Salt to the Sea by Ruta Sepetys

My need to seasonal read reared it's ugly head again when I snatched Salt to the Sea by Ruta Sepetys from my bookshelf, a book I had bought for cheap at one of the many book sales I manage to find around this small city. About the little-known ship, the Wilhelm Gustloff, and its little-known tragic end, Salt to the Sea is a Young Adult novel for everyone; a must-read of the World War II genre.

In the winter of 1945, the forces of evil - Stalin and Hitler - fought each other, with the innocent civilian bystanders footing the bill. Being squeezed from their countries, hundreds of thousands of refugees made their way to ships that held promises of freedom and an end to the horrors they were previously forced to endure. Florian, Emilia, Alfred, Joana, the Shoe Poet, and the Wandering Boy who suddenly emerges from the forest, are among them, each sharing the one commonality of war: secrets, with a little bit of hope.

The gaining of passage on the Wilhelm Gustloff is dramatic in and of itself, and Sepetys marvelously handles the atrocities of war - WWII in particular - by not over-horrifying events, but not sugar-coating or glossing over them, either; being able to touch at the heart of why war will never bring true peace. She offers many points of view to consider, even though they may not be particularly agreeable, creating the ability to spark constructive discussions about characters and what leads them to make their specific choices. I would love to be a fly on the wall as this book is discussed by a high school English class, or - heck! - even lead a discussion myself.

Salt to the Sea is hefty, both in size and subject matter, but is able to quickly suck you in. It is an exceptionally well-written, beautifully heartbreaking novel that is important to both history and storytelling. I will definitely be reading her other novels.

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The Best Books to Read During Fall

I know plenty of fellow bibliophiles who love to read beach/summer novels while on the beach during summer. No doubt there are other bibliophiles who are just straight-up seasonal readers like myself, so this one's for you! In no particular order, here is my ever-evolving list of great books to read from late August to late November, with no synopsis, just a blurb about why I included it. Happy Snuggle-Up-and-Read Time!

Books You Might Not Have Heard About

* The Troop by Nick Cutter. This book takes place in the late summer, during a Boy Scout-like camping trip on a small island only reachable by boat, and is only scary because it is SO gross. It is also scary because Cutter has decided that writing horror means exploiting the absolute worst parts of the human condition. This book will definitely make you feel uncomfortable, and do not read while eating, especially pasta.

* The Bucket List by Georgia Clark. Because Fall and the month of October isn't just about being scared, it's also about being aware. A perfect read for Breast Cancer Awareness Month, this book is about Lacey, a woman in her 20's who is suddenly faced with almost-certain breast cancer. Her's is a journey like no one would expect, a brilliant peek into the unexpected, and often hidden, emotions that come with a life-changing medical diagnosis.

* Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter by Seth Grahame-Smith. I recommend this book to people and they think I've lost my marbles, but this it is an absolutely fantastic read. The story mixes history and fantasy, gore and drama, and heroism and heartbreak. A perfect book for whenever you find yourself in a remote cabin.

* The Darkest Places: Unsolved Mysteries, True Crimes, and Harrowing Disasters in the Wild by The Editors of Outdoor Magazine. Speaking of finding yourself in a remote cabin, this book is a collection of stories centered around the wilds of the wilderness. I flipped the book open and happened to land on a story about severed feet encased in sneakers washing up on various shores. Not only great for this time of year, this book is also a must-read around the summer campfire.

The Usual Suspects

* The Shining by Stephen King. Full disclosure, I read this book because of that episode of Friends (which is also why I read Little Women), and even though I have read a few more horror books since, and more books overall than Joey Tribbiani, I agree with him that The Shining is the scariest book ever written. It takes place from late Fall to early Spring, the weather a sinister character in its own right. I have recommended this book to people who, naively, thought it was just a book and read a little before bedtime. In the dark. Alone. Then, nope, had to put it down and walk away. This book is a must-read, just don't start reading The Shining without making sure there is plenty of room in the freezer.

* Doctor Sleep by Stephen King. This is the 30-years later sequel to The Shining and it is phenomenal. It is gripping and empowering and a terrifying mix of our legitimate, real-life fears, and the mythical monsters under our bed.

* Pet Sematary by Stephen King. Last King book, I promise, but this book has a bit of a cult following. I found it to be more exhausting than scary, and I refuse to watch the movie simply because of the scene with the toddler (you know what I'm talking about, and no, not where he's eating his mother's face).

* In A Dark, Dark Wood by Ruth Ware. I mean, the title alone, right? Set in a remote part of England, in a cabin with no phone service, with a group of people you can't trust, this book is definitely a claustrophobic read for when it gets too cold to leave the house.

