Devon Trevarrow Flaherty's Blog, page 20

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A Monster Calls (2011) by Patrick Ness is a sad, somewhat difficult YA book that borders on a novella and, in the end, is rewarding. It is also magical, but avoids the obnoxiousness of overly-fable-y books to drive home some very real points about coming of age, death, and guilt, while the backstory about this book is almost just as intriguing. And while it might be a little predictable overall, the details keep the author guessing and turning the pages.

Conor is thirteen years old. It used to be that he had a pretty normal life, with his single mom after his dad left with a new wife to America, a best friend, a bothersome grandma who stayed distant, and everyone knowing him at school. But after his mom got sick, all that changed. And as she didn’t get better, everything got worse. Then one night, during a recurring nightmare, Conor finds a monster outside his window for him, and it won’t be the last time he returns, waiting Conor out for the truth.

I want to start with the story about the novel itself. It is written by Patrick Ness, the award-winning author of the Chaos Walking Trilogy and other YA (and other) books. He is an American living in London. (So cool.) However, despite his writing chops, this was a book that did not originate with him. He was asked to write the book and given the beginning and the notes, and he said “Yes” and then wrote it and the rest is, shall we say, history. (It is probably his most famous book.) Where did this story come from? British, YA author Siobhan (shuh-bvahn’) Dowd (most famous for Bog Child) was dying of cancer when she came up with the idea to write a YA book to help children deal with the very thing she was going through (grief and loss during a protracted illness). She had not finished the book when she died, and Ness ended up with the task of completing it (and, I think, mostly writing it, therefore his name on the cover). I wonder what sort of story-within-a-story this movie would make, you know, like Miss Potter, Capote, or Tolkien. (Apparently, it would be titled Dowd; see also Kafka, Colette, Shirley, Emily, Dickinson, Iris, and to a lesser extent: Mary Shelley and Becoming Jane).

Now back to the novel and its content. I was a little distressed when I saw how fable-y and sparse it was written. Despite feeling like I of course would like fable and fairy-tale-leaning stories, I have not had a good history with reading and reviewing them. While I love Grimm’s Fairytales and Arnold Lobel’s Fables (like the old-style originals) and have written a fable-y novel myself (The Night of One Hundred Thieves), I have more often been disappointed by modern fables/fairytales (like The Alchemist, The Prophet, The Little Prince, and The Castle Corona). It turns out, there is something about a sparsely-written, show-more-than-tell, keep-an-eye-on-the-actual-writing, and then teach a lesson (or many), that I simply don’t like. A Monster Calls felt like it was going to be like that. And to some extent, it was. But then to much extent, it wasn’t. There was an actual story there, and there were layers and stakes and the lessons learned weren’t as spelled out for the reader (and protagonist) as the other books I just listed. But still, they were, because a magical being was telling fairy-tales and spouting wisdom and the format was short. Looking back, though, on an experience that I pretty much enjoyed (of reading the book), it settled with me that this would be best read by its intended audience, which is listed as 12-15 but I think is more accurately 12-18. There, I think the modern fable works better, especially since it’s reigned in and tempered with some realism.

As I said, the book’s genesis story is very intriguing and very poignant for knowing the outcome. I was a little bothered by the italics and boldface type as unconventional formatting, but I can understand why it would have been done (to make the monster’s words like they were coming from Conor’s head); still, they could have used normal typeface instead of bold, within the italics. That is commonly how it is done. All in all, the book kept me interested and reading even though I could kinda see the end from miles away, because there were other questions, other mysteries. It’s a good book, and I understand why it appears consistently on YA lists. Of course, there are trigger warnings: it’s a book about a teen having rough times (including bullying and acting out aggressively) as he deals with his mother’s terminal cancer. But there are things to contemplate here that go deeper than that, to guilt and anger and isolation, even stuffing one’s emotions. A quick read with lots of emotional punch, A Monster Calls would make good classroom reading that kids would actually enjoy, and it would also make a special read for the person who needs to hear this story, right then.

By the way, you want the original–not the movie promotional copy–with illustrations by Jim Kay.

QUOTES:

“’The justification of men who kill should always be heard with skepticism’” (p68).

“’There is not always a good guy. Nor is there always a bad one. Most people are somewhere in between’” (p70).

“’Many things that are true feel like a cheat …. and sometimes witches merit saving. Quite often, actually. You’d be surprised’” (p70).

“’Stories were wild, wild animals and went off in directions you couldn’t expect” (p149).

“’Stories are important,’ the monster said. ‘They can be more important than anything. If they carry the truth’” (p155).

“’The answer is that it does not matter what you think,’ the monster said, ‘because your mind will contradict itself a hundred times a day’” (p212).

“’You do not write your life with words,’ the monster said. ‘You write it with actions. What you think is not important. It is only important what you do’” (p213).

Image from IMDB.com

MOVIE:

I had watched this movie, must have been about when it came out (2016). With Liam Neeson, Sigourney Weaver, and Felicity Jones, as well as the magical realism (or light fantasy) and the CGI needed to create a monster from trees, I would have been totally excited. Somehow, though, my husband and I could only recall that we had found the movie “boring” and “slow” and “sad,” and almost nothing else. So maybe it’s not the world’s best movie. Sometimes movies work like that—they seem like they have all the parts but then there is some sort of special spark that is missing.

On a re-watch, I can say that it is a movie worth watching once, especially after you have read the book. There is nothing particularly wrong with it, except they took out some of the more touching threads of the book. (Where is his bestie? I agree the book didn’t do enough with this storyline, but she was one of the brightest things about the story. I guess they try to make up for it in the movie with a trip to the carnival.) I don’t know why it made such a flat and small impression on us (maybe we watched it with our kids? It’s not for kids), but the movie is better than decent. It maintains high ratings, and if you know what it will be: a tough, fable-y, story about grief and youth, well then, go on and rent it. It probably won’t disappoint you, but it may make you cry or even ponder while you’re enjoying the effects, the lush artistry, and the fairly flawless acting along with a surprising story.

I Speak Boy by Jessica Brody (2021) is a solid read for middle grades readers, especially if they are interested in a little romance. With a fun premise and modern lessons, there are plenty of twists and turns and memorable characters in this loose retelling if Jane Austen’s Emma.

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Emmy is obsessed—and not in a good way—with her smartphone and all the apps she keeps neatly organized and within reach. During a disastrous set-up that Emmy orchestrates for her bestie and a boy at her middle school carnival, Emmy and her fancy, expensive phone end up in the “magical lagoon.” As her friendships and her attempts at love-matching fall apart, Emmy discovers a new app on her phone that translates boy-speak into plain English that she can understand. Obviously, this will help immensely with pairing off her classmates and restoring her most cherished friendship. But not everything is smooth sailing, even when you’re a girl who speaks boy.

I have been reading quite a bit of YA and middle grades literature, lately (again). I have been reading YA because I am writing YA. I have been reading middle grades partly because I have been taking classes from Jessica Brody on Writing Mastery Academy and she references some middle grades books, including her own. I mean, part of me felt taken in, buying her books after taking her classes. But she hadn’t told me to read them, hadn’t been pushy at all. She just referred to them as examples. And some of her books had the cutest set-ups. Some of her writing examples were impressive to me. She’s not super famous as a fiction author, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. I ordered like four of her books and picked this one up first.

I was not super impressed with the beginning, which was pretty, um, common in writing, plot, and characters. (Part of the rocky start is the secret language that her brothers speak in, stumping everyone around them for months… um, I figured it out in about ten seconds. So that was weird.) But I decided to trust the journey, assuming at the least that I would see a story full of stakes and twists unfolding in a way that I could learn from. The story warms up. It keeps you guessing even though some of it is obvious. And in the end, the message is good. It is quite middle grades (why don’t we call it MG?). Okay, it’s very MG. It’s not the kind of book that most adults are going to enjoy reading, even though it is a retelling of Emma by Jane Austen (pretty darn loosely, but I did catch on at some point, without being told ahead of time). I am recommending it for middle grades kids because it’s a pretty good book as far as their likes and developmental stage are concerned. But even I enjoyed reading it, even so, because I am a curious person.

It’s on the lighter side of MG reading, but still has some moments of learning and introspection mixed in with the fun and the MG romance. I was concerned for some time that it was going to be too gendered, as in generalizing to an unhelpful point, but by the end that’s not at all where it lands. It’s a sweet book: she kinda loses her way but is surrounded by caring people… and of course finds her way back. Emmy has some modern lessons to learn and going along with her will be a fun read for many kids, especially ones who want a little innocent romance.

QUOTES:

“Because even though she claims she doesn’t know what she’d say if Mr. Weston asked her out, I do …. To anyone else, it would have been invisible …. But to me, it was as bright and glowing as a spotlight” (p251).

“Because that’s what I do. I smile when she frowns. I order food when she’s hungry. I clean up when she forgets to. I help the boys with their homework when she’s too busy” (p251).

“It just takes him a while to open up. It’s like he wants to make sure he can trust you before he lets you in. Knowing how middle school can go, I don’t think it’s a terrible strategy” (p354).

Image from Amazon.com

I have decided that from now on, I am going to give a brief synopsis of my review right off the bat, then a synopsis of the book. Only then will I take forever telling you about it. Good idea?

To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2014) by Jenny Han is YA to the core, and yet I think plenty of readers of romance who are older would also enjoy it. I was annoyed by some things right off the bat (and at the end), but as I read, I was sucked in more and more until I found myself really enjoying the spunky Lara Jean and the complicated and electric romance(s). Plenty of situational comedy and also realistic coming-of-age lessons to learn.

