Review: The Widower's Tale, by Julia Glass

 

When I checked out The Widower's Tale, I was expecting a slightly melancholy novel about an elderly man who had recently lost his wife of many years, and who was left with nothing more to fill up his time than meddling in the affairs of his adult children.  This seemed like a familiar topic to me, as it has been thoroughly covered on the widow side, and I was interested in how the reverse might be different.  This was not, however, the story I actually got.   What I did get was a look into the life of a very vibrant, not-elderly-at-all man who is more than content to allow his children, and grandchildren, to live their own interesting lives.

Percy (aka the non-elderly man), 70, has been a widower for some thirty years, and still lives on the same beautiful property where a tragic accident resulted in the death of his wife.  His two daughters, Clover, an absentee parent who can't seem to keep a job and Trudy, who is the overachieving mother to the equally overachieving Robert, have remained close to their father, if not each other.  The story begins with the relocation of a displaced preschool into the newly remodeled barn on Percy's land, one that used to house his wife's ballet studio, and which is now a hub for the who's-who of the well-off community.  The school becomes almost a puzzle frame for the story, encircling each character who appears in an embrace that is at first warm, but becomes increasingly stifling as time passes.  Additional central characters, such as Arturo, Robert's roommate, Sarah, a preschool parent who is much more to Percy, Ira, an in-the-closet prek teacher, and gardener Celestino, who is equally in the closet, albeint in a different way, complete the cast of this family drama, forging relationships that complete the web of the tale.

A large part of what keeps this story intensely interesting is the quality of writing demonstrated in the creation of many of these characters.  The book focuses largely on the males' point of view, which is refreshing and surprisingly touching.  It would have been easy for Glass to have written The Old Man, The Gay, The Illegal, and The Disenfranchised Scholar, but Glass does not rely on stereotypes to create these characters, and as a result they are varied and textured in a way that I have rarely seen in novels written by women.  I particularly appreciated Percy, as the older parent who is involved in his children's lives, but not overbearingly so, and who has an intelligent, caring, adult relationship with the much younger Sarah without becoming The Dirty Old Man.  Clover, also, evolves as a character, moving from an annoying, flightly, absentee mother to a much more likable, introspective, involved woman.  Each character grows and evolves throughout the tale, changing in ways both attractive and not, much as the very real people in our own lives.

Glass introduces several sub-plots that focus on one or two characters, but the repercussions of which have bearing on everyone involved.  The drama of the local eco-terrorists, Clover's quest for her children, Sarah's medical challenges, and the preschool as a community entity swirl around Percy, who as the anchor character plays a small part in each vein.  While the climax of the story takes place largely without his participation, it is his reaction, and decisions for the future, that cement the final quality of Glass's work.  The ending is lovely, well-wrapped without being stifling, and leaves the reader with a solid foothold for imaginings as to what the future might bring for this cast of characters. 

While no novel is perfect, and I found certain characters more interesting and engaging than others, part of the beauty of the story is that there are enough angles for readers to latch onto that almost anyone could pick up Widower's Tale and find a niche.  I thoroughly enjoyed this alternative, man's view telling of family and community drama.

Rating: four stars.  Interesting perspectives, via a well-developed, evolving cast of characters, on family and community dynamics.

Review: Faith, by Jennifer Haigh

Jennifer Haigh's new novel, Faith, focuses on a Boston family during the height of the infamous Catholic church scandal surrounding pedophiles' taking advantage of young acolytes and parishoners.  When Father Art McCann, brother to the narrator of the story, is accused of doing just that by a mother of a boy who had grown close to the priest, the family and community are torn apart, and narrator Sheila is determined to find the truth.  Art is definitely hiding something, and her search for answers is the backbone of the novel.

