Village in the Dark by Iris Yamashita

Posted on January 8, 2024 by pagesofjulia

Characters from all walks of life come together in this madcap second entry in a mystery series set in Alaska starring strong female leads.

Screenwriter and author Iris Yamashita (City Under One Roof) presents the second installment in a series featuring Detective Cara Kennedy. Village in the Dark is an alternately moody and wacky mystery set in Anchorage and rural Alaska.

The previous year, Cara buried the remains of her husband and son, recovered some time after they disappeared on a family camping trip. As Village in the Dark opens, Cara stands by their gravesites, watching the exhumation she’s requested in order further to investigate their deaths. She’s been placed on long-term disability from the Anchorage Police Department after a failed psych evaluation, so her inquiries will be a bit trickier than usual, even without the personal element. But she’s found pictures of her late loved ones on a gangster’s cell phone, along with other people who keep turning up dead.

Chapters from Cara’s point of view alternate with those of Ellie, hotelier and busybody at Point Mettier, “the city under one roof”: all 205 residents stacked in a single high-rise building in the Alaskan backcountry. Ellie “always had the best interests of the townsfolk in mind whether they appreciated it or not.” A bit later, these points of view are joined by that of a young woman named Mia, who grew up in the sealed-off community of Unity, where women and children have banded together in avoidance of the men who have abused them. Mia has just recently, in adulthood, joined “Man’s World” (the “world outside the village”), where she’s encountered even more trouble than her mother and “aunties” warned her about. Cara and Ellie, who’ve met before (in City Under One Roof) and do not particularly get along, are now bonded by loss, and must work together to keep their communities safe. Mia’s involvement is slower to become clear.

Village in the Dark offers a mystery with both steadily increasing tension and body count, plus plenty of tragedy–not only death, but abuse, neglect, and societal ills. These are balanced with comic elements and moments of zaniness, as when Ellie leads “one of the stranger posses in the history of posses. An innkeeper, a storekeeper, a Japanese lounge singer, and a cancer-ridden geezer.” These characters are just the beginning in Point Mettier, a town with an attitude nearly as suspicious and insular as that of Unity. Long-lost family members reappear and disappear; Cara hesitantly explores new romance; murders will be committed and possibly solved, and Yamashita leaves her readers well set up for the next episode in Cara’s Alaskan adventures.

This review originally ran in the December 4, 2023 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.

Rating: 6 cigarettes.

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Dear Sister: A Memoir of Secrets, Survival, and Unbreakable Bonds by Michelle Horton

Posted on January 5, 2024 by pagesofjulia

The heartbreaking story of a woman incarcerated for killing her abuser, told by her sister, highlights systemic wrongs and the resilience of a family in trauma.

Dear Sister: A Memoir of Secrets, Survival, and Unbreakable Bonds is a harrowing story, a call to action, and a love letter between sisters.

In their 20s, Michelle Horton and her sister, Nikki, were very close, working together to raise Nikki’s two children and Horton’s son. Horton thought she knew everything about her sister’s life, and so was entirely caught off guard by the emergency call. Her niece and nephew’s father was dead. Nikki had killed him. He had been abusing her horrifically for years, and many members of the community had known it, had been working actively to get Nikki out. Horton was told to come and pick up her sister’s children, ages two and four, immediately.

In the months and years that followed, Horton’s life was consumed by the work of single-parenting three children while raising money for her sister’s legal defense, becoming an amateur expert on criminal law and the psychology of abuse, and advocating for survivors’ rights. The high-profile 2019 case of Nikki Addimando resulted in her conviction of second-degree murder and a sentence of 19 years to life in prison. Despite extensive evidence, the judge concluded that Nikki was not a victim of abuse.

Horton’s narrative (with supporting evidence) is available elsewhere, but she additionally brings to her memoir a close, personal account of Nikki’s trauma and that of the three children involved, the deep connection between sisters, and the continuing failure of the legal system adequately to handle abuse victims when they appear as criminal defendants. Horton delves into the sisters’ childhood, including earlier instances of abuse, and the culture in which so many–including the author–failed to recognize the signs of Nikki’s suffering. Keeping silent about her abuse did not serve Nikki in the end, but Horton observes that other victims will not be encouraged by Nikki’s experience to speak up.

