The Reckless Oath We Made by Bryn Greenwood

Wow, what a peculiar book. An imaginative, harsh, yet whimsical, novel that sucks you in without you even realizing it. Eventually you are just so invested in Zee and Gentry and the eclectic cast of characters that The Reckless Oath We Made by Bryn Greenwood feels more like a show you want to binge-watch instead of the novel you can't put down. It is an interesting story, told like no other, and, to be completely honest, had I not read (and loved) All The Ugly and Wonderful Things, this story synopsis might not have appealed to me. As it was, it took me a few passes to eventually select ATUWT and books like those remind me of why I always take a chance on them. While slightly obscure on the surface, The Reckless Oath We Made is innately human and as real as real can get, and told by a true writing talent.

Lady Zee - Zhorzha - is nobody's Princess. But two years ago, told by the voices in his head, Gentry is called to be her Champion - her watch and protector and hero in all things. Mostly he has kept his distance, and his autism prevents him from looking her in the eye, or barely speaking to her in those last two years. But when a dangerous abduction puts Gentry directly in line to protect her, the two forge a unique, empathetic friendship that leads them into very dangerous territory, both in their attempt to help Zee's kidnapped sister, as well as what it means to intertwine two very different people.

Greenwood's writing is superb. It is real and honest and specific to each of her dynamic characters with just the right amount of sarcasm, wit, and humor. She creates a cast that we either love or hate but are nonetheless invested, and Zee and Gentry's story is complex and unassuming. I had no idea what to expect with the ending, or how it would make me feel, as this is a truly unique story. But where Elin Hilderbrand is Queen of the Beach Read, Greenwood is Queen of the Final Scene.

There is nothing blatantly special about the two endings of Greenwood's books that I have read and perhaps that is why they deliver such a gut-punch. They are simple, standard scenes in which Zee and Gentry (et al) are being the most human in their lives, doing something as normal and mundane as sitting around a dinner table, or taking a picnic atop a grassy hill, being happy in the moment, being themselves free of judgment and full of only love and friendship, real, human people who have walked through fire and made it out ok on the other side. Greenwood's endings are a subtle reminder that we can do this thing called life, in every form that takes.

Greenwood's books are truly unlike any other. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐/5 on goodreads. 

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 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 Burning Air by Erin Kelly

Every once in awhile I find myself in the mood for a good mind fuck. Usually when I'm in a particularly dark mood, I find myself gravitating towards books of a similar theme, like when I picked up Gillian Flynn's Dark Places. Although I felt the pull of that in the dead of January, I found myself craving a Gone Girl-esque book in the dead of summer so I picked up Erin Kelly's The Burning Air, a book I took a chance on because it was on the Dollar Tree bookshelf so I couldn't justify *not* buying it. After reading the inside flap and the goodreads.com synopsis, my expectations were fairly low and I thought I had it all figured out, not at all prepared for Kelly to take me on the literary ride of my life.

Kelly's The Burning Air is in a word, brilliant. Having read Gone Girl, the epitome of psychological thriller, and having polished off last summer's literary pop culture hit, and soon-to-be-movie-produced-by-Reese-Witherspoon, The Girl on the Train, I naively had little hope that another author would be able to weave such an intricate, creepy, and dark tale about the lengths we go to for family. But I am now willing to start my own campaign to add this to Reese's long list of projects. Or at least make it a Lifetime movie.

Split into four points of view, Kelly subjects the reader to movie-like, heart-pumping, surprise scenes - like a white face reflected through a black window - from the get-go. Banking on the already large creep-factor of being set in a BFE London barn, readers start out on the edge of their seats and have little elsewhere to go until they take a break from reading to let their hearts begin to still. With any large family, secrets are what rule the MacBrides, who are coming together to spread the ashes of their matriarch. Of course, things go less than smoothly and what are originally perceived to be horrible coincidences are revealed as dark, vengeful spirits working like puppet masters behind the scenes.

Written clearly and concisely, with fluid details that are rarely confusing, Kelly creates a haunting and sinister world that gives us goosebumps and makes our blood run cold, but manages to steer clear of horrifically gruesomely, unnecessary violence. The Burning Air enters Kelly into the foray of stiff competition among Stephen King and other Masters of the Plot Twist, gently manipulating readers' brains and down-right tricking them, then offering one last surprise on the second-to-final page.

While Far Barn is definitely not a place I'd like to visit - nor the MacBrides a family I'd like to befriend - this Couch Explorer will definitely visit another dark world created by Erin Kelly.