I grew up near Boston, and have a real affinity for the hard-core accent and customs of the community, which are often as in this case, represented by Irish Catholic characters.  While I haven't lived in the area for decades now, something about a Boston accent makes me feel immediately at home.  Unfortunately, I simply couldn't bond with these characters.  The book opens with Art's mother, still a teenager herself, being abandoned by her young husband; this chapter was well-written, and I was invested in the woman.  However, this is the last we really see of that part of the story, as the novel immediately jumps forward to a brief discussion of Art's joining the priest preparatory school at age 14, leaving his mother, step-father and new siblings behind.  From this point, the story begins to be told more by Sheila, but the problem with this is that she is telling Art's story, making it difficult to bond with him as he is still the 'other', but we are not really involved with Sheila as a character, either.  At the time of the events she describes, she is a young girl, and we have no relationship with her, and even her adult character is not developed to a point where we are really part of her life, either.  This situation left the book feeling more like a documentary than a novel to me.  Also, since the reader knows from the beginning that the focus of the story is accused of a heinous act, it is difficult to know how to react to him - do I root for him, or not?  While you're pretty sure he probably didn't do it, there is the kernel of doubt that the family, and thus the reader, is left to deal with, and this again makes connecting with the characters difficult.  I don't want to root for someone who ultimately is revealed to be a pedophile. 

The pacing of the story is another issue I wasn't happy with during the first half of the book.  The story dragged on for at least the first hundred pages, leaving me thinking, I get it, there's an issue, let's move on.  The final quarter of the story definitely picks up, and when the entire truth becomes clear, it is of course tragic, and I can say this without feeling that I'm giving anything away, because regardless of the truth, whether he actually did anything wrong or not, lives have been ruined.  I think the 'big reveal' of information did draw me into the story more, but by then the book was almost over.  Perhaps re-reading the story, knowing how it ended, I would feel more invested in the work and less like an observer, but then again, I'm so disgusted with some of the characters' seediness, maybe not. 

Haigh definitely has a knack for description, and she does not shy away from having her characters make unpopular life choices.  By taking on this novel, she investigates morality, faith, poverty, and the issue of priesthood as a lifestyle and religious choice.  These are sticky issues that stir firmly held opinions in the minds of many, particularly when mixed together.  Haigh does an admirable job of creating realistic drama and reactions to these situations.

Overall, I probably wouldn't recommend this book, but it depends on what you're looking for.  If you don't mind not being terribly engaged with the characters, then this might be a good book for you, particularly if you are familiar with the Boston Archdiocese nightmare.  How committed are you to your family members?  Would you stick with them even if you thought they had committed a heinous act?  How would you cope with family members who walked away, or stayed?  These are interesting questions; Haigh simply didn't make me care about the choices this particular family made.

Rating: one and a half stars.  Gripping topics conveyed via cold characters.

Review: Robopocalypse, by Daniel H. Wilson

While I don't typically pick up science fiction (I think you could probably count the numbers of sci-fi reviews I've done on one hand), for some reason this book kept popping up in my way.  It seemed to be everywhere!  Finally I gave in and ordered it from Overdrive, and I'm glad I did.

If you've seen or read 'I, Robot', you have the general concept of the story; smartypants scientist messes with artificial intelligence (A.I.) in ways he shouldn't have been, and his biggest success leads to his almost immediate demise.  From that point on, the mainframe mastermind links up with the technology of the world - by this point, everything is 'smart', including cars - and instigates the annhilation and enslavement of humanity.  It's a pretty straightforward plot that would frankly have been a tired rehash of other quality novels had it not been for Wilson's combination of time-lapse storytelling with a variety of personal narratives.  Like many other current, popular novels, Robopocalypse employs a cast of storytelling characters to keep the reader from becoming complacent, but the format is twisted by using those voices not in conjunction, but in succession.  The premise is that the main character / narrator, after having already succeeded in leading the group who ultimately defeats Archos, the AI mainframe, comes upon a box containing video clips collected by various surveillance objects of human actions during the war.  It is the archived story of the human resistance, told in linear miniclips of the novel's characters. 

What makes this work is that all of the characters are sincerely, completely absorbing.  They are all very different, and include an elderly Japanese AI genius who is touchingly in love with his companion robot, an American Congresswoman's young daughter whose toys go frighteningly haywire, a self-absorbed London hacker, a small-town sherrif, an American military officer stationed in Afghanistan, an unlikely NYC couple who lead a resistance, and a man who against all reason winds up being the leader of the American resistance.  Each member of the international cast is integral, and though the individual appearances of each one amounts to only a few short chapters apiece, Wilson somehow makes these people into living, morphing, dynamic characters that I was enthralled with.  Many of the characters never even meet, and yet their presence is carried over into each other's stories in tendrils that connect the entire piece into one cohesive account.  The focus is always on the characters; this is not a book that delves deeply into technobabble, or references concepts that only hard-core sci-fi readers would understand, but rather it is a very reality-based story that any of us could imagine experiencing.  While self-professed geeks will probably enjoy Robopocalypse (such as my husband, who also couldn't put it down, and who spends a great deal of his time reading hard-core scif fi that frankly makes me want to take a nap), this is a very accessible story to the general reader who enjoys seeing how pieces, and people, fit together in this shrinking world. 