Lara Jean is a rising junior whose older sister is headed off to college in Scotland. After their mother died earlier in their childhood, Margot has been the one to hold everything together. In a parting shot, Margot breaks up with her boyfriend of two years, a boy that is the third leg of their best friend group of Josh-Margot-Lara Jean. How is life going to work with no Margot and no Josh? Then, just as the school year is getting off to a rough start, someone mails Lara Jean’s secret, old, good-bye-and-good-riddance love letters to the five boys she has loved over the years. And one of them was Josh! Does she still have feelings for Josh? Obviously he can’t know because he’s going to end up back with Margot someday soon. And the boys who received those letters… well, things get complicated.

First impressions matter. I was not pleased with the cover—it looks a little cheesy to me—but I started reading because the book was frequently referenced in the class I am currently taking (on novel revision). My first impression with the text, then? Sigh. I have a pet peeve when it comes to prologues/introductions, whatever. Not only does this book have a one-page prologue, but it is unlabeled. As I reader, I am pretty likely to skip a prologue or introduction, but a page of random, un-headed writing before “Chapter 1”: almost completely likely to skip it. I only later noticed the thing, actually, and when I realized it was part of the book, steam started leaking out of my ears. What the heck? Epilogues, fine: if you liked the book you’ll want to read more. But anything before Chapter 1 is basically a weird lie. And hidden introductions? Grrrr (with smoke wafting out of my nose). Pet peeves are weird, but there you are. Make sure you read the bit of writing before the first chapter.

Unfortunately, by then, I had encountered another personal barrier to book enjoyment. The POV is first person. This can be justified at times, especially in YA, but this narrator is also speaking in present tense. I do not like reading in present tense. I find it awkward, at best, and very difficult to justify, especially when paired with first person (which is already a little bit of stretch for the reader). I tolerated it in the Hunger Games trilogy, but I didn’t exactly like it, even there. There is an immediacy that happens when a story is very high stakes (consistently) that might justify present tense, but certainly not in all the realistic YA that is being written in present tense these days. I find it distracting and monotonous. Tell me a story, author. Use some present tense now and again to reel us in nose-to-nose close, if you have to (but you probably don’t). Otherwise, trust the story-telling process: the reader will slip into the story and feel its closeness despite its being just that: a story.

But I kept reading, because I did. And despite the weirdly hidden intro and the first person, present POV, I began to enjoy reading the book. I never got over wanting it to be past tense, but I read faster and faster and more and more invested in the characters and in the romance(s). Speaking of, the nuances of the romance(s) were pretty close to pitch perfect. There’s the right amount of sizzle, the right amount of give and take with the hints and the reader being able to see things that even the voice of narration can’t see. The main character, Lara Jean, is realistic and spunky and surprising and fun. I can see why this is a YA modern classic, and I think many adults who want a fun, romantic read would also enjoy To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before.

But one last thing, one last warning: the book does not have a traditional ending, exactly. Modern authors seem to be afraid of the traditional ending, but I think it is very difficult to pull off a nontraditional one and still leave your readers satisfied. I have been guilty of this in my own writing: just giving a hint and then writing “THE END.” But as a reader, I am not happy with that sort of ending in 99% of what I read. In Boys I’ve Loved, things are implied, but the storyline drops right before the resolution. (Han is just really good at finding my reading pet peeves and going for it.) I don’t feel there’s a reason for a hint-and-don’t-tell ending in this case. (Ted Lasso spoiler in the next sentence.) I can be persuaded that, say, Ted Lasso ended with neither team Roy nor team Jamie winning because then it reinforces the girl power theme, but here? Not taking the one extra step to wrap up the romance in this book? Nope. Perhaps Han wanted us to read the sequels? No thanks, partly because we all know what should have been written, and it wasn’t. It’s pretty obvious. See “MOVIE,” below. (Okay, I might read the sequels. It would be a nice beach read and they are consistently rated the same as the first book in the series. The rest of the trilogy is P.S. I Still Love You and Always and Forever, Lara Jean.)

So back to it: I do recommend this book for YA, for YA romance, and for romance. It’s a fun, engaging read to relax or kick back on the beach, and most readers will enjoy the spunky character and the great situational, romantic tension written in solid prose. It’s quite tight introspection and sometimes immature because, um, it’s YA and it’s supposed to be that way. But it’s good fun with plenty of little lessons along the way and both a memorable plot and memorable characters.

QUOTES:

“Because Margot is fine, even when she’s not” (p4).

“This is our life; there’s no use in asking what if. No one could ever give you the answers” (p10).

“…to that I say looking on the bright side of life never killed anybody” (p82).

MOVIE

Image from IMDB.com

I already mentioned the movie above because I was not at all alone in assuming the ending to this no-ending book. I did like the movie (2017), and my daughter loves it, but as with many pairs, the book was better than the movie. But wait! There’s a caveat here: the ending in the movie is better. However, the character was better in the book and the interactions were way cuter. In the end, I would actually recommend both, but the book has more spice, more magic, more depth (they did change some pretty big things for the movie and some small things that fell flat after the read), but I held out on hoping there was going to be an actual ending… and there was! Cute. Very YA. I liked putting faces to the characters. Another modern classic, ya know, for Gen Z.

I went to school for English literature. In the end, I graduated with a major in philosophy and a minor in English literature, but I was one class away from a double-major and spent a lot of my time doing things like being on the literary magazine staff and writing poetry, not to mention reading. My life-long career goal has always been to be a writer. Unfortunately, that meant that when I was a teenager, I got the idea into my head that a writer cannot learn to write, just like an artist cannot learn to do anything in the arts; it’s just in you and you have to follow your own path into authentic art. I have not believed that hogwash for a very long time: I have discovered—a little too late for some scenarios—that you should seek an education in the arts if you want to be a great artist or have a career in the arts (even if you get your primary degree in something more practical). By education, I don’t necessarily mean a formal degree, but more of a practical education as well as craft education (like learning about what can be done in the field and the history of the art as well as how to use the tools of the trade and how to improve at the art). Some of you maybe still believe that certain things cannot be taught, but I think there is a difference between relying completely on your own intuition, and acknowledging that great writing does require certain talent(s) to be already present in the individual. I do believe that not just anybody can write or do any number of artistic things, at least to a certain level. (They can do them for fun, surely.) Honing talents is a thing, and figuring everything out on one’s own is a waste of time and resources.

All this eschewing of (practical) art education has some part in a trend I have been noticing lately. The trend is not limited to whether or not one can and should be taught writing (and specifically the more craft-heavy aspects of writing); it also encompasses such debates as can a story be broken down into its form and should one consider form when writing? Can a good book be written from a formula and does formula kill creativity? Likewise, can a good book be written from a plan and does planning kill creativity, and how much planning is too much planning? My observation is that the lines have been drawn and two camps are glaring at each other across a divide—a divide that I don’t even think is really there. Welcome to modern America, amiright?

Partly, I am talking about planners (writers who plan out their stories before writing) versus pantsers (writers who write by the seat of their pants), but I am also talking about the kind of writers who would even call themselves a planner or pantser versus those who have no idea what I am even talking about (and would carve a long berth around those circles where those terms are used). I have found these writers lately, hoovering around the edges of the writing groups I have been looping in and out of, and they won’t look right at the conversation, but they will give you a funny (okay, judging) look if you start talking about formula or form or planning or even learning certain things (beyond a writing workshop that deals in abstracts and examples). The funny thing is—whether or not they will throw a hissy fit about me saying it—is that in the end there isn’t much of a difference to how people across the board are actually writing; I fail to see a fundamental difference in their writing processes, for all the noise claiming the contrary. Not really. They may think they are pitted against each other from opposing camps, but when you get past the prejudice and the language, these writers are actually writing the same way, just in a different order, and—here’s the important part—they are all being creative.

Take the Writer’s Routine podcast, for example. I listen to it. The set-up is the host asking a visiting writer what their routine is, beginning with their physical space and moving through the rather extensive interview from there. I have listened to writers who would fall at different points on the planner-pantser spectrum as well as the inspiration-education/preparation spectrum. There is a very wide range, and yet most writers start to sound the same, at some point, no matter how they got there. Or how about the writer I wrote about in a previous blog, who poo-pooed planning and then later lamented “having” to write a book eight times to get it right. First of all, I have come to realize that everyone plans. Even if a writer shows up at their typewriter or notepad (that’s the type of writers we are talking about here) in the morning without an idea of what they are doing, their brain is going to be one—probably several—steps ahead of their actual writing and, quite frankly, they are going to have some sort of intuition about where their writing is headed once they conceive of an idea (except for those who truly write stream-of-consciousness (which I’m not sure is even possible)). Second, let’s just say there is very little planning done for some writers as they approach their first draft (like all in their head): still, there is a significant amount of planning that then happens before a revision or a rewrite. Which means every writer must plan at some point and in some way. For many, the order is just different from someone else’s order.

