book beginnings on Friday: The Likeness by Tana French

Thanks to Katy at A Few More Pages for hosting this meme. To participate, share the first line or two of the book you are currently reading and, if you feel so moved, let us know what your first impressions were based on that first line.

I loved Tana French’s In the Woods and Faithful Place, and as I plan an upcoming trip to Ireland (my first), it seemed natural to pick up another Irish-set mystery. Bonus: this one is an audiobook, so I’m hoping to adjust a little bit to the accents I’ll be encountering soon! (I’m not always so good with accents. At least it’s not Scotland; that’s an accent I really can’t decipher.) We begin:

Some nights, if I’m sleeping on my own, I still dream about Whitethorn House. In the dream it’s always spring, cool fine light with a late-afternoon haze.

That’s lovely, in my opinion. It’s atmospheric. One of the things I love about French is the sense of place she creates in her books, which of course is of special interest now since I’m planning a trip there. And this beginning is almost reminiscent of Rebecca, isn’t it? Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again…

Juliet by Anne Fortier (audio)

Juliet is a fanciful play on Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, with a modern-day romance and a historical mystery. Julie Jacobs of today’s Virginia is a little bit aimless and drifting at 25, when her beloved great-aunt Rose dies and leaves her a mysterious set of instructions: Julie is to go to Italy, where she was born, even though Rose had always refused to discuss her childhood there. She has a key to what appears to be a safe-deposit box at a bank, and not much more. There is some connection to Romeo and Juliet, a play Julie has always been a little bit obsessed with. Her twin sister Janice is cut out of the Italian connection – a relief to Julie, since Janice has always been the evil twin.

Upon arriving in Italy, the sheltered and naive Julie is accosted by whirling, complicated forces. Apparently she is descended from the ancient Tolomei family, in fact from Giulietta Tolomei, who seems to have been the real-life inspiration for Shakespeare’s play, whose romantic drama played out in 1340 Sienna. The Tolomeis have had a centuries-old rivalry with the Salimbeni family, and today’s Salimbeni matriarch befriends Julie – who we now know as Giulietta – with suspicious eagerness. There is an antagonistic Siennese man lurking around right from the start – and pardon my spoiler (because I don’t really think it is one), but you know how these mysterious antagonists are apt to turn into romantic interests…

Soon Julie/Giulietta is being stalked by faceless motorcycle riders, befriended or harassed by ancient cults, discovering centuries-old artifacts, and searching for a nameless treasure she thinks her mother – who she can’t really remember – has left for her in Sienna. She gradually learns that she is the modern-day Juliet, and only finding her Romeo will save the day, ending an ancient “curse on both your houses.” And, of course, the bitchy-to-the-point-of-caricature Janice shows up to muck up her adventures.

I was conflicted for most of this book. Often I was fascinated, or at least invested in the characters and wanting to know what happened. I was curious about the question of whether Julie was a little nuts – imagining things – and living out the ancestor-worship of beautiful, historic Sienna, or if there was an actual metaphysical/ghost story element to the book. In other words, would the mystery turn out to have supernatural causes, or were there merely real-life villains behind the smoke and mirrors? This question I will not answer for you, as it was one of the only sources of real suspense for me.

The biggest problem for me was some of the overwrought language Fortier employs. See my recent Teaser Tuesday for an especially ridiculous turn of phrase; and see also “…a wave of warm oblivion rolled onto the shore of my consciousness” or “…I wished more than ever that I could conk out just like her and fly away in a hazelnut shell, leaving behind my heavy heart” or “…the clues I needed were somehow bobbing around aloft, like newborn balloons trapped by a ceiling high, high over my head.” Newborn balloons? Really?? There was something else about her slipping through a doorway like a dryad between the cracks of time or something (I can’t find the passage right now). This style got in the way of my ability to focus on the story.

And the story was mostly good, but not always. For one thing, as alluded to above, certain elements of the romance were predictable. As I understand it, readers of typical romance novels do not care to be surprised; it’s okay if we know all along that Jack and Jill will end up together. But this, trying to be a little more of a suspense, was a touch predictable for my tastes (considering, too, that I’m not a reader of typical romance novels). There were definitely some moments when the characters left something to be desired, too. For example, the heroine realizes, when her inheritance turns out to be a dud at her beloved great aunt’s funeral, that maybe she was unwise to run up $20,000 in credit card debt while relying upon the expected inheritance. Her reaction does not seem to be that running up that kind of debt was unwise, but that it has turned out to be unwise in light of the absent inheritance. I have to say that this is not the most sympathetic quality to give your heroine if you want me to like her. She’s a little flimsy for my tastes. In addition, the pathetic nature of her self-loathing, and the supreme bitchiness of her infinitely more glamorous twin sister Janice, were too superlative to feel real. These are archetypes, not people.

