A Book A Week

For all its cultural significance, Thanksgiving remains surprisingly absent from much of literature, especially when compared to the abundance of Christmas stories that dominate the shelves. Gathering to share a meal and give thanks is a beloved custom for many families. Still, it often glosses over the holiday’s fraught origins—the histories of the Native communities who inhabited this land long before European settlers arrived. In his celebrated 2018 novel, There There, Tommy Orange gives voice to these communities, weaving a poignant and urgent narrative that highlights their stories, struggles, and resilience.

The novel intertwines the lives of twelve characters, each navigating the complexities of their Native American identity while living in the urban landscape of Oakland, California. Through their stories, themes of heritage, belonging, and survival emerge, revealing the challenges of maintaining cultural ties in a world that often marginalizes or distorts Indigenous experiences.

Take Orvil Red Feather, a teenager yearning to reconnect with his roots. With the adults in his life intent on shielding him from their shared identity, Orvil takes it upon himself to learn about his culture. Then there’s Dene Oxendene, an aspiring documentarian committed to preserving Native stories and ensuring their history endures. In contrast, Opal Viola Victoria Bear Shield struggles with embracing her heritage, as doing so forces her to confront the painful past that continues to haunt her.

These individuals and others find their lives converging at the Big Oakland Powwow. For some, the event symbolizes cultural celebration and tradition. For others, it becomes the setting for an unforeseen tragedy.

In There There, Tommy Orange crafts a powerful and intricately woven story of a community shaped by the weight of its collective trauma. Initially, juggling the perspectives of twelve characters felt a bit disorienting as I worked to keep track of each individual’s story. However, as their narratives began to intersect, I became captivated by their journeys, eager to see how Orange would bring them together.

The Big Oakland Powwow serves as the novel’s focal point, providing a clear trajectory for the narrative while heightening the tension as the event draws near. What should be a day of cultural celebration is overshadowed by an impending foreboding, adding a gripping layer of suspense. Themes of displacement, addiction, resilience, and community pulse through the novel, framed by a poignant commentary on the enduring consequences of colonization.

The climax at the powwow is as devastating as it is profound, forcing both characters and readers to grapple with cycles of violence and the strength required to endure. There There is a profoundly moving and deeply impactful novel, one that sheds light on stories often overlooked and challenges readers to consider the layered history of the land they call home.

For more information, visit Amazon and Goodreads. 

(2024, 88)

Holiday stories often conjure images of warmth, joy, and the unshakable hope of the season. Yet the ones that resonate most deeply with me embrace the complexities of the human spirit, where darkness and light coexist. Consider Ebenezer Scrooge's ghostly reckoning in A Christmas Carol or George Bailey's moment of despair in It’s a Wonderful Life. These tales endure because they confront the struggles that make acts of kindness and redemption meaningful.

Claire Keegan’s novella Small Things Like These joins this tradition, offering a quietly powerful story about compassion and moral courage. Set against an unassuming backdrop, it shines not through grand gestures but through the strength of one man’s resolve to bring light into the darkness around him.

Life for Bill Furlong has been a series of quiet struggles and modest triumphs. Raised by a single mother in a small Irish town steeped in Catholic tradition, Bill always felt like an outsider. His mother's untimely death when he was just twelve left him orphaned, compounding his sense of otherness. Yet, against the odds, Bill managed to build a life of stability.

Now a coal merchant, he earns enough to provide for his wife and their five daughters. While his work doesn’t bring wealth, it sustains them—a rare accomplishment in 1985 Ireland, where economic hardship drives many to seek better fortunes in London. Bill’s existence is humble but steady, shaped by resilience and an enduring sense of responsibility.

As Christmas approaches, the frigid weather brings a surge of business for Bill. Among his regular deliveries is the local convent, a place of wealth and power in the small town. During one of his visits, Bill stumbles upon a disturbing truth hidden within its walls. This discovery forces him to reckon with the ghosts of his own past and the silent complicity of a community tightly gripped by the church’s influence.

Claire Keegan masterfully transports readers to a bygone Ireland, juxtaposing the warmth and goodwill of the holiday season with the stark hypocrisy of those in power failing to live by the values they preach. Her writing is spare yet evocative, letting the story’s quiet profundity emerge naturally without becoming overwrought. The novella is timeless, feeling like a classic while addressing issues that remain strikingly relevant today.

At just over a hundred pages, Small Things Like These is a compact but profoundly moving tale. It captures the power of quiet resistance and the impact of small acts of courage, earning its place as a standout holiday tale and one of my most memorable reads of the year.

For more information, visit Amazon and Goodreads. 

(2024, 87)

Childhood is a time of self-discovery, a phase of learning who we are, what we love, and how we fit into the vast world. It’s often marked by awkward moments, but most kids find their way through just fine. Fourteen-year-old Ava Bonney, however, is navigating a much different path. Struggling to fit in, she seems content to forge her own way. But Ava’s unique interests are about to lead her down a dark and unexpected road.