I have heard the real heart of the complaint behind the whine that is “planning is the antagonist to creativity,” and it is “planning doesn’t sound like much fun.” It doesn’t sound very right-brained. But there, at the very root of the argument, is where the whole thing falls apart. Because planning a story takes just as much creativity as writing it. What does it matter at what point the writer comes up with the ideas and pieces them together? They’re still birthing them out of the ether between their two ears, pieced together from the world around them. And, call me crazy, but no one plans every single word of a final novel draft; it would be impossible and, well, then it would just be called writing. Even with a thoroughly-planned story, there will be layers of exploring, thinking, dreaming, changing, and—oh yeah—actually writing the details, scenes, and dialogue along the way. The thing is, spending some time planning—ahem, dreaming up—a story ahead of writing actual narration is a surefire way to avoid wasting time chasing your thoughts around with tens of thousands of words that you’ll have to put in the trash. It also avoids a first draft that is a hot mess and all the time that will take to sort out. Not that planners don’t also have to sometimes rewrite or trash things, but the chances are much slimmer.

So obvi I’m a planner, but I’m not a crazy planner because my ADHD won’t let me go too far before I jump into the next stage. But I have found that—free-spirit and artist though I am—taking the time and discipline to move more methodically through art-learning and then the art process is a real boon and it has nothing to do with stifling my creativity. I, myself, have been on a journey for the past year exploring different approaches to writing a novel; I wrote three novels in the past that were basically pantsing, and experimented with a format through the fourth. Because I needed to get the fifth one written as quickly as possible, I turned to a much more structured approach to my writing day and, by extension, the writing process. I was scared at first—which is kind of my point, here. I was also afraid when I started finally taking ADHD meds after years and years of avoiding them because what if I lost my creativity? What if I lost my voice? But what did I discover when I made the shift(s)? Not only did I get a ton done, but I now know that my approach is going to be a combination of the methods I learned elsewhere and that hearing from other writers and trying new things is not hurting my process; rather, it’s strengthening my process and forming it at a faster pace than when I was just feeling it out and “doing me.” And I also discovered that planning is a super-creative process! It’s barely different from writing, and on some days it’s even more freeing and creative. Imagine all the brainstorming that happens when you are planning: some days I walk in the woods and feel and think about the story, and sometimes I turn on some music and close my eyes and wander into the story. I just jot notes and move on to the next thought—at a more realistic pace, for me. And then—after more fear about what would happen during the drafting (actual writing) because wouldn’t it be less fun and less inspired to write from my notes?—I was surprised that the writing itself felt no less creative. I still had to screen all the scenes in my head, dream up all the details that would hopefully make the thing shine, and then, as drafts progressed, word-smith, which is one of my favorite parts of writing. Only now, by the time it was time to play with language, to unfurl my language-artistry, I wasn’t spending my time or resources on random scenes that were likely to be deleted. I knew how to make my darlings stand where I needed them to be, telling the story that had blossomed in my brain months or years before. If I felt a tug somewhere outside of my plans, well, I haven’t met a planner yet who wouldn’t change their plans or follow their heart on a new path through the story.

As a final note, I love the term “discovery draft.” It’s a more palatable term for the fast draft, which is a first draft written without any editing, basically. Jessica Brody uses the term; I’m not sure if she coined it or if others use it. Anyhow, I like the term because it underscores that writing your way through a story the first time is always going to be a discovery process. In fact, each progressive draft after that will also have elements of discovery. The story isn’t nailed down until it is, no matter what format you use or what process you follow (or don’t). Even after planning using the Save the Cat method (which Brody uses), the first draft is absolutely still a discovery and that’s a beautiful, respectful, and honest way of seeing it, as opposed to the nothing-good-can-come-from-Nazareth attitude that creativity somehow dies with planning, listening, learning, sharing, and/or following a format. We follow an ages-old tradition of flexing our artistic muscles and writing breath-taking literature to poetic forms; it might also help an author to consider the structure of their novel and plug in limitations or signposts that are a reflection of story-telling traditions. It’s not like writers are a group you have to tell to then go off the rails or experiment because, quite frankly, artists are the rebels. They just don’t need to always be rebels. That’s a waste of energy.

In the meantime, I say do what works. Also, don’t be afraid to explore different ways of writing. Also, learn about your craft, continuously, including about the trade, the tools, and the process. Also, don’t be afraid and pass it off as the high horse. Fiction/creative writers are in this together. So, I suppose if you want to rewrite a book eight times instead of studying traditional (and untraditional!) structure and thinking how you might use that to say what you want… then I’m going to allow that, too. But I’m not going to allow you to think that you’re really that different from other writers. We all have a dream. We all have the itch, that twitch in our typing fingers. We all love to sink into the creative process and get giddy when something new and exciting comes to us—just us, like we’re special. And then we all want to share it. I’ll give it you that we’re not all writing to the same audience(s), but why would we be? If some of us earn our living off that happy path (writing greeting cards or blogging or nursing or serving coffee), then it’s because most of us have to earn our living off that happy path. The real difference isn’t so much in our process, it’s in our talent level, our opportunities, and our luck, and who’s going to lord it over someone because they are more naturally talented, privileged, or lucky? Only a jerk. Don’t be that jerk. Write and let write. Heck, even write and support writers.

You might already know, but I have been venturing lately into the territory of ARCs—advance reader copies. This means that sometimes publishers or publicists approach me about reading a book and reviewing it before it has been published. In the past, my response was a no, 100% of the time. Recently I read ARCs of Orphaned Believer and then The Good Slope. Then I was approached by someone on behalf of Rachel Durchslag’s While I Walk. I don’t have the time (or will) to read tons of ARCs, but so far a few people have really gotten my vibes before they approached me, and this was the case with all three of the books I just mentioned, including While I Walk. While I Walk appealed to me because I love to hike and travel and I live in North Carolina and it is a travel memoir from a woman out of Asheville, NC. It is about solo hiking, specifically, which Durchslag has done all over the world. Cool. Sold.

Let’s just be forthright here: I would recommend this book, but it is going to appeal to a niche market. So, if you are in that niche, then recommend. If, for example, you are considering hiking far from home (or even a little closer), then for sure. If you already hike: for sure. If you have a quirk of hiking vicariously, then yes. And there is one more niche: if you enjoy more down-home accounts of self-discovery and lean more toward, say, naturopaths than GPs, and/or if you want to support local authors in Asheville (or even NC), then you’re good. Outside that, there’s a limited reach, which I think you’ll understand with the full review.

While I Walk has a unique set-up. Each of the fourteen chapters cover one hike, in chronological order, that taught Durchslag something important about hiking/herself/life. The first hike takes place in 2016 and the last in 2021. (She has done several more hikes in that time, with the pics to prove it at the end of the book.) Each chapter begins with a really cool, graphic “map,” the hike stats, a quote, and the lesson, before Durchslag tells her story. At the end of the chapter are some photos followed up with the logistics (in case you wanted to do the hike), recommended reading for researching the hike, a few words in the local language, and a regional recipe (keeping in mind that Durchslag is vegan). The front matter consists of Durchslag telling us how she ended up writing this book (friends’ suggestions during the Pandemic). At the end, there is a FAQ for the curious, photos of her other hikes, and 100 tips broken down into 10 tips about 10 hiking things (safety, packing, comfort, etc.). All in all, I not only see myself keeping this book on the shelf, but pulling it down and using it, especially when it comes to those 100 tips at the end.

And I’m wondering: do I want to do a solo (or couples) hike on one of these super-cool trails that exist out there in the wide world? Even though I hike on a weekly basis, locally, and I have hiked in a few places across the globe, I never realized there were these pre-determined, multi-day hikes everywhere, some of them not even very difficult (but some of them, very). And if she’s going to break it down for me, take me on a tour before I even set a foot out the door… Durchslag’s enthusiasm for the trail and the great outdoors—for the challenge—is infectious.

But here’s the thing. I am a literary person. I swing between literary snobbery and embracing whatever works and pleases, but I do often break down books that I review from a literary standpoint. At the least, I’ll say something like, “It has no literary merit whatsoever, but if you want a novelty item for your coffee table and you love zombies and Jane Austen, then have at it.” (That’s basically what I said for Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.) So even with the literary critique, I sometimes recommend books based on other merits, because I’m a realist who realizes not everyone cares about breathtaking language or proper grammar when they’re being entertained or informed by a book. Which I suppose you know by now means that While I Walk is not the most literary of books.

Durchslag is not a writer. She’s not even a storyteller, really. She is experienced in life and hiking and when she was being kept home by the Pandemic, she thought that she could produce a book that would help other people find their way to solo hiking. I can’t really tell if the book is self-published, but Foss and Flora Publishing doesn’t have a web presence I can find, so at least it’s indie. And it looks it, to me (inside and out), though is likely to impress some people who think indie publishing is always shoddy—it’s not; it’s more the photo quality and font choice and the way the copy looks on the page that gives it away. And there are some amazing photos, but Durchslag is also not a photographer or a chef, so most everything about the book is, shall we say, down home. Including the writing. Which is mostly in present tense, a choice which I found distracting and, well, not a good one. Stories are conventionally told in past tense, and though I understand why she would choose first person for a memoir, I think present tense was a bridge too far. And the stories themselves were, well, pedestrian, by which I mean that the craft of storytelling is not honed. The stories are interesting, but they are often missing something, like in the departments of pacing, revelation, wordsmithing, tone, etc. I mean, writers ideally learn and gather tools of the trade over decades in order to get this stuff right. And as a foodie, I could tell that while Durchslag has a passion for eating food, she doesn’t have the kind of knowledge or experience that would lead her to write a cookbook or open a restaurant.

