Lie To Me by J.T. Ellison

THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS

I don't like to write reviews of books that contains spoilers because, like people, I think each reader should draw their own judgments about a particular book. And while I found myself enjoying Lie to Me by J.T. Ellison as I read it, once I turned the final page, I realized that there was no way to articulate my problems with this book without including spoilers, which was only further supported by reading the Author's Note. In it she writes, "I stretched my wings in completely new ways," and speaking as someone who has never published a novel, it is my opinion that Lie to Me flew from the nest entirely too soon on wings made of Swiss cheese.

To start, in Ellison's Author's Note, she paints a stunning portrait of a writer sitting in Paris with "page after page of notes on the idea of a woman obsessed by a stranger's murder, and how her life derails when she can't leave it alone." I agree, this would make a tremendous novel, but it is decidedly *not* what Lie to Me is about. Calling it Domestic Noir - which is also not true - "at it's best" - also not true - Lie to Me is the story of a marriage from a hell of their own making. 

Ethan and Sutton are what we illustrate as a "perfect couple" these days: large, renovated house; successful careers as mild celebrity authors; stunning good looks. But this wouldn't be a story if all of those things were true so, naturally, the marriage is crumbling, the house payments are tights, and the careers are struggling. What appears to be a wife who has simply had enough and flees a loveless marriage quickly turns suspicious and, as Officer Graham points out, is like trying to put a puzzle together using pieces from several different boxes. In that way, Ellison is on track. The book is deeply mysterious, troubling, and a certifiable page-turner. It has all of the appropriate players doing their appropriate things and all of them flawed in their appropriate ways. But the twists and turns seem to be for appearances sake, the one chapter detailing the past relationships of Sutton and Ethan by the mysterious narrator is completely useless and merely provides an arbitrary distraction. I'm not a fan of blatantly misleading the reader in place of subtle manipulation.

Ellison sets up the story like every other Domestic Noir anyone has ever read, but as soon as the major plot twist is revealed - which itself isn't that much of a surprise - the story is completely abandoned. The death of the baby was the final nail in the coffin, so to speak, for a woman who supposedly had good reason, and evidence, to be afraid of her husband. But as soon as it was revealed that he didn't, in fact, kill the baby, Sutton rushes back into his waiting arms and suddenly the story morphs into a Nora Roberts tale of a wife who simply wanted a break from her life. Seriously, there is actually a moment when Sutton claims she just wanted a break from her life then suddenly desperately wants it all back. Fine. So then what about all the past abuse? What about the blood stain on the marble? What about the bruises on her arm? What about all of the reasons she confided in her best friend? Sure, everything was orchestrated by an outside force, but no one manipulated Ethan into smacking around his wife. And, yes, Ethan was almost brutally murdered, which might make any wife reconsider her feelings for her estranged husband, but leaping into his previously abusive arms? I don't buy it. Again, it's as if the entire story prior to Sutton's arrest in Paris had never existed.

Finally, in an attempt at suspense and romance, the ending is contrived and boring and just plain cheesy. It is also completely without reason, like Ellison jammed all of the puzzle pieces together then - ta da! - declared a masterpiece. There are so many twists and turns and loose ends and forgotten characters and peetered-out plots, Lie to Me is a poor-man's Gone Girl. But in spite of my issues, it is very well-written, though the Chapter titles are a bit too obscure, and I enjoyed the addition of the book reviewer, book blogger, and the tortures that can be unearthed when writing. In that regard, it did inspire me and sparked an idea that I might have a devilish time exploring. But, in general, this book is not worth the effort. Just read Gone Girl instead.

The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah

Like with everything these days, there is a big online community for books, which - when you think about it - is just a tad ironic since, in some ways, the internet killed the literary star. On the contrary, however, the internet has made more books, authors, and publishers accessible to fans and potential readers, and has cast a wider net in terms of passing along recommendations. No longer is it just groups of a dozen slightly buzzed middle-aged women discussing the latest New York Times best-seller; now we simply post a picture of the book online and it reaches an immeasurable amount of people in a short amount of time. It was in this way that I learned of Kristin Hannah's The Nightingale (a book that I saw a woman glancing at at Costco and walked right up to her and told her how phenomenal it was), how I learned that Hannah had written a new book, The Great Alone, and how I learned that it was quickly garnering rave reviews.