* The Woman in Cabin 10 by Ruth Ware. Set on a luxury cruise surrounded by frigid, dark waters, where a woman may or may not have been thrown overboard, this is yet another book you don't want to read without your sweatpants.

* The Lying Game by Ruth Ware. This book alternates between the present heat of the summer, and the fall and biting winter of the characters' teenage school year, and while the book isn't necessarily scary, it is mysterious and uncomfortable.

* The Death of Mrs. Westaway by Ruth Ware. My last Ware book, at least until I read her latest, The Turn of the Key. I've read at least one of her books every year around this time, it must be habit now. Well, there are worse habits to have. Also set in a remote part of England, lets just acknowledge that every book set across the pond feels...damp. The setting and weather of this book, alone, gives you the chills, and it is a definite page-turner, making you never want to crawl out from under your blanket.

* See What I Have Done by Sarah Schmidt. This book is not set during Fall, but an oppressive and - again - damp, heat. And makes me never want to eat pears ever again. But it is an extremely weird, creepy story, and you'll understand the Lizzie Borden costumes come Halloween.

* The Amityville Horror by Jay Anson. Like the King books I mentioned above, reading this book during this time of the year is like one big no-duh. Haunted house and terrified family and Priest, it's like it's not even Halloween if you've never acknowledged The Amityville Horror.

* World War Z by Max Brooks. Everyone is a cynic these days and no matter the time of year will tell you how the world is headed to Hell in a hand-basket, but not before a good, old-fashioned Zombie apocalypse. Personally, I'll always save stories like these for that special Zombie time of year.

* Final Girls by Riley Sager. This book is scary and should be read during this time of year for the same reason you might feel compelled to watch Scream. More specifically, this book is a lot more like Scream 2, where the gruesome murders of the past should be case-closed and done, but of course they're not.  

Simply Set During Fall

* Fierce Kingdom by Gin Phillips. This book is intense and gripping and only spans three hours in mid-October with a mother and her young son at the local zoo. The story isn't particularly scary or mysterious in the traditional horror sense, but the imagery of the first 30-pages is enough to paint all the fall imagery.

* The Woman in the Window by A.J. Finn. This book is definitely a mysterious page-turner that is set during early fall; that perfect time of year when dusk comes earlier than we'd like, playing tricks with our eyes and our minds. But this book is also heartbreaking and emotional and takes you on a roller coaster you might not have expected.

* The Heretic's Daughter by Kathleen Kent. Set during the span of the cold, winter months, you can never go wrong with reading about the Salem Witch Trials during the darkest months of the year. Simply placing yourself in the shoes of these people, and knowing that they are real, is enough to scare you more than any witch could.

* Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clark. This is a hefty, complicated book - both figuratively and literally - as books around competing magicians tend to be, a la The Night Circus. But this long and imaginative read would be the perfect book to get you into the hibernating spirit.

* The Revenant by Michael Punke. I love a good true story, especially ones about surviving in the wild. Left for dead after a brutal bear attack, this book is tense and bitter and cold and exhausting. It will definitely make you thankful for your cozy bed and nearby hospital. 

* One Thousand White Women by Jim Fergus. This book can be read at any time, but since we seem to put extra focus on Native Americans - and often stereo typically so - during this time of year, this is a great read to really get into and understand the lives of a group of Native Americans, and a snippet of the interactions between them, White people, and the government. Also check out the sequel, The Vengeance of Mothers.

Or, ya know, read whatever you want. 😊

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.

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.

The Dollhouse by Fiona Davis

As many a bookworm can attest, naming your favorite book can be almost as complicated and emotional as naming your favorite child. But without warning, Fiona Davis' The Dollhouse rapidly ascends to one of the coveted top spots.

I'll be honest, The Dollhouse was a book I passed on many times over when I saw it at the library, breaking the cardinal rule of reading: judging a book by it's cover. Then a fellow Instragrammer and bibliophile raved about it so my next trip to the library felt like I had hit the jackpot. I wasn't sure what to expect from the book, but I certainly didn't expect it to grab me by my glove-less hand and transport me to a world of propriety, glitz, glam, and gumption. And that I'd never want to leave.

Unlike Donoghue's The Wonder, Davis doesn't utilize any specific writing style to separate her book from any others, but she creates vivid, empathetic characters who we can't decide if we want to be best friends with, or just be period. Darby, Rose, and the gang are so magnetic and charming, the mystery of the plot - which serves to prop up the storyline - is quickly lost to simply wanting to know more about the characters and their lives; like FRIENDS but with more drug rings and alcohol, and less coffee houses and sarcastic one-liners. A story I didn't want to end, I was completely enveloped in the energetic atmosphere, enchanting setting, and the engrossing, expertly intertwining tale.