Like I said, that’s not to say this isn’t a certain kind of book that I would recommend, because it is. But as a reviewer who discusses the literary merit of books, that is the full skivvy, here: just know what kind of book it is and you won’t be disappointed by what it isn’t. I totally enjoyed reading this book and only wished that she had included some of the other hikes we saw glimpses of at the end. I will be using the tips and will be riding out on the wings of Durchslag’s inspiration and enthusiasm, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that meant I’ll be participating in a more far-flung solo hike sometime soon. (I just did a solo hike across my home city, a couple months ago.) So thanks to Durchslag for sharing and if I come across someone who fits the niche of this book, I will be for sure recommending it.

QUOTES:

“My husband and I came up with a term to capture how we were living [during the Pandemic]: malaising” (p1).

“It’s as if my heart is breaking a little so it can grow larger in size” (p12).

“I now understand that the most profound growth lies not in what I accomplish but within the journeys themselves” (p12).

“Generally speaking, I try to find the positive in what could be perceived as a negative experience” (p31).

“…I …. do my best not to cry or panic (both feel surprisingly hard to resist). I spend every ounce of energy on hope…” (p34).

“I consider my options, which are none” (p41).

“But if there’s one thing I’ve learned while traveling, it’s that being attached to a particular experience or outcome is never beneficial” (p77).

“‘In nature, nothing is perfect and everything is perfect'” (Alice Walker, p84).

“As I write these words now, five years wiser, I hope that I will never again acquiesce to uncomfortable situations simply to avoid awkward conversations. I’ve learned that sometimes it is necessary to hurt someone’s feelings to uphold integrity and self-love” (p106).

“I wait for my emotions to emerge, but there is nothing. I am not yet ready to grieve” (p112).

“If you have not been to Lake Bled or have never heard of Lake Bled, go” (p119).

“…the act of climbing a peak changes you by the time you reach its topmost point” (p123).

“I remind myself to always prioritize the experience of being somewhere truly stunning and unique over earning bragging rights…” (p132).

“I recognize that I’m in the throes of an ego-versus-reality battle” (p140).

“At one point, I loudly scream, ‘I AM OUT OF MY COMFORT ZONE!’ …. Sometimes you just need to fall apart a little to go on” (p153).

“…connection is so much bigger than verbal communication” (p154).

“…bad decisions are made when panic sets in …. [but] this experience is not about effort but surrender” (p156).

I have meant to read some Jules Verne for many years, because his books are classics (though they be intended more for boys, originally). In the latter half of the 1800s, Verne wrote prolifically on his Voyages Extraordinaires series (by the way, he was French) and those fifty-four novels (and novellas) include Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Around the World in 80 Days, and—what I just read—Journey to the Center of the Earth. These adventure stories earned him the (sometimes) title of the father or science fiction. And while he wrote as a playwright, poet, etc. as well, it’s these adventure books that endure, continuing to capture the imagination even today, though more often through movie versions of these pretty outdated books.

Journey to the Center of the Earth is old-fashioned, that’s for sure. It’s not just that people before our current times had better attention spans (though they did) or that they didn’t have similar tastes to our own; it’s also that they had limited options for entertainment and edification and, most importantly, they had very little to fill their leisure time or together time with. If you had a copy of one of Verne’s books back in the day, you might read it aloud in the evening to your family for nights on end, savoring each word and each twist of the story… and then you would use your imagination as a complement to the story. The point is, by today’s standards Journey is a little slow, strange, meandering, and calm, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t inspire generations of kids and even adults or that it didn’t inspire writers to come away bearing future-books in their lit-up minds (which then inspired other books, etc.). But give this novella to a middle grades kid these days, and you will likely found it unread and covered in dust-bunnies when you journey to the underside of their bed, someday (oh, brave and worthy explorer!).

The language is cumbersome to modern people, for one, but it’s not too crazy. I was surprised that I lol-ed throughout this book, though mostly in the first third or so. The narrating character is sarcastic and an excellent foil to the wacky, needlessly optimistic Professor Lidenbrock, and his comments and thoughts about things are often hilarious. But then the pacing gets in the way. I could not believe it when I was more than half way through the book and—surprise!—no one had taken one, measly step below the Earth’s uppermost crust. Not. One. Centimeter. And as it took longer and longer and longer to get anywhere, I became confused. I was holding a novella (at 155 pages) and how was I going to explore if I wasn’t going to arrive until the last chapter? Wasn’t that the point of this book? The adventures in the center of the earth? Nope. Apparently it is more aptly named than I gave it credit for: this is a journey TO the center of the earth. Deal with it.

There were other oddities about the pacing. Sometimes the story lingers too long on thoughts or a random scene or scientific factoids, but it rarely stands back and paints a picture and does very little to mine the characters in any depth, which I guess fits with the whole classic adventure thing. Also, through the time we spend with the narrating character, I found him to be inconsistent and eventually just obnoxious and neurotic, decreasingly wry or funny. It’s the voice, I think, with the pacing. Verne doesn’t really develop characters or their relationships, so we are dependent on huge adventures and a sweeping, engaging world, neither of which are really driven home, here. Little scientists—especially geologists—might find this book interesting just for all the enthusiasm and contemplation of that, but would also, I’m sure, find some of it outdated and perhaps confuse fact with fiction (or I’m underestimating the intelligence of these kids and readers. Could be). In the end, too, the adventure takes the strangest turns (and I mean that in a bad way) and I felt whiplashed, like wait, what? Did we just come all the way here for that? Did we just do so many ca-razy things to react to the greatest adventure like that? And then it ends like that? What the heck?

Though I can appreciate some things, like the imagination that brought so many of us humans down into the bowels of the earth, mixing science with fantasy in order to explode both the imagination and the wonder of the natural world. The reason I picked up Journey right now is that I have written a Hollow Earth book and I wanted to see what had already been done to this topic, across time. What is the tradition, here? Verne doesn’t use the term Hollow Earth in his book and he is not the originator of the idea (which came from more than one ancient tradition), but he did contribute in an important way to how modern culture interacts with this fantastical concept. What I can’t appreciate is the classism, ethnocentrism, and sexism that sits just below the surface of some of the scenes. I mean, the female character is talented, brave, blah-blah-blah, but duh she’s got to sit at home and fill her sole role as the source of Axel’s infatuation so that he’ll want to come home. And several random scenes are awkward as butt about servants, etc. One of the three main characters is this hulking, peasant brute who is a combination of strength and zen with codependency and brainlessness that hearkens back to the attitudes of the days of the transatlantic slave trade and arguments given to justify such practices. While not much is overt (and is aimed largely at the lower-socioeconomic and lower-educated agrarian people of Iceland), it is there. Oh, historical context. Be forewarned.

In case you don’t know (I didn’t, really, somewhat because the newer movies don’t really follow the original plot line from what I can remember), Journey to the Center of the Earth is narrated by a teenage orphan, Axel. He has been raised in the quirky household of his even quirkier (and sometimes unpredictable to the point of hurtful) uncle, Prof Lidenbrock. A Frenchman in Germany, he is a genius who is also frequently a laughingstock. Meanwhile, his nephew, who has some intelligence but not genius, is apprenticing with him. And somehow this uncle also ended up raising a girl of about the same age as Axel. She is perhaps the genius and the adventurer here, but she is shunted to the background because she is a girl, and we barely see her except as the motivation for Axel. (There’s a historical fiction book here; I know it: Left Behind on the Crust of the Earth. I kid about the title, but not the story.) Lidenbrock discovers some strange writing in an ancient book and—despite Axel’s immediate panic and all the energy he will put in during the whole book to stop the foolhardy journey—Lidenbrock whisks Axel and a local tour guide (such as it was) across Europe and down into the crater of an extinct volcano in search of the center of the earth. A few things happen along the way, mostly explorers in peril and Axel trying to convince Lidenbrock to turn around and the servant (Hans) shuffling along like a pack mule who clearly utilizes some breathing techniques.

So would I recommend it? It’s a pretty quick read, but not as quick as you might think because of the slowness of the plot and the dullness of all the old, scientific musings (and maybe a little the language). Also, there isn’t enough world-building or character development to pull you in. Despite that, it’s a classic that might get the juices flowing, so who’s to say? And you should laugh. I kinda feel like this book will fall into the far background of the literary landscape in the next few decades, but I have been wrong before. It’s fine. I’ll still be checking out a couple other of Verne’s adventure stories at some point. And no, my book isn’t really anything like Journey to the Center of the Earth, so big sigh of relief.

QUOTES:

“’All the theories say so?’ replied the professor good-humoredly. ‘Ah! Those tiresome theories! How they hamper us, those poor theories!’” (p21).

“’This is what I settle,’ replied Professor Lidenbrock, mounting the high horse; ‘that neither you, nor anyone else, knows anything certain that is going on in the center of the earth, seeing that we scarcely know the 12,000th part of its radius, that science is eminently perfectible, and that each theory has constantly to give way to a fresh one’” (p21).

“’Enough. When science has spoken, it is for us to hold our peace’” (p54).

“’You have only a few hours to try your fortune, so let us start at once’” (p78).

“I could not but think what riches are hid in the depths of the earth, which covetous humanity will never appropriate” (pp78-79).

“…facts, as usual, give the lie to theories” (p87).

“External objects have an actual influence on the brain” (p89).

“’Science, my boy, is made up of mistakes; but of mistakes which lead to the discovery of truth’” (p105).

“…however vast the wonders of nature, they are always referable to physical causes” (p127).

“’Uncle,’ said I, ‘when that bit of meat is gone, what have we?’ / ‘Nothing, Axel, nothing. But what good does it do you to devour it with your eyes?’” (p144).