The stories Horton relates are heartbreaking. She does not shy away from graphic descriptions of the brutal abuse Nikki experienced, which some readers will find difficult to read. These details do not feel gratuitous, but rather central to the painful but necessary account Horton offers. Her concern extends beyond her own family, to other victims of intimate partner violence who enter the justice system as criminals. Dear Sister is not only Horton’s story and Nikki’s story, but also an urgent appeal for reform. Heartfelt, disturbing, but ultimately hopeful, this memoir is an important part of an ongoing conversation, and a tribute to sisterhood.

This review originally ran in the November 20, 2023 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.

Rating: 7 half-tubes of toothpaste.

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2023: A Year in Review

Posted on January 1, 2024 by pagesofjulia

It’s time for the annual year-in-review, folks. (You can view past years here.) And don’t miss the best-of list I published the other day!

In 2023, I read 99 books–exactly the same as in 2022! Weird.

Of those I read this year:

  • 75% were fiction. (Last year, 80% fiction, so that’s staying pretty steady.)
  • 70% were written by female authors (80% last year).
  • Of the fiction I read, 23% were contemporary novels, 21% were fantasy/speculative/sci fi, 14% were children’s/YA and another 14% mystery, 11% were historical, and in the single digits were a smattering of others including horror, humor, literary fiction, short stories, thrillers psychological and otherwise, and romance. (Last year, the largest categories were that nebulous ‘contemporary’ [38%], fantasy/speculative/sci fi [27%], historical [15%]. The remainder were small numbers of children’s/YA, fairy tale retellings and mythology, horror, mystery, thrillers, and short stories.)
  • I “read” 4 audiobooks, up from just 2 last year. I took one pretty mammoth road trip, but the audiobooks I took on were long.
  • This year 48% of my reading was for pleasure (last year’s 60%), and the rest were for paid reviews (minus one or two reviews I did for free). This reflects a change when I stopped teaching and made book reviewing a bigger part of my paid work.
  • Nearly half, or 49%, of my reading were books sent to me for review. The other half were mostly purchased (38%), with the balance being gifts or loans or library books. (Last year I purchased 56% of the books I read and 40% were sent to me for review; just a few were received as gifts.)
  • New this year, I tracked who recommended or demanded that I read a book. Liz was the big winner, accounting for 14% of my total reading, which is nearly a third of those I chose (not for review)! My parents were both in there, as well as my favorite soon-to-be-12-year-old.
  • I reread 1 book this year (last year, 2).
  • 28% of this year’s reads were e-books (last year, 21%). Again, that rise reflects an increase in paid reviews; I read as few e-books as possible by choice.
  • The books I read were written by white authors at the rate of 72%. Another 15% were by Black authors, with 12% marked as ‘other.’* Last year, 33% were by Black authors, and 58% by white authors. I did not realize I had done such a lesser job this year of seeking out diversity. That’s something to work on.
  • Just like last year, 11% of the books I read were authored by people who publicly identify as queer.*

*Those last two stats offer some obvious challenges when I categorize, but I do my best.

Wishing us all great reads in 2024.

Happy New Year!

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best of 2023: year’s end

Posted on December 29, 2023 by pagesofjulia

My year-in-review post will be up on Monday, with reading stats. But first, as usual, I want to share the list of my favorite things I read this year. (You can see past years’ best-of lists at this tag.)

I gave two books this year ratings of 10:

These books received ratings of 9:

Honorable mentions and other media:

  • The Second Sight of Zachary Cloudesley, Sean Lusk – fiction
  • I am late to this party, but found Ted Lasso an outstanding television series: funny, heartwarming, and wrenching, with truly great writing. What a pleasure! Thank you, Liz and Darren, for pushing.
  • Naomi Novik’s series, beginning with A Deadly Education – fiction

It’s been a great reading year. As ever. Welcome to 2024, friends.

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Winter Solstice by Nina MacLaughlin

Posted on December 25, 2023 by pagesofjulia

The solstices are for fire. Summer flames say Keep the light alive (it’s never worked, not once). In winter, a more urgent message: Bring light back to life (it’s worked every time so far).

I was overjoyed to find out about this book in time to get it for the winter solstice last week. I really enjoyed Nina MacLaughlin’s Hammer Head: The Making of a Carpenter some years ago, and I was pleased to have such an event planned for my day: this little book, a batch of hot mulled wine, and my usual solstice/equinox tradition of a backyard fire. At just 80 pages, Winter Solstice is well designed to be read on the single day in question. I am choosing to share many of MacLaughlin’s lovely words here, so my review winds up practically as long as her book (not really…).