Written in alternating chapters, which could have muddied the story, Davis ingeniously infuses her tale with blatant label-feminism, and highlights the almost anti-feminist fact that we humans need each other, from the basic food-and-water necessities, to the complexities of navigating a hotel for women in New York City, both in the 1950's and in present-day. Davis expertly tells of what it meant to need a man back then and what it meant to NOT need a man, as well as what it means to need a man in present-day, and how those issues are strikingly different but also shockingly similar. Davis even throws in some sexual identity issues just to make the melting pot even spicier. The elements Davis includes in The Dollhouse are brilliant, from the basic plot backbone, all the way down to the details of a simple spec of spice.

Written in a to-the-point, almost blog-ish way, Davis appropriately and concisely wraps up any loose ends in such a way that is sympathetic to the complex characters, yet isn't stymied by some horrific, just-for-the-sake-of-drama tragedy that would sully the actors or setting. So while the mystery added a fragrant twist, the spicy characters and the peppery plot were able to stand on their own. As an avid bookworm, I'm excited to see what Fiona Davis comes up with next...

The Heart You Need by Diane R. Jewkes

It's hard to believe that during my thus far lustrous reading career that I could encounter anymore "firsts" when it comes to books. But alas, I have; and for a few different reasons. First, The Heart You Need by Diane R. Jewkes was my first foray into e-reading. Second - and perhaps even harder to believe - Jewkes' foray into Historical Romance was my first of this particular genre, which was coupled with yet another first - being approached and asked to read this specific book in exchange for an honest review. So while Historical Romance with a Sensual classification isn't a section of the library I will find myself in very often, Jewkes, with her multifaceted characters, intriguing story lines, and impeccable research, just might have me going back.

Set against the backdrop of San Francisco on the cusp of becoming one of the world's most formidable cities, we meet Adeline - Linnie - who is a formidable woman in her own right. Using her job as a Society columnist, Linnie repeatedly straddles the boundaries between proper decorum and family loyalty, but not without the help of new companions, Alec, Kara, and Hawke. In her characters, Jewkes expertly crafts a cast who are both likable and relatable, but also highly emotionally-charged, while managing to avoid being overly dramatic. With exquisite, clear imagery, Romantic prose, and artful metaphors, Jewkes pays homage not only to the budding romance of Linnie and Alec, but also to the beauty of the budding West.

Alec, thanks to the talents of Ms. Jewkes, is a splendid character who is not only strong, stubborn, and sometimes boorish, but skillfully sexual and ruggedly romantic. On business from Scotland, he meets Linnie in the most obscure way and soon finds himself enraptured by her penchant for moving a mile a minute; one moment she's there, then another she's gone, at least until she's wrapped in Alec's broad arms. But while we can appreciate this particular facet of Linnie, the execution and transfer of the scenes can sometimes be a bit rocky and sudden. Nevertheless, Jewkes employs her charismatic characters to steer the story into very intriguing places.

As a storyteller, Jewkes is an exceptional writer, creating clear, concise plot movement, and her meticulous use of metaphors is on point. Her sex scenes are cigarette worthy, and she expertly gives us a twist in the story without waxing poetic or using unnecessary filler. Reminiscent of a Hallmark Channel movie or mini-series, The Heart You Need provides just enough danger and violence to keep you turning the page, but not so much so that you can't read the book late at night. However, while Jewkes skillfully and appropriately ties up the loose ends, one pivotal plot point remains unanswered, which - given that this is her second novel in what I can only assume will be a lustrous literary career - may pave the way for a companion novel or sequel. Jewkes skilled linkage of each character and story - a la Thomas Kinkade - can only lead to more novels starring this magnetic cast.

All in all, I couldn't have chosen a better novel to steal my e-reading virginity than The Heart You Need. Well thought-out, exceptionally researched, and exquisitely emotional, Jewkes' talent can only get better from here. When she eventually stands with Nora Roberts, Danielle Steel, and Stella Cameron, I can say I knew her when...

Turn Right at Machu Picchu by Mark Adams

Some are intent on traveling the world. And some are not.