I have been to three “readings” lately, at local bookstores. If you haven’t been to a reading, I suggest that you go to one and make sure to buy a book while you are there. Readings are interesting and cool and they are in danger of becoming extinct if people don’t show up, just as independent bookstores are in danger of becoming extinct if no one buys from them. (At the very least, if your indie bookstore has online ordering, you could check there before buying elsewhere and place orders to pick up.)

One of the readings I attended was for my friend, Thomas Wolf (there are three of them; the one who wrote I Am Charlotte Simmons and The Bonfire of the Vanities (Tom Wolfe) is deceased, as is the North Carolina Thomas Wolfe. The internet has a hard time distinguishing between them). My friend writes historical true crime with his partner, Patricia L. Bryan, and historical baseball books. He has published two of these baseball books in the past few years (and is under contract for another) and was reading for The Called Shot, his latest.

At his reading, I learned that Daniel Wallace was coming to the same bookstore two weeks out. A fan of Big Fish, I had been to a Daniel Wallace reading years before, but I decided to come back for this one, where he would talk about his first nonfiction book, This Isn’t Going to End Well, about his deceased brother-in-law. Then I got a text from a friend asking me to go to a third reading, for a Chapel Hill author named Brian Biswas, a friend of hers. He would be reading from The Astronomer. Turns out that The Astronomer is magical realism, my favorite genre of all time, which is also the genre of Big Fish. I was intrigued to learn that Biswas took some of his own experiences and shook them up into a fiction account that crosses the hallucinations of mental illness with magical realism, bending the rules of magical realism a bit. He was funny and interesting, and he read so calmly. I had to leave early to make an appointment, but I was fascinated and walked away with a signed copy of the book (and used copies of Never Let Me Go (a magical realism author) and Salvage the Bones).

Image from Whiskey Tit

I have begun lists of best magical realism books before. I was surprised, though, when I couldn’t find a posted blog on The Starving Artist for them. Perhaps I had given up. Perhaps it just seemed like a repeat of so many other categories mashed together. I mean, magical realism is sort of a sub-genre, or a category that can encompass books from a few genres. But I have always loved magical realism; I often write magical realism, and so I made the list. And then I thought we might talk about it a little bit, first.

As is appropriate in so many situations, let us begin with a definition. Magical realism—sometimes called magic realism—is a fiction style (or perhaps a genre or sub-genre) that begins with realism and then weaves in components of speculative fiction that remain unqualified. I am drawn to this writing because I think our lives and the world are woven with components of the supernatural. Plus it’s just fun to take normal people and circumstances and chuck in a little of the fantastic, see how it goes, and don’t bother explaining it because this is fiction, this is the author’s world. I often define it as the real world with just a splash or two of fantasy thrown in. Usually the definition of magical realism also includes a little history: it was first popularized and used widely by Latinx authors in the 1900s and some scholars argue that it is bound to this history, so that authors outside of the Latinx culture cannot produce real magical realism. While this is a distinct type of magical realism which deserves a nod and some applause, I do not think magical realism is limited to it (or even began there—there is nothing new under the sun). Indeed, it exemplifies a very universal way of thinking and of telling story, so there should be some name for it as a more meta category, even if we then have a specific name for this 20th century Latin-American magical realism. (My introduction to magical realism, like so many others, was Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude and I moved on to Isabel Allende.)

I found an interesting article on Reedsy Discovery that parses out three essentials of magical realism: a real-world setting, supernatural happenings that are left unexplained, and a literary fiction tone. As opposed to urban fantasy, which often features magical beings in a more realistic world, magical realism stars normal peeps in a world we would recognize as either our own or a historical one. This means that magical realism is often a commentary on social ills, like in The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead and can also be used to explore the mental, the emotional, or—in the case of my own magical realism—a deeper reality. Urban fantasy also explains the magic to some extent, while magical realism never really does. In the Discovery article, it says, “The characters seem to take it for granted: they react to it emotionally instead of questioning how it works. And although it’s never subjected to the cold light of logic, it makes a kind of dream-like, internal sense.” (I would change the word “logic” here to “the world’s logic,” because plenty of speculative fiction explains things only in relation to the fantasy or science fiction world that it is set in, not really logic or science. Magical realism doesn’t even explain things in relation to their fictional worlds, which is—again—our world.) Sometimes this allows the reader to experience a feeling on the page. Sometimes it just lives in the mystery of life. Other, more scholarly, definitions include that it must be matter-of-fact (which is a great way to put it) and use the fantasy element(s) as an extended metaphor.

Is magical realism a more “literary” category? Must it be a sub-genre of literary fiction? Or can it just be a category of realism—that part in the bookstore that contains all the usual, fiction books? It is interesting to think of it as the love child of fantasy and literary fiction, because that is basically the way I explain it to people: What do you write? Oh, I write on a spectrum from literary fiction to fantasy and I often land on magical realism, which is right there in the middle. I’ve said this like a hundred times. But does it have to be literary? Let’s just say that it tends to be literary, meaning high-falutin’, with lush descriptions and poetic conventions. Magical realism is often slower, more experimental, and prettier sounding due to careful word-smithing, than the average fantasy novel. But I don’t think it would have to be, would it? Just like you can write fantasy or science fiction that is literary. Would that make it literary fiction? Or speculative fiction? Or both? Perhaps most magical realism is literary fiction. I don’t think we need to get our knickers in a twist too much about genres and categories—that’s more just something publishers need to trade in books: to buy and market and sell (though plenty of academics like to talk subjects like these to death). Let’s suffice it to say that magical realism has a better reputation for being fancy than speculative fiction, but let’s not limit either of them. Magical realism also hob-knobs with categories and subgenres like curio fiction, surrealism, fabulism, and even Gothic fiction.)

All this does mean that my first book, Benevolent (self-published) is definitely magical realism. It takes place in the Detroit suburbs in the 1990s and is about a fairly normal girl, Gabby, who likes to do good and who is loved by a boy. The Arthurian-like legends in the novel, however, are peopled by an ancient queen, angel, and sage, and completely without warning or explanation these characters show up at key moments in the story—they just whisk in and then back out. It is also in the style of literary fiction, the structure is alternative in a constant flux of flashback and varying POVs, and the magic is meant as a metaphor for religion or—more aptly—the actual supernatural or unexplained-but-widely-experienced. I have a few other short stories and novels in the works that also neatly fit into what we just discussed. (I am currently working on two fantasy novels/series, however.)

So now, without further ado, here is my compiled-from-internet-lists list of best magical realism books/TBR:

(Note: There are definitely some disputed titles on here. Are they magical realism? Let’s give them a try.)