As we know, judging a book by its cover is never ok. Except that it's totally ok and it's basically how we choose anything at the bookstore. Judging a book by the title is encouraged and while I cannot exactly articulate what my predispositions were of The Great Alone, after having read it, I was left thoroughly underwhelmed. The title and hypnotic book cover lulled me into a false expectation of something glacial and dramatic, and while it is certainly dramatic, it is a literary roller coaster like no other. I don't expect to be blown away by everything one of my favorite authors writes; case in point, Erin Kelly's The Poison Tree, and I pretty much live in fear of anything Liane Moriarty publishes. But Hannah left me with a new degree of disappointment - The Great Alone made me feel...uncomfortable.

Mother and daughter, Coraline and Lenora, are two peas in a pod. At least, they have to be in order to navigate both the rough terrain of Dad, Ernt's, post-Vietnam personality, and the rough wilderness of Alaska, a place they find themselves grossly unprepared for. Hopeful in the same way that Jack and Danny Torrence were hopeful at the beginning of The Shining, there are moments of this book that actually scared me. It never quite escapes that Overlook Hotel feel, and as the story progresses, a feeling of Shakespeare, Sleeping with the Enemy, and the news tags along for the ride. It is real and raw, but showcases human frailty, especially of our own making, more than anything else. 

This being my second of Hannah's novels, I can say that she has a true talent for creating vivid characters, set against a magnificent backdrop, and for weaving everything together to form a remarkable, poignant story. Her writing is profound, moving, clear, and imaginative, and she digs deep to really give her books a three-dimensional feel. My trouble with this specific book, however, is that the main thing it made me feel is sadness. Where The Nightingale is sad because there is nothing about WWII that is not sad, in The Great Alone, Hannah corners the market on sadness. And just when you think that there can't possibly be anymore sadness, here is a big heaping scoop of even more sadness. It reminds me of one of the many reasons that I didn't enjoy Blind Your Ponies - it's like one Lifetime movie regurgitating every other Lifetime movie.

Cora and Leni's story is definitely dramatic, engrossing, emotional, and heart-stopping, so I understand the glowing reviews. But it's in the way that I don't relate to people who enjoy binge-watching murder shows at bedtime - this book's level of sadness and unfortunate circumstances is simply not my personal taste.

Hannah has many a book in her arsenal, including one that is currently on my shelf. I will continue to read Hannah's books, though maybe paying a little less attention to the cover and the title and the rave reviews.

Ghosted by Rosie Walsh

No doubt the Russian bots over in Europe are well-versed in my constantly-touted Top Five Fave List, because it is so coveted and all, and due to my tremendous pull in the literary world. 🙄 But I have decided to permanently name it the Phenomenal Phive, and it exists only in my mind. Rather than being an ever-rotating tabulation, I envision my list like slots waiting to be filled. And although I read, on average, 30 books a year, and I award a lot of five stars on Goodreads for the simple fact that I am able to appreciate most everything I read, only a handful of books have ever really given me all the feels; and that is what makes a phenomenal book. Ghosted by Rosie Walsh is, in a word, phenomenal. Fortunately, I have a lot of other words to use to describe this incredible, beautifully-crafted story with multi-layered, heart-breakingly complicated characters. Where Heart's Invisible Furies fell flat in the drama of missed opportunities; and reminiscent of what made The Woman in the Window utterly heartbreaking, Ghosted absolutely shines and takes its rightful place among phenomenal books.

Sarah Mackey is a trans-Atlantic mover-and-shaker who has convinced herself that she is happy. A chance meeting on a particularly challenging day and suddenly Sarah is certain her happiness lies in Eddie David, a large, handsome, charming man tending to a stray sheep. After a whirlwind week together, they part ways and he says he'll call. Only he doesn't. And seems to disappear altogether. But Sarah is convinced it is more than just a simple change of mind. What follows is a heart-twisting tale packed with romance, mystery, drama, heartbreak, love, loyalty, desire, and betrayal set against a backdrop of beautifully-engineered imagery. The writing is exquisite, packed with such standard, though powerful, details that give the book wings, and sparkle, and flavor, and to read it is to feel like an elephant is sitting on your chest. Ghosted made my heart race, made me yearn for the unanswered questions, made me laugh out loud, and moved me to tears. This is an extraordinary book that is - according to the Goodreads reviews - not given its proper due, which is truly unfortunate. The basic premise - the infamous guy who never calls - is so much deeper and more poignant that what the book jacket suggests, which is perhaps why this book does not meet certain readers' expectations. But, wow. Just, wow. This book is absolutely stunning and is one of those I wish I could give a million stars to.

