Another Wrinkle in Time

“Books are the carriers of civilization. Without books, history is silent, literature dumb, science crippled, thought and speculation at a standstill.” —Barbara Tuchman

I love to speculate. Of course, simple truths are better than grand speculations, but that doesn’t stop me from theorizing thinly and otherwise. Wanna hear my latest supposition? Madeleine L’Engle and Rachel Khong are total soul sisters, separated by a silent generation, baby boomers, and latchkey kids. Someone summon the Newberry winner to pay an ethereal visit to the Real Americans’ author. The prize-winning writers would have a lot to talk about. Surely, L’Engle would have questions about the time-arresting powers of an immigrant family, 3 generations deep. Yes, that says time-arresting. The power to “keep time still” constitutes a wrinkle.

Real Americans chronicles the lives of three family members: Mei, the Chinese-born ambitious geneticist; Lily, her American-born daughter who struggles to find her identity; and Nick, Lily’s biracial boy who’s kept in the dark for years. Ultimately, their family’s saga underscores just how difficult it is to create a culture of belonging. For some, the meaning of home is fuzzy and obscured. It seems Khong and I would agree that choices, more often than not, trump fate. This novel offers a unique view. We “see people blown slightly sideways through life, through unexpected passages that they often choose very quickly.”

Several reviewers have compared Real Americans to Gabrielle Zevin’s Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow. I feel like Khong’s story was more ambitious—it took on an awful lot. After all, “The book poses a dizzying array of questions: What does it mean to be American, and who gets to say who is one? How much can we blame our parents for who and what we become? Am I, maybe, racist? When scientists and techies say they can make a better human, should we run the other way?” Oh, and is our luck in life ever really under our control? What is the true meaning of good fortune? These are weighty questions. One thing’s for sure: Real Americans will make you think. Maybe even speculate deeply.  

P.S. For the sensitive reader, there are F-bombs on pages and a trace of steamy.

One last thought: This made me want to read Khong’s first novel, Goodbye Vitamin.

Posted by Tracy

A Magnificent Score

“One thing I like about historical fiction is that I’m not constantly focusing on me, or people like me; you’re obliged to concentrate on lives that are completely other than your own.” —Emma Donoghue

Give it up for Room’s brainchild, will you? Emma’s apparently like me—a fan of a novel masquerading as real events. Historical fiction has always been my favorite genre. I’m happy to report that Gian Sardar’s recent release When the World Goes Quiet is a real fiction winner.

Sardar’s story is set in 1918 German-occupied Bruges, Belgium (a captivating city everyone loves). The narrative centers around a young married artist named Evelien whose husband, Emiel, is off fighting the war while she remains behind in Bruges with his parents. She has been given the task of caring for her wealthy friend and employer’s home. He owns beautiful works of art that have been hidden from the Germans. If Evelien safeguards the art successfully, one of the treasured paintings will be hers. A magnificent score. As the war marches slowly to a close, Evelien knows she must bide her time and stay out of trouble for just a little bit longer. If only it could be that easy.

This review resonated with me: “Masterfully crafted, When the World Goes Quiet draws you in from the first page and doesn’t let go. ‘In war, actions do not define the man…or the woman.’ This story pits passion against devotion and loyalty against duty and does a brilliant job weaving a heartrending web between them. It is storytelling at its best―part history lesson, part survival story, part love story. Stunning.” I’ll add an amen. And assign shiny stars—espionage, love, betrayal, and a lovely twist make this book a 4.5 out of 5 stars for this historical fiction lover.

Posted by Sharee

A Love Letter to the Written Word

"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." —The one and only Winnie the Pooh

Rae and I were in the same zip code this month. I love it when that happens! And let me tell you, it doesn’t happen nearly enough. It goes without saying goodbye is always hard, but I don’t need a reminder to know how lucky I am to have a once-in-a-lifetime friend. We needed more time. In the briefest conversation, we chatted about Jim. I guess I should more accurately say James. As in Percival Everett’s James. Man, I feel lucky to have gotten to know him.

For those of you who haven’t heard about Percival Everett’s latest, I’ll borrow from Garrett Biggs’ review, “James is many things: a relentless code-switching satire, a meditation on the constructedness of racial identity, a love letter to the written word, and yes, I suppose, a retelling of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.” Enslaved Jim takes center stage. He’s remarkably intelligent. And literate. His compassion is as tall as his task to remain free. I love his dream dialogue with Locke and Voltaire. Jim makes me think. And rethink. As I listened to Everett’s last line, I felt sad to say goodbye to “one of the noblest characters in American literature [who finally] gets a novel worthy of him.”