It’s an essay in four parts, each longer than the last, plus an afterword, plus an addendum. “Inhale the Darkness” begins: “Two boys strung the lights on houses in Ohio.” It’s a detailed description of that weekend job, the installation of light against darkness. “It’s an old impulse. To honor the dark with festivals of light, to battle it with same.”

Henri Bosco describes this almost-winter moment of the year, “when the world was poised on a pure ridge,” balanced between two seasons, casting “a glance back at the aging autumn, still misty with its wild moods, to contemplate deadly winter from afar.” The misty mood is behind us. We’re looking now at something dark and wilder.

Next, “The Shadows Below the Shadows” surveys traditions across time, Persephone and Demeter, Krampus, Saturnalia, the Eleusinian Mysteries, and Newgrange. It ends: “Pomegranate, holly branch, birch switch, mistletoe. We’ll leaf with life and pass below the secret places of this earth.” I love the way MacLaughlin integrates stories, legends, traditions, and the connections to nature, the plant life they are all in relationship with.

The Eleusinian Mysteries

were meant to elevate people above the human sphere. They were meant to launch them divinewards. As Cicero says: “In very truth we have learned from [the Mysteries] the beginnings of life, and have gained the power not only to live happily, but also to die with better hope.”

“In Winter We Get Inside Each Other” is about the danger and elemental fear of cold and darkness, and how we deal with those feelings. Describing sledding down a hill on the grounds of an institution for the criminally insane:

…it never felt crazy to cry out, there by yourself, going faster and faster, in your own private moment of fear and glee. Is that what made the lunatics yell inside their cells? Some same combination of soaring down a mountainside unstoppable? I’m happy, I’m afraid, I feel too much, I have to let it out. A cracking open in the descent.

Also sex, sensuality, connection. From a Mary Ruefle poem: “When it snows like this I feel the whole world has joined me in isolation and silence.” (You will have noticed that MacLaughlin makes reference to many others’ wise words.)

“Burn Something Today,” part four of this longform essay, brought me great pleasure as my fire was well underway and I was cozy and warm right up against it, just three or four feet from the remnant snow off to my left, and the page lit up by my headlamp.

Depending on where one lived, the ashes of the solstice fire were then spread on fields over the following days to up the yield of next season’s crops, or fed to cattle to fatten them and boost fertility in the herd, or placed under beds to protect against thunder and lightning, or sometimes worn in a vial around the neck. The lights we string on bushes, that glow on the trees in the center of town–something of these ancient fires lives in them, too. The ancient cults cast shadows in our minds, shift and flicker, their fears are still our fears, down in the darkest places of ourselves.

MacLaughlin’s afterword is “The Timing of the Light,” in which she as a child watched for an approaching car before switching on the electric ‘candle’ in a window, so as to offer hope, light, a bright moment for passersby. “I did not know about conference calls in middle school, but sensed adulthood could be possessed of certain drear.”

The addendum is “Plant Matter,” with a few entries for the plants most important to the winter solstice: holly, blessed thistle, mistletoe, cinnamon, yew, oak. (Others named but not featured: cedar, clove, rosemary, nutmeg, birch, pine, chamomile, juniper, frankincense, and wintergreen. A few of these went into my mulled wine. I considered a chamomile tea before bed but had a beer instead, a kettle sour with cranberry, rosemary, orange peel, salt, and coriander.) In the addendum’s final entry, Oak, which closes the book:

…an end here does not mean the end. The original fire lives in all fire. On the stove and in the hearth, in the bonfire on the beach, surrounded by stones in the woods by a river, in the explosion after the crash, between your ribs and behind your eyes, on the struck tip of the match, on the burning surface of the stars, the source of our fire, and us all. The fire goes out and lives on.

I can’t imagine a better way to observe the changing tide of light and dark. Thank you, Nina.

Rating: 9 timely moments.

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Ilium by Lea Carpenter

Posted on December 22, 2023 by pagesofjulia

A lonely young woman falls in love and finds herself at the center of a spy mission in this mesmerizing, moving story about different kinds of seduction.

