Luster by Raven Leilani — Raw and darkly funny, this isn’t a book to read if you’re looking for wrapped-up storylines, but it serves as a powerful look at what it means to grow as an artist and a person in a world uninterested in giving you a soft place to land. (Read my longer review on Goodreads)
Valentine by Elizabeth Wetmore — Taking place in West Texas oil country in 1976, Valentine tells the story of a group of women following a post-Valentine’s Day rape of 14 year old Gloria Ramirez. Valentine isn’t an easy book to read, but the various voices pulsing through the narrative act as a reminder that even good men can marginalize women in countless ways, and the ones that act maliciously can tear through a community with ease. Hope glimmers, though, in the women who band together and the ones who leave, seeking something more than they can find in the dry ground in Odessa, Texas. (Read my longer review on Goodreads.)
The Institute by Stephen King — The premise involves kidnapping children with special, psychic abilities. If children in peril is a tough subject for you, tread lightly. However, like many of King’s children-in-trouble, the kids at The Institute possess fortitude, abilities, and grit that help them through some intense situations. Luke, one of the children at the center of the story, was kidnapped more because of circumstances than innate ability, though the one thing the Institute doesn’t care about — his genius-level intelligence — helps change the course of the top-secret program forever. With global ties and questions about acceptable casualties, The Institute’s story will remain with me for a long time.
While My Pretty One Sleeps by Mary Higgins Clark — Some days you’re just in the mood for some nostalgic reading, and this book will likely spur a little MHC kick. I appreciate the suspense tinged with romance she does so well, and this one has always been a favorite of mine. New York City. Fashion. A little nod to the Chicago Aquarium. I appreciate that while the styles themselves haven’t exactly aged well, they’re specific to the time period, and the mood of high-end fashion feels right, all these years later. Like so many of her books, we have a past death, an accomplished woman in danger, and a quick moving plot. I could read these by the stack (and did, back when I first started reading her novels). Maybe I will again.
Weep No More, My Lady by Mary Higgins Clark — Only during a pandemic can I read a story where the main character is being targeted for death at a health spa and think, “Well, that sounds relaxing.” As Elizabeth LaSalle attempts to uncover the truth about her famous sister’s death — did the handsome, wealthy boyfriend do it or not? — her questions become a threat. Weep No More, My Lady boasts a cast of wealthy, attractive characters, which is par for the course with Mary Higgins Clark books, but readers also follow along as Alvirah Meehan, lottery winner, undercover author, and perhaps Clark’s most popular character figures out the identity of the killer — but at what cost?
*Leave the World Behind by Rumann Alam — As soon as I started Leave the World Behind, it felt a little like a nightmare, where everything seems fine — vacation, family, pool, wine! — but something is just a little off. As the story progresses, and the vacationing family (mother, father, teen son, tween daughter) reluctantly welcome the vacation rental’s owners back into the house, it grows even more uncomfortable. Something’s wrong, but no one can get a cell or wireless signal, and getting to town feels futile. Reading it now, with the pandemic still unfolding, felt a little surreal and strange. You know disaster awaits “out there,” but you don’t exactly know how it will unfold for the novel’s small cast of characters. I felt a sense of hopelessness while reading it, the idea of being disconnected from the outside world and suddenly tethered to people you barely know. I’m still thinking about it, which means I’ll be recommending it to people so I can discuss it more.
* All Adults Here by Emma Straub — I adored this book. For whatever reason, I fall in love with dysfunctional family relationships where you enjoy but want to faux-strangle the characters. The Strick family checks a bunch of dysfunctional boxes. Everyone is holding onto secrets, though some of them aren’t nearly as hidden as the characters think. The small moments make this story for me — the connectedness of a small town, a goat cheese farm, the push and pull between offering privacy and keeping dangerous secrets, a transgendered friend, a gazebo at the town center, a Harvest Parade Queen. One of my major takeaways from All Adults Here touches on a personal parenting fear of mine. Astrid worries and obsesses over mistakes she’s made in the past, but her kids are most affected by other moments, other mistakes, and that seems to be parenting in a nutshell. (Read a slightly longer review on Goodreads.)