But the characters grow and develop some, to be fair. Janice and Julie are both bigger, better people by the end, the romance is fairly satisfying, and the mystery is fairly well-resolved. This is not the most literary book you’ll find, nor the most deeply-felt or fully-wrought mystery or romance. But there is some suspense, and some enjoyable history and appreciation of Sienna – a lovely place I now want to see for myself. The characters are quirky and grew on me despite my protests. And even in my occasional frustration, I couldn’t put it down, so that’s a vote in favor.

Cassandra Campbell’s narration also gets a mixed review. Julie’s voice, with Southern twang, got on my nerves a little but also felt very realistic; the Italian accents I cannot judge for authenticity, but they felt right to my ignorant ear, and Alessandro the handsome Siennese antagonist came off as appropriately smoldering. Janice was almost intolerable – just as she was supposed to be. Both the twins’ voices were immature and verging on the Valley girl (in Southern translation) when they bickered: again, this was faithful to the story, but sometimes grating. In the end I give Campbell good marks; I was often bothered by the voices she played, but I think that was just her faithful portrayal of those in the book.

My final judgment seems to be that this was a fairly satisfactory book in the end, but I had my reservations throughout. It might work better for a lover of “pure” romance than it did for me, and I know it has its fans out there. Have you read this book? Please share your thoughts. I’m always interested in how these things grasp us differently.


Rating: 3 conifers.

hemingWay of the Day: as reported by his son Gregory


I’m stretching the definition of my hemingWay of the Day feature just a little bit. This is a quotation, not from Papa himself, but from Gregory H. Hemingway’s book Papa: A Personal Memoir. Here’s Gregory writing, and quoting his father.

He said he loved to read the Bible when he was seven or eight because it was so full of battles. “But I wasn’t much good reading at first, Gig, just like you. It was years before I realized that ‘Gladly, the cross I’d bear’ didn’t refer to a kindly animal. I could easily imagine a cross-eyed bear and Gladly seemed like such a lovely name for one.”

Isn’t that sort of darling? Aside from being funny, I think it’s a good example of what charmed me so much about Papa as seen through Gigi’s eyes: that he was often a tender and loving father. Here we see him reassuring his son the late reader. Gigi’s book is still resonating with me weeks afterward; isn’t it nice when a book does that for us?

Teaser Tuesdays: Down the River by Edward Abbey

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just open your current read to a random page and share a few sentences. Be careful not to include spoilers!


I am continuing to love Edward Abbey (with that one outlier, Black Sun). I’ve just started Down the River but had to quote from page 3, already, because I find these lines funny.

None of the essays in this book requires elucidation, other than to say, as in everything I write, they are meant to serve as antidotes to despair. Despair leads to boredom, electronic games, computer hacking, poetry, and other bad habits.

Poetry lovers (and poets), keep your sense of humor as you’re lumped into the same category as boredom and electronic games! Ha. This is a very Abbey moment, seems to me.

digest version Sunday Salon on a Monday

Sunday Salon: March 5, 2012

Hey, kids! Sorry to be a little hectic and brief here (and a day late with my Salon) on this Monday morning. I had a pleasantly full weekend: got our taxes files, did a few bike rides including a visit to the trails at the Sam Houston National Forest at Huntsville State Park, cleaned the house a bit and cooked up some yummy collard greens… I also watched the Bogart & Bacall film To Have and Have Notbased on the Hemingway novel of the same name. This was a Christmas present from my Pops (thanks, Pops!) and I’m glad I finally got around to it; there will be a movie review to come later this week, I promise. But in a nutshell, good stuff! And I wish I were a little fresher on the novel in my mind; I’m definitely rusty.

What else? Well, I’m still reading A Difficult Woman, Alice Kessler-Harris’s upcoming biography of Lillian Hellman, and that is still fascinating. I put down Ed Abbey’s Down the River to meet my deadline on the Hellman bio, and I’m itching to get back it; but then again, I’m running low on Abbey books on hand, so it makes sense to drag out the enjoyment a little bit. And I’m also just about done with Anne Fortier’s Julieton audio. I’m conflicted. I’m more annoyed than anything else, really, but occasionally fascinated, and for better or worse, I’m too invested in the story to back out now. So that’s not a ringing endorsement, but there we are. Reviