Nothing Beats a Book Hangover

“The things that we love tell us what we are.”

The clock has yet to strike midnight, and I’ve already got a hangover. I haven’t had a drop of alcohol. Not a sip of liquor. The only ever source of my “hangovers” comes from reading the best books. As it happened last night, I told myself I’d turn out the lights after I finished the chapter; I just didn’t realize I meant the final chapter. I suppose Rachel is to blame for my 5 a.m. bedtime. (Bless her generous, sterling, book-lovin’ heart.)  Last month, out of the blessed blue, Rae sent me the source of my book hangover—she sent me Buckeye by Patrick Ryan. “A deeply compassionate book,” it turned up in my life when I needed it most.

So, before the ball drops and the party horns blow, let me say if you want to ring in the new year with some amazing pages, look no further than Bonhomie, Ohio. Set in small-town America, Bonhomie is not immune to the effects of World Wars, or the Vietnam War, for that matter. Ryan’s story revolves around two married couples whose lives intersect in surprising ways. When Margaret Salt walks into the town’s hardware store to see if they have a radio, she meets Cal Jenkins for the first time. Such a simple initial moment combined with impulsivity breeds all sorts of complications, not to mention secrets. But it also creates some stunning opportunities to accept, even embrace, the fact that relationships are messy. For me, Ryan’s brilliance shines brightest in his message that love and forgiveness are ultimately synonyms—they’re forces that transcend mistakes, hardships, deceptions, secrets, and grief. A message that had me crying in the tired hours. What a beautiful, brilliant book. I couldn’t agree more with Emily Fridlund, “Patrick Ryan tells a story we very much need right now; how forgiveness might creep up—despite everything—over time, tender and elusive and ever-complex. I was taken in by this book, utterly transported.”

Posted by Tracy

Sometimes Home Is A Good Book

“At Christmas, all roads lead home.” –Marjorie Holmes

I’m with Marjorie: “At Christmas, all roads lead home.” And sometimes home is a good book. I love when bricks and mortar wondrously transform into a safe haven, into a comfort zone—that’s when a house becomes a home. I’m equally enamored with pages that become a comfortable place. Where I can escape and connect with newfound friends who feel more like family than fictional characters. I just finished Mona’s Eyes. As I read the epilogue, it felt like being warmed by the fire.

Hailed by Barnes & Noble as their 2025 Book of the Year, Mona’s Eyes is different from other books you’ve read. It’s an art history lesson disguised as a novel. If you love art, you’ll love this journey across five centuries of tour de force masterpieces. The story surrounding the art lessons is a tender one. When 10-year-old Mona lost her sight temporarily—the blindness incident lasted 63 minutes—her family frantically searched for answers. Her grandfather, lovingly referred to as Dadé, is an intelligent art history manque. He worries that if Mona loses her sight permanently, her visual memories will be devoid of wonder. A grandpa on a mission, he determines “to fill [his granddaughter’s] eyes with beauty for all time.” He volunteers to take Mona to a therapist every Wednesday after school. For one year. Turns out, the therapist is secretly named Art.

For fifty-two weeks, Dadé and Mona venture first to the Louvre, then the Musee d’Orsay, and finally, Beaubourg. (Good thing Mona’s gifted or this therapy would’ve failed for the average 10-year-old.) Together, they share keen insights. But their time is so much more than that. Their relationship is the heartbeat of the story. Their love and admiration for each other, their shared understanding, is, quite possibly, the most breathtaking art of all. Love that heals is light in Mona’s darkness. And that’s why I felt right at home. Home is simply wherever you’re surrounded by people you love.

Posted by Tracy

You’ve Got the Whole World in Your Hands

“Christmas waves a magic wand over this world and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful.”  —Norman Vincent Peale

It’s the most wonderful time of year, people.  And Rachel’s making it possible for you to focus on being jolly—she’s handling the rest. At least where your best December reads and Christmas book-giving are concerned. Your days are bound to be merry and bright because our gift guide is live! So go ahead and quell the hustle and bustle. Ditch the last-minute madness. Feel free to lean on us for the best book recommends. Your friends and family will be glad you did, since, in the words of Neil Gaiman, “Books make great gifts because they have whole worlds inside of them. And it’s much cheaper to buy somebody a book than it is to buy them the whole world.”