The road near Ava’s home has become a graveyard for animals struck by passing cars. What began as a strange curiosity—observing how the creatures decay—has grown into a dark obsession. Late at night, Ava pulls her discoveries into her secret roadside den, meticulously documenting their decomposition.

One night, her routine takes a horrifying turn when she stumbles upon something she never expected: the lifeless body of her classmate, Mickey Grant. Paralyzed with fear and dreading the questions her nocturnal wanderings might raise, Ava places an anonymous tip to report Mickey’s death. But even after the authorities begin their investigation, Ava can’t shake the murder from her mind. Determined to uncover the truth, Ava takes matters into her own hands—setting herself on a path that will challenge everything she thought she knew about her town and herself.

In her debut novel, Deadly Animals, Marie Tierney delivers a hauntingly original blend of murder mystery and coming-of-age drama. Her protagonist, Ava Bonney, is a refreshingly unconventional teen who, along with a veteran detective, becomes entangled in investigating a series of grisly and bizarre crimes. Tierney masterfully juxtaposes the raw, unsettling nature of the murders with Ava’s quirky, awkward journey toward self-discovery.

The writing is captivating, balancing the macabre with moments of dark humor and tenderness. While the crimes are gruesome enough to make you squirm, Tierney’s storytelling keeps you hooked, pulling you deeper into Ava’s world with every twist. The finale is as shocking as it is satisfying, cementing Deadly Animals as an unforgettable debut. Tierney’s distinct voice and bold storytelling promise an exciting future for readers, and I can’t wait to see what she creates next.

For more information, visit Amazon and Goodreads. 

(2024, 86)

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 fast-paced, absorbing story is just what the doctor ordered. While I love intricate plots and well-drawn characters, every so often, I crave a book that lets me unwind and dive into pure, effortless escapism. This week, I needed that, and no one delivers on this front quite like James Patterson. His updated take on the classic hero Doc Savage in Murder Island was the perfect, easy page-turner I hoped for.

Professor Brant "Doc" Savage and his girlfriend, Kira Sunlight, think they've found paradise on a secluded island, hoping for a much-needed escape from their crime-fighting exploits. But their peace is short-lived. In a brutal ambush, the two are torn apart and transported to opposite corners of the world. Doc, determined to reunite with Kira, embarks on a relentless quest, traveling across the Brazilian coast, through northern Europe, and into the depths of the Congo jungle. He faces ruthless adversaries along the way and uncovers a sprawling global conspiracy, forcing him back into a world of danger he thought he’d left behind.

In Murder Island, James Patterson and Brian Sitts set out to revitalize the classic action hero Doc Savage, giving him a new series for modern readers. As the second installment, diving in without reading the first book is easy. The story stands well on its own. Doc Savage himself isn’t exactly a nuanced character—he’s the archetype of every action hero rolled into one, with flawless looks, a razor-sharp mind, and an unwavering moral compass. As for the plot, it’s a whirlwind, taking readers to far-flung locations and into over-the-top scenarios. I found myself eagerly flipping pages, hooked by the sheer energy of it all. It’s unapologetically pulp thriller fare, perfect for those looking to escape into fast-paced action. While it’s not the most memorable read, Murder Island never pretends to be anything more than escapist fun—and it delivers precisely that.

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

(2024, 84)

Election cycles are always full of headline-grabbing news, especially when a polarizing candidate dominates the stage with viral moments that drive an even deeper wedge between parties. As the dust settles on this year's presidential race, analysts on both sides will undoubtedly delve into post-mortems to understand precisely what led to the final results. These high-impact events are often shaped by small, seemingly trivial choices that snowball into something more significant. Phillip Margolin's new standalone legal thriller, An Insignificant Case, taps into this theme, exploring how minor actions can escalate into seismic consequences. I eagerly accepted an audiobook copy from his publisher and found myself fully engrossed in the captivating story Margolin crafted.

Guido Sabatini considers himself a visionary, a once-in-a-generation painter whose work demands public admiration. But to most, he’s simply eccentric. Born Lawrence Weiss, Guido is arrested for breaking into a restaurant to reclaim a painting he once sold to them. After all, he was offended they displayed his art in a private office instead of somewhere the public could see it! In his previous life as Lawrence, he was also a skilled card shark and burglar, so it's no surprise that, along with his painting, he swiped a flash drive from the restaurant owner's safe. 

When most people think of a lawyer, they picture someone sharp, wealthy, and tangled up in high-stakes cases. But Charlie Webb is none of those things. A graduate of a third-rate law school, Charlie scrapes by representing old friends and taking on court-appointed cases that amount to little more than petty disputes. So, when he's assigned to represent the quirky Guido Sabatini, who’s been arrested for a bizarre art heist, Charlie assumes it's just another trivial matter. Guido admits to taking the painting and swiping a flash drive from the owner’s safe, though Charlie senses there’s more to the story.