This is not to say that the book didn't have flaws, such as the resolution, which seemed to be pretty simple.  I feel that I can discuss this, because the book is clear from the start that humanity has already won, and that the tale is more about how we got there rather than where we ended up.  I mean, really?  It was irrationally easy, which if anything you would expect a computer overlord to uber-rational.  Quality endings are hard to come up with, and here I think Wilson falls a bit short.  The robots who are 'awakened', i.e. freed, by Takeo's work should have been further developed; I understand that some were crucial in the war's resolution, but really, a lot more could have been done with them, particularly Mikiko, his beloved companion.  I believe that the Congresswoman's daughter was vastly underutilized as a character and could have been developed further.  I have also seen many comparisons to a book called World War Z, by Max Brooks, which I have not read; those who have claim that the two are very similar, and if you like one, you will like the other, and vice versa.  I cannot speak to this, but plan to check out WWZ, both because I really liked Wilson's take and because I heard WWZ is about zombies.  I think I've made it pretty clear how I feel about zombies, people.

I read this one almost straight through.  It was a nice change of pace for me, but more than that, the characters are gorgeous.  I loved how they all were so disparate, but yet fit together in key ways from thousands of miles away.  Even if you're not a science fiction person, I would try it out for size.  The first chapter is a bit dull, but once the other characters begin to come into play, it's defintiely a worthwhile, fun read.

Discussion questions for Robopocalypse:
1. What did you think of the ending?  How could it have been made more compelling?
2. Why do you think the humans were so taken aback by the uprising of the machines?  Do you think that real society would be as vulnerable to being duped?
3. Which characters do you feel were most like what you think your own personal reaction might be to the uprising?  Would you survive?
4. If you have read WWZ, compare and contrast the stories.  Which one relates the apocalypse tale better?  How do you feel about authors releasing similar tales, even if they were 'inspired by' other previous works?

Rating: four stars.  Very engrossing, character-driven reboot of the apocalypse theme.

Review: The Arrivals, by Meg Mitchell Moore

I have to admit, what made me pick up this novel first was the cover photo.  I mean, really, look at it!  It's lovely.  When I realized that the story takes place in Burlington, VT, where I went to college many moons ago, I plopped it into my bookbag and off I went.  Those of you who live in NYC, or LA, have the luxury of reading about the cities you recognize all the time; for me, being able to place myself in the scenery with the characters was an unexpected, and welcome, pleasure.

Aside from my own personal geographic longings, 'The Arrivals' offers a great deal to woo readers.  Moore's novel follows several members of a large family, each of whom has chosen a very different life from the others, as they return for one reason or another to their parents' home in Burlington over the course of several weeks, descending en masse on aging parents who are alternately thrilled with their adult children's return and despondent that they will never leave.  One nice facet of the story is the generational spread that the characters represent; the youngest 'child' who returns home after a difficult breakup in NYC is in her early twenties, while her older sister, who also has fled relationship issues with her two children in tow, and older brother, who ends up planted for the duration of the summer with a wife suddenly put on bedrest during what was supposed to be a short visit, are respectively in their early- to mid-thirties.  This range in age, combined with the parents' perspectives, casts a wide net for readers, providing a niche for everyone. 

Moore presents the novel in perspective-driven chapters, rotating tales and characters with each change.  Because we are shown so many different lives, at first it is slightly difficult to keep people straight, but that quickly clears up, and from that point on there is little time for even the most ADD reader to get bored.  While there was one particular plot line that I didn't care for, surrounding one of the character's semi-subconscious decision to become entangled with a priest - the character herself had other aspects that I found interesting and endearing.  This is another perk to Moore's storytelling; the characters are multi-faceted, making even their least desirable traits less irksome because there are other areas to focus on.  Also interesting are backhanded references to real-world events, such as the Wall St. crisis and various military situations.  These events aren't belabored in a way that would reduce the applicability of the novel in future years, and are more mentioned in relation to certain characters rather than specifically discussed in their own right.