But thanks goes to those who are, for they pave a path of enlightenment, education, spirituality, and desire for the rest of us to gaze at, admire, and add to our Bucket List. While exploration is not a new phenomenon - the greatest discoveries have been made simply from the desire to see what lies beyond the horizon - the means and ways of world travel has dramatically evolved. These days, even the most remote forests, desolate mountain ranges, and raging rivers will find what Mark Adams' travel companion in Turn Right at Machu Picchu referred to as "Martini Explorers" - those looking to see the world but still have a warm bed and even warmer meal to return to. In Machu Picchu, Adams falls somewhere in between - lacking the intensity and adventure (and stupidity) of Theodore Roosevelt and his River of Doubt while still suffering the worn shoes, blisters, interesting cuisine, camping, and life-or-death uncertainty of any serious trip into the wilderness. And while the world would have me believe that I'm wasting my life by not scrambling to see all of the Seven Wonders of the World, I'm perfectly happy to let people like Adams, Roosevelt, and Strayed (Wild) do the humping and provide me with exquisite imagery and history, both of which Adams did not skimp on.

With discovery comes more questions, a problem that seemed to be the central theme of Turn Right at Machu Picchu. Adams' original intent was to retrace the steps of 1911's Hiram Bingham, III, suddenly widely discredited for discovering the ancient ruins, then accused of grave-robbing them as well as the area's surrounding ruins. While attempting to clear up Bingham's story, Adams instead encountered an atmosphere much like if he were to ask an American about the upcoming election - everyone has an opinion and their own theory. Adams peppers Peruvian history appropriately throughout his story, though it can get bit meaty and tough for the reader to digest.

Written like one of the more sophisticated blogs of present-day, with several laugh-out-loud moments, Turn Right at Machu Picchu is more an account of Adams taking a history lesson than a raucous journey of exploration, routinely skipping over large chunks of time presumably because nothing particularly noteworthy happened. Only him and his Editor will ever know... And while Adams does an admirable job of detailing his surroundings at any given moment, he struggles to articulate the vast beauty and enormity of his experience, which the reader can either find frustrating or titillating. And although nothing about this book is edge-of-your-seat excitement like that of Frozen In Time or Lost in Shangri-La, the cultural and historical significance of this part of the world is not lost, but rather put on display, as Adams made the Inca Trail sound like the line for Disneyland's Splash Mountain.

This book's main takeaway is the awe-inspiring history of the Incas and how they unknowingly ended up impacting the rest of the world with unrelenting beauty, seemingly ingenious engineering, and the marriage of the two, something Adams described impeccably and seemed to put the most focus on. If nothing else, he definitely lights the fire under the ass of even the most reticent modern-day explorer.

Turn Right at Machu Picchu satisfied a square on my all-important Reading Bingo chart, thus solidifying my Couch Explorer status. But if they ever do bring martinis on explorations and possible discoveries, my travel-ass might just end up being lit. Until then, happy hiking! I can't wait to read about it when you're done...

Black Like Me by John Howard Griffin

Your first thought upon cracking open this biographical work is, "Wow, I can't believe this was written in 1959! This could be about [insert current year here]!" I mean, after your actual initial thought of, "I'm reading a piece of culturally significant material that enlightens me to the world beyond my own backyard, go me!"

But as the story develops, cultural implications give way to a bland overview of 1960's Deep South racism, spectral division, and a sense of hatred that would be powerful and life-altering had the story execution been even remotely interesting.

What would have ordinarily been a rather quick read ended up dragging on slower than the buses that begrudgingly carted Mr. Griffin around Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, and the like. Distantly telling of the obstacles he encountered after altering his white skin to become black - colored bathrooms miles away from convenient, denied cups of coffee or glasses of water, looks of disgust from obvious strangers - Mr. Griffin spoke more of the general segregation and corresponding consequences of blacks - oftentimes horrific - than of his own, often horrific, experiences. And although they were shocking in nature, Griffins' portrayal of them was distant, vague, and lacked the sort of intensity one would expect from a white man going from his seemingly privileged existence to the suppressed, harsh life of a 1960's Negro man; especially coming from his own personal journal.

Afforded the luxury of being able to switch from black to white skin, Griffin instead wasted it by describing his experiences is generic prose, as if he were standing outside a window looking in. Constructed as his personal journal throughout his seven-week experiment, his freedom to paint a more specific picture of 1960's racial injustice was supremely wasted, though he was still subjected to his own brand of racism once the experiment was made public. Not until the epilogue, which I almost didn't read, did Mr. Griffin delve deep into what his experiment revealed, why, and any possible moves toward national harmony, though he stopped short of making any actual suggestions.

Obviously this work was culturally significant in it's 1960's publication, and is still relevant today, which is both sad and promising. Sad because we're dealing with the same issues as a nation over 50-year later, and promising because although racial harmony alludes us, and springs up in new, ugly ways, our ability to recognize the problem of judging someone based on skin color alone is what separates us from the animals. But, if we're being honest, animals have us beat in this area; I've never seen a dog attack another dog simply for being black.