Ever the competent negotiator, Charlie arranges a deal to return the painting and “other items” if the charges are dropped. But when he discovers that the flash drive contains damning evidence tied to a major sex trafficking case, Charlie realizes that he and Guido are suddenly in over their heads. What started as a quirky case now has the pair tangled in a dangerous web of crime and conspiracy, propelling them into the most perilous case of their lives.

In An Insignificant Case, Phillip Margolin takes an unlikely duo—a quirky artist and a struggling lawyer—and turns a seemingly trivial crime into a thrilling legal showdown that kept me hooked to the very end. Margolin skillfully balances the intensity of the crimes with sharp, witty exchanges between his two heroes, injecting welcome levity into the otherwise dark storyline. This interplay of humor and suspense makes the novel a standout read.

The audiobook, narrated by Peter Ganin, perfectly captures the story’s pace and tension, breathing life into each character with engaging flair. Beyond delivering a first-rate legal thriller, An Insignificant Case invites readers to ponder how even minor actions can trigger lasting consequences. It’s a clever twist on the genre that leaves a lasting impression. 

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

(2024, 83)

By the time of his passing in 2014, Gabriel García Márquez had already secured his place among the literary greats. Works like One Hundred Years of Solitude and Love in the Time of Cholera were celebrated as masterpieces, and the Colombian author enjoyed his later years as a revered figure in global literature. Toward the end of his life, his publisher hinted at a new novel in the works. However, news of Márquez’s battle with dementia cast doubt on whether this final piece would ever see the light of day. Now, a decade after his death, Until August has been released posthumously, offering readers a final glimpse into the mind of the legendary storyteller.

On the surface, Ana Magdalena Bach’s life appears perfect. She has been happily married for over twenty years, with a loving husband and children waiting for her at home. So why does she perform this peculiar ritual each August? Every year, she boards a ferry to a remote Caribbean island where her mother is buried, spending the night in quiet contemplation—and in the company of a stranger. She knows how the evening will end. It is always the same. She’ll leave the bar with one of the men, lose herself in a fleeting night of passion, and then return home the next day as if nothing has happened.

But with each passing year, Ana finds herself drifting further into the shadowed corners of her desires and anxieties, forced to confront the fragile balance of the life she has constructed. In this annual act, she begins peeling back the layers of her heart, wrestling with the haunting realization of what might lie beneath the perfect image she presents to the world.

I question whether Until August is a novel Gabriel García Márquez would have wanted the world to see. In the afterword, his longtime editor acknowledges the author’s frustration with the book’s progress, feeling the limitations of his diminishing faculties and growing dissatisfied with his attempts to evoke the magic that defines his earlier works. Yet, even within this unfinished narrative, Márquez's genius flickers, especially in his ability to pull profound emotional weight from seemingly simple, everyday moments. Ana’s character, burdened by guilt and haunted by the life she’s chosen, reflects the poignant image of a self gradually slipping away. Her portrayal feels hauntingly reminiscent of what Márquez himself might have experienced in those final years—a struggle to hold on to an identity that time and circumstance slowly erode.

Despite these evocative moments, Until August feels incomplete, lacking the lush vibrancy and depth that characterize Márquez's best work. While it serves as a fascinating, intensely personal window into the mind of a literary legend, it’s also a sobering reminder of his decline—a book that, while intriguing, underscores the frailty of even the most significant artists in their final days.

For more information, visit Amazon and Goodreads. 

(2024, 82)

I became a Blake Crouch fan back in 2016 with Dark Matter. Ever since, I've eagerly devoured each of his releases, captivated by his knack for blending high-concept thrillers with deeply developed characters. So, when I received a copy of Run from his publisher, I was quick to dive in. Only after some research did I realize this was actually a reissue of one of his earlier novels from 2011, predating most of the breakout hits that first drew me to his work.  I was curious to see how this early book would stack up against the Crouch novels I've come to know and love.

The country has spiraled into utter chaos. Each day, violence spreads like wildfire, with people turning on each other in a frenzy, and no one is safe. Jack huddles in his powerless home, surrounded by his family, listening to the ominous voice of the Emergency Broadcast System announcing the names of those targeted for death. His blood runs cold when his own name is read. Now marked for death with a family to protect, Jack has no choice. He doesn’t know why he’s been targeted, but only one option remains—to run for their lives.

I went into Run expecting one of Blake Crouch’s trademark high-concept sci-fi thrillers but was immersed in a tense, post-apocalyptic survival story instead. Unlike his recent books, this one doesn’t rely on significant twists or reveals. Instead, it dives into the raw, unflinching experience of a family on the run as civilization crumbles around them. While it’s undeniably gripping—a fast-paced and often brutal journey—it feels more like an intense thrill ride than a story with lasting depth. Run is a quick, captivating read, but one that probably won’t leave a lasting impact once the final page is turned.

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

(2024, 81)