I would actually be interested in reading a sequel to The Arrivals, to see how things eventually turn out for the characters in the decisions they make at the end of the novel.  I have purposefully not given much of a summary here, because it's too delicious to unravel on your own.  I had a good time with this one, and I think many of you would, too.  It's a casual, positive adult family relationship book, in a time where as a culture we seem to celebrate the darker, seedier side of family interaction.

Some discussion questions for The Arrivals could be:

1. Which of the novel's many characters did you relate to the most / least?  Why?
2. Jane and Stephen share their decision for Stephen to be the full-time caregiver early in the story, and are adamant that it's what they want.  How do Jane's actions reflect a potential rethinking of this strategy after the baby is born?  On what circumstances could her reaction to the ringing phone be based, and what do you think this may indicate about the author's perspective on parenting?
3. Jane, Lillian and Rachel have vastly different experiences with and expectations of motherhood.  What are their commonalities, and how do their situations influence their relationships?
4. Ginny and William both start and end the book alone in their home.  How do the experiences of the summer influence their perspectives on their children, their partnership and their own identities?

Rating: four stars.  Deeply interesting character-driven novel that embraces the family as a source of strength and growth.

Review: Fragile, by Lisa Unger

Lisa Unger has once again written an engrossing, twisty-turning novel that grabs your brain and forces you to sit up and pay attention.  Although the cover may look like it belongs on a Jodi Piccoult novel, it actually masks  much more intriguing and multi-plot story that unwinds deliciously over the course of its 327 pages.

Fragile contains many characters, and several smaller plots, but the main focus of the book involves the disappearance of a troubled high school girl from her insulated town outside New York City. Did she really run away, as her Facebook page claims, or was she kidnapped?  Local child psychiatrist Maggie and her husband, Detective Jones, become submerged in the events while simultaneously coping with their own ghosts that still haunt this town they both grew up in.  While small town living may mean that everyone knows everyone else, reality is not always what it seems to be, and as the truth of the crime begins to come to light, so do the facts surrounding another event from the past that threatens to overcome them all.  What you think is the main plot is actually a venue to uncover something else entirely.

Fragile has many positive aspects, not the least of which is the multi-layered character writing done by Unger.  The story is told by multiple characters, who play various roles throughout.  Typically I have a favorite character, or at the very least stifle a groan when a chapter is told from the perspective of a particular character in a multi-cast novel, but this time I didn't; each one was lifelike and important beyond his or her part in the mystery at hand.  Even the characters in the story that you knew, just KNEW, had a part in the girl's disappearance, were dimensional and had a draw. 

This brings up an important point; due to the multi-voice storytelling, the reader knows more about what is really going on than any one of the characters for most of the novel.  However, this is not to say that I knew exactly what had occured in either the disappearance at hand *or* the mystery from the past, and this was delightful.  I knew just enough to *think* I knew what happened, which kept me from feeling like I should probably just skim the rest (ahem, again with the Piccoult reference), but there were indeed surprises ahead, unvelied throughout the last third of the novel, that changed my perceptions and made me respect Unger more as a writer.  I read a lot, as you have probably noticed, and it's not typical that I don't have just about everything figured out by the middle of the book.  I love that I didn't here.  More importantly, perhaps, is the fact that even though I thought I had figured everything out, I didn't care.  I was enjoying the book, and the unfolding events, too much to stop reading.  I read every word on every page.

If you read this book, alone or with others, consider the following book club questions:
1. How did your perception of Tommy Delano change throughout the novel?  Were you surprised at his letter?
2. What do you think would have happened if Sarah hadn't gotten into the car that day?  What would have the more immediate repercussions been for Sarah, and for Maggie?  What long-term implications might have there been for all the characters?
3. Social media plays a significant role in the mystery surrounding Charlene's disappearance.  Considering the pervasiveness of internet culture, what safeguards do you think are appropriate for a teenage online consumer? 
4. Maggie and Jones experience significant conflict over their son, Rick.  Whose side did you find yourself taking?  Why?

Rating: four out of five stars.  Engaging, character-driven novel that takes the reader on a trail-of-crumbs through the history and mystery of a small town.