But with every book I find absolutely phenomenal, there are reviews of it that I absolutely do not understand. Case in point, the reviews of All the Ugly and Wonderful Things truly make me angry. Some reviewers thought Ghosted to be, "blah," but this book is a wonderful example of the importance of reading every single word; the "Eddie" section alone is pure romantic torture. I hope people read this book and see the life in it; see the joy and sorrow that is burdened on every person who walks this earth, and how some feel that their mere existence is a cause for pain. And I hope people read this book and see the power, and love, and new life that can suddenly be sprung on us at any moment. This is definitely a book that could be read in a weekend and you might need a handkerchief come the final chapter. But, wow, is it a tremendous book and I happily award it a slot on the Phenomenal Phive.

An Unwanted Guest by Shari Lapena

Page 254 - I have no idea who the killer is and why they're doing the killing.

Page 256 - I know who the killer is.

Page 260 - Wait, the killer might be someone else.

*Takes a shower instead of reading the final pages in order to stew over what I thought I knew, the details I thought I remembered and thought were important, and make connections that I thought were there.*

Page 270 - Ok, now I know who the killer is but I don't know why.

An Unwanted Guest by Shari Lapena is a modern-day game of Clue with a handful of complicated characters who share a common goal one snowy weekend in the Catskills: to have a peaceful, relaxing, luxurious weekend. But just as their weekend gets started, their common goal evolves into simply staying alive.

The story unravels much like it would if it had happened in real life. When one person winds up dead, it appears to be an accident, but each new detail that unfolds can either be easily explained away, or is part of something far more sinister. Each character has a reason, an opportunity, and a personality trait that would make them a killer, either in a crime of passion or premeditation. And each guest has a secret to keep and judgments to make through the lens of those secrets. It is truly brilliant how Lapena can bring together characters who don't know each other yet are still affected in some way by their own separate baggage.

An Unwanted Guest is a clever mystery with a subtle build where nothing is overtly obvious. It is well and efficiently written, though I am not a fan of the particular style; I don't appreciate three-word sentences, it makes me feel like I'm reading my grocery list. The book is light on imagery, but that's probably because most of it takes place in a hotel during an ice storm with the power out. There is no real investment in the characters, but the focus of the story is on the whodunnit and why. Like playing Clue, we don't care about who the characters are, we just want to solve the mystery before anyone else, so in that regard, I enjoyed the story and it was well-crafted.

I enjoyed this book more than Lapena's other, The Couple Next Door, which ended in a similar fashion to An Unwanted Guest. I'm not sure why Lapena does this; does she just put the pen down and decide to stop writing, or is it to leave room for sequels? Because in either book, a good extra page or two of explanation would be sufficient.

This is a book you will read in a weekend, aided by the fact that the entirety of the book takes place over a weekend. It is a chilling murder-mystery, perfect for reading under a thick blanket by the fire, particularly as the weather gets more blustery. And if you read this and The Shining, you probably won't be checking into any remote hotels any time soon...

In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex

Book after book, genre after genre, century after century, tales of animals seemingly "turning against" man is considered unfathomable; at once scary, un-Godly, un-natural, and - to us - completely unprovoked. Take the year 2012 in which James Patterson's Zoo was published. A relentlessly stupid, over-dramatic story so obviously written to appease the warped minds of TV producers and directors that the point of the story was completely lost: humans are not just mere spectators in this melting pot of ecosystems.

Almost 200 years earlier, the disaster of the whaling ship The Essex follows a similar pattern and familiar theme; both books - one fiction, one non - leaves us with the ever-burning question of if and when animals will finally turn against man for real.

While Nathaniel Philbrick doesn't outwardly explore this particular theme in In the Heart of the Sea, choosing instead to focus ,,more on the intricacies of nineteenth century sailing and whaling more than anything else, it can't be ignored by the avid reader, especially since most of the whaling industry was fueled by ego, machismo, and the supposed ultimate dominion over the world. Philbrick expertly articulates this idea in his book, but perhaps a little too well.

In shockingly few pages, Philbrick relays a sea of information that is at times helpful but mostly confusing, speaking as if the reader already has a working knowledge of Northeastern shipping, whaling, and societal culture. He, however, does an admiral job of linking information he previously mentioned to what is currently happening in the story, and any conflicting accounts and fictional tales; Moby Dick makes several appearances as a point of reference and almost as proof to his tale.

