goes to bed and wakes up on the steps of the Metropolitan museum with no memory of how she got there.
At this point, Trust takes a sharp turn into urban fantasy. Anna discovers it’s exactly one year later and that Clayton has reported both Anna and Kali missing. A grandmother Anna never knew she had now owns Anna’s house and has been named her legal guardian should Anna ever be found. Even more unbelievable is the new voice in Anna’s head, which possesses knowledge Anna does not, including how to read and speak ancient Sumerian. The voice, referred to only as “Inanna”, insists that Anna must trust it and those it deems appropriate allies.
From that point on, Anna is on a mission to discover where she’s been for the past year, learn why she has no memory of that time, and ascertain her mother’s whereabouts. Along the way, Anna learns she is a distant relative of Hypatia of Alexandria, that shapeshifters such as were-jaguars and were-jackals exist, and that her entire life has been a lie her mother fabricated to hide Anna from her grandmother’s political schemes.
Trust is the first installment in Jodi Baker’s Between Lions series and it is definitely not a stand-alone novel. There are numerous plot points that are not resolved by the end of the book and a few I felt were glossed over or rushed. I’m hoping those threads will be more fully developed in later books. Despite a few drawbacks, Trust is one of the most captivating books I’ve read in quite a while. I look forward to future books in this series.
This book was haunting in a different way than I usually use the word. In general, I’ve found that I use it when I mean poignant and memorable, but in this case, there’s an actual tinge of fear in my description. I’m not sure if that’s just an intensely personal reaction, but Ruth’s description of her last night in the house was harrowing for me. I read the entire thing less as an ode to transience (as the blurbs would have it) than as a methodical description of a descent into a form of madness, and again I’m not sure if that’s just me. It was interesting to contrast Housekeeping with Marilynne Robinson’s Lila, which is almost the inverse of this novel (tho I never at any point doubted the sanity of any of the people involved in the latter.) I also felt a bit bad that I couldn’t stop comparing this to the Ames books and naturally finding it lacking, but this was still a worthwhile, if disturbing, read.
A testament to how good I think this book is: not only do I want to binge-read the whole series, I’m also willing to shell out the full price on Book 2, as it’s the only one with an absurd wait list from the library. I am voting with my dollar here, people!
Midnight Riot is a surprisingly smart, charming story of a young London cop who suddenly discovers he has magical aptitude. There are certain bits where I think the magic system is a bit shaky/belabored, and I don’t think the explanation of where the villain’s power comes from was explained satisfactorily, but there’s so much awesome world-building, and so much humor (plus Arsenal references!!!) that any flaws are easy to forgive.
In all honesty, Midnight Riot reminds me a bit of the first Harry Dresden book, only more intelligent and less pulpy. I’m hoping the rest of the series doesn’t disappoint me the way Dresden did, tho. Only one way to find out for sure!
It should have been painfully obvious to me from the blurb that this would involve retellings of fairy tales, but I did not realize till I was well into the Beauty And The Beast tale and then ZOMG, THIS IS MY JAM!!! Andrzej Sapkowski has written a terrific fantasy novel with a sympathetic hero, and reading this really enriched my Witcher 3 gaming experience (tho I still need to figure out what exactly happened with Triss Merrigold. I guess that’s what the Internet is for :P.) The only thing I didn’t really understand about this book was the ending. Maybe I’m just exceptionally dense, but I didn’t get The Last Wish part. I’m also hoping the subplot about the kid is resolved in future books, tho since DCPL’s Overdrive doesn’t have any of those, it’ll be a while till I get my hands on them and find out. Looking forward to eventually doing so, tho!
Doug wrote about it here and you can get your own copy at
After the wise and charming Where’d You Go Bernadette? I really wanted to delve into this author’s back catalog and be as similarly enthralled. Alas, Maria Semple’s debut novel This One Is Mine lacks the wit of WYGB, instead drawing on a cast of unlikeable characters who spend most of the book being mean or stupid or selfish, or some combination of the three. There are glimmers of the compassion that’s such a large part of WYGB, but the way this novel is written strips the characters of pathos, and makes it read a bit like The Corrections-lite (which some people might consider a good thing, ech.) I get the Anna Karenina homage, and like the idea of it as an updated version of that sans the long digressions into agriculture, but I don’t think it works on its own (and regular readers know my opinion of AK, which doesn’t help this book any either.)
When I first started reading this, I was so completely taken aback by the Boys’ Own, jolly-good, public school vibe of the writing that I honestly wasn’t sure whether I was going to like it. The first part was, thus, slow-going for me, used as I was to depictions of Arthurian romance that were a lot less grounded in reality than this was. But as the book progressed, as we got to Excalibur and Morgause and Lancelot and Guenever and the Grail and Mordred, it became readily apparent that the entire point of stripping the earlier part of the fantasy of the romance of it all was to allow T H White and, by extension, the reader to examine the enduring legacy of the Arthurian legend in how it changed, for good, how the English moved from Might Is Right to a legal system in which no one was exempt. And I know it’s a bit disingenuous to say that it was Arthur himself who, if he wasn’t entirely fictional was likely far less important than the literature he inspired, ushered in the concept of civil laws: I’m well aware that Mr White was likely using the legend to fit his own meditations rather than the other way around. But by God, it’s a convincing, compelling use of the Arthurian story, to ask the reader to consider humanity and civilization and justice and what it means to be great and good, through this familiar literary lens. Mr White pulls together all the disparate strands, popular and obscure, of the legends and lays and fits them into a coherent narrative that feels fresh and, even after nearly a century of the book’s writing, contemporary in its consideration of the human feelings that propel the narrative. My only complaint is that the book ends before the actual death of Arthur: I would have loved to see how Mr White would have handled that!
Just shy of halfway through Life Among the Savages, Shirley Jackson relaxes and lets her characters — her immediate family, for this is a memoir — tell their stories without too much authorial interference. Before that, the set pieces feel a bit like set pieces, and it has a sense of an author putting on her best story to sell to the slicks.
That’s perfectly fine; it’s the style of the era she was writing in, and she was aiming for the top of the market. Further, there are probably many authors who would give their eye teeth to write a book as good as Shirley Jackson when she’s trying too hard. The book’s most famous episode — when her eldest child goes off to kindergarten and reports on the anarchic doings of one Charles — is from this section of the book.
Once she lets the characters take their natural courses, she mixes hilarity, generosity and insight in recounting the early years of her first two children, the birth and toddlerhood of her third, and the arrival of her fourth.
I think I would have liked this book more were it not marketed as the next Gone Girl. On its own, it’s a decent mystery novel with an excellent framing device, but I was expecting something far more diabolical and cautionary than the “don’t marry a psychopath” takeaway which, while good advice, is also fairly obvious advice (as opposed to Gone Girl’s “yep, this is what marriage can be. Beware!”) Also, everyone in The Girl On The Train kinda sucked. All of the main characters were fairly awful, and I found Tom and Scott to be nearly interchangeable. I loved the beginning and the way pronouns were flung around for maximum mystery whilst still avoiding outright confusion, but by the time I’d figured out whodunnit etc about 75% of the way through (tho I figured at about the 60% mark the pattern, so to speak, of the murderer’s psychopathy,) I didn’t really care any more because everyone was such a selfish, self-defeating mess. I can root for you if you’re either but it’s really hard to do so when you’re both.
Al Singh
Doug Merrill
Doreen Sheridan
John Pitzel
Lars N. Goldschlager
Laura Eilers
Professor X
Robert Maedgen
Sylvere Ap Leanan
The Shire