Review: The Red Garden, by Alice Hoffman

I will start off by saying that this novel was not what I expected it to be.  The book jacket does it no justice whatsoever; the picture makes it look like a story about an asian experience (like something Lisa See would write), and the description makes it sound like a typical generational novel that follows a family in a linear fashion over time.  It is neither of those things.

The Red Garden is both a generational epic and a collection of short stories; each story takes place in the same small town of Blackwell, MA, and focuses on a different descendant of one of the few founding families of the town, spanning several hundred years to end at present day.  However, again, because the book jacket doesn't explain terribly well (read: at all) that this is what is going to happen, and the stories don't lay out specifically at the outset how the characters portrayed are related to the founding family, I was fairly confused during the second story and had to go back later to re-read it once I realized what was going on. 

Once I was acclimated to the Hoffman's format, I was hooked.  The intitial tale, about a small band of colonial settlers swindled by a local man into leaving their safe town to 'go west', ending up barely on the other side of the Berkshires before winter snows and starvation fell upon them, was immediately gripping.  The staunch wife of said swindler, Hallie Brady, overcomes the weakness of her fellow travellers and saves them all by becoming the provider for the group, hunting and gathering on her own until the spring.  Her strange connection with a local bear family not only saves the town, but also becomes a thread throughout the remainder of the collection.  The novel's dark humor, expressed by Hallie's naming every part of the town 'Dead Husband (Field, River, Wood)', has its start in this section as well, as does the explanation for the novel's title, although you don't realize it until later on.

This ability to keep the reader thinking throughout the book by leaving clues in the story of one generation that are never fully explained, but which require small leaps that result in several 'Ohhhh!' moments during the tales of future characters, is one of the Hoffman's talents that made me keep returning.  After realizing that the indominable Hallie would be making no further appearances, I almost put the book after the second story, not wishing to become attached to characters who I would never learn the fate of, but perseverance led me to realize that I would indeed learn the fate of the each of the previous characters via smal kernels of information provided in subsequent tales, as well as the repercussions of past events on the future generations.  This is like voyeurism at its best, really, knowing reasons and details about parts of others' lives that they themselves may not even fully understand.  The stories definitely have a slightly magical feel to them, as if spirits from the past are following along for the ride, and events such as why the soil in the garden is red, and the details about little girl on the riverbank, are like a candy trail through the forest.

This would be a great selection for a book club, because of the various motifs and relationships involved throughout the book.  Discussion questions could include:
1. What is the significance of bears in the story?  What is their ultimate meaning to the families of Blackwell?
2. The story of Susan  and the eels includes the most magical thinking in the collection, depending upon what you decide is the truth.  What do you think really happened with Susan?  What is the importance of the eels to Blackwell, and why is this story, which is so different from the others, included in the collection?
3. In these stories, things are not always what they seem.  Who do you think was really in the river with Carla's brother Johnny: Tessa or her mother?  Why?  What do you think of Carla's reaction?
4. Hoffman includes a few famous names in the tale.  Who are they, and what do you think of the parts they play?  Do you think they added to the story?
5.  Which ancestor is your favorite, and why did his / her story speak to you above the others? 

Overall, I would highly recommend this novel for its elegant blending of reality and magic, and Hoffman's talent at portraying characters from various periods in a manner that is faithful to the social norms of their time.  I found almost all the characters to be intriguing, and the writing overall inviting.  I am actually planning on going back through the story to plot out who was related to who, and that would be one of the only recommendations I would have to the author; somewhere in an afterward, to include a family / story tree with names and chapter titles in parentheses that readers can refer to in times of confusion.

Rating: four out of five stars.  Elegant storytelling that hides surprises and treats for readers throughout the novel's generations.

Note on Comments

Hi Everyone - I just realized that I haven't been getting emails from comments that have been left on this blog!  There aren't a lot of coments left here, and I usually see recent ones, but if you've left a comment and I haven't responded, I apologize!!!!  I was signed up to get them, but for some reason they weren't coming through.  I believe the problem has been resolved now.

Astarte

Review: The Penderwicks at Point Mouette, by Jeanne Birdsall

As you can probably tell, The Penderwicks at Point Mouette is a children's book, aimed largely at girls. It's the third book in a series, with the first two being The Penderwicks on Gardam Street and The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy. I adore these books, and actually requested this latest installment for myself from the library; as my 12yo daughter loves them too, we read it on our Nooks at the same time (note: once you download a book from Overdrive, or whatever your local library uses for e-materials, you can upload it to multiple readers at the same time, so we didn't have to take turns, which I liked).