Lea Carpenter’s third novel, Ilium, is a spy story, a romance, a coming-of-age record, and a tale of lost innocence told in an elegiac tone, with something for every reader to get lost in. Its opening chapter introduces a young woman boarding a bus in Central London, watched by a man from “a world far away.” The rest is told from the point of view of the young woman. “There was a private garden near the house where my mother worked,” she begins, describing a childhood of unfulfilled desires. She has grown up dreaming of this locked garden, of having access to exalted spaces, of being someone she is not. “What the garden taught me was that the allocation of keys in life isn’t fair, that luck and happiness are not prone to reason or will.” At age 20, she meets the garden’s new owner, a man 33 years her senior, successful, charismatic, entirely independent, who sweeps her off her feet; they are soon married in Mallorca, and then he asks her for a favor. “All you have to do is listen,” he says.

Carpenter’s narrator (who remains unnamed, a nod to the clean absence of self that is part of what makes her attractive to her new handlers) is coached in her role. She is flown by helicopter to a lavish, elaborately casual estate on the French coast, where she is installed as the guest of a wealthy family at leisure. She poses as an aspiring art dealer; the fine art world does not serve as backdrop to a major plot point, but does provide some lovely details: “The oligarchs’ relationship to Russia’s various intelligence agencies is like the color blocks in a Rothko, a carefully calibrated blur.” The mysterious and charming patriarch of her host family, Edouard, prizes his commissioned series of paintings based on Homer’s Iliad, another of the plot’s minor but rich threads. “You never want an operation to be personal but so many are, ask Achilles.” The young narrator, now a spy, starts off almost laughably naïve, but her observations along the way, related in hindsight, are astute. The qualities that make her valuable to her shadowy new employer–loneliness, emptiness, openness, optimism, a tendency to romance–make her vulnerable to finding friendship where perhaps she should see danger.

Carpenter (Eleven Days; Red, White, Blue) assigns her narrator a winsome voice: innocence wearied by experience, but always clever, and sympathetic to all the players in a complex operation begun long before her birth. Ilium is an espionage thriller in its richly wrought and detailed plot; but its spotlight falls centrally on the narrator herself, whose yearning for a role to play earns her a bigger one than she could have imagined. The dreamy tone of this sparkling, riveting story sets up a memorable counterpoint to its intrigue.

This review originally ran in the November 9, 2023 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.

Rating: 7 color blocks.

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Latin American Artists: From 1785 to Now

Posted on December 18, 2023 by pagesofjulia


Latin American Artists: From 1785 to Now expands on Phaidon’s iconic The Art Book with a collection of images created by 308 artists from 20 countries and territories, accompanied by brief but serious supplementary text. With a thorough introduction by academic art historian and curator Raphael Fonseca, this large-format book is an art object in itself. Each artist is represented by a single important work and brief biographical and artistic context, written in an academic tone. These enormously diverse artists, who span a broad range of media, are organized not chronologically, conceptually, or regionally; instead, an alphabetical presentation results in surprising and thought-provoking juxtapositions. Perfect for art lovers or scholars and essential for academics, this is a simply stunning visual feast for readers at large.

This review originally ran in the October 31, 2023 gift issue of Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun.

Rating: 8 corn tortillas.

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Salem’s Lot by Stephen King (audio)

Posted on December 15, 2023 by pagesofjulia

It took me a while to get to this one, but I am very pleased to be back in the Stephen King universe. Salem’s Lot is classic horror. King doesn’t get everything right (and this was published in 1975), but there’s not much question that he’s a supremely great writer. His stories are very easy to take in and get lost in. I enjoyed this very much, and I’ll keep working my way through his extensive catalog.

I won’t spend too much time on plot; you can find that elsewhere. My audio version opens with a short foreword or introduction which King reads himself, and it made me feel so good about what I was headed into. In his own voice, I heard the style and easy sentences of a master, and heard him discussing reading and writing as lifetime loves. He describes reading Dracula as a young boy, and then a bunch of secondhand E.C. Comics, and reimagining the vampire story for a contemporary U.S. of A. He confesses that Salem’s Lot, only his second novel, is dated, but he still counts it among his favorites. “Carrie, the book which came before it, seems almost fey by comparison. There is more confidence here, more willingness to be funny.” It only made me more excited about the story to come. Ron McLarty reads the novel itself, and very well I think: I have no comment on his reading either way, which is a good sign.

