Around the World on Two Wheels: Annie Londonderry’s Extraordinary Ride by Peter Zheutlin

I ate up the story of Annie Cohen Kopchovsky, better known as Annie Londonderry, like the tale of adventure it is. As I said earlier, this story combines sports marketing, women doing outrageous things, bicycles, travel, and history. Nowhere to go wrong there, unless in writing badly or boringly – which Zheutlin thankfully does not.

Annie was a working-class young mother of three living in the tenements of Boston in the 1890’s, when she decided, out of the blue, to take on the challenge of riding a bicycle around the world in under 15 months. She had never ridden a bicycle before, and her decision to set off on this journey is rather mysterious. The origins of the idea are rather unclear: she claimed that two wealthy Boston businessmen had made a wager that a women couldn’t do such a thing (following the around-the-world ride just recently accomplished by a man), and that they were offering a substantial purse upon her successful completion, but it does not appear that there were any such businessmen or any such wager. At any rate, Annie acquired a hefty women’s bicycle, a new name (the Londonderry Lithia Spring Water Company became her first sponsor), and set off.

Annie doesn’t appear to have planned very well. She set off first for New York, from Boston, then Chicago, then back to New York, then across the ocean to France. If your knowledge of geography suggests that this is not the most efficient route for circumnavigating the globe, you are correct.

In Chicago, Annie abandoned the attire that was appropriate at the time for ladies: high collars, long sleeves, full skirts with copious undergarments and petticoats and corsets and… lots of things I’m not familiar with. She first went to bloomers or split skirts, and eventually (I believe on her second visit to New York) gave up on even the bloomers and went to a “men’s riding suit”, meaning pants that more or less fit her – ack, shocking! She also picked up (in Chicago) a “diamond-frame” men’s bicycle – meaning, with a horizontal top tube, making skirts impractical or impossible. Her bike lost some 20lbs in this transition, and her wardrobe change lost a lot of weight, too.

The most fascinating parts of Annie’s story are the inconsistencies, erm, not to say lies she told throughout. She changed the terms of the wager repeatedly; she gave a plethora of personal biographies to different newspapers, ever-changing and not once (at least not that is documented) telling the truth. She never mentioned, for example, that she was a married mother of three; this would have made her leaving home unacceptable in her society. Annie told outrageous stories of violence, adventure, and near-death experiences during her journey, many or most of which appear to be false. And most egregiously, perhaps, she did not ride a bicycle for the majority of her trip at all. She rode, as stated above, around the northeast United States, and then across France, and from there took trains and ships almost exclusively (with a series of short, recreational or social rides for exhibition or touring purposes) from France to the Far East. She then shipped to San Francisco, where the riding began in earnest again; she rode south to El Paso and back up to Chicago, Boston, and New York, most likely with some miles by rail interspersed, but overwhelmingly by bike.

Annie claims to have won the wager, making it back to Boston under the 15-month deadline, and to have secured the $10,000 purse; but who paid it? Never mind the details, she would have told us. Although she didn’t ride anywhere near all the miles, she did a lot of riding, and appears to have finished in awfully good shape, even for a man of her time (and goodness knows, unheard of for a woman). She was a colorful character, and while not above criticism, what she did do was a remarkable accomplishment. If she cheated and rode “only” 10,000 miles, I would still give her a high-five and my respect. By today’s standards it’s easy to disparage the ethics of her, um, liberties with the truth, and the journalistic ethics of the many papers who covered her story credulously (and her own later career in sensationalist journalism). But Zheutlin does a fine job of setting the stage for the reader, reminding us that these were the journalist standards of the times.

Interspersed into this story of Annie’s wild ride and her telling of tall tales, Zheutlin gives us snippets of the history of the women’s suffrage movement, the history of the bicycle in American culture, and the revolution in women’s clothing reform that was deeply intertwined with bicycle riding (I wasn’t aware of the close relationship there). I found the author’s Afterword, in which he discusses his research process and his relationship with Annie’s memory (she is his great-grandaunt, although he only learned of her existence after her death), especially moving and interesting, and I wish this aspect would have played into the body of the book. As I’ve said of several nonfiction books I’ve read before, I enjoy the author’s voice, and her/his experience in research and writing. To me, this is part of the story, and leaving it out can be a disservice, leaving the story incomplete, or at worst, even dishonest. I don’t accuse Zheutlin of dishonesty of course; I’m just saying his role in Annie’s story being told is an important chapter, in my opinion.