P.S. I’m ashamed to admit that Percival Everett hasn’t been on my radar. I wish I would have read this piece before seeing American Fiction. Even then, I didn’t put two and two together when I downloaded James. I didn’t realize Everett authored the Oscar winner. Admittedly, this is my first introduction to the award-winning author and Pulitzer Prize finalist. It most certainly won’t be my last.

Posted by Tracy

Honest-To-Goodness Magic

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” —W.B. Yeats

It’s no secret that we play favorites around here. We aren’t trying to hide the fact that we feel a blazing love for certain authors. Leif Enger is one of them. (Rachel’s right: he deserves an ode.) The man, I’m convinced, couldn’t write a mediocre book if he tried. Remember Peace Like a River? Enger’s debut novel that received critical acclaim back in 2001. Ah, those glimmering pages comprising “a perennial, bestselling American classic that is at once a heroic quest, a tragedy, and a love story, in which ‘there is magic.’” Irresistible magic.

Leif Enger is proof that any idea can turn to dust or magic, depending upon the talent that rubs against it. His idea in I Cheerfully Refuse eddies around a grief-stricken husband named Rainy who can’t find his bearings without his wife, Lark. Like her name suggests, Lark is a source of adventure. And a song of light.  Rainy’s world goes dim without her, not to mention he’s on the run. He tries to find refuge on Lake Superior—in her mists, storms, fogs, and wind—with the hope of finding the love of his life therein. Lark would be so proud of his adventures.

While I Cheerfully Refuse qualifies as a dystopian novel, it didn’t take me to dark places. On the contrary. I felt a welcomed optimism in Enger’s pages. Hope sailed through his latest masterpiece. Props to the reviewer who explained, “Like Mark Twain, Enger gives us a full accounting of the human soul, scene by scene, wave by wave.” This man’s prose is a song of light, and his talent is a source of honest-to-goodness magic.

Posted by Tracy 

Throwback Thursday Resurrected

“I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.”  —Andy (from The Office)

Remember when we used to throw it back on a rare, we’re-so-put-together Thursday? Those were the good old days, weren’t they? Clearly, I’ve actually left them. But hey, it’s Thursday and I’m throwing it back because, in the words of Rachel, our resident 2@27 darling, “it’s one of our favorite features.”

Despite being south of put together, I’d like to think we’ve stepped it up one small notch on reviewing new releases with greater haste. It’s fun to keep pace with avid, in-the-know readers. Sometimes it’s twice as nice to pick up a book you’ve been meaning to read. The ones with the familiar covers that adorn shelves and cry out for a few choice hours of your complete attention. I swear, I’ve heard Evelyn call me by name. Evelyn Hardcastle and Evelyn Hugo both. I responded to Hardcastle for this throwback sesh. And I’m so glad I did.

I loved Stuart Turton’s intricately crafted debut novel, The7 ½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle. It’s full of intrigue and perplexing questions that kept my mind on the hunt for answers. I mean really, whose interest wouldn’t become instantly piqued by a narrator who “wakes up in a dripping forest, wearing someone else’s dinner jacket, and, he soon realizes, somebody else’s body.” To complicate matters, the narrator has no memory. Add to the reality this fact: He can’t leave the estate he’s trapped in (aptly named Blackheath) unless he reveals the name Evelyn Hardcastle’s impending murderer. Plus, he’s on the clock. He has 8 days and 8 bodies or “hosts” to inhabit, or he can never leave the foreboding heath where secrets go to die. If you’re like Sharee and you’re ready for a  “suspense bender” right about now, why not begin with a visit to the dark, disorienting world of Turton’s isolated English manor? You won’t figure this mesmerizer out until the very end. In the immortal words of Charles Barkley, “I guarantee it!”

Posted by Tracy

Looks Over Books

“The suspense is terrible. I hope it will last.” —Oscar Wilde

I spent a few days in snowy Utah, wishing I was in Hawaii instead. My sisters and I headed to Seven Brothers, so we felt like we were in the Aloha State for a hot minute. The burgers were amazing. And the fries ranked well above salty guys. Naturally, Tracy and I exchanged looks over books. I confessed this little truth—I can’t help myself, lately I’ve been on a suspense bender. I thought I’d tell you about a couple.