In Salem’s Lot, the moderately successful novelist Ben Mears returns to the Maine town where he spent just a few years as a boy, but where he had an indelibly frightening experience in a moody old mansion where a famous recluse had hung himself. He meets a nice girl, and settles in to a room in a boarding house to work on a spooky fourth novel. To a mild, idyllic backdrop, Ben courts the girl, Susan Norton, and makes new friends. But the town of Jerusalem’s Lot (or Salem’s Lot, or simply The Lot) isn’t done with mysterious, creepy figures. Ben’s not the only newcomer in town. A beloved dog is found impaled on a cemetery fence. Two young brothers disappear in the night, and one death follows another. A small but tough motley crew forms up: Ben, the writer; Susan, the young woman; Matt, an aging high school English teacher; Mark, a middle-school boy new to town; Father Callahan, the town’s Catholic priest, who will figure in the Dark Tower series; and Dr. Jimmy Cody. Together they will fight an ancient evil. The novel’s prologue serves as a teaser, with an unnamed man and boy on a cross-country trip. This action actually falls chronologically at the end of the book, just before its epilogue–sending me immediately back to the beginning when I finished listening to it.

King absolutely excels at realism, exquisite detail, and a combination of quaint small-town living (as sordid as sweet, but very true to life) with horror. He’s got a social conscience perhaps ahead of his time. His characters feel accurate, and everything flows very naturally; his sentences are that very special kind of smooth and easy that appears effortless but is actually extremely rare and difficult to achieve. It’s masterful and I’m a little bit in awe. On the other hand, there was one element that got under my skin. To protect plot spoilers, I’ll discuss it here briefly in white text (highlight to read): I really liked Susan Norton’s character, and was invested in her development not only as character but as strong young woman coming into control of her own destiny. She was the first of our powerful little team to fall to the big bad vampire, and I quite resented how that worked; after I’d come to see her as a proper strong woman and major player, it felt like she got thrown away like the cheap girl character in a pulpy horror story. Jimmy Cody later falls, too, but I was left with the sense that Susan didn’t get the treatment she deserved. I was left with the taste of misogyny in my mouth and felt sad about it. I respect Stephen King’s efforts, and find him better (in the lyrics of the Drive-By Truckers, who were talking about somebody entirely different) “at worst, no worse than most white men of his generation, north or south”… but it still made me sad. I’ll also recall again that in his introduction he acknowledged that this novel is dated. I hope this is part of what he meant, and that we’re still getting better now.

This issue, for me, was worth noting but did not fatally poison the experience. It’s an outstanding horror novel, and it’s sticking with me, and King is a marvel. I sort of want to go back and read the entire Dark Tower series over again (ha), but there’s so much more King out there, too. I do recommend. There’s not much perfect in this world.

Rating: 8 ice cream sodas.

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Maximum Shelf author interview: Rachel Lyon

Posted on December 11, 2023 by pagesofjulia

Following Friday’s review of Fruit of the Dead, here’s Rachel Lyon: This Is an Ancient Story.

Rachel Lyon’s debut novel, Self-Portrait with Boy, was a finalist for the Center for Fiction’s First Novel Prize. An editor emerita for Epiphany, Lyon has taught creative writing at the Sackett Street Writers Workshop, Bennington College, and other institutions. A native of Brooklyn, N.Y., she lives in western Massachusetts with her husband and two young children. Her second novel, Fruit of the Dead (Scribner, March 5, 2024), is a smart, chilling, richly detailed retelling of the Demeter-Persephone myth in modern times.

Was it the Demeter and Persephone myth that struck you? Or was there a different impetus?

Rachel Lyon
(photo: Pieter M. van Hattem)

The myth actually came in midway through the writing process. I was working on a book about a young woman who becomes entangled with a middle-aged man and all the power dynamics of that. I started thinking about precedents of this story, and landed on the Persephone myth. There were many structural similarities to the book already, so I worked on a pretty massive rewrite with Persephone as a model. There was a version of the book that involved Zeus and other mythological characters, but I ended up sticking pretty close to my original characters, just infusing the myth into the book that I had.

It was the beginning of the #metoo movement, and I was frustrated by a lot of men’s reactions. A lot of “gee, how is this suddenly happening now?” And I was like, it’s not sudden! This is an ancient story. So that’s what I hope people get from the mythological element here, the idea of how ancient this story is.

Why did your story need Spenser and Fern?

I don’t know if I knew that Cory was going to be a caretaker, but babysitting is just one of those jobs that so many young women have. Caretaking became a really central theme as I began to include her mother’s voice. I myself was in the process of starting a family as I was working on the book, so it was inescapable for me on a personal level, writing about caretaking and young children.