While I’m here, let me just say Annie Hartnett has given me a whole world full meaningful insight, unexpected caring, and of course, some jocularity in her latest book The Road to Tender Hearts. Her newest protagonist is 63-year-old PJ Halliday. Despite completely defying odds and winning the Massachusetts state lottery, PJ has had some bum luck out of life. What’s worse, he’s experienced some real tragedies. He knows drinking doesn’t remotely solve his problems, instead it grows them, but he can’t help himself. Things start looking up when he finds out that his high school sweetheart is widowed. There’s just one problem: she lives in faraway Arizona. PJ optimistically decides to make an improbable cross-country road trip. (He doesn’t own a reliable car, and his soon-to-be-renewed license is currently revoked.) But PJ isn’t one to let trivial details get in the way. Next stop Tender Hearts Retirement Community.

In a road trip rivaling the Griswold’s, Harnett takes readers on an adventure that includes a sober PJ, two orphans, a critical daughter in search of purpose, and a “therapy cat” named Pancakes who predicts or maybe incites death! Named an NPR Best Book of the Year, “The Road to Tender Hearts is absurdly over-the-top in plot yet warms like a heated seat.” I couldn’t agree more with this reviewer: “Hartnett has a gift for turning life’s messiest, saddest moments into something weirdly funny and downright beautiful. Hartnett’s fans will find much to love here.”

Posted by Tracy

Let’s Eat Cake

“The great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie, deliberate, contrived and dishonest, but the myth, persistent, persuasive and unrealistic.”   —JFK

I’ve decided that I’m living in a bit of a fantasy world. Sadly, there are no unicorns—not a one, no overriding the laws of nature, nor a profusion of magical energy that can be channeled through focused emotions or intentions. Nary a wizardly cloak to be found. I’m a muggle. Plain and simple. And I’ve bought into the self-made myth that I’ve been posting every two weeks on the regular. Except for last month. (My biggest deadline of the year is Nov. 1.) The truth is, I’m not keeping up with the deadlines I’ve set in my head. So, here’s my promise to you: I’ll pick up the pace.

I’m sure nobody’s holding their breath. But I’m gonna rectify the myth—I’m going to turn regular posting into truth. So, let’s eat cake. Back in April, I raved about Unlikely Animals; that’s when I instantly became a Hartnett fan. I checked out her first novel, Rabbit Cake, and I’m glad I did. Told through the eyes of a 10-year-old named Elvis, we learn how her family copes with the death of her mother. Elvis is a superb narrator. Both gifted and naïve, she possesses a youthful honesty that allows the reader to see her family’s emotional baggage for not finding a way to save their sleepwalking mother from drowning.

Each family member has an extremely unique method of mourning, which naturally unveils memorable, quirky characters. Once again, Hartnett deftly blends humor with sensitivity. Once again, I was a bit mesmerized by her animal factoids. I’m with author, Kevin Wilson: “Annie Hartnett's Rabbit Cake is fantastically original, a story about loss that expands in such exciting, unpredictable ways that I found myself completely won over by the unique Babbitt clan. Hartnett has such a gift for absurdity without ever losing the essential heart of the story.”

Posted by Tracy

Delicious Books

“Some books should be tasted, some devoured, but only a few should be chewed and digested thoroughly.”  ― Sir Francis Bacon

Sir Francis is giving bacon an even better name. He’s spot on about book consumption. I just read a book that was satiating; weeks later, I’m still digesting it thoroughly. As one who loves words on a page in and of themselves, I realize that the magic behind stories with staying power has a lot to do with how they make me feel. What the author means to say and how I receive it is also part of the wizardry. Of course, how the author says it matters to this lit nerd girl. Reading Nina Willner’s latest, The Boys in the Light, made me feel like I was participating in something bigger than myself. It made me feel proud.