One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez *** Life of Pi , Yann Martel ***Red Sorghum, Mo YanMidnight’s Children, Salman RushdieBeloved, Toni MorrisonThe Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Haruki MurakamiThe House of the Spirits, Isabel Allende The Ocean at the End of the Lane , Neil GaimanThe Master and Margarita, Mikhail BulkagovLike Water for Chocolate, Laura EsquivelMrs. Caliban, Rachel IngallsBeloved, Toni MorrisonThe Famished Road, Ben OkriTropic of Orange, Karen Tei YamashitaKafka on the Shore, Haruki MurakamiThe Salt Roads, Nalo HopkinsonThe Upstairs House, Julia FinePerfume: The Story of a Murderer, Patrick SuskindNights at the Circus, Angela CarterThe Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, Aimee BenderThe Daughter of the Doctor and the Saint, Edward SwiftThe Snow Child, Eowyn IveyThe Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender, Leslye WaltonThe Immortalists, Chloe Benjamin The Book Thief, Marcus Zusak *Exit West, Mohsin HamidThe Water Dancer, Ta-Nehisi CoatesThe Other Black Girl, Zakiya Dalila Harris,The Scent Keeper, Erica BauermeisterNothing to See Here, Kevin WilsonLife After Life, Kate AtkinsonVanessa Yu’s Magical Paris Tea Shop, Roselle LimIn a Holidaze, Christian LaurenHow to Stop Time, Matt HaigBeasts of Extraordinary Circumstance, Ruth Emmie LangMr. Penumbra’s 24 Hour Bookstore, Robin SloaneThe Midnight Library, Matt HaigThe Starless Sea, Erin Morgenstern The Underground Railroad, Colson WhiteheadSing, Unburied, Sing, Jesmyn WardEcho, Pam Nunoz Ryan“The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,” F. Scott Fitzgerald“Land of Big Numbers,” Te-Ping Chen“The Office of Historical Corrections,” Danielle EvansThe Ten Thousand Doors of January, Alix E. HarrowOnce Upon a River, Diane SetterfieldThe Miniaturist, Jessie BurtonOne Italian Summer, Rebecca SerleHouse on the Cerulean Sea, T. J. KluneThe Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, V. E. SchwabThe Magic Strings of Frankie Presto, Mitch AlbumFicciones, Jorge Luis Borges Their Eyes Were Watching God , Zora Neale HurstonThe Girl with Glass Feet, Ali ShawSong of Solomon, Toni MorrisonThe Rage of Dragons, Evan WinterKaikeyi, Vaishnavi Patel American Gods , Neil Gaiman *Miss Marvel, G. Willow WilsonDandelion Wine, Ray BradburyThe Book of Form and Emptiness, Ruth OzekiPedro Paramo, Juan RulfoIf on a Winter’s Night a Traveler, Italo CalvinoHaroun and the Sea of Stories, Salman RushdieA Man Was Going Down the Road, Otar ChiladzeThe Unlikely Escape of Uriah Heep, H. G. ParryTrail of Lightning, Rebecca RoanhorseThe Tin Drum, Gunter GlassThings Invisible to See, Nancy WillardMagic for Beginners, Kelly LinkDona Barbara, Romulo GallegosSignal to Noise, Silvia Moreno-GarciaThe River King, Alice HoffmanGold Diggers, Sanjena SathianLabyrinths, Jorge Luis BorgesSweep, Jonathan AuxierHomegoing, Yaa GyasiBetween the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi CoatesWe Were Eight Years in Power, Ta-Nehisi CoatesA Monster Calls, Patrick NessThe Aleph and Other Stories, Jorge Luis BorgesGoodnight Moon, Margaret Wise Brown *The Fifth Season, N. K. JemisonThe Library of Babel, Jorge Luis BorgesPiranesi, Susanna Clarke Ghosts , Raina Telgemeier ***The Hummingbird’s Daughter, Luis Alberto UrreaHopscotch, Julio CortazarThe Island of Missing Trees, Elif ShafakThe Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse, Louise ErdrichThe Stories of Eva Luna, Isabel AllendeDona Flor and Her Two Husbands, Jorge AmadoThe War of the Saints, Jorge AmadoThe Road to Tamazunchale, Ron AriasThe Man Who Walked Through Walls, Marcel AymeThe Tartar Steppe, Dino BuzzatiThe Baron in the Trees, Italo CalvinoExplosion in a Cathedral, Alejo CarpentierThe Kingdom of This World, Alejo CarpentierSo Far from God, Ana CastilloSacred River, Syl Cheney-CokerA Man Was Going Down the Road, Otar ChildzeClaire of the Sea Light, Edwidge DanticatThe Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot DiazThe Mistress of Spices, Chitra Banerjee DivakaruniThe Shell Collector, Anthony DoerrThe Obscene Bird of Night, Jose DonosoThings We Lost in the Fire, Mariana EnriquezTracks, Louise ErdrichThe Law of Love, Laura EsquivelEverything Is Illuminated, Jonathan Safran FoerDreaming in Cuban, Cristina GarciaThe Nose, Nikolai GogolThe Tin Drum, Gunter GrassThe Monsters of Templeton, Lauren GroffWinter’s Tale, Mark HelprinChocolat, Joanne HarrisNever Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro The Buried Giant , Kazuo IshiguroForest Dark, Nicole KraussThe Bleeding of the Stone, Ibrahim al-KoniSearch Sweet Country, Kojo LiangChronicle of Death Foretold, Gabriel Garcia Marquez Love in the Time of Cholera , Gabriel Garcia Marquez *When the Moon Was Ours, Anna Marie McLemoreWild Beauty, Anna Marie McLemoreThe Girl Who Could Silence the Wind, Meg MedinaParadise, Toni MorrisonHard-Boiled Wonderland or the End of the World, Haruki MurakamiPale Fire, Vladimir NobokovThe Tiger’s Wife, Tea ObrehtA Tale for the Time Being, Ruth OzekiThe Famished Road, Ben OkriSongs of Enchantment, Ben OkriInfinite Riches, Ben OkriThe Third Policeman, Flann O’BrienThe Icarus Girl, Helen OyeyemiSnow, Orhan PamukThe White Castle, Orhan PamukThe Dictionary of the Khazars, Milorad PavicGeographies of Home, Loida Maritza PerezMumbo Jumbo, Ismael Reed…And the Earth Did Not Devour Him, Tomas RiveraThe God of Small Things, Arundhati RoyHaroun and the Sea of Stories, Salman RushdieSwamplandia!, Karen RussellOf Bees and Mist, Erick SetiawanWeaving Water, Ryhaan Shah White Teeth , Zadie Smith ***The Bonesetter’s Daughter, Amy TanWizard of the Crow, Ngugi wa Thiang’oThe Palm-Wine Drinkard, Amos Tutola Big Fish , Daniel Wallace *Orlando, Virginia WoolfThe Waves, Virginia WoolfThrough the Arc of the Rainforest, Karen Tei YamashitaLand of Love and Drowning, Tiphanie YaniqueHow to Escape from a Leper Colony, Tiphanie Yanique

Image from Amazon.com

I have often considered reading ARCs—advance reader copies—to review, but I have stayed away from this in the past because 1) I have two self-published books and reviewing other self-published books felt like a conflict of interest and 2) I really don’t want to be honest about a bad book from an emerging author. I mean, I want to promote emerging authors as much as possible and I hope to be one really soon, so why muddy the waters around me with discouragement? Quite frankly, I didn’t know if these reasons were valid, and when I was approached by an editor/agent with a book that was traditionally published, I hesitated. She also had some knowledge of me reviewing positively a similar book in the past. I am at this full-time author stage in my life (again and maybe not for long), so I went for my first ARC in many years. (This is slightly misleading, as I have just read and reviewed Orphaned Believers, but that was for a friend.) I received my ARC of The Good Slope by Elizabeth Rau before its publication date. I am not being paid for this review. I just got a free copy of the book.

Rau is a journalist whose articles have appeared in Rhode Island publications (and The Boston Globe) since 1989. The Good Slope is a collection of her work (the subtitle is A Collection of Essays) and has now been published by Apprentice House Press—a publishing house, I was interested to find out, that is 100% staffed and run by students at Loyola University. This factoid made me more susceptible to take on the ARC, because training writing students in actual, publishing experience is an awesome thing to do and I was in support. When the book arrived, I was not as impressed as I wanted to be, just for two small reasons: it felt self-published (though on the high end of self-published, I’ll admit); and it was long. 341 pages of essays is, in my opinion, hefty, and due to the thick, bright white pages (part of what made it feel self-pubbed to me; another part was the page layout and formatting inside), it was big in my hands. While some people who saw me reading it (I carry around literature at all times) found the cover impressive, I was a little bummed that it looked photoshopped and the fonts/style were a tad behind the times. I am being super picky, but it was my first impression.

Here’s the thing about getting a thick book of essays in the mail, for me: I have a hard time reading books with shorts in a timely manner, and to read what I might guess is 75-100 shorts—nonfiction to boot—is going to take me some time. I am unsure if this is my ADHD, but things that come in pieces leave many places for me to get lost or distracted—too many moments for me to put the book down. Which means that I have now passed the publication date and that you can rush out and buy the book (or order it) right now, if you want. It was available on May 2. But I really need to get my review live, because Rau needs reviews. If you read the book, would you be so kind? (Reader reviews (at least positive ones) on major websites mean a great deal to smaller publications and emerging writers.)

I was pitched this book because I had favorably reviewed A Manual for Cleaning Women by Lucia Berlin. That book is officially a collection of short stories, though I discuss in my review how they are thinly-veiled memoir. That book compiles stories from the 1960s to 2004. Berlin’s themes include alcoholism, loss, grief, single mothering, etc. Now to switch gears back: Rau’s book is a collection of small-town articles, straight from her life and the lives of those in her community. She wrote them from the 80s until 2018 (for this collection). Her themes are much softer than Berlin’s; that is the appeal of this book. It is honest and realistic, but it has a whiff of nostalgia, of times past, a kind of spit-shine akin to The Andy Griffith Show but from a more modern perspective. While I could read my own experience into it pretty well (raising small kids in the early twenty-first century), I was also lulled and soothed by the chatty, homespun pace of Rau’s life and observations. If you have an interest in Rhode Island, baseball, small city-living in the early twenty-first century, raising boys, or, well, people-watching, then Rau might be for you.

Here’s actually who I feel would most enjoy a book like this: someone older. (Not old, just older.) Someone who remembers local, editorial columns. Someone who subscribes to Readers Digest (or picks them up in the supermarket line, or some modern version of this). Someone who isn’t easily led astray by the fast-paced, sleekly-edited, social-media-ed, big price-tagged, trendy thing. Rau has provided a meander into the normal life, like for real. Not a dramatic life. Not a manicured life. Just a quiet space where real people inhabit real lives without strange packaging, though not devoid of surprises or poignancy. And it’s not just her own life. In fact, I liked the chapters and essays less which revolved around her own home; I more enjoyed when—in her later writing—she turned outward to members of her community. The idea of taking your friend’s kid and writing an article on him like he’s the crown prince or a rockstar is just joyful and cool, and I read those essays with a sparkle in my eye.

Which leads me to my two critiques of this book. For one, it is too long. I believe they should have cut more, because this is an introduction for most of us to this author, so zooming in on Rau’s best work would have been a better move, I think (unless their target audience is her fans visiting local bookstores in Providence. (To be fair, she also tells stories about growing up in St. Louis and a tiny bit New York City)). And two, I wish it had not been arranged chronologically. One of the things I praised about A Manual for Cleaning Women was the un-chronological way the stories were arranged so that there was a slow dawning, a circuitous unveiling, and a proper resolution of sorts. Arranging Rau’s work so that a reader would be hit with some of her best writing up front and then again at the end, making sense of her work to highlight themes or something: I would have liked that a lot better and, more importantly, it would have drawn me in much quicker. That way, too, those chapter breaks could have had titles, which would be much more interesting and sensical than just lopping off a chunk and calling it, “Chapter 5.”