The Push by Ashley Audrain — My heart might still be racing from The Push, not because of the plot necessarily but the questions it raises about motherhood. What makes a good mother? Does motherhood come naturally to women, even if they aren’t raised by loving mothers themselves? Blythe Connor isn’t sure she has what it takes to mother, though she desperately wants to build the family her husband desires. Watching a family fall apart hurts, and the conclusion, though perhaps inevitable, leaves some of those questions about motherhood unanswered. Those unanswered questions might be the tensest part of the whole driving force behind The Push. It’s not an easy read, though it’s a fast one, but I definitely couldn’t put it down.
Sometimes I Lie by Alice Feeny— A quick read with an unreliable narrator. With our narrator in a coma, we learn what happened along with her, feeling scared of the people she’s frightened of and gradually wondering what lies she’s telling the reader — or herself. This one started a little slow for me as the various players moved into place but rolled along into an easy escapism read, particularly if you like your escapism in the form of trying to figure out who’s lying about what. With a problematic husband, uncomfortably tense relationship with her sister, a recently unearthed ex-boyfriend, and a nasty boss, it’s up in the air about who had the greatest motive to cause the accident that put Ashley in the hospital.
The Survivors by Jane Harper — The Survivors was my first Jane Harper book, but it won’t be my last. It reminded me of Tana French books, in some ways, and I enjoy the emotional mood of that type of prose. The plot has a level of mystery, but the most prevailing aspect is an overwhelming feeling of past troubles making themselves known again in the present. Twelve years apart, tragedy befalls two girls, while the entire town is reverberating from a terrible accident, one in which Kieran played a major part. I thought the pacing and mood remained spot on throughout the book, and the interactions between the characters felt genuine, even as they painfully highlight how cracks in a small town can shatter it forever. (Read my longer review on Goodreads.)
We Were Liars by E. Lockhart — I read this for the second time, because Abbey read it, and I remembered how much I liked it. I enjoyed it even more this time, because I didn’t have the “unknown truth” hanging over my head. Some readers might find it melodramatic, but honestly, I enjoy a little melodrama. I adore the way Lockhart writes about Cadence’s emotions and feelings as though they’re tangible, because who doesn’t know what it’s like to hurt or love or feel so much anger that your head feels shattered? Cady’s emotions contrast so exactly against the shiny, forced exterior of her blonde, beautiful, wealthy existence that you know it’s not going to end well for her or her “Liars.” Her two cousins and first love (an outsider to their white, privileged world) center her world each summer only to pull back away each fall, but as the reader (and Cady) try to unravel what happened the summer of their fifteenth year, darkness threatens to overcome them all.
Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert — I read part of Big Magic years ago and wasn’t in the mood for that type of craft book. Unlike a lot of my reads, I parsed this in pieces, fifteen to twenty minutes at a time, a few times each week. One of the main premises still stretches beyond my comfort level, but I found this to be a little bit of a kick in the pants right now. A lot of her conversation centers around the idea of living a creative life solely because you feel better when you’re creating — no matter what happens with the end product you craft. I underlined several things, but one note that sticks with me is: Don’t miss the party. Be the lobster. Even if what I’m creating seems wrong or unnecessary, the act of creating matters, and hiding (or hiding from) it doesn’t make it better or worse.
The Maze Runner by James Dashner — Dylan got super into The Maze Runner books, so I wanted to read them, too. I thought it read a little like Lord of the Flies, but without the descent into chaos (yet). I like that the maze itself seems like an experiment, not a maze to be solved but to see who will keep working on the problem and keep trying to get through to the other side.
Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid — I enjoyed this book so much because it gave me a lot to think about regarding whiteness, privilege, and how intentions aren’t always what matters. Emira, a young black woman, babysits Briar, a little girl from an upper class white family. When Emira is accused of kidnapping Briar at a local grocery store, Alix tries to make things right — but her idea of “right” is wrapped up with her own beliefs about who and what Emira should want to do with her life. As the story progresses, we see Alix has the same well-intentioned goals for her own daughters, and that Briar can’t always be the kind of little girl her mother wants her to be. When Emira starts dating an older white man, the relationships tangle together in a way that promises some sort of collision — even if the fallout leads to more uncertainty for everyone involved.