If you haven't read the previous two novels, you have missed out on a delightful series. The stories focus almost entirely on the children, four sisters named (from oldest to youngest) Rosalind, Skye, Jane and Batty (short for Elizabeth). Unlike in most fiction aimed at just about anyone these days, there is essentially no family conflict; these sisters adore each other, and operate as a functional team. As the OAP (Oldest Available Penderwick), Rosalind is largely in charge of the other sisters, due to the death of their mother some years earlier. Jane is a writer, Skye is engrossed in sports, and Batty, the baby, spends most of her time romping with the dog and cat. The children have adventures such as finding out who the little boy next door is, and end up inadvertently setting their father up to marry his mother, or going to a small vacation cottage and meeting a boy their age who is essentially held captive by a controlling mother and her new husband in the main house. This time, the three younger girls are the focus of the story, probably because Rosalind is getting older and the author is aiming at younger children; however, because the girls are so close, much of the plot focuses on Jane's anxiety over being OAP when the younger girls go on vacation with their aunt (Rosalind goes away with a friend instead), and on the entire group's experience of their first separation. The other story lines involve a first (very innocent) crush, and a new friendship developed with an oddly-familiar-looking man next door to their summer vacation home.

To understand why this all works, you have to realize that the voice Birdsall writes in is almost entirely unique in this day and age. To find its equivalent, you have to look back to books we might have read as children, such as the Bobbsey Twins series. The entire demeanor of the book is one of Literature, not just a typical book that appeals to kids via fart jokes and one-word responses. Additionally, Birdsall invests no faux angst, and instead trusts the readers to be intelligent enough to be interested in the characters and their story instead; she allows the characters and story to carry their own weight. It is entirely refreshing. The main focus is on the sisters' relationships, solving small mysteries and dealing with situations in a mature, thoughtful way that frankly, we don't see very often anymore. The reader experiences situations through each girl's eyes, as the girls rotate chapters and have their own small adventures that complement the main plot. There is always a positive, satisfying ending that, yes, is tied up with a bow, but one that feels natural, not like the author took a cheap way out and suddenly used a drawstring bag to stuff the remainder of the story into.

All in all, I cannot recommend this entire series highly enough. The characters are lovely, the stories are fun, and the resolutions are always satisfying and reasonable. If you have a daughter old enough to at least listen to chapter books while you read at night, you should be trotting out to get them, or at least reserve them at the library, pronto.

Rating: five stars. Another wonderful addition to the high-quality, family-friendly series.

Review: The Girl Who Chased the Moon, by Sarah Addison Allen

In a continuation of my summer lightweight novels series, I borrowed The Girl Who Chased the Moon, by Sarah Addison Allen, from my public library e-books site. Easy to read, and mildly mystical, it took me about a day and a half to get through the roughly three hundred pages on my Nook.

The basic plot follows Emily, a high school senior who moves to live with her maternal grandfather, whom she has never met, after her mother's death. Emily's mother had left the small town under a cloud of hatred twenty years earlier, but while no one has forgotten what the woman did, neither will anyone tell Emily what it was. While Emily deals with the fallout of a past she doesn't understand, she also finds herself oddly pulled to a boy from a strangely secretive, anachronistic family that seems to be somehow at the center of the mystery.

On the flip side of Emily's story is that of Julia, the woman who has returned to town to work in the small restaurant her father left her. Julia has a painful past of her own in the town, and the fate of this mother who lost a daughter becomes intertwined with that of Emily, girl who lost her mother. Her plot line is almost as well-developed as Emily's; focusing on re-imagining her future and moving on from the past, Julia must come to terms with betrayal by those she loved most, and a loss so profound it influences her every move.

This all sounds pretty straightforward, but when you add in little tidbits like mysterious lights in the forest, morphing wallpaper, and a magical scent of sugar, things get a little strange, in a playful way. This is not a novel that purports to be Mystical Literature, nor does it take itself too seriously. If you've seen the Movie Simply Irresistable (and if you haven't, you should), it has the same feel: light, airy, and welcoming. There is no feeling of 'Twilight' angst, either, thankfully. Really, it was just the right amount of magic to play into what you wished had been real when you were young - enough to excite the imagination without being frightened.

The mysteries in the story unravel at a good speed, and don't leave the reader bored or confused. In the negative column, however, is the answer to the Big Mystery - what is the boy and his family hiding? It's a lot more mellow than you would think, and the climax reveal is a little bit of a letdown, however by the time you find out what It is, the draw of the story is the interpersonal relationships of the various characters, who are all very real. In addition, the final chapter, which is more of an afterward, is too convenient for my taste, and it did color my impression of the story. I don't think that stories always need to be wrapped up in a bow, especially those made for adults, but since the whole story borders on YA lit it's a little less of an affront. In fact, if it wasn't for the one pretty explicit sexual encounter in the story, I would probably recommend it to my 12yo, because the themes of redemption, family, and personal integrity are strongly supported and well-written; throughout the novel Emily must simultaneously face the sins of her mother while still loving the woman she knew, and stand up as her own person in the midst of small-town prejudice and dislike, while Julia must face the monster within. Forgiveness, of self and others, is a strong thread woven into the plot, as is the need to move on and grow from adversity.

Overall, this is a lovely story that kept me interested until the end, and made me inclined to look for additional novels by Allen. If you're looking for something easy to keep up with for summer trips, it would make an excellent choice.

Rating: four out of five stars: Sweetly magical dual story of forgiveness, redemption, and love.

Review: The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin.

Are you happy? How could an ordinary, no-major-life-problems person increase happiness and become more present in their daily lives? I have to admit, these questions seemed to be self-centered and weary when I first noticed this book on the shelves. The only thing that really drew me in was the sub-title: 'Why I Spent A Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun'. Well, that, and the cover, which to my shallow self, looked at least a little interesting.

Imagine my surprise when The Happiness Project actually had an impact on my own daily life. Rubin, without specifically meaning to, has written a self-help book for the non-self-help crowd. I was not necessarily in the market for help, although I do admit to having been in a bit of a funk lately, so perhaps I was a little more open to suggestion than usual. Regardless, the genius behind the 'help' is that it's actually the documentation of Rubin's own journey to a more positive life, rather than someone's pompous instructions on how You could make your life like Theirs. She makes no suggestion to readers as to following in her footsteps, and in fact wrote this as a stand-alone project rather than as one that others might undertake on their own.

The book begins with Rubin, a former Supreme Court staffer turned writer, looking at her life and wondering about happiness; would making small changes to identified areas of her existence, both internal and external, improve the experience of both her and, by extension, those around her? To find out, Rubin first had to define happiness, which led to an extensive reading list of material from philosophers, politicians, and religous figures. From that, Rubin identified her own condensed thoughts on the subject, and made a list of areas in her life that she felt could stand improvement. The project built upon itself, with new goals being added at the beginning of each month, the assumption being that after 30 days, the previous goals had become habits that needed less individual focus. With the introduction of each new month's goals, Rubin gave background research information and reasoning as to why she had selected the goals for the month, and what philosophical basis they had. Each month gets its own chapter, and Rubin includes an extensive reference section at the end documenting her research and motivational texts.

Part of what makes this all so readable is Rubin's awareness that really, to 90% of the world, her life is already pretty magnifiant - good health, strong marriage, financially stable, etc. She also includes the doubts of others who approach her to discuss her work, and their (sometimes rude) arguments as to why her year's work is, essentially, worthless. However, her basic conclusion is that if we are to live, we should strive for improvement, for our own sake as well as that of those around us. Rubin sets goals that impact her family, friends, and community, but involve only small changes on her own part and no financial investment at all. Her goal of being true to herself resulted in her exploring her passion for children's literature and starting a small literature circle; it eventually expanded so much from people bringing friends that other offshoot groups were created. All of those people expanded their horizons, met new people, and got to participate in a monthly intellectually stimulating social experience because of her small decision to focus on what she was really interested in. The book is full of tiny gestures that make substantial returns.

In essence, Rubin's tactic is very appropriate for the current economy; figure out what you truly want, what honestly makes you and others in your life happy, and cut out all the rest of the garbage. Focus on what you can change, and do it. There are many people who, for one reason or another, feel that they have lost a lot of power over their own lives, and this project is a reminder that we all can refocus ourselves, and take charge of what is truly personal.

Rating: five stars. Intelligent, honest, engaging journal of taking back the self ad focusing on what's truly important