Yes, proud. For one, The Boys in the Light is narrative non-fiction. When Rae and I were last talking about good reads, she casually (and non-critically) said in passing that non-fiction wasn’t my thing. She’s not wrong, so I thought it’s time to step up my game. But I was also awash with pride because of American soldiers—teenagers—like Elmer Hovland, a Minnesota farm boy with more horse sense than mules and most people. His heart was equally smart too. Boston’s finest, Sammy de Cola (lovingly referred to as “Pepsi”), wasn’t a soldier per se, but he cooked for Company D and made his mark on all involved, me included. Elmer and Pepsi are survivors. (They cheat death at Normandy and the assault of the Siegfried Line.) Eddie Willner, the author’s father, is a survivor extraordinaire. Living in a German Jewish middle-class neighborhood, young Eddie and his family flee Germany when the Nazi’s evil machinations come more clearly into view. Despite some successes in hiding, they are ultimately found and sent to Auschwitz. Then Blechhammer camp. And finally, Langestein camp. You’ll have to read Willner’s moving pages to learn how Elmer, Pepsi, and Eddie forge a timeless brotherhood born of light.

In case you need more incentive, here’s what one WWII writer had to say: "Quite simply, one of the finest World War II books I have ever read. The Boys in the Light is a remarkable story of depravity, inhumanity, perseverance, and the ultimate triumph of the human spirit, combined with the sheer altruistic common decency that shows America as it can and should be."

Posted by Tracy

Fragile Magic

“How do you cope with death?”

“It's art that helps me cope. Because art is a fragile magic, just like love, and that's humanity's only defense against death. That we create and paint and dance and fall in love, that's our rebellion against eternity. Everything beautiful is a shield.”

 I live within minutes of Utah Valley University, so naturally, Wednesday’s tragedy has consumed our disheartened conversations. We’re all trying to cope with senseless deaths that seem to be on the rise, I know. I’m taking Fredrik Backman’s advice. I’m turning to art to cope. A month or so ago, Rae weighed in on some excellent reads—the kind that stay with you, the kind that feel like “a dream you hold in your hand.” Backman’s latest, My Friends, was a beautiful cloudland.

For me, it’s hard to resist a book about the power of matchless friendships that naturally endure. Four teenagers with “bruising home lives” connect through suffering. KimKim’s parents are emotionally absent. Joar’s father is a raging alcoholic. Ted has to deal with his father’s death and his mother’s grief. And Ali’s father is guilty of neglect. To enjoy the love and stability they lacked at home, the friends form a found family. (A family that feels like swimming off a sunbleached pier, a summer picnic sans ants, or a profuse firework display against a dark July night.) Hardship is not their only connector. Like any nurturing family, they share dreams. And encourage one another. Before the sun went down on their most memorable summer, a world-class painting was born, and masterpiece friendships fully formed.

Backman’s ode to friendship is extraordinary. It’s art. His writing is like a painting worth gazing at—it activated my brain’s reward centers, lit up my emotions, and produced a sense of aesthetic awe in me. My Friends is definitely a beautiful shield.

Posted by Tracy

In Favor of Hope

"If you focus on what's harmonious and beautiful in your present surroundings, harmony and beauty will follow you.”

Lately, it’s been easy to focus on the harmonious and beautiful in my present surroundings. My oldest son got married a few weeks ago. It was such a lovely day—the sort of day where your heart freely dances with joy. (Having Rae in town for an extra 72 lengthened my dance.) Of course, in those happy surroundings, I felt the familiar ache of missing my mother. An ache made more acute by wedding bells and sacred vows. To settle this yawning longing for my mom, I thought to read one of her favorite books. I’m currently under Last Bus to Wisdom’s spell. A 1950s road trip with plucky Donal Cameron is soothing this girl’s soul. Rae said it best: reading our favorite Montana writer “feels like home.”  