*Genuine Fraud by E. Lockhart — Abbey and I both read Genuine Fraud while on vacation, and we both loved it. The story unfolds in reverse chronological order, which means you could read the book from front to back and have a completely different story. Jule Williams and Imogene Sokoloff are two girls with similar lives. At least that’s what we see at the beginning of the story. My Marvel-loving daughter adored the girls-fighting-for-themselves angle, along with the idea of origin stories. I can’t help loving the unreliable narrator trope — when it’s done well — and a generous helping of trust fund freedom and interesting side characters drew me into the story quickly, keeping me hooked until the satisfying conclusion.
Need to Know by Karen Cleveland — When a CIA agent finds her husband’s face on the computer of a suspected Russian handler, she panics in an effort to keep her family intact. After he disappears, she needs to pivot to keep her four children safe, while connecting dots about the entirety of their lives together. I love spy stories, and this was a fast, relatively fun read. However, it’s a little predictable, so at a certain point I just kept reading to see exactly how it would reach the expected conclusion. (I read it on the beach on vacation, so it’s perfect for that sort of half distracted, pick up and put down kind of read.)
Nine Perfect Strangers by Liane Moriarty — (re-read) When I saw this was slated to be an HBO series, I had to re-read it. I think it’s my favorite of Moriarty’s books (so far). I can’t wait to see it play out in cinematic form, because so much of what happens is bizarre and unexpected as you’re reading — and all makes sense in the end. Ethereal and intimidating at the same time, Masha runs an intimate health and wellness retreat that brings together strangers and soon begins to show cracks of unusual practices. The collection of characters holds their secrets close, and their various reasons for taking part in the retreat play a role in how they react to their time there.
Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood — I read this years and years ago but never completed the MaddAddam trilogy. It seemed fitting to dive into it again during a virus-based, global pandemic. Weaving back and forth between pre and post apocalypse times, we see how a pair of childhood friends (Jimmy and Glen) played a role in the end of the world they inhabited as children. Glen, known as Crake, would have been the better guess as the remaining friend, his boy-genius status playing a role in the bioengineering that overtook the “before.” However, Jimmy is the one left to look after the “Crakers,” genetically new beings engineered to physical perfection without traits like envy, malice, or hostility. They call him Snowman, and he tells them stories about the past in simple terms, the darker memories known only to the reader. The entirety of Oryx and Crake is a backstory setup for the present, with very little happening in the present time until the end of the story.
The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood — (second MaddAddam book) This book delves into another group unhappy with the bioengineered past we explored with Snowman in Oryx and Crake. God’s Gardeners focus on the natural world: bees, honey, hallucinogenic mushrooms, shapeless clothing, and a loathing for modern conveniences. We meet (or become reacquainted with) Toby, Ren, and Amanda, a trio of very different women who came to the Gardeners in very different ways. I liked this book more, because we can see how the “before” made life very difficult for the non-wealthy, non-educated, and (to some extent) non-male. As the book progresses, we see connections between Jimmy, Glen, and the Gardeners, and one very interesting online game called Extinctathon, whose real purpose is to become a virtual meeting place for the MaddAddamites, ecoterrorists looking to change the world.
*The Midnight Library by Matt Haig — I waited for this for a long time from the actual library, and I wanted to savor it when I started. Instead, I finished it in one wonderful day. Essentially, I believe I needed to read this book exactly when I did, and I’m not generally the type of person to say something like that. The idea permeating the novel is that it’s possible to undo the regrets in your life when you’re in the Midnight Library. Each different choice will change the way your life looks, but will it change the way your life feels? I adored this story about the possibility of choices, potential, and parallel lives that allows you to build a life that fits exactly right — even created from a foundation of regrets.
American Dirt by Janine Cummings — I hesitated to read this book, an immigrant story written by a non-immigrant, but I heard so much about it I couldn’t help trying it. It hooked me immediately with a mass assassination that leaves a broken-hearted widow running towards safety with her young son. The entire book feels tense, and human, and heartbreaking. I imagine it’s impossible to truly capture the horror of what awaits migrants as they attempt to cross the border into the United States — a country that doesn’t welcome them yet promises more stability that what the migrants leave behind. I felt American Dirt captured the humanity of the struggle, including a perspective I haven’t thought too much about, people crossing the border because they’ve been deported. Some of those stories involve people with money and families back in the United States, people who have worked jobs, paid taxes, and contributed to a society that unceremoniously sends them away. I’m glad I read it, even for all of its issues, because it also encouraged me to seek out other immigration stories.
