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.

The Girls by Emma Cline

Emma Cline's The Girls popped up on Reese Witherspoon's Book Club Instagram page and suddenly it had 49 holds at the library, which - in my mind - translates to it being one of the season's it books. So I used a Christmas gift card to pay full price at Barnes and Noble, and it sat on my shelf, determined to wait until actual, calendar summer to crack it open. But like that great, splendid family vacation you planned and looked forward to and ended up being a huge bust, The Girls is one, big, juicy double of Nothing Burger; what I've often equated to the ever-so-eloquent Elaine Benes: "It's like a big-budget movie that goes NO WHERE." And since The Girls is a Black Swan-like Freudian trip through masturbatory fantasies more than anything else, Ms. Benes description holds even more true.

Set in California in the summer of 1969, The Girls is highly indicative of 2016/17, with the cultural upheaval and the general indifference to structure and authority. Evie Boyd finds herself adrift after her father leaves for his secretary and her mother flounders with the general survival of life. She finds herself drawn to Suzanne and the world she seemingly controls, a young girl who can burn down a house with a single glare. Though Evie makes it redundantly clear that she is aware of the Linus-esque grunge that follows Suzanne around, she repeatedly makes the decision to ignore it in exchange for what Evie can only assume are bigger and better things. Those "bigger and better" things are "Russell," his "Ranch," and what begins as the largest and most infamous cult phenomenon in history.

The description alone is what makes this book fly off the shelves. And though it is hauntingly written, cryptic, and darkly psychological, the writing, at most, creates a grim haze that, either purposeful or not, engulfs the entire story. Cline uses most of her word count to wax-poetic, which is obviously supposed to highlight the story, if there had been one in the first place. There is adequate imagery, mysterious, dismal, and, naturally, the stuff of horror movies, which would also lend nicely to a story line that isn't mostly about the time in between doing drugs, masturbating, and waiting for life to start. And given the premise of the book, it's not surprising that none of the characters are particularly likeable. Lacking base and any sort of substance, Cline's actors are very stoic and one-dimensional; like the robotic ducks you shoot at carnivals. Even highly sexual, angry, too-bitter-for-a-14-year-old-who-didn't-suffer-trauma-or-abuse Evie can't make a story appear where there is none.

Emma Cline's The Girls reeks of poor-little-rich-girl, out for excitement before being yanked back from the brink, and is a textbook case of childhoods lacking an appropriate father/male figure. Evie Boyd is a genius depiction of every adolescent, willfully naive, 14-year old girl spending her summer being too old for everything and being too young for everything. But where Cline goes full-speed ahead on language, the rest of the book is a lot of start-and-go before finally crapping out on the side of the highway. It is gruesome yet vague, and oddly descriptive without actually telling us anything. And though nothing really happens until the last 30 pages, what story line does materialize is obvious and cliche. I had been anticipating this book for an entire year and it was a major let-down. And while I appreciate and respect Cline's obvious writing talent, The Girls felt largely under-developed and mostly like I was reading Cline's diary interspersed with her own personal fantasies; like if the Black Swan danced through the Manson Murders.

(Shout-out to my Mom who recently told me she reads this blog. HI MOM!)

The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead

Colson Whitehead's The Underground Railroad is an interesting novel to critique. On the one hand, it's a maudlin, bleak, tragedy, peppered with moments of hope, but ultimately bringing into question the nature of humanity, and a pessimistic semblance of meaning as to why we subject each other to such pain and ambivalence. But on the other hand, those grains of hope and perseverance are what propels the story forward, and that which places Cora on a pedestal next to Hermione Granger-Weasley (I figure she'd be progressive like that).

Banking on expecting the unexpected, Whitehead weaves a startling tale of slavery in America, leaving the reader never knowing if what follows is extreme pain or intense salvation, which is, at it's root, the dormant-come-active volcano of the suppressed. Though in a halting yet poetic prose, Whitehead re-creates a vivid world that can at once, by the educated mind, find parallels to the Native American's plight with the Colonists, to Nazi Occupation, and even so far as the social injustices we experience and witness in present day, rendering this novel a truly timeless tome.

Though widely praised - I first heard about it during the patented-15-second segment on the Today Show - I can understand why some would find this novel depressing and dull, and otherwise confusedly written. Being the first of Whitehead's for me to read, I just assumed this his style, thus reading his words with a slow fluidity. The downside of this, however, was that I couldn't blaze through it like a page-turner, but found myself setting it down every few pages in order to digest the enormity of what I had just read. Even with his vague imagery and lack of direct character interactions, the impact of his story was not lost on me, which - I'm assuming - is the point.

What struck me the most while reading this book was how shockingly familiar it all was, leaving me to really contemplate the illusion of the world we live in, which is why I am of the former opinion, that The Underground Railroad is on par with such classics as To Kill A Mockingbird, Black Like Me (though I didn't enjoy that nearly as much), and Invisible Man. Cora, though unexpectedly, is a real, true hero; a woman of gumption, courage, and though it tries to be beaten from her, a strong sense of self-worth. I applaud and appreciate Whitehead for creating such a character - and female at that - of whom I would be proud to know.