Just so you know, me and Oscar Wilde are on the same keyed up page. Even when the suspense is killing me, I hope it will last. There’s a reason Tana French has been hailed as the queen of Irish crime fiction. Her latest, The Hunter, had me in knots. It has all the best elements: a scheme to find gold, a romance with a local, and the threat of losing everything. The Hunter was named one of the most anticipated books of 2024 with good reason. My only gripe with “one of the greatest crime novelists writing today,” was the barrage of f-bombs in her latest. Too many to count!!

My crime-fiction binge introduced me to Freida McFadden. Her psychological thriller, The Teacher, released last month. Not surprisingly, it revolves around an ugly rumor about a student-teacher affair. It ticks the sex, lies, and scandal boxes. This page-turner lived up to the mystery moniker—more than once, when I thought I had things figured out, I was surprised by a twist. If you’re looking for a read where you don’t see the ending coming, check this one out. Chances are, you’ll wanna talk about it with a fellow crime junkie when you’re done!

Posted by Sharee

The Lucky, The Brave, The Broken, and The Lost

“Books and doors are the same thing. You open them, and you go through into another world.” —Jeanette Winterson

Kristin Hannah is a pro when it comes to opening doors. We know this, right? She walked us into a part of history seldom explored—French women’s experience in World War II; she introduced us to the debilitating Dust Bowl era via Elsa Martinelli; and transported us to America’s last frontier in  Alaska’s Great Alone. In her latest novel, The Women, she planked us in 1960’s Nam. I’ve read plenty of historical fiction surrounding war in my day. But I’ve read next to nothing about Vietnam. (Of course, I watched my share fair of M*A*S*H, there is that.) I’m glad I got to enter the war-torn world of Indochina via a twenty-year-old nursing student named Frankie McGrath.

Hannah is a pro when it comes to shining a light on women who have been overlooked in certain parts of history. Of course, Vietnam is no exception. I didn’t realize many Americans refused to acknowledge women served as combat nurses in the conflict. Was Margaret Houlihan a figment of my tv’s imagination? Frankie is warmer than Major Houlihan. And more naturally compassionate. Both fictional characters serve as excellent nurses. In The Women, “each day is a gamble of life and death, hope and betrayal; friendships run deep and can be shattered in an instant. In war, [Frankie] meets—and becomes one of—the lucky, the brave, the broken, and the lost.” While I saw the ending of Frankie’s story coming, I appreciated Hannah’s sensitivity to the destructive nature of war long after the shells and bullets stopped flying. This doesn’t touch The Nightingale. But I’m glad opened the door to Kristin Hannah’s latest and learned about the sobering world of long-ago Nam.

Posted by Tracy

Our Favorite Anti-Aging Regimen

“Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty. Anyone who keeps learning stays young.”  —Henry Ford

Let’s give Henry permission to toot his own horn, shall we? Yes, he gave us cars en masse, but he reminds us that we don’t ever have to grow old. How did Clint Eastwood put it? “I don’t let the old man in.” (Did anyone just hear a two-note melody mimicking the sound of a coyote howling?)  Good books will keep you young, people. Good books are excellent teachers. 

I just learned about Oneg Shabbat, compliments of Lauren Grodstein. (Rae sent me Jenna’s pick We Must Not Think of Ourselves to add light to my days, love her.) Oneg Shabbat was the code name for a real-life group of historians, rabbis, writers, and trusted friends of Emanuel Ringelblum—they were dedicated to chronicling life in the Warsaw ghetto during the German occupation. Grodstein’s novel centers around a middle-aged professor named Adam Paskow. Before the invasion, Paskow “barely remembered [he] was a Jew.” Post 1939, the professor dedicated himself to teaching English in a cramped basement to bright children, falling for a roommate (unwittingly), and interviewing neighbors as part of the project. The interviews, like Adam’s heart, are substantive. They preach. And surprisingly, can uplift.

When Rae said this book was a winner, I never doubted. Not for one minute. Now I know the meaning of Oneg Shabbat—“a feeling of comfort and joy that is very hard to replace”—it can be experienced anywhere, even in the most deplorable circumstances. Even in a Jewish ghetto in 1942 Warsaw. Man, I feel lighter. Younger too.

Posted by Tracy