I really enjoyed this story for its crossover elements into so many chapters of history: women’s rights and clothing standards, bicycles, travel, journalistic trends, even tidbits of various world cultures. I also appreciated Annie as an outlandish and wild woman, cyclist, and teller of tales. And I took pleasure in Zheutlin’s quiet comments on his research processes. If you’re a stickler for honesty, don’t expect to find Annie entirely likeable; but I think you’ll still be impressed by her story, and learn a few little-known details of our history as women, cyclists, and Americans. Check it out.

Thanks again, Fil!

Eyes Wide Open by Andrew Gross

Eyes Wide Open promises to be something of a psychological thriller, and there are definitely aspects of mental-illness-as-character (which I think of as one possible iteration of the psychological thriller, although not the only one). The story is narrated by Jay, a successful surgeon and family man, called from New York out to California to help his big brother out of trouble, again. Intermittently, we hear the voice of Charlie’s son, Evan, whose death by apparent suicide opens the book.

Charlie’s past as a troubled youth includes a brief stint living on a commune with a cult of sorts. Apparently the murders committed by this cult group several decades ago aren’t done haunting Charlie’s life, and now Jay’s, too.

I tried to be open-minded about this book. The plot was fairly mediocre; the cult group and the murders of housefuls of Hollywood beautifuls were so clearly rip-offs of the Charles Manson story that I kept waiting for the name-drop, but it never came. This left me confused; is Gross trying to pretend that this isn’t a rip-off of Manson? The suspense was there, at least. I kept turning pages; I did finish the book. Not having abandoned it is some small mark of favor, I guess. But the plot fell a little short for me. We open with a tender moment between Jay and his wife, intended (I think) to show us what a strong marriage he has and what a fine family man he is; but this isn’t really upheld by the rest of the story. Charlie and his wife, Gabby, are on the one hand mentally ill and down-trodden to the point of helplessness; but on the other hand, they’re awfully coherent and articulate on the subject of their helplessness, which rings a little false. Worst of all, the story peters out late, and the intended terrifying cliffhanger of an ending fell well short for me.

But my worst beef with this book was the writing. I’m trying not to be cruel, but I’m really not sure when I last saw writing this painfully bad. Now, I need to say, I read a galley copy, which comes with all the disclaimers about not quoting from it and it still being edited further before publication – and good thing, because this is the most poorly-edited galley I’ve ever come across. BUT! Unless they’re going to rewrite as well as edit, I’m afraid the published version will still draw criticisms.

Gross has trouble painting pictures with his words. He just states things, failing to follow the “show, don’t tell” maxim. Now, I understand there’s a place for brevity, for dismissing floweriness or long passages of description. I’m a fan of Hemingway and Connelly, neither of whom, I think, get accused of long-winded explication. But I still want an author to evoke settings and emotions with words, rather than take my emotional participation in the story for granted. For example… I have to paraphrase from memory, plus this is a galley, so take it with a grain of salt, but there was something like “…he cried. She cried too.” Are you kidding me? You couldn’t think of any more evocative verb, and you had two opportunities? Just “cried, and cried”? You’re trying to wrench my heart with this?

I realize I’m coming down a bit harshly against this book and I feel a little badly (especially having just written another negative review of Gone with a Handsomer Men). But this was my honest reaction. Sigh. Here’s hoping I pull something enjoyable on the next roll of the dice.

Suspense? Fine. Plot? Meh. Writing? Distractingly bad. Go ahead, pick it up to pass your time if you don’t expect much and just want a gritty story for a beach read. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Gone with a Handsomer Man by Michael Lee West

Gone with a Handsomer Man was definitely outside of my normal range of reading tastes, but I was intrigued. The product description sounded cute:

Teeny Templeton believes that her life is finally on track. She’s getting married, she’s baking her own wedding cake, and she’s leaving her troubled past behind. And then? She finds her fiance playing naked badminton with a couple of gorgeous, skanky chicks.

Needless to say, the wedding is off. Adding insult to injury, her fiance slaps a restraining order on her. When he’s found dead a few days later, all fingers point to Teeny.

Her only hope is through an old boyfriend-turned-lawyer, the guy who broke her heart a decade ago. But dredging up the past brings more than skeletons out of the closet, and Teeny doesn’t know who she can trust. With evidence mounting and the heat turning up, Teeny must also figure out where to live, how to support herself, how to clear her name, and how to protect her heart.