I love writing children. I taught elementary school for a couple of years before grad school, and I did a bunch of babysitting myself before I had kids, and I just think kids are so funny. I don’t think they’re always given enough dignity or personality on the page. So I was really interested in taking a stab at that.

And Cory couldn’t really go work for Rolo without any experience. So on a plot level, it had to be something easy that she was going to go do. Rolo uses them as signals: “I’m a dad. I’m a friendly character.”

Did you always know the story would be told in alternating points of view?

No. When I was beginning to incorporate the mythology, I started looking specifically for texts told in Persephone’s perspective, and I couldn’t find any. So my first project was to write a story for her, from her point of view, and to give her some agency. Because honestly, in so many versions, she’s abducted, she’s raped, she’s negotiated over, and she’s saved. She has no agency at all. In a contemporary novel we want our characters to have some agency. I wanted to do that for her, for this conceptual Persephone. But as I continued working on it and I became a parent myself, I felt more and more like I needed to include Demeter’s voice. And it was particularly useful because I was writing this teenaged character who’s not well equipped to make intelligent thoughtful decisions for herself. Without an extra pair of eyes or an extra voice that could look at her from the outside and communicate her to the reader, I felt like it was possible that the reader would not be able to see her from the outside. I needed this character to be a loving, worried, invested, exterior voice.

Tell us more about your research.

I read several versions. I kept coming back to the Homeric hymn to Demeter. It felt manageable–it’s only a few pages long–and it’s very strange. There’s this weird tangent in the middle of Demeter’s hunt where she loses hope, and becomes involved as a caretaker in a family. She’s a wet nurse for this baby. She’s in drag as an old woman, and she ends up dipping this child, anointing him in flames, and his mother rushes in and freaks out at her, and Demeter flies into a rage and reveals herself. She says, “How dare you question me? I’m a goddess!” and the woman of course is like, “Oh god no” and they build a temple to Demeter there… the child ends up half immortal or something. And then Demeter goes on with her hunt. It’s a really weird moment in this retelling, because it has nothing to do with the main plot. I struggled for a while: Do I just elide that moment? Or is it even possible to make the novel work with that bizarre tangent? I was talking to another writer about it and she was like, you gotta try. So I tried. Emer loses it and she becomes involved with another family for a moment before resuming her hunt.

How different was this one from your first novel?

Very different. Everyone says when you write your first novel, you have to teach yourself how to write a novel. I think that’s true. It was true in my experience. I relied pretty heavily on suspense. That book is a will she/won’t she book. Its main thrust comes from the reader wondering if she’ll ever tell this secret. And that’s what keeps you turning the pages. With this one I didn’t really have that. You’re not waiting for something to be revealed, although you are waiting for the other shoe to drop. So I maybe taught myself how to do that with Self-Portrait with Boy, but, no, it’s a totally different book.

Self-Portrait with Boy is based on an incident that occurred in the building that I grew up in when I was a kid. A boy fell off the roof. It was a very sad thing that happened in that community. The book is totally fictional, but I drew on that one event, and then the pastiche, that world that I had grown up in for the book. On that level it’s vaguely autobiographical, aesthetically. This book is not aesthetically autobiographical, but it’s much more personal. I think I got annoyed writing a character who was different from me on so many levels. It wasn’t as interesting to me in the end. You work on a book for so long, and if you can’t get something out of it, I feel like it dies on the page. It felt important for me with my second book to write something I was really struggling with. At the time I started working on this book, that [struggle] was mistakes I made in my youth and substance issues and all this kind of naughty, feminine stuff. I’m hoping that the more I work on these long projects the more personal I can get, because it felt really good to get to work hard with that material and I’d like to continue down that road.

This interview originally ran on November 28, 2023 as a Shelf Awareness special issue. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun.

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Maximum Shelf: Fruit of the Dead by Rachel Lyon

Posted on December 8, 2023 by pagesofjulia

Maximum Shelf is the weekly Shelf Awareness feature focusing on an upcoming title we love and believe will be a great handselling opportunity for booksellers everywhere. The features are written by our editors and reviewers and the publisher has helped support the issue.

This review was published by Shelf Awareness on November 28, 2023.