Aside from what those of us who have never been whaling find confusing, In the Heart of the Sea is a captivating story of the lengths people go to to line their pockets.

While the book does make central the animalistic instinct of survival, it's hard to miss the underlying point that man wouldn't find themselves seeking revenge on giant whales (both metaphorical and literal) had they not put themselves in those very positions in the first place; and for little else than a chance at a paycheck. And although seeking wealth is taboo among many major religions, Philbrick subtly points out through his story that our interest in defeating nature as a means to wealth perhaps stems from our need for spiritual guidance, with many sects preaching man's superiority and rule over Earth as a right and truth. Such is the case here in regards to the Quakerism practiced among many a whaler. And oftentimes as a result of oppression in the name of this religion, ego and suppressed rage took over in an almost sub-human form. Given that, it's hard to come away from the book viewing these whalers as anything resembling heroes, especially as Philbrick dissected the always-taboo subject of cannibalism.

Although not the first documented case of the practice, and certainly not the last, Philbrick carefully, if not a tad gruesomely, attacks the issue of cannibalism by highlighting that eating one's fellow human does little to alleviate death or even hunger, especially in terms of the mind. Philbrick points out that fear of cannibals is what kept the survivors from uncharted islands, contributing to their almost pointless and futile drift around the Pacific Ocean, but doesn't go so far as to point out the hypocrisy of their decision to eat human flesh, skirting the issue by focusing instead on their struggle with the mere idea then ultimate execution.

But all of that aside, In the Heart of the Sea serves little as a warning and more just adds to the depths of whaling lore. Known as the "Titanic of it's day," the very idea that a Titanic II is well under way proves we have learned nothing. Philbrick's story of a time centuries before - and Patterson's tale of a time centuries later - proves we never will.

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng

There was a point while reading Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng that I thought, wow this story could truly be remarkable, and this book wind up on my regularly-referenced All Time Top Five Fave list. But, alas, it is not, and did not.

To start, Ng is a phenomenal writer. The imagery is clear and does what is intended - for you to imagine. The story has a graceful, elegant flow, moving seamlessly from one character perspective to another, who are - as characters - multi-layered, thoughtful, and relatable. This book sparks fiery discussion questions, chief among them, ones that Ng bluntly poses herself like, What would you do? 

A present-day intensely real topic, especially with social media being the launchpad for our opinions, the book is set in the late 1990's in the idyllic Midwest suburb of Shaker Heights. Elena Richardson naively believes that a life following strict structure and rules is a life to be lived undisturbed and unpunished. Many of us know this not to be true, enter newest resident Mia and her teenage daughter, Pearl. Mia rebukes the rules and lives a life of relative uncertainty. When a mutual acquaintance of the two women try to adopt a Chinese American baby, Mia and Elena are suddenly pitted against each other in a poignant reminder that we don't need something to be racist to still have the very subject of race be a driving force.

This is an interesting story that Ng chooses to tell, a simple tale of the lives of a neighborhood as they slowly veer off course through choices they probably shouldn't have made. Then again, as Ng asks, what would you do? The problem is that I find myself asking a different question; the same question I posed on page 90: why does this story need to be told? There are several storylines that are brilliantly engineered and beautifully woven together to form the tapestry of the tumultuous relationship between the Richardson family and pretty much everyone else, but Mia's choices are especially confusing, and the major theme of motherhood, the ties that bind, and nature vs. nurture are overshadowed by tales of teen sex.

A fellow Goodreads reader gave Little Fires Everywhere one out of five stars. Though I like to reward beautiful writing, I can understand why this person had that particular reaction. In my self-described professional reading opinion, the characters fell short of truly being able to empathize and sympathize with them. It was difficult to get a true sense of them, and the book was more or less like a stop on the J. Peterman Reality Tour and we got a brief glimpse into their lives, didn't like what we saw, then quietly went back to our own. Literary rumors have this book becoming a television series, which I am totally on-board with; maybe that is what it will take to truly make Ng's characters come alive.  

The Immortalists by Chloe Benjamin

Let's be real: most of us readers don't choose our books - or any other form of entertainment - based on escapism alone. If we did, Fantasy would be the only published genre and Hallmark the only channel on cable. We don't have an aversion to observing people exhibit bad behavior, but mostly when there are clear distinctions between the good guys and bad guys, and we are aware of it beforehand, and because we perceive their situations to be so far removed from our own reality. And we"ll accept morally challenged characters in exchange for a good story. So when a book comes along with characters so inherently selfish, narcissistic, and unapologetically so without committing any major legal infractions, accompanying a story that is decidedly not worth the pay-off, that is when us readers feel betrayed. Chloe Benjamin's The Immortalists is a definite disappointment; a promising story propped up by an engaging topic, taken over by truly unfortunate characters.