So. Troubled young woman falsely accused of murder, plus hunky lawyer man, along with (you don’t really get this from the product description, but it’s full-on, I promise) a heavy Southern angle. Cozy mystery with romance, a Southern accent, and an emphasis on cooking and baking, too. Like I said, not my usual style of mystery – I go for the dark and gritty ones more than the cozies – but I was a bit tickled by the Southern thing and I thought, what the heck. Put a little diversity in my reading.

For most of the book I was entertained, if not engrossed. Teeny is, indeed, a cute character with a good dose of Southern charm to her. She’s native to Georgia (grew up on a peach farm), but relocated to Charleston, South Carolina to be with Bing, the murdered fiance. She loves to cook, and bake; dreaming up fanciful recipes, as well as actually cooking, is how she and her female family members have always dealt with stress or for that matter, emotion of any kind. She’s a guilt-wracked Baptist, too, which I guess adds flavor, although it felt a bit remote from my Southern experience. Coop, the lawyer/ex-boyfriend, is indeed hunky.

But for me, the attractions ended there. Teeny is a bit too wishy-washy, timid, and hand-wringing for my tastes; I was exasperated with a series of poor decisions she made, and she thus fell a bit short of being a sympathetic character, or even a complex or multi-faceted or very human one. Coop was worse: hunky does NOT compensate for one-dimensional and bumbling. But the worst part was a series of completely unexplained turn-arounds. Red hates Teeny! Now Red is giving Teeny brotherly pecks and good advice! Teeny hates the house! Teeny loves the house! And what’s up with her sudden and unprecedented sympathy and nostalgia for the odious Bing, late in the book? Any attempts at “plot” are thwarted by loose ends flopping about, and characters and events flip-flopping with no semblance of explanation or reason. I guess if you can’t find a plausible way to explain a change of heart you just… don’t? The heart just changes?

I wanted to like this book, and certain aspects of the Southern frame were sweet and gratifying. My frustrations didn’t really kick in til the final pages, I guess because I trusted West to tie up the aforementioned loose ends, and I didn’t realize until late in the game that she had no intention of doing so. (Yes, she. Michael Lee West is a woman. It took me a minute, too.) But when I finished the book, Husband can tell you I stalked off in a tiff that I’d wasted precious reading time on this unsatisfying cream puff of a book.

On the other hand, there are recipes included at the end, if you like that sort of thing.

Good job, product-description-writer. You got me. Perhaps you should have written the book, too.

Thank You, Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse (audio)

What a charming little venture into the British peerage. This may be a first for me, but I think the audio format actually improved this experience! (I actually have Right Ho, Jeeves at home in paperback, so I can compare then. Although the voice may already be established in my head… we may never know.)

Sir Pelham Grenville Wodehouse was an extremely prolific British humorist; he wrote plays, poems, short stories, novels, and more (I’m getting this mostly from Wikipedia, FYI, along with a general sense I’ve had of him). The stories in his Jeeves series are among his best-known, and I, not knowing much about him, decided to start there.

Thank You, Jeeves is just silliness, but of the most enjoyable sort.

Bertram Wooster (Bertie), our narrator, retires to the country when London society ostracizes his playing of the banjolele, and for the same reason he loses his valet, Jeeves, who can’t stand the playing of the banjolele any more than London can. Jeeves enters the employment of Bertie’s old friend Chuffy, who also houses Bertie in a cottage on his country estate. American millionaire Stoker shows up to discuss business dealings, along with his daughter Pauline, formerly engaged to Bertie, soon engaged to Chuffy. A rather Shakespearean case of mistaken identities, love triangles, and well-meaning bumblings ensues. (Like so often in Shakespeare, a good dose of Telling Everyone The Truth In A Forthright Manner would have solved everything early on, but then there wouldn’t have been a funny book.) Also in Shakespearean fashion, the servant Jeeves is a sharper tack than his employers. Eventually the talented, intelligent, well-read, scheming, and discreet Jeeves solves everyone’s problems up neatly, reuniting several estranged couples, keeping everyone out of jail, and even returning Bertie to London where he belongs, and himself to Bertie’s employ. But not before I get to enjoy all sorts of hilarity and irony, in the events of the book but most especially in the dialog. I think this Wodehouse is a master of goofy dialog, and this narrator Jonathan Cecil performed it admirably. Husband did not follow the action at all but greatly enjoyed hearing the characters exclaim over Lord Whatwhatly (I don’t know how this is spelled as I was listening, not reading, but it is funny-sounding).