Rachel Lyon’s second novel, Fruit of the Dead, is a lushly detailed, mesmerizing retelling of the ancient Greek myth of Demeter and Persephone, set in modern times. This version retains original themes and subject matter, including power struggles, sexual assault, and cycles of growth and decay, while adding fresh commentary on addiction, class dynamics, and late-stage capitalism. Readers absolutely do not need familiarity with the myth to enjoy the novel, but such familiarity will be amply rewarded by Lyon’s subtle, clever references. The result is smart, disturbing, rich with opulent detail, and harrowing (there are several scenes of sexual assault).

The figure of Demeter, goddess of the harvest, appears as Emer Ansel, who runs an agricultural NGO. “We design, provide the seeds, outsource growth to farmers, and export to the hungry in Yemen, Syria, South Sudan, etcetera.” She is a woman of lofty principles but has sunk perhaps too comfortably into her professional role; a colleague accuses her of wearing “white savior drag.” Demeter had a beautiful daughter named Persephone, fathered by Zeus (god of the sky, king of the gods); Emer is single mother to Cory, who’s just turned 18, a wayward teen who has been accepted to zero colleges. Mother and daughter are at serious odds.

To escape the Manhattan apartment they share and forestall an uncertain future, Cory takes a job at her long-beloved summer camp, River Rocks. At a vulnerable moment (among other things, she is high), while caring for Spenser Picazo, a sensitive boy she’s befriended who’s also the summer’s youngest camper, she first encounters Spenser’s father. Rolo Picazo–the reimagined character of Hades, god of the underworld–is a self-made, superstar executive of a Fortune 500 pharmaceutical company. He has made his significant fortune on painkillers and now faces congressional hearings for his role in a pattern of destructive addictions.

Cory finds Rolo compelling, intimidating, by turns magnetic and repulsive. He is a massive man with a forceful personality. “His gaze is hard and hungry. It could consume her, she thinks, if she let it.” She finds herself spirited away in “a licorice melt of a Cabriolet,” accompanied by seven-year-old Spenser and his younger sister, Fern, figuring, “what killer would bring his kids along for the ride?” Rolo has her sign an NDA and transports her to a private island with no cell or wifi service, to serve as new nanny to his two young children. Cory is isolated, insecure. Rolo offers a lavish, seductive lifestyle, and literal intoxication. Emer descends into a wild panic over the disappearance of her barely-of-legal-age daughter, as Cory descends into the pleasurable fuzz of the ruby-colored pills Rolo provides.

Among Fruit of the Dead‘s themes is the specter of hazards faced by women and girls. Banishing frightening thoughts, Cory reminds herself dismissively, “occasional visits by violence are part of the cost of growing up female.” Rolo acts as if anything he desires is his for the taking: by charisma, by money, by force. His threat is looming and omnipresent, beyond its embodiment in one character. While these power struggles are central, Lyon excels at creating complex characters: Spenser and Fern are especially charming, well-rounded children.

In one of Lyon’s inspired storytelling choices, chapters alternate between the perspectives of Cory (in close third person) and Emer (first person), so that readers see Cory receive a text from her mother that she interprets as malicious, and later watch Emer send it with hopes of loving inspiration. These quietly tragic misunderstandings abound. Cory has moments of clarity, with misgivings about her disappearance into Rolo’s empire of painkillers and dissipation, but she loves her young charges. She mostly thinks her mom is a jerk, and what did Cory have going on, anyway? Emer quickly spirals, beset by calamities at work even as she searches for Cory. “How long have I spent hunting her down, daughter of evasion, daughter of evaporation, daughter of god help me.” The “daughter of” refrains lend this retelling an appropriately mythic tone. “Daughter of goofing, daughter of grief,…” “daughter of splendor, daughter of heartbreak, daughter of elusion,…” “daughter of warmth, daughter of sweetness, daughter of mine.” And “daughter of unwelcome surprises.”

Lyon (Self-Portrait with Boy) expertly leads readers to sympathize with both mother and daughter, even as their perspectives differ. This push/pull echoes the Greek myth’s focus on seasonal cycles: Persephone’s return to Demeter heralds springtime, her inevitable return to the underworld forcing growth to start over again. The best efforts of the protective mother can only delay the child’s foray into danger; every reawakening continues the struggle. Fruit of the Dead offers hope, but always with a seed of foreboding.

This compulsively enthralling novel recasts an ancient myth in familiar times to great effect. Disquieting, propulsive, wise, and frightening, Lyon’s imaginative second novel is hard to put down and harder to forget.

Rating: 8 succulents.

Come back Monday for my interview with Lyon.

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