As comfortable as Doig has me feeling, I think it’s important to read books that make me feel uneasy too. It’s important to challenge our certainties, no? To let new light in. Wally Lamb’s The River Is Waiting will make you feel very uncomfortable, beginning in Chapter One. Corby Ledbetter is an unemployed commercial artist. While he assumes the role of Mr. Mom to twins and appears to be killin’ it (Corby plays a mean game of peekaboo), he’s a wreck emotionally as evidenced by his secret addiction to pills and alcohol. The unthinkable happens. Post-tragedy, Corby is sent to prison where he must learn to live with himself “on the inside.” He has a choice to make: “get busy living or get busy dying.” If you’re a big fan of The Shawshank Redemption like me, you’re bound to love The River is Waiting. Like Shawshank, this is a story about time, patience, and loyalty. About fighting off despair in favor of hope. Lamb reminded me to look for beauty in even the toughest circumstances—it’s there if you look for it. Hope is the catalyst that will ultimately allow beauty and harmony to follow me. Thanks Wally, love that new light.

P.S. If you’re a Law & Order fan, you’ll appreciate Jeremy Sisto (aka Detective Lupo) as narrator on Audible.

Posted by Tracy

Books That Make The World Feel Less Terrible

Tsundoku: a Japanese term that refers to the practice of buying more books than you can possibly read and letting them pile up in your home. They’re seen as little piles of joy and anticipation.

Let’s just say I’ve got the practice of Tsundoku down. And I will henceforth and forever be referring to my stacks of books as little piles of joy and anticipation. We should probably add emotional support to that moniker. They’ve earned it, especially this year. When despair for the world grows in Wendell Berry, he finds peace in wild things. When it grows in me, I read. That, or find myself in the same zip code as Tray. Which so happens to be where I am now and reveling in every glorious minute. But, alas, until we make our millions, real life awaits. And when it comes crashing back in, here are three books making the world feel less terrible.

A Warm Fire

Emma Thompson said it best: “books are like people, in the sense that they'll turn up in your life when you most need them.” In a year where grief has been too constant a companion, this book felt like a balm. Sybil Van Antwerp, even at her most curmudgeonly, is the friend I didn’t know I needed. So much, in fact, that as soon as I finished listening to it, I drove to my local bookstore to buy the hard copy and started reading. And then I listened to it all over again. I’ve searched for the best way to describe what this book feels like to me and I can’t find better words than those of Sybil herself: “knowing you has been like coming in from the cold, lonely road to find a warm fire and a table laid.” I’ve never written an author a thank you note, but I will be writing one to Virginia Evans. Her descriptions of grief tell me she’s a fellow traveler—I’m grateful for the company and the warm stopover.

Backman, Every Time

When my mom died, the first people I reached out to, other than immediate family, were my four ride or dies since junior high. I suddenly needed the friends who knew me when I was young. And more importantly, knew my beautiful mom in her mothering prime—long before dementia stole her from us. Backman’s latest is an ode to the friendships formed in our youth. The ones that can change the trajectory of our lives. NPR’s review put it best: “I frequently paused to marvel at the way Backman captured the rebellion of joy, the ferocity of devotion, and the cruelty of indifference. Every Backman book should come with the warning that your heart will be split in two, but also, more importantly, with the assurance that it will be repaired with restored faith in the small miracles of being human.” When it comes to sure-fire winners, I’m betting on Backman. Every time.

The Currency of Fame

When Ann Patchett declares an Audiobook to be one of the best of all time, I listen. Literally. Bono’s writing is pure poetry and his narration of it, a song. A Sunday Sermon. A balm for troubled times. During a recent car ride where my girls were held hostage by the open road, I played one U2 song after another, enthusing between songs over his marriage to his childhood sweetheart, his work with AIDS and his attempts to end poverty. The next thing I knew they had their dad on the phone telling him to look out, mom’s in love with Bono. We had a good laugh and then Matt had to admit he’s a little in love with him too. It’s hard not to love someone spending the currency of their fame for good. Reading about his tireless work with politicians on both sides of the aisle to create PEPFAR and USAID, made we weep for who we once were. And gave me hope we’ll get back there one day.

There’s hardly a line of his prose not worth quoting, but because the fate of immigrants weighs heavily on my heart, I’ll share this one: “God is with the refugee. I hear His only son was one. God is with the poor and the vulnerable. God is with us, if we are with them.”

Posted by Rachel