City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert — I enjoyed this coming-of-age story, told with the sumptuous backdrop of 1940s New York City. A rich, gorgeous, socialite becomes the black sheep of her family and takes refuge with her aunt in a small, gritty theatre in the city. As Vivian becomes enthralled with the women — and men — making up the community over which her Aunt Peg presides, she begins to understand the fine line between grit and glamour, lies and loyalty. When she crosses one of those lines, everything crashes down around her, and she works to build her own life, untethered by the expectations she’s always railed against. Some of the story wraps up much too cleanly, in my opinion, but I appreciated the thoughtful exploration of what it means to love, to be a woman, to be progressive, and to have a family. (Small, unnecessary comment. The story is told, by letter, to an Angela, and it’s jarring each time I read my name there.)
*Sisters by Daisy Johnson — This beauty of a gothic story captured me from the very start, though I wasn’t sure where it was leading, or perhaps more accurately, where it had been. Two sisters live with their mother in a state of isolation, depending on each other to speak and live and tiptoe in and out of the outside world. Rife with trauma, more trauma, and a dash of melodrama, I couldn’t stop reading until the end. I appreciate a dark story, and Sisters fits the bill, quickly and in totality.
The Housekeeper by Natalie Bareli — I read this immediately after Sisters, which might be why it missed the mark for me a little. One fateful afternoon, Claire, aimless and unhappy, randomly sees the woman she blames for ruining her whole life. In short order, she insinuates her way into Hannah’s life as a live-in housekeeper and nanny, drinking vodka by day and snooping around when she should be working. As thrillers go, this escalates, with everyone becoming a suspect for creepiest person in the story. It twists and turns nicely, but I never connected with Claire enough to feel much sympathy for her.
Mother May I by Joshilyn Jackson — Bree’s modest background didn’t seem to matter much as she built a life with her wealthy husband and three children, the youngest a happy, sweet baby boy she totes with her to middle school pickups and theatre rehearsals for her outgoing, queen bee of a daughter. When her sweet boy is kidnapped, and the kidnapper turns out to be a mother herself, Bree will do anything it takes to see her son again. The tightly woven story shows how one devastating action can unfurl years of devastation, both past and present. Touching on very current considerations, including consent, this story is more than a suspenseful book about a kidnapping. It asks heavy questions about how long mistakes stay with us, and what it means when their shadows creep into our futures.
The Disreputable History of Frankie Landeau Banks by E. Lockhart — (I’m pretty sure I read this one before Abbey could even get her hands on it.) Boarding schools make the perfect backdrop for young adult novels, because of the freedom from rules and the ever-annoying parental gaze. However, Frankie Landeau Banks wants more than freedom. She wants to know what happens behind the curtain of her boarding school’s most secret society — one that doesn’t welcome girls. As she explores friendships and relationships with two very different upperclassman, Lockhart questions what it means to be part of an inner circle and looks critically at how young women can be defined by their position in the gaze of young men.
MaddAddam by Margaret Atwood — Like most dystopian novels, even a relatively hopeful ending seems sad. All I could think about was how even with good intentions, people really do make a mess of things. I would have liked a little less focus on Zeb’s past escapades and a little more on the present, especially with him and Adam One. I appreciated Atwood’s humor in this one as Toby tries to temper her cynicism with the unflappable trust and positivity of the Crakers.
It Ends With Us by Colleen Hoover — After being a little disappointed by Verity last year, I wasn’t sure I wanted to dive into this one. (In retrospect, I think some of my disappointed stemmed from being so excited to read it.) After reading It Ends With Us, I can’t wait to read more from Colleen Hoover. Though I felt like plot coincidences worked much too cleanly to set up the relationship dynamic, the overall emotional journey felt true and made the coincidences fade into the background. The exploration of what it means to be raised by an abuser and to be mired in the cycle of abuse felt visceral and real. The hard moments are incredibly hard, and all of the characters will break your heart in different ways.