What would you do if you learned the exact date of your death? Would you seek out that information in the first place? Would knowing the date of your death change the way you lived? What would be the difference - if any - in finding out when you were a child versus finding out as an adult? Benjamin takes on these provocative questions with even more provocative answers by way of the Gold siblings - Simon, Klara, Daniel, and Varya - who sneak out of their childhood home one summer night in 1969, lured by the kid-gossip that doubles as campfire tales about a haunting woman made infamous for accurately predicting the exact date of a person's death. Though they are just children, they immediately grasp the enormity of the information they have just been given. And what follows is a poignant, depressing story propelled by self-inflicted guilt and victimization. Published in 2018, if ever there was a book to highlight the entitlement of middle class youth, The Immortalists is it.

The book is written well, albeit a bit crass, the research is timely, and the story is what good book discussion are made of; I made up about ten discussion questions in my head while I read. Of all the directions lives can go after learning the date of death, Benjamin takes a decidedly darker one with four self-destructive individuals completely devoid of empathy or personal responsibility, which I find personally distasteful. That aside, they are brilliant representations of the various paths one's life can take after learning the exact date of their death. The characters are decidedly unlikable, and though that exists in every entertainment medium, the Gold siblings are just awful, terrible people, hauling what could have been an otherwise engaging, interesting plot into a depressing depiction of our deep self-inflicted wounds. Did Benjamin do this on purpose merely to highlight one of the ways in which a life can go, or is her's just another voice in the race to play victim?

A book worthy of many a discussion groups, the premise had promise but is lost amongst the unfortunate characters. With such an enormous topic, what Benjamin ultimately laced together is brilliant, but I was thoroughly disappointed, and this book left me with a dent in my faith in humanity, which is definitely not why I read.

Final Girls by Riley Sager

I finally read Final Girls. By Riley Sager, Stephen King had praised, “The first great thriller of 2017 is here!” And further reviews compare it to the likes of Gone Girl because I guess that’s what we do now – compare all thrillers to Gone Girl. Personally, I found no such comparisons between the two. In fact, Final Girls reminds me a lot of the great ‘90’s slasher-flick series, Scream; particularly Scream 2 where Neve Campbell is still scared and always looking over her shoulder even though the obvious threat has been eliminated. Rare is a book that starts with everything out in the open but that is Final Girls. The crime scenes cleaned, the killers cold underground, the cases closed. All that’s left are the survivors. So what could possibly go wrong?

Some people kill for no reason; just go on murderous rampages not for vendettas or betrayals or avenging, but just to feel the sensation of a sharp blade moving through human flesh like a warm stick of butter. Those left in the wake are the survivors; people – women – left to endure the psychological and emotional pain that come with gruesome murders. Quincy Carpenter and Lisa Milner thought they had it all figured out. Lisa was turning her evil into good by helping troubled women, and Quincy moved on to a normal, quiet life as a baking blogger and would-be fiancé to a Public Defender. Another “Final Girl,” (as the press liked to dub them because what would tragedies be without cute catch-phrases?) Samantha, is in hiding as her coping mechanism of choice. But then Sam shows up on Quincy’s doorstep and Quincy learns she doesn’t have her shit together as much as her Xanax and wine would like to make her believe.

With sharp characters who make dark choices, Sager creates a pointed example of the perilous decision to ignore our emotions and try to convince ourselves that we’re “fine,” especially after dealing with anything traumatic. Quincy is a generous depiction of things resurfacing, often in violent ways, with Sam and Quincy’s boyfriend, Jeff, as the proverbial angel vs. devil, both taunting Quincy with what they think the know about her and what they think she wants or needs. Soon, after Sam’s arrival, Quincy is conflicted, and unsure of what is real and not real.

The book is written well, and the story is dark, deeply mysterious, and only gets more so with every turn of the page. There are shocking twists and constant turns, all built on the solid foundation of you not knowing the true nature of the mystery in the first place: we know the killers, we know how, and why, and where, and it’s done. So why is Final Girls so mysterious? Even so, it is.

