Book Review: Foster by Claire Keegan

In FOSTER, a father drops off his daughter with distant relations for an indeterminate length of time; money is tight, children are many, and a new baby is on the way. This girl experiences a substitute family, an alternate way of living. John and Edna Kinsella, themselves childless, attempt to draw her into their daily routines, even as their own unspoken grief is at the edges.

Claire Keegan is masterful at working with language and finding a setting to match her aim, telling what feels on the surface like a sparsely written, straightforward story, but there is a richness to the novella, so that in these pages, almost without realizing, without notice, a deceptively simple story is found to be rich in heart. What does it mean to shepherd a child, to teach them and care for them? How do we find strength to be vulnerable, to connect with another? What does it look like to unconditionally love another?

The emotions are expansive and readers are broken open at the end. After the closing words, I took a deep breath and just sat in the moment, wishing I had someone nearby who'd also read it so we could discuss it.

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

Book Review: Lucy by the Sea

While literature can be an escape from current events, it can also be a vehicle to help process the world around us. To that end, Elizabeth Strout uses the backdrop of the COVID-19 pandemic to revisit the story of Lucy Barton and her ex-husband William in Lucy by the Sea. At William's urging, they leave New York City to shelter in Maine.

Lucy is the perfect character for Strout to place in such a situation; her naïveté, her second-guessing, her genuine feelings of confusion and frustration can mirror our own experiences of the transformative time. The fear, the unknowing, the concern, the drudgery, the safety, the annoyances and impatiences are revisited through fiction and it doesn't feel like a forced, unnatural setting for Lucy to find herself in. We can all relate when Lucy says, "This will end, I kept thinking. This will have to end. And every night it did not end, or indicate in any way that it would ever end."

Though the pandemic certainly directs some of the actions in the book, and George Floyd's death and the aftermath is also pulled in, Lucy is also caught up in finding ways to safely connect with neighbors, to support her daughters, to consider what is genuine, when it is worth taking risks.

While I first avoided this title, not sure if I was interested in reading already about the pandemic in fiction, I'm grateful I reconsidered. This was a beautiful framing, and there was something cathartic in seeing Lucy experience the muddled head, her inability to read, her grief and anxiety, to recognize those realities were true for me, too, once, but be grateful I'm no longer caught in that moment. It wasn't even three years ago, and I still have to pause when I realize how my daughters didn't set foot in a school building for an entire year. How did we do it?! I'm grateful for having been together and grateful to be on this side of an uncertain time. Lucy By the Sea is a notable, dare I even say welcome, account of an unsettling experience, to allow us to remember and mark the moment and take stock on what we lost, what we gained, what we learned.

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

Book Review: This Here Flesh

THIS HERE FLESH by Cole Arthur Reilly is a stunning achievement. Her words are a gift that, time and again, wrecked me in the most beautiful ways.

The fifteen chapters are framed around insights on dignity, place, belonging, fear, lament, liberation, and more. Arthur Reilly's vulnerability in sharing insights gained from physical limitations, from being a Black woman of faith, and her transparency when discussing her Gramma and her father, lead to deep reflections. 

Time and again, I found myself near tears, or openly crying (not a familiar response). As I reflected on this reaction, occurring across different days and weeks, I think it's due to how refreshing such honesty is, how welcoming to read the hope, to have her name truths. The phrase "defiant rootedness," for example, so perfectly captures the idea of perseverance and hope in spite of all, the insistence of one's worth and determination to remain. 

Some books you meet at the right moment, and at a time when I've been more introspective and reflective, this has been a perfect companion, a welcome balm when things have felt fragile and uncertain in the world. 

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

Book Review: Cloud Cuckoo Land

The framework of Doerr's newest opus is a newly discovered work by Diogenes, a story called "Cloud Cuckoo Land." The account shows Aethon's transformations as he seeks utopia but encounters struggle after struggle.

The setup alternates from a siege in 1450s Constantinople, a tense scene in present-day Idaho, and a futuristic ship bound for a new land. Each learns of Aethon's story, and their journeys mirror stories of perseverance, even when discouraged or hopeless, as they find purpose and reason and connection through language, through stories, through books. This is a beautiful epic that doesn't turn away from legitimate concerns like climate change, war, identity, and acceptance, but even in these realistic treatments, offers hope, a way forward.

Doerr dedicates this work to the librarians across time, and Cloud Cuckoo Land is a fitting tribute to the role librarians play in societies. The interconnected stories represent the ties we have to each other, even if they can be tenuous and lost in a moment. But there is hope that, things thought lost forever, might just be hidden for a time.

Doerr asks us to reflect on what it is that binds us, what motivates us. How we can be contributing to the problem, but that we also are necessary, a part of the solution. How a timeless tale continues to deliver purpose and insight and offers new relevance.

This scope was dazzling. An author takes a risk at portraying such diverse characters in varied times and places, as the true test is where readers find their allegiances, whether they are unmoved by characters that feel like diversions taking away from the true storyline. I was highly invested in each character, so while I mourned the pause in one's storyline, once I turned the page I also delighted in getting to pick up the threads of another as Doerr cast a vision for what we each seek and long for.

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

Book Review: No Cure for Being Human

After a diagnosis of stage 4 cancer, Kate Bowler reflects on what it means to live with uncertainty, when her length of life was no longer assured. She examines questions of whether it's possible to be content when one's days are numbered, and how that feeling of finitude, of having all things in perspective, is fleeting. When she discusses the birthday script she and her son act out, it nearly brings me to tears, and she is willing to let us in on her intimate conversations with her family, with her close friends, and with her medical professionals, even when it isn't always flattering.