The Pull of the Stars by Emma Donoghue — Taking place in Ireland in 1918, the flu is taking over the city. Julia Power is a no-nonsense nurse working in a quarantined maternity ward and depending on the help of Bridie Sweeny, a volunteer, and Dr. Kathleen Lynn, who is a fugitive from the police. The three women work tirelessly to try to save expectant mothers and their children from a flu they barely understand. In three short days, all of their lives are changed by their time in the quarantined ward. Tightly written and quick paced, Donoghue takes the time to pull back the veil on love, war, the rights of and respect for nurses, and the stranglehold the Catholic Church wielded over unwed mothers, babies, and orphans.
Welcome to the Megan Abbott re-read part of the summer in anticipation of her newest release, The Turnout.
Give Me Your Hand — Secrets coil together at the center of this novel, wrapped around female ambition and the misogyny present in male-dominated fields. One thing that struck me about the story this time is the way the secrets we tell shape and affect the people we tell. Secrets might change who we are, but they change the people we tell, too.
You Will Know Me — This is a tougher book to read, in some ways, than it was when it was released. The Larry Nassar abuse opened a door on a Pandora’s Box of other untoward behaviors in elite gymnastics. You can see some of the grappling with those behaviors between BelStars, the main gym in the story, and EmPower, a rival gym rife with scandals of its own. In addition to that, I felt a pull towards the ideas of how nature versus nurture plays out in elite athletic communities, and how parental support pushes limits — maybe even further over the line than parents might expect they can go. As always, the role of memory and how we let it shape the narrative that fits our own comfort level comes into play throughout the story.
The Fever — The mass psychosis occurring in a local high school is nothing compared with the dangerous obsession girls can have with boys. As we navigate Covid, I appreciated this look at the concern that surrounded the HPV vaccine when it became widely available. Another important element I’m not sure I focused on so much in previous readings is how different families and friendships look from the outside looking in, where loyalties lie, and how different people perceive connections in vastly different ways.
**The Turnout — Disclosure: I’ve already read this twice, because I completely devoured it the first time and got mad at myself for not savoring it. Ballet lives and breathes at the heart of this story, but what I loved about it is the way ambition and desire become one and the same thing, the cool and the hot Abbott uses to describe sisters Dara and Marie throughout the book. She’s unafraid to gaze into the darkness of the things we want viscerally and the way lines blur between extremes until maybe desires renders them the same in the end. (Read my longer review on Goodreads)
OK: Now it’s the end of the year, and I haven’t updated in a while, so the reviews will be VERY short.
*Firekeeper’s Daughter by Angeline Boulley — I appreciated the insight into and the respect for the Ojibawe community, especially with the familiar ties to Sault Ste. Marie. It’s hard to watch Daunis attempt to navigate the two worlds she inhabits, Ojibawe through her father and wealthy Caucasian through her mother, especially when being a young adult comes with built-in insecurities and worries. When her best friend gets shot, Daunis enters another world, that of undercover law enforcement, which gives her an up-close look at the way drugs can fracture friendships and families.
Olympus, TX by Stacey Swann — With notes of mythology and family dysfunction, this read beautifully and quickly. If families and relationships weren’t rife with betrayal, what would authors find to write about?
Malibu Rising by Taylor Jenkins Reid — Set against the breathtaking beauty of Malibu, California and the unapologetic excess of the 1980s, Malibu Rising tells the story of a deeply-flawed family led by — and abandoned by — Mick Riva, superstar. During the course of one day in the present and many flashbacks to earlier years, the path of the Riva siblings changes irrevocably. What I loved most about the book, other than the atmosphere of the setting, was the way the various characters dance around the idea of who they are versus what they present to the world versus who they want to be. It’s hard to remember the Riva siblings are as young as they are (twenty-five and under) because of the growing up they have to do within the shortcomings of their parents’ lives.
*The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman — Anyone who has ever read and loved classic murder mysteries needs to read this book. An eclectic group of retirees meets on Thursdays to dissect and try to piece together cold cases, so there’s no better group to take the case (unofficially, of course) when the developer of their retirement community turns up dead.