We follow along with Quincy, but get an outsiders perspective of the events at Pine Cottage because her memory has chosen to store them in an inaccessible part of her brain. Her lack of memory doesn’t seem to be an issue, until suddenly it is. What I didn’t appreciate, and why I gave it 4/5 stars on Goodreads, is the section from several weeks after Pine Cottage to two years after Pine Cottage. I would prefer if this section just simply didn't exist; or if was put into a conversation between the two women; or maybe even part of an Epilogue. I guess I am a picky reader in that I like to be treated like a character and not a reader, learning things I otherwise wouldn’t know simply because I’m in the audience.

I’m not sure if any other great thrillers followed Final Girls in 2017, but this one definitely met my expectations. It was intense and creepy, but also human and empathetic. We all have a bit of “Final Girl” in us; survivors; after Buffy transferred her Slayer Strength to every future Slayer.

Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons by Lorna Landvik

All of the books that I deem to be my all-time faves have caught me by surprise. All the Ugly and Wonderful Things was an impulse library selection based on it sort-of, kinda looking familiar from Instagram at some point in time. The Burning Air was a Dollar Tree find back when I bought any and every book because, well, they were a dollar. And The Nightingale was yet another Book of Instagram that I also selected at the library on impulse. Lorna Landvik's Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons was quickly headed on that same track: a book I've had for years but it only recently jumped out at me when I thought I was in the mood for Riley Sager's Final Girls. I had every hope that AHEBB would make it on to my All-Time Fave list, but sadly it fell short once I reached about the final third of the book.

There are several things I like about this book, relating, enjoying, and feeling like I should have been a 1960's housewife notwithstanding. And in that vein, like The Astronaut Wives Club, the story and characters become decidedly less interesting once it enters the 1980's. Faith, Slip, Audrey, Merit, and Kari are great characters who are very likable, charming, relatable, and real. But, again, once the '80's roll around, I was put off by Slip, and the random switching from First Person to Third Person for no real reason (as confirmed by the author in the discussion); usually this adds a certain element to the story and in this case that element is unnecessary confusion.

As an avid book-lover, and former book-clubber, I appreciate how Landvik creates the cocoon of the book club while simultaneously spinning each character's world to then orbit the Angry Housewives. And though it is a standing joke among many a clubber that discussions rarely include the actual book but center on local gossip instead, I appreciate that the Angry Housewives avoid this and use their book selections to analyze their own lives while also engaging in thoughtful, graceful, meaningful discussions on philosophy, religion, politics, and sex; mostly taboo topics that the ladies handle with aplomb, humility, and conviction.

Spanning the course of over 30-years in the Midwest, the drama of these ladies' lives aren't anything more traumatic than what most everyone deals with, which gives the story just the right amount of cheese to pair with a fine boxed wine (although, these ladies like their liquor!). But again, the story goes on too long and should have ended along with disco. By the end, the drama feels forced, like trying to whisk an egg into an already baked cake. And the cheese factor of the story that pulls at your heartstrings goes from Brie to Whiz and what was once making us feel good is now making us feel slightly sick.

While reading, I was invested in the characters, feeling like I was an Angry Housewife myself and that with each new chapter came a much-needed girlfriends gab-fest. Even more so, these ladies named their babies after authors and book characters, how could we not be BFFs?! But during the last third, the term "jumping the shark," usually reserved for television shows that have worn out their welcome, came to mind. Given that Landvik didn't seem too concerned with structural standards, while still presenting a decent story, I don't see why the book couldn't have ended with the 1970's, especially since most of the final information regarding the characters is in the epilogue.

Although Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons didn't end up on my favorites list, it's an enjoyable book with great characters and a setting that already fascinates me. While they don't open their book-laden arms to just anyone, Landvik makes it feel as if Faith, Audrey, Kari, Merit, and Slip are making a special exception for us readers and would not only open their arms but offer the creature comforts of a worn quilt. None of Landvik's books might make it on to my list, but I feel as though I have found a Macaroni and Cheese Author - like the warm comfort foods you always return to, knowing they will always be good and will always warm your soul. Mmmm books....

Await Your Reply by Dan Chaon

"[A] deliciously disturbing literary thriller...You'll be spellbound from start to finish." - People

"Stunning...Chaon succeeds in both creating suspense and making it pay off..." The New York Times

"A riveting thriller, chock-full of plot twists...There's a bristling momentum that develops, as in any great tale of suspense..." Los Angeles Times Book Review

"...Mysteries lurk in this hypnotic novel that you'll never guess." The Washington Post

Moments after finishing Await Your Reply by Dan Chaon my only thoughts on the above snippets of the book's advanced praise is that clearly none of these people actually read it. Or they were too big of literature snobs to praise the obvious elegance of the writing and ignore the giant hole where the plot should have been. Too wrapped up in the melancholy prose, and all too willing to praise it in the absence of any kind of substance, and for what? This is the kind of book that makes me cynically believe that people pay for good reviews. As someone who reads books with a fine-toothed comb, I can assure you that none of the above is actually true in Await Your Reply.