My favorite essays were:

“My Hermit Crabs”“Details”“Our Land”“Cuts”“Yousef and Me”“Snowflakes”“Michael’s Watch”

In a time when very few people go beyond visiting your Facebook page or honking at your car, Rau has been paying attention to people for decades. She writes about others—and the patterns and spaces of her own life—with painstaking care and an open mind and heart. What we end up with in The Good Slope is a calm slice of American pie in which we can see that the seeds have not been sieved away. Sometimes her essay endings are a little cheesy, but she did seem to improve her writing over time. (Oh, I forgot, there is also no table of contents, in case you were looking for one.) And I’ll agree with the cover copy: “…the collection elevates moments we take for granted into luminous stories about the experience of home,” at least for her particular demographic, which is small city Rhode Island and plenty of other places like it. If you like A Manual for Cleaning Women or even Olive Kitteridge, you might want to give The Good Slope a try. Keep it someplace handy for reading a few minutes at a time and I think you’ll find you want to return to it to see who will show up next in her cast of very real characters to charm you.

Image from Target.com

Yeah, I did it. I read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Why is this remarkable (as in, worth remarking on)? Firstly, I hate zombies and don’t tolerate much gore. Secondly, this is not writing of the snootiest caliber, which you may have noticed I have tried to embrace to an extent—as long as it’s notable in other ways and, well, not terrible. Good popular fiction has become a part of my reading world. So was this good popular fiction? And was it too gory?

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies has been popping up in culture for the past fourteen years, first as a book and then as a movie. (More on the movie, later.) I thought, Huh. That’s kind of a funny idea. Not for me. But it kept popping up over and over, and one day I decided to read a bunch of Pride and Prejudice retellings just to wrap my mind around the genre and find out if I would enjoy reading more retellings/fan fic. (So far the answer to that is no, not especially.) This title floated repeatedly to the top of the lists of P & P retellings, so I reluctantly put it on my shortlist. I ordered it. The wrong book came. I picked up the right book at a used book store and donated the wrong book. I let the scary cover keep staring at me as I consistently reached under it to read Pride and Premeditation (murder mystery), Pride, Prejudice and Other Flavors (upscale romance), Eligible (book club), and An Assembly Such as This (alternative perspective). Then one day I just said screw it and I picked it up and started reading. But not too close to bedtime, because nightmares.

So about that book that I ordered that was the wrong book: Zombies has become a series. Written by another author, there are two books that bookend the original: Dawn of the Dreadfuls and Dreadfully Ever After. I ordered the first book in the series thinking that was the original (and it does say “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” on the cover really big). It is not. Like I said, it’s not even by the same author. It appears to be a way to make money and expand on an idea that some people just think is so clever and hilarious. I don’t need to read either of these books, thanks. They take place outside of Jane Austen’s original timeline (like 35 years before and then a little while after) and—did I mention?—I hate zombies.

But about the author of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, I was intrigued. Officially, the authors listed on the cover are Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith, but I’ll talk more about why Austen would be there in a paragraph or two. Who I refer to as the author, from this point on, is Grahame-Smith. You see, I had started the book and was grappling with what I was actually reading. In some ways, it doesn’t read like a normal book (which again, I’ll get to in a sec). So I looked Grahame-Smith up. And yeah. His career is not especially literary. It is more… marketable. The best word for Zombies and what I see in Grahame-Smith’s career is novelty. His stuff is novelty items. He might want me to say his stuff is edgy and quirky (published by Quirk Classics), but it is also goofy and, well, something you might buy just to have—you know, a novelty item. He has moved from books into movie-making, though officially he does both and started in TV. You’ll understand when I list his published work. (I did not include his producer credits):

History’s Mysteries (TV show)The Most (TV show)Big Book of Porn: A Penetrating Look at the World of Dirty Movies (book)The Spider-Man Handbook: The Ultimate Training Manual(book)How to Survive a Horror Movie: All the Skills to Dodge the Kills (book)Pardon My President: Fold-and-Mail Apologies for Eight Years (book)Pride and Prejudice and Zombies (book)Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Slayer (book)Unholy Night (book)The Hard Times of RJ Berger (TV show)Dark Shadows (movie)Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Slayer (movie)87th Academy Awards (TV awards presentation)The Last American Vampire (sequel to Abraham Lincoln, book)The LEGO Batman Movie (movie)Just Beyond (TV show)

Among other things, Grahame-Smith is here to shock us and he’s here to rewrite history (or, in the case of Zombies, the classics). If I had to guess, I’d say his career speaks to both a smart way to make money and also a desire to have some fun. He tends to be edgy, yes, but also dark and violent in his creations, so I’m not bound to come across him all that often (though I am tempted to get a copy of The Spider-Man Handbook as research for the YA trilogy I’m writing).

His career explains the strangeness I was feeling while reading Zombies. Not only is the book itself on thicker paper than usual and dotted with (not very impressive) illustrations, but it doesn’t really read like a typical novel. In fact, I kept thinking maybe I would put it down because I have already read Pride and Prejudice and I get the point, you know? See, the reason Austen is credited on the cover as a writer is that Grahame-Smith uses a significant amount of her actual writing in the book. Not like in quotes, but he just weaves back and forth between her writing and his new stuff. Which is an interesting artistic choice, considering there was no way their writing was going to completely match up because of the genre and many readers’ familiarity with Austen’s work and style. I can just see him saying, though, “Why mess with genius?” (I might be giving him too much credit. I don’t know.) Instead, Grahame-Smith hacked up her work into pieces retaining many of the classic moments and much of the funny stuff, rewriting longer passages and scenes, and then adding just enough to convey both a more rebellious, edgy spirit (like lots of sideways jokes about “balls”) and the change in story from historic, regency England to zombie plague, Victorian England. (Both the illustrations in the book and the previews for the movie put the story slightly later than the original, based on their attire. I don’t know if this was intentional.) If you know the original story, I don’t have to tell you what it’s about; just add a plague that turns people into zombies and Elizabeth and her sisters and Darcy all zombie warriors, trained in “the Orient.” There is gore, for sure. There are purposefully over-the-top moments (like doing a handstand on one finger or biting into a still-warm heart). Because it’s not just horror that Grahame-Smith added to the story, it’s also rom-com humor and satirical action that plays in the head more like a movie than a book.

Which leads me to the actual writing. It’s, um, pretty bad. I don’t recommend that you read this book for a literary experience that revolves around words. I mean, I suppose the writing is good enough to tell the story so that I understand it, but it doesn’t really flow or lift the reader from the page into their own mind. Nor does it sound pretty or give much description. And if you have read the original, it can get a trifle boring. Only at over a third of the way through does something important change—and it’s kind of a side thing—so that I was like, finally, a question for me to wonder about. Although I suppose there’s always the possibility that, for once, this isn’t going to end well. But all the beats of the story stay just as Austen wrote them.

There is nothing sacred, here. Not Jane Austen. Not classic literature. Not history. Not writing as an artform. I have a literary friend who read it—probably mostly by mistake—and was appalled that 1) one would do that to Pride and Prejudice and 2) that one could do that to Pride and Prejudice. It’s a public domain thing, which means that you are allowed to do whatever you want, really, with old art—you know, like that new Winnie-the-Pooh horror movie. (Sorry I mentioned it. I love Winnie-the-Pooh. Don’t look it up.) But should one do things like turning Elizabeth Bennett into a blood-thirsty warrior or Abraham Lincoln into a vampire slayer? It’s comedy, right? It’s satire. Surely Jane Austen would be appalled, and she had no intention of her characters in this setting or these circumstances. Also, despite using Austen’s words, there is a lot of her cheek, her wit, and her charm that is lost in his quoting it. So, is it ethically right to do it? (Grahame-Smith doesn’t care, I’m sure; he has made a career being sacrilegious (Unholy Night is a dark retelling of the three wise men) and leaping over boundaries (uh, Big Book of Porn).) But do we care? Obviously, lots of people don’t. They eat stuff like this up, making it—and the movie—best-sellers.

So, can I recommend it? Sure, if you are going to get a kick out of Lizzy and Darcy surrounded by the undead and splattered with blood and rotten corpse debris. But if you think this is going to be a book that is amazing on its own—like standing on its own literary merit—then think again. It’s a novelty item, occasionally clever or interesting, and you might laugh or you might be the type just to raise their eyebrows and say, “huh.” You might throw it on the coffee table when you’re done, for all your friends to pick up and snicker along, or you might not get all the way through, a little bored with the kitsch and the familiarity of the story. It’s something to talk about, anyhow, no matter who you are, and that seems to be the point—especially as it leads to sales—of everything Grahame-Smith puts his hand to. I thought it got better as it went along, embracing the ludicrousness of the whole project and ending just how Darcy and Lizzy would end in zombie England–for better or worse.

QUOTES

“’…but without scheming to do wrong, or to make others unhappy, there may be error, and there may be misery’” (p104).

“‘A house of God so defiled!’ said Maria, as their journey continued. ‘Have these unmentionables no sense of decency?’ / ‘They know nothing of the sort,’ said Elizabeth, staring mindlessly out of the coach’s window, ‘and neither must we'” (p173).

“Of all the weapons she had commanded, Elizabeth knew the least of love; and of all of the weapons in the world, love was the most dangerous” (p213).

Image from Amazon.com

MOVIE

So, the movie is a popular one, actually. But it is too gory for me. I watched some previews and the writers and director went a different direction with it. It doesn’t look funny or satirical at all, and the characters are all young and drop-dead gorgeous and sexy. So without the quirk, I’m not even going to bother; it’s just another period, zombie movie even though it might be a decent one.