I will definitely search out more Wodehouse; he is deserving of his fine reputation as a humorist. This was funny and lighthearted and easy to “read.” I recommend.

South Texas Tales by Patricia Cisneros Young

South Texas Tales: Stories My Father Told Me by Patricia Cisneros Young is a slim volume of short stories, taken in part from the stories the author grew up with. It’s a quick and easy read, and an enjoyable one.

These simple and simply told stories read almost like fables; they reminded me of the Coyote Native American stories I read as a child. These stories aren’t just for children, though. The writing style is sparse and straightforward, but these vignettes evoke a time and a place.

Issues addressed include race and racism, marriage and spousal abuse, religion and faith, and even suicide; many stories are about family, love, or the value of hard work. But all of these themes are understated. The stories are quietly powerful but always unpretentious. I enjoyed the minimalist, unfussy style very much; it’s rather palate-cleansing. There’s nothing fancy here, but the stories have value despite being… spare.

Just to give you a quick sampling:

Shibboleth is a story about the Masons acting ruthlessly for their own benefit, and feeling the wrath of the community in turn. The characters are drawn quickly and in broad strokes but it’s enough to feel the pride of the Hinojosas, and to respect Don Manuel’s speaking out, even if it’s too late.

Blood Moon Lullaby is heartbreaking but, I fear, all too true and common a tale.

The Courtship of Red Collins is a bit clumsy but also an awfully realistic-feeling portrayal of small town society and racism, with a surprising turn at the end. Unrealistic? Perhaps. But in that these tales read like fables, I can appreciate the moral.

A Good Day for Dying is a wise choice to finish the collection, because I found it to be the most powerful story of them all. I appreciated Don Sebastian and would like to sit under the mesquite tree with him, myself. It begins:

The old man was tired. Life had given him his fair share of trials and woes and now Sebastian, after surveying his vast estate, decided that the time had come for him to die. The bed that he crept out of had been imported from Paris and brought out to his ranch by mule train. It had been a surprise gift for Sara, the woman who had shared it with him for forty-eight years. He missed her warmth.

These unadorned, down-to-earth stories were remarkably powerful, and I think them a fine accomplishment for such a modest little book. I’m glad I stumbled across them.

Nothing to Lose by Lee Child (audio)

Lee Child is one of my favorites, as you will know if you’ve been following my blog. His serial character, Jack Reacher, is a tough guy with a good heart who travels the country with nothing but his ATM card, an expired passport, and a folding toothbrush to slow him down. He’s a retired military policeman, just trying to enjoy the scenery, but he keeps getting pulled into hairy situations in which he decides to right the wrongs of the world and protect the little people.

In Nothing to Lose, we observe yet another of those episodes. Reacher is trying to travel diagonally across the country, from Maine down to San Diego. While moving west across Colorado, he stalls in a town called Hope, unable to hitch a ride into the neighboring town of Despair. (Yes, these names have meaning. You’re so sharp!) So he walks instead, but only to discover that the inhabitants of Despair don’t want him around.

Reacher eventually teams up with the sometimes-reluctant Officer Vaughan of the Hope PD. The town of Despair seems to have a lot to hide. At first glance, it’s an unpleasant little company town, owned entirely by the self-satisfied owner of the metal recycling plant, Mr. Thurman, who is also the mayor and the lay preacher. But there’s oh so much beneath the surface, including ties to international military concerns; and Mr. Thurman and his thugs are willing to go to great lengths to get Reacher, and any other stranger, far away.

This, along with the last Reacher I read (or rather, listened to), Gone Tomorrow, tackles issues of politics, the military and US foreign relations. Reacher is surprisingly anti-war, for being military – that is, not anti-war exactly, but against stupid wars of racism and oil-sucking that get American kids killed. He’s a very rational, thinking man. I like this about him. Don’t worry, the politics are way, way background.

Like all the Jack Reacher novels, this one is fast-paced, suspenseful, exciting, and has sympathetic, likeable, complex characters. You’ll be on the edge of your seat; you’ll care very much about what happens. You’ll be outraged along with Reacher, you’ll cheer him on, and you’ll be first impressed and then feel vindicated by his prowess.

I definitely enjoy the Reacher series on audio. Dick Hill is great at Reacher; he’s started to be Reacher inside my head. These get me to and from work very happily every day. 🙂 Thanks Lee Child and thanks Dick Hill, and keep ’em coming! (Unabridged, please.)

WWW, on Thursday

I’m a day late, but hey, if this blog can’t be flexible with me I don’t know what can. 🙂 Maybe I like to be different!