This book had promise. It certainly started off with a bang, Ryan's severed hand resting comfortably in a Styrofoam cooler as it rushed from a remote rural cabin in Michigan to the nearest hospital. But like the setting in of Gangrene, the book quickly veered into vague territory, providing about 85% meaningless backstory with the remaining 15% dedicated to the plot. It was one of those books where I imagined taking a Sharpie to every pointless sentence and winding up with something only about 30-pages long and most-likely exponentially more interesting. Where the Reader's Guide at the end praised the unorthodox structure of the book, something that should have added dimension to the story, it actually ended up making the book a lot more effort than it was worth. There is a lot of information - and fragment sentences - for the reader to wade through with very little payoff in the end, which is disappointing because the surprises and plot twists have the potential to make an actual impact. Instead, the "big reveal," is clouded by, "Wait...wha...?" It might be most beneficial to read this book in a Reading Group so that, like driving in a dense fog, people might be able to see and explain things that might not be clear to others, and vice versa.

Also in the Reader's Guide, Chaon boasts of thinking of novels as puzzles that need to be completed, but, unfortunately, Await Your Reply fell drastically short and comes off like it's missing several pieces. It is an inelegantly disjointed depressing walk through the mostly random memories of over three people who are interconnected, but not really. The actual plot is built on a rocky foundation of assumptions and conjecture with shockingly little information for the reader that would move the story forward. Instead, we get an overage of information that we don't need, and already know, like the over-explanation of highway memorials.

Purchased from the Dollar Tree about a year ago, and chosen from my bookshelf because I was in the mood for a good mind-fuck, I was given one, but was left largely unsatisfied and like it was a pointless waste of time, especially since I chose it over a soon-to-be-due library book by my all-time favorite author. As the David Frost poem Chaon cleverly inserted, probably to up his literary game in the likes of something actually New York Times-worthy, goes: "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could, to where it bent in the undergrowth-"

Thank goodness I will next travel down the path I should have taken in the first place...

He Said/She Said by Erin Kelly

Erin Kelly quickly became one of my favorite authors as soon as I turned the final page of The Burning Air. And although critically-acclaimed, I did not enjoy The Poison Tree but chose to let that one slide, and she remains one author of whom I will return to their shelf time and time again.

But Kelly also ruined me.

After The Burning Air literally made me exclaim, "Holy fuck!" out loud and on every social media platform I use, I find very little in the literary world that shocks and surprises me. And if we're being honest without being big-headed, my brain has been thus trained to pick up and store every detail, and to recognize patters not only within the story but the structure of the plot. For instance, have you ever noticed that character outliers end up playing bigger roles than they appear? But although I don't find a lot of plot twists too shocking, or I can see them coming a mile away, Kelly and her twisted tails never cease to entertain and amaze me.

Kit, an Eclipse Chaser since conception, and his love, Laura, stumble upon a deeply disturbing act in the ending moments of an eclipse in 1999. Though simple bystanders who, both luckily and unluckily, happen upon this moment, Kit and Laura's lives are forever set upon a crash course of guilt, lies, deception, and devotion. Kelly weaves an intricate and clever slow burn that is riddled with mystery and in a constant state of intrigue and suspense. Extremely well-written and thoughtfully organized, Kelly creates great connection to characters, empathy for their emotions, and clear justification for their actions, and is a master at pulling your attention in one direction while deftly working in the other. She expertly deconstructs the pitfalls of our human instinct to protect ourselves and our homes, and our misguided attempts at convincing ourselves that even just one lie, no matter how small, will prevent the world from tipping on its side. The story Kelly has (re)told is timeless, but hers is clever, witty, gritty, and remarkably relevant.

It can't go unnoticed the extreme parallels of this book, published in 2017, presumably at the height of the #MeToo Movement, and current events. Though stories of this nature - both true and for the purpose of entertainment - are as old as the written word, the details - as Kelly expertly conveys - also haven't changed. Kelly vividly re-creates the heartbreaking world we live in, where judgements are misplaced, we throw money at problems to make them go away, and the slanting deceptions we create for ourselves. He Said/She Said is a haunting examination of our own trustworthiness and of those closest to us, and an unfortunate reminder that no one is to be trusted; maybe - especially - not even ourselves.