Image from Amazon.com

The Messy Lives of Book People by Phaedra Patrick is, yes, one of those books that appeals to readers by using a title and premise that are them, relatable. “Book people” is in the title. And it’s about, well, book people. Liv Green is about to be an empty nester. She married and had kids young, never having gone to university, and she has hidden her aspirations of becoming a writer from every single person in her life the whole time she was raising kids and working as a house cleaner. Three years after she gets a cleaning job working for her absolute favorite author, Essie Starling suddenly dies, leaving Liv and the lawyer as the only two people who know she’s died. And Essie has left some strange requests: that they keep it a secret and oh, that Liv finish her final book, which is a complete disaster. But keeping the secret—and writing—are far more difficult than Liv realized. She was sick of being treated like crap, but as she steps into her dreams, things just seem to get worse and worse. And will figuring out who the love of Essie’s life is–and the reason she became a recluse–help Liv write the perfect, romantic ending Essie’s fans deserve?

I don’t recall how this book made it on to my TBR. It was one that was not on a Best Books list, but rather that I squeezed onto my rolling wish list. That means it was either a strong recommendation or that I came across it in some organic way (like wandering a bookstore or doing research) and was like, “I would really like to read that.” Which means, ultimately, that what I said at the start was true for me: it got me because it was about me and all the stuff I like: books, writing, the writing world, bookstores, book museums, etc. So I can’t be super upset that this is not the best book I’ve ever read; I don’t think anyone out there is claiming that it is. With three-point-something stars on Goodreads, it definitely has fans, but it also has quite a few people who were disappointed “book people.”

Phaedra Patrick is good at coming up with great titles and with great ideas for books—I will definitely give her that. Her other titles are The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper, Rise & Shine Benedict Stone, The Library of Lost and Found, and The Secrets of Love Story Bridge. Honestly, I want to go out and purchase all four, just based on the titles. They are magical titles with so much promise. But I am going to resist the urge. Why (besides my behemoth of a TBR)? Because Book People ultimately didn’t deliver for me and I therefore don’t trust that the other ones would, either.

Saying Book People “didn’t deliver” might be a tad simplistic. Let’s talk about it. What went wrong?

While I actually appreciate the uniformity of covers for Book People, I was a little mystified that they did not do a translation from British English to American English for sale in the US. I am charmed by everything British and sometimes search out original copies of books, but Book People made me realize that a translation is not a bad idea. Perhaps it was all the modern slang? I don’t know. But translating in my head did slow me down and it took me like half the book to understand that “working away” did not mean hurriedly working (as I would use it). It meant she was working out of office/home, more specifically that she was working out of office for an extended time. That’s just one example, but I’m not sure why this was done this way, and it did cause some confusion.It starts out rocky. Either it gets better as it goes, or I just got used to it or got into the story. But what I mean is that the writing itself is rocky, which is ironic given that it’s a book about writing and writers. On one level, there are missing words and punctuation every now and again. But much more frequently, the writing is just not good. I found myself editing the book when I happened to have a pen handy, removing words, changing words, and slashing through phrases that didn’t work. For example, “The camaraderie of her coworkers almost made up for the horrible things she found in the bins, like holey socks, moldy bread and worse” (p30). I’m sorry. What would you expect to find in a trash can? And nothing worse than holey socks and moldy bread? And what was she doing, taking it out with her teeth?And if me flash-editing a book about writing and writers isn’t ironic enough, the excerpts from fictional books and letters and notes and things contained in the book were really bad. I mean, I am tempted to think they were bad on purpose—to be funny and make a point that the series’ fame was based more on relating to readers than any amazing talent in linguistics—but I’ve seen this mistake so many times before I just wanted to X all of them out and re-write them. Or throw the book. The passages that mean something to the main character, too: they were all so cheesy.I knew what was coming. I mean, there is some predictability that comes with writing a happy ending for the masses, but I did see the big twist long before I was probably supposed to. On the other hand, there was something I thought might be true that wasn’t and that was better than what was in my head.While I understand the set-up of the book as from Liv’s POV and during the time between the death and the deadline, it did cause some confusion for me, repeatedly. The reader uncovers the truth in tiny, random pieces with Liv. In the end, the pieces come together, but there were many pieces I didn’t understand until much later. Consequently, the different men in Essie’s life and the timeline of her life are really fuzzy for a long time, making some of the big moments not as poignant as they were meant to be.And on that note, I actually found many of the characters to be fuzzy. Liv was well-developed, I thought, though I had a hard time picturing her, especially at the age she was supposed to be. Most everyone else stayed a little oblique to me, further mixing me up in knowing the difference between, say, Randall and Johnny, and when each one was a part of Essie’s life (and what that meant for the big dates that become so key to the story). Perhaps what I was missing was more physical description? I don’t really think so. Perhaps if I had been clearer on what and who would be important to understand and retain? Like a nudge from the author?

For all that, I read the book in a few days and there are reasons I enjoyed doing so, especially at the time that I did. I happened to have put “THE END” on the first draft of a novel yesterday, and it was fun to be reading a book that dealt with the trials and tribulations—as well as the joys—of writing a book. Of course, being handed a deal like Liv’s is a pipe dream, but having her continue to struggle with things like finances and relationships made so much sense. I mean, this is a more realistic portrayal of the writing life than most of the books I’ve read about it, largely because of the life lessons Liv learns by the end. I am going through similar struggles because writing is hard and there are many potholes on the road to a career in it. Though I think Patrick might have overwrote Liv’s stress, I get it. Also, there was something very baring about this novel. It was like I could see the skeleton of the story (Essie’s word) and the process. This might have been because I was reading about those things. It might have been the style. Either way, it was interesting to me to be thinking about the structure and process as I was reading a book and I did plenty of thinking about my own process in general and specifically for the book I just finished writing and the one I just started revising.

And like The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry, Patrick references a ton of books that I was easily able to translate into a book club reading list for you.

BOOK CLUB READS BASED ON BOOKS AND AUTHORS MENTIONED IN THE MESSY LIVES OF BOOK PEOPLE:

Rapunzel (read Rapunzel, Amy Ehrlich and Puffin’s Classics Grimms’ Fairy Tales , Hans and Wilhelm Grimm)“Paperback Writer,” the Beatles (song lyrics) Where the Wild Things Are , Maurice SendakDairy of a Wimpy Kid, Jeff Kinney (#1)Harry Potter series, J. K. Rowling On Writing , Stephen King Alice in Wonderland , Lewis CarrollThe Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, Taylor Jenkins ReidEleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, Gail Honeyman Olive Kitteridge , Elizabeth StroutJames Patterson (read Middle School: The Worst Years of My Life)Stieg Larsson (read The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo)Robert Ludlum (read The Bourne Identity, #1)Agatha Christie (read And Then There Were None, Murder on the Orient Express, or Death on the Nile)William Shakespeare (read Hamlet and possibly Romeo and Juliet, The Tempest, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Much Ado About Nothing, or King Lear)Tennessee Williams (read The Glass Menagerie)Evelyn Waugh (read Brideshead Revisited or maybe Scoop) Frankenstein , Mary ShelleyJ. R. R. Tolkein (read The Lord of the Rings trilogy with The Hobbit)Oxford English DictionarySir Arthur Conan Doyle (read The Hound of the Baskervilles or The Complete Sherlock Holmes )Jojo Moyes (read Me Before You)Marian Keyes (read Rachel’s Holiday)Lord Byron (read Don Juan)Charles Dickens (read Oliver Twist, A Tale of Two Cities, Bleak House, Great Expectations, Hard Times, or A Christmas Carol )Neil Gaiman (read American Gods or Coraline, or possibly The Graveyard Book or Neverwhere)Khaled Hosseini (read The Kite Runner)Emily Bronte (read Wuthering Heights )Big Little Lies, Liane MoriartyThe Very Hungry Caterpillar, Eric Carle The Accidental Tourist , Anne TylerMaeve Binchy (read Circle of Friends)Rosamunde Pilcher (read The Shell Seekers)Such a Fun Age, Kiley ReidNancy Drew series, Carolyn Keene (read The Secret of the Old Clock)Heartburn, Nora Ephron

QUOTES:

“She’d once read the success rate of a writer getting a literary agent was six thousand to one” (p83).

“’Essie’s finding writing really tough right now.’ / ‘If it was that easy, everyone would do it’ (p83).

“She’d always imagined becoming a writer was like an invisible path stretching out in front of her, waiting for her to start her journey. It looked like she had to stamp on nettles and jump over potholes to walk along it” (p84).

“There are a few moments in life when the earth seems to stop spinning, and you have a split second to decide to walk away or take a leap into the unknown” (p126).

“She had never thought writing could be so physically and mentally draining” (p142).

“’I like this word, woo.’ He laughed again. ‘With someone like Essie, it is mostly about the mind. You have to pique her interest, challenge her or equal her’” (p181).

“You leaving is like having my right arm sawn off, and I’m going to miss you more that you’ll ever know, Liv wanted to tell him. Instead, her words came out as, ‘Have you remembered your phone and your wallet?’” (p274).

“Liv thought of how it was an age when you could study and live alone, travel wherever you wanted in the world, even have your own children, but there was still so much to learn, and so many mistakes to make” (p275).

“Liv supposed it was a serious occasion, and she felt stiff, too. Finishing the manuscript had been like giving birth. It brought back memories of delivering Mack and Johnny, after her adrenaline rush faded and she wanted to crawl into a cave to hibernate” (p282).

“’I began to drink and have never known if alcohol is my salvation, or my punishment’” (p300).

“’I know better than anyone that health, family and happiness are things money can’t buy’” (p301).