Seriously, I just wanted to let you know what’s going on around here. We’ll start with MizB’s three questions (from Should Be Reading):

  • What are you currently reading?I am currently involved in two books. The one I’m *reading* is Gone with a Handsomer Man, by Michael Lee West. It’s a cozy mystery set in South Carolina, with elements of romance, and it’s fun and lighthearted. In the car, I’m listening to an audiobook of Thank You, Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse. It is very, very funny and silly! I have Right Ho, Jeeves waiting at home, so I’ll get at least two into Wodehouse and let you know how it goes, hm? I’m enjoying everything I’m reading right now, so it’s all good.
  • What did you recently finish reading?

    I have recently finished a few books that I’m reading for review at Shelf Awareness, and that’s part of what I wanted to tell you about in this post. I’ve taken on a little side project there, which means I get galley copies (pre-publication, uncorrected proofs, aka ARCs [advanced reader’s copies]) to read for review. My reviews of these books belong to Shelf Awareness, so I can’t release them here when I read these books, although I’ll always link you to those reviews once they’re published over there. What this means is that a certain percentage of my reading time these days is dedicated to books I can’t tell you much about. You’ll see them mentioned briefly (and quoted briefly) on Teaser Tuesdays and Book Beginnings on Fridays.

    So, what I’ve recently finished. I’ve just read three books back-to-back for review: Never Knowing by Chevy Stevens, Very Bad Men by Harry Dolan, and Eyes Wide Open by Andrew Gross. I give the first two good grades, but not so much the third.

  • What do you think you’ll read next?Always a fun question to answer! And for me, always a big fat mystery up until the moment I open the cover. I recently posted about a few new books I’m interested in, so you can see a few options there; and another new release I’m psyched about is called Manana Forever?. I’ve also mentioned here before that I want to get around to Don Quixote this summer. And my next book up for review is Shut Your Eyes Tight by John Verdon. Where do I go from here? Your guess is as good as mine.

Challenge Update

Well here we are in June. It would be nice if I were on the ball and posting these challenge updates every month, but that does not appear to be at all realistic. My last update was at the beginning of April. Let’s check in again.

Where Are You Reading? is hosted by Sheila at One Person’s Journey Through a World of Books. The idea is to read one book from each of the 50 states within the 2011 year. (Bonus points are awarded for foreign locations.) Take a look at my map to see where I’ve been. So far, I’ve read in 17 states:
New York
Illinois
South Dakota
Texas
Maine
Nebraska
Michigan
California
Missouri
Minnesota
Massachusetts
Washington
Iowa
Colorado
New Jersey
Georgia
New Mexico
….and 9 foreign locations:
London
Stockholm
Dublin
Paris
Canada: Toronto and BC
St. Mark’s
Switzerland
Kenya
Dresden

This is a fun challenge because, so far, I’m not hunting down locations at all, just keeping track; and it’s interesting to see where I’m reading.


The Classics Challenge is hosted by Courtney at Stiletto Storytime, and I signed up for the bachelor’s degree level, meaning 10 classics in 2011. I’m catching up a bit, having now read — classics, and it’s been a great motivator for me, too. I still aspire to a few long ones this year; on my list are Gone with the Wind, Don Quixote and Lady Chatterley’s Lover, among others. But so far, I’ve read:

  1. Main Street by Sinclair Lewis
  2. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson
  3. Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier
  4. Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
  5. Tender Buttons by Gertrude Stein

What’s In a Name? is hosted by Beth Fish Reads. The goal is to read books with certain title attributes.

Well hopefully this one will come along all by itself.

I have found challenges in general to be great fun. I’ve only had this blog, oh, 8 months or so now; but it’s really expanded my world in ways that are satisfying both in my job and in my personal life. It’s a bit like having a book club that I can meet with whenever it’s convenient for me, lol. I get book recommendations (both for me, personally, and for purchase for the library where I work). I find out about book trends. I even got a gig writing book reviews for Shelf Awareness. The best parts are the parts that involve being part of a community. Memes like Teaser Tuesdays and Book Beginnings on Fridays call for participation; and challenges are another important way in which I get to interact. So thank you, challengers!

The Great Night by Chris Adrian

This book is billed as a modern-day retelling of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which sounds fairly ambitious. The original classic is far too much to mess around with lightly. I find it beautiful, haunting, magical, and surprisingly accessible; I think anyone and everyone should be able to enjoy a production of this play, which might not be true of all the bard’s work, no matter how wonderful. But I have to give Adrian full credit: I feel that he created something new out of it, definitely a recognizable retelling, but something new and beautiful in its own way, very different and very wonderful too.