Though devoid of an actual bombshell moment for me personally, He Said/She Said by Erin Kelly is a compelling, thoughtful, mysterious read that you will no doubt feel the pull to see how it finally ends. Me, I can't wait to see what Ms. Kelly throws at me next...

Fierce Kingdom by Gin Phillips

I try not to pull the Mother Card; the, "only a mother would understand," half-insult to everyone who hasn't pushed a kid out of their body, or adopted one as soon they were. I parent like they did in the '80's - I don't know what they're doing and they don't know what I'm doing. But reading Fierce Kingdom by Gin Phillips tugged at a very specific part of my heart, the part that was suddenly ignited after having, and taking care of, my own kids. While this novel will no doubt have a profound affect on most anyone who reads it, a mother can take this novel to another, heart-wrenching level. I would love to lead a discussion group comprised of both moms and non-moms to dissect the depths of this book.

A fast-paced, breathless novel, Fierce Kingdom begins as the zoo is closing and Joan and her 4-year old son, Lincoln, are rushing to the exit. As he picks up his toy action figures, a tragedy begins - and continues to unfold - unbeknownst to them and a few other zoo stragglers. Creating a world in which the desolate zoo is creepy in and of itself, Phillips is able to implore that while being accidentally locked in with the scraggly animals isn't ideal, it's about to become downright dangerous. The next three hours - the entirety of the novel - is a gripping, suspenseful game of cat-and-mouse that has become all too commonplace in today's world.

Well-written in a halting, concise manner, Phillips creates a vivid world within in the zoo, where the outside world, and the Who's and Why's don't matter. However, the imagery is a bit too much and I found myself either zoning out or getting confused, and important details seem to pop out of nowhere, causing me to re-read several pages, or have to flip back. What Phillips does expertly, though, is create a character in Joan that is Mother; playing on the natural empathy of humans in general and the savage empathy of mothers in particular. There is not a mother alive who wouldn't ask themselves, "what would I have done?" without also completely understanding the steps Joan takes; the trash can scene in particular is a genius indicator of where we land on the Nuclear Family timeline.

A page-turner at its best, this is a quick, though emotionally savage, novel that made me cling to my three-and-a-half-year old son - and oddly enough - want to visit the zoo, because - as Susanna Daniel expertly observes - we live "in a world teeming with pressing domestic details along with unpredictable violence." A brilliant gut-punch of a read.

The Last Winter of Dani Lancing by P.D. Viner

My husband asked me, "What is the book you're reading about?" And I said, "A college girl is found raped and murdered."

"Oh my God. And you won't even watch the news!"

But books like these - crime thrillers - aren't just about telling the tragedy. In The Last Winter of Dani Lancing by P.D. Viner, the story revolves around the ripples that perpetuate right after - and even long after - death and tragedy; the people affected, involved, and devastated are the eye of their self-inflicted storms. These books are usually always entertaining, page-turners, and creatively crafted, but The Last Winter of Dani Lancing is brilliantly different in the same way the TV show LOST was cleverly captivating.

Twenty years ago (well, according to 2010), Dani went missing. Several weeks later she was found dead in the most unpleasant of circumstances, and thus begins a chain of events that shock and awe even ten years into the new century. A story such as this is written to require changes in the time period, but Viner expertly does it by not making the switches overly long or overly complicated to where the reader is bogged down with too much information. It is easy to visualize while still maintaining the aura of deep mystery; the reader is able to follow along, reminded of important details in not-so-obvious ways, while still able to form their own theories. But more than just figuring out "whodunnit," Viner creates characters we grow to know, sympathize with, and care about.

As with any novel, especially a crime thriller, each character is deeply flawed and horribly haunted. And, like the Storm of Swords series (Game of Thrones, et al), it can be difficult to spot the so-called good guys from the bad guys, knowing they oftentimes switch (or wind up also dead). But Viner knows, and tragically showcases, that in life there are no good-guys and bad-guys; that we all are one in the same, doing good and loving each other, but also making magnificent mistakes. Through such a terrible story, Viner embraces our empathetic instinct, and the overwhelming desire to love and be loved.

Quickly written, The Last Winter of Dani Lancing has just a few too many pages to read in one sitting, but if you are able to do that, this book definitely won't disappoint.