Book Review: Anxious People

Fredrik Backman, the Swedish author that has gained a devoted following worldwide, again delivers with his newest title, Anxious People. Backman is an astute observer of human nature, delving into motivations and fashioning complex characters that one can't help but find connection.

Take an open house, work in a bank robbery, a therapist's office, and an investigation, and see it all play out. As Backman weaved the various storylines together and revealed relationships and connections, at first I felt it was too tidy, that this would be the title of his that fell flat with me. As the story developed, though, the themes of parenthood, failure, and second chances brought me to tears (and I'm a hardened cynic, rarely becoming emotional enough to cry from a text). 

Backman will sometimes switch to a second person point-of-view for asides. That feature can backfire, which is why it's so infrequently used, but Backman employs it to masterfully create intimacy. 

Backman has captivated readers through stories like A Man Called Ove and Beartown, and Anxious People is no exception. I entered with minimal expectations, fearful he wouldn't be able to again captivate me and deliver yet another masterful story, but I need not have doubted. Backman is a gifted storyteller. I can retreat into his words and trust him to craft a story that will stick with me. Backman sees the heartache and the beauty that exist in tandem, in spite of -- or perhaps because of -- each other. And Backman has found a way to capture the realities around us, the power of finding hope and light in the midst of sadness and darkness. 

 (I received a digital ARC from the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for my honest review.)

Book Review: All the Devils Are Here

Some authors settle into a formulaic rhythm in a book series. The overall arc is identical, but the specific details are altered for each successive contribution. There can be a draw to that -- a comfortable expectation -- but it gives an author an easy way out from having to stretch themselves or their characters into innovative scenarios or altered structures. This predictability is not the case for the Inspector Gamache series, where new settings and challenges abound. I can trust Louise Penny to take me on a journey filled with nuanced characters and a thoughtful story.

In All the Devils Are Here, we find Gamache and his wife in Paris, awaiting the birth of a grandchild. His grown children now both live in Paris with their respective families. Through the lens of Gamache's relationship with his godfather, we are introduced to questions of who we are and how our past influences our present. The professional lives of his son and son-in-law come into play and intersect as they investigate the attempted murder of a loved one and how their employers may have had a hand in events.

We can trust Gamache to act nobly and navigate events thoughtfully, and his connections with friends and family are soothing to read. Penny has created a character we would all value as a trusted, valuable friend. He is not without fault, but that humanity, coming from a place of seeking truth, makes him feel all the more real and unusual.

I look forward to each release in the series. It is clear that Penny's strengths are characterization and plot devices. I don't often find myself captivated by a specific line artfully written, but I am drawn into the overall story and invested in how it plays out.

I tend to be critical of narrators, as I admit when I'm listening to audiobooks, I'm often multitasking, so I need a highly effective reader to captivate me. However, Louise Penny titles are expertly narrated. The first ten were done so effectively by Ralph Cosham, and upon his passing, Robert Bathurst continues the tradition of top-rate narration. This series is one that I will pre-order the audiobook in advance, and they never disappoint.

(I received a digital ALC from the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for my honest review.)      

Book Review: The Myth of the American Dream

D.L. Mayfield, author of the recent release The Myth of the American Dream, has a story that resonates with me and mirrors some of my own evolution in this area; to that end, I had some hesitance when I approached her book. Would I find it simply a rehashing of my own thoughts? That presumptuous attitude of mine was, thankfully, short-lived. I found this book a relevant, meaningful contribution to current dialogues.

Mayfield shows how our behaviors can evolve from being the generous benefactors to truly being in relationship with another. I recall how a church's vision for missions and outreach can often be in this uneven relationship, how the church is the one to give and the chosen countries/neighborhoods/schools are the ones to receive, an uneven balance that leaves most unchanged beyond the short term. I can feel self-aware as I reflect back on my own involvement in such ventures. How do we live out our faith in relevant ways, to admit areas we have come short, to push for improvement?

Mayfield has a friend who asks the question: "Who pays for our myths?" As she navigated what it means to acknowledge the privilege we have, as we reflect on what it would look like for justice to take place, for shalom to happen, we are changed. We may make sacrifices when we come alongside another, we may forego other's versions of safety or success, but we gain a truer understanding of what the world is, and what it could become.

The best compliment I can pay is that it felt like a conversation I have had with my friends, as we continue learning, continue being made aware of our assumptions and letting new information change us and urge us to act and to speak and to advocate for others so as to better live out our faith and our love for neighbor in the truest, most genuine sense.

(I received a digital ARC from InterVarsity Press via NetGalley in exchange for my honest review.)