Three young people, Henry, Will, and Molly, are all (separately) lost in Buena Vista Park in San Francisco at dusk on midsummer night’s eve. All three were on their way to the same party which none really wanted to attend; all three are tenuously connected without actually knowing one another; and all three are quite neurotic in their own ways. Meanwhile, Titania is grief-stricken, having lost her Boy to leukemia (and being unfamiliar with the mortal concept of death), and then having lost Oberon, who left her when they quarreled in their shared grief. In despair and resignation, she releases Puck from his bond of servitude, and he rages as the Beast throughout the park. Also meanwhile, a troupe of homeless aspiring actors meet to rehearse a musical play, but are separated, as the fairies come out to frolic, or flee Puck, or make mischief.

Chapter by chapter we get inside the heads of the three mortal lovers, and sometimes of Titania too. The character development is exquisite; I loved learning more about the histories of Will, Molly, and Henry, and gradually putting together the clues and learning how they’re interconnected and where their respective neuroses might have come from. The depth of these complex, nuanced, disturbed characters might have been my most favorite part of this book.

Titania gets substantially more development, too. The lengthened and deepened relationship with the Boy, and his battle with cancer, allow for her to mature and look outside herself in ways that a fairy queen would not normally be called to do. Even Puck gets a more significant personality, and desires of his own.

Part fairy tale – of course – The Great Night has all the magic and all the lavish scenery that Shakespeare’s Titania & Oberon could have wanted, helped along by the alternately lush & misty San Francisco parkland. As in the play, there are disturbing moments; but these are fully fleshed out. I guess the great difference here is that this is a lengthy novel (~300 pages) with all the exposition that comes with this format, and there is simply less opportunity in a slim play for this kind of development. But Adrian’s work is darker, and more graphic. (There is Sex. Seriously.) The ending is not lighthearted and happy as it is in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Among the mortal characters, we meet a tree doctor; men and women recovering from the suicides of loved ones; and the mess that OCD can make of a life; the lovers are gay and straight but always damaged. But the worlds are so fully realized… and the three youth are so fully developed, I ached for them. When every chapter closed, I regretted leaving that chapter’s focus character, but was happy to reunite with the next.

This was one of those books I was very sorry to see the end of. I wish there were more. Luckily, Adrian has written other books!

I recommend The Great Night. Certainly nothing is taken away from Shakespeare’s masterpiece; but this is a different realization of the same story-skeleton, in a different format, and it is absolutely an accomplishment all by itself.

new books. help me decide?

Just like I did a few weeks ago, I’m sharing with you some new books that have just come in here at the library. I’m actually interested in several of these that are well outside my usual areas of interest; don’t know what that’s about.

My library shelf note: “Luz puts off the trip that Abuela wants to make until it’s too late, and ends up making the trip alone, back south to meet her aunt and learn a family secret: what happened to her mother. A coming-of-age story with a Mexican twist.” I think it’s the Mexican twist that draws me to this one.

My library shelf note: “Gwyneth’s sophisticated and beautiful cousin Charlotte has been the one preparing her entire life for time travel; but by some accident, Gwyneth is the one suddenly reeling in time. She must work with Gideon, another time traveler, to solve the mystery of her heritage as they spin through different eras.” Really a YA book, but something interests me here.

My library shelf note: “In this delightful southern romp, Teeny thinks she’s on the right track: about to be married and getting her pastry career back on track. Then her fiancé cheats and slaps a restraining order on her before turning up dead. Now she must turn to her lawyer ex-boyfriend for help.” The southern angle appeals to me, although I think it’s a “cozy” mystery, which is not normally my first choice.

My library shelf note: “Sexy vampires, studly college men, and the local crime boss come to heads in Atlanta, Georgia in this wise, funny urban romp.” I have a number of patrons interested in African-American or “urban” fiction, and I should really read in this genre just to be a little more familiar.

The Butterfly’s Daughter is supposed to be literary fiction, which is fairly standard for me; but the other three combine romance, time travel, and vampires – not areas I read in much or at all! I don’t know what’s come over me, but these books are appealing to me, maybe because of the variety they offer. (That, and my endless quest to stay up to date on what my patrons are reading.)

Am I crazy? Do any of these books appeal to you? What should I pick up first?