These insights, while gained through a diagnosis not all will face, have a feeling of universality. What is the purpose of our professional selves when our final days are upon us, for instance? She wrestled with whether or not to work on her academic book, knowing it would take time from her family when that itself was uncertain (a colleague wisely said, "If the worst happens and this book is the last thing you ever do, Zach can still find you there").

Bowler writes with heart and with vulnerability, sharing her thoughts and words from that immediate time as well as how the pandemic impacted everything after: "The truth of the pandemic is the truth of all suffering: that it is unjustly distributed."

Through my own experiences, I have wondered how to come to terms that certain tragedies have so viscerally impacted and changed me, that while I hate that they happened, I just couldn't quite get to the point to wish them away because of how they transformed me. Bowler also has that epiphany: "...we fully agree that we stumbled into the heart of a mystery -- that there were moments of suffering that felt unmistakably like gifts."

Even with a serious subject matter, Bowler's humor is present; this book exudes hope and joy and it was a gift to read.

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

Book Review: Somebody's Daughter

Ashley Ford's memoir Somebody's Daughter is a tour de force as she reckons with the complicated realities of life and the nuance found in relationships.

There is her incarcerated father, one whom she loves unconditionally and yet later has to come to terms with the crimes that led to his imprisonment; a mother who provides but struggles to show affection and support, and an early relationship that left her vulnerable.

While not everyone may have firsthand experience of the accounts Ford vividly relays, she writes in such a way that I couldn't help drawing parallels to my own family. Themes of separation, hardship, and yet finding hope and perseverance shine through the pages. One can't help but be heartbroken when Ford is wronged by the teacher, for instance, or cheer when she finds acceptance and success. Somebody's Daughter is relatable for its transparency and the truth within the pages, as Ford succinctly shares a nugget like, "Kids can always tell the difference between adults who want to empower them and adults who want to overpower them."

The audiobook, read by the author, is expertly done. We fully understand that "moving forward required going back," and we are grateful that Ford was willing to share her journey with us.

Somebody's Daughter releases June 1.

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

Book Review: The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry

The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry by John Mark Comer is a rich guide, filled with personality and humor. Instead of feeling like Comer is condemning me for not being there yet, it read as an encouragement, an invitation to join him in these practices, as Comer once was stretched and stressed and overwhelmed and has now found a welcome balance.

Whether influenced by my time of life or the pandemic, this book resonated with me. Comer offers recommendations for how to resist the culture's pull for more, for busyness. Through discussing four practices (silence and solitude; sabbath; simplicity; slowing), Comer offers a rich read that had me marking up the pages. Practical suggestions that challenge and convict me had me pausing and reflecting.

One intentional act I instituted recently was to give up showers as much as possible, replacing them with bathing. I draw a piping hot bath, disconnect from doom scrolling, temporarily withdraw from my family, and take a book or magazine with me. I have determined this is a valuable, worthy indulgence, meaningful for my mental health. With the summer ahead, I have intentionally orchestrated a light work schedule, so as to allow wide swaths of time that have not yet been earmarked. I see value in the opportunity to slow down, to be more present in the moment, to delight in time outdoors. While I didn't necessarily take those steps as a direct correlation to this book, this book helps provide support for the pause, for the quieting from the daily rush, for allowing me to acknowledge how this has been a taxing season and how such a practice, of living an unhurried life, can reap dividends. I highly recommend this book for those who are feeling like it's all too much and are seeking ways to be revived and restored.

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

Book Review: A Burning in My Bones

My earliest introduction to Eugene Peterson was through references to The Message. Admittedly, my initial impressions were mixed; I was both intrigued by the project, but I also absorbed potentially dismissive opinions of the translation. However, I couldn't remain aloof, as friends I respected and admired spoke to the ways The Message caused them to approach the Bible with a new ear, hearing familiar words in a way that challenged and awoke them to see the words as fresh and new, revelatory and radical. I couldn't discredit the impact it was having.

Over the years, I learned more snippets about this man that intrigued me, so when I learned of the forthcoming book A Burning in My Bones, a biography of Eugene Peterson by Winn Collier (another author I admire), I couldn't resist learning more.

Eugene was influenced by nature, by the strong faith of his mother, by the vibrancy of his father's butcher shop. Collier thoroughly and deftly relays the transitions in Peterson's life, from his initial aspirations to teach to what led him to become a pastor, and his writing throughout. 

Collier frankly addresses Peterson's relationship with his father, the strained seasons of his own parenting journey, the hardships of being a pastor, and times he and Jan struggled in their marriage. All serve to create a picture of a flawed but earnest individual, one who worked to be faithful and who intentionally strived to avoid the pitfalls that he saw from others who chased celebrity.

Just as we see lessons in the examples of individuals who have sought the pedestal and have spectacularly failed, so too we can find truths to be gained in Peterson's life. His practice of seeking silence, of being known and accessible to so many, of shirking elitism and preferring the quiet, of modeling a humble, generous, hospitable life can all cause us to reflect on what the life of a modern-day saint can look like. We see steadfast practices, of how our faith and our lives are naturally intertwined.

There is also humor to be found within these pages; I took special enjoyment in reading about the license Peterson took in drafting his monthly reports about his new church, first suspecting and then confirming that nothing beyond the first page was ever reviewed. And it should be no surprise to read about the various authors and poets who impacted Peterson.

Winn Collier first approached Peterson as a fellow pastor seeking advice, and this evolved to become a friendship. Collier was given widespread access to write this extensive biography of Eugene Peterson. His admiration is clear, but he conveys Peterson's whole person, touching on moments in his life where Peterson struggled and had regrets as well as pointing to the notable impacts. The volume is replete with extracts from journals and letters and it inspires me all the more to become more familiar with Peterson's books.

Collier's biography is a gift, and readers will be moved by the humble life of Eugene Peterson.

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

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.)