IT by Stephen King — Terror, by the master of it. (I still haven’t watched the second installment of the latest film adaptation, but I might as well. It can’t be scarier than reading about Pennywise. And Derry. Derry is seriously the worst place.
**The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab — When I posted on Instagram, I said I wished I could start this one from the beginning, with no memory of it (a little like Addie LaRue’s life). This one felt magical from the beginning and stayed with me long after I finished.
*Billy Summers by Stephen King — Another great novel from one of my favorite novelists. This strays into violence but stays in the crime lane rather than horror or supernatural. The story of an assassin trying to leave violence in the past, Billy Summers tells a story within a story, and it works beautifully. I found myself heavily invested, emotionally, by the end, which I thought came too soon, despite the length of the book (and the number of commas in that sentence).
Ready Player One by Ernest Cline — Yet another re-read, this one for research purposes to see if Dylan will like it. (I think he will.) I dove into it right after the announcement of Meta (ugh). I love the nostalgia of it, even though video games, role playing games, and virtual reality aren’t really my thing. I forgot there’s a Ready Player Two until just now, and now that’s on my list. (One thing I don’t love is the character development of the women, but it’s not too, too distracting.)
11/22/63 by Stephen King — This is a Stephen King book for people that don’t think they like Stephen King. (Heavy on the history, relatively light on the supernatural.) A re-read for me, this time I was struck by the sections about Derry (ugh. Derry is the worst) and the way it made me think of The Midnight Library. What would we change if we could change the past, and what does it cost us if we do so?
The Girls Are All So Nice Here by Laurie Elizabeth Flynn — Spoiler: They’re not. Young women at college don’t always make the best decisions, especially when they’re trying to figure out who they are — and where they fit into their new social stratosphere. The part that struck me the most was tension between the manipulated and the manipulator and how very dangerous emotional games can be. This shifts back and forth between the past and the present as frequently as Ambrosia shifts her personality, and it’s rife with plot twists (some pretty predictable and others surprising). Quick, a little nasty, and a lot disturbing, in a recommended way.
The Shining by Stephen King — I completely forgot how terrifying this book is. Lulled into complacency by the movie, which is scary in its own right but familiar, I dove back into this. Tightly written and claustrophobic, it plays with your mind the most when you read it on a dark, cold night.
The Guest List by Lucy Foley — I unintentionally put a hold on this at the library, completely forgetting I’ve already read it until I picked it up. I’m a sucker for a thriller / murder mystery, so I read it again. I appreciated all the different perspectives but didn’t feel completely satisfied with the ending, though revealing why would be a little spoiler-like. I still recommend it, though, especially if you like trying to figure out who the killer might be and how everyone fits together in the puzzle.
The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty — I’ve heard several times that this book terrifies readers, so I had to try it. It absolutely terrified me. I don’t know that I’d be able to finish it if I didn’t know the general outcome, based on a few movie viewings. What surprised me about this novel was stretches of almost poetic prose, especially from the perspectives of the priests. It’s an interesting book to read if you aren’t sure what your faith looks like or how it fits into the modern world. Some of the (most likely accepted at the time of publication) views on the connection between mental and physical health date the story, but that happens when delving into health and treatment issues. I don’t know that I’ll read this one again, because it’s definitely not a comfort read, but I’m glad I took the time to experience it.
A Spindle Splintered by Alix E. Harrow — I picked this up on a whim while walking past a display table at the library. It dives into the Sleeping Beauty myth, with a lot of twists and subversions and insight into other versions of the fairy tale. (Interesting fact: In the Disney movie version of the story, Aurora has only 18 lines in the entire film.) I’ve always liked Sleeping Beauty. I like pink and the music and, of course, Maleficent. This book, with its “seventy-five percent straight” dying protagonist questions what we know about fairy tales — and how we can create agency in our own stories.
Pretty Girls by Karin Slaughter — I couldn’t put this one down, but the violence is plentiful and graphic and mostly involves pain inflicted on women, so it won’t be for everyone. Underneath the violence lies a powerful story about families and trauma, and the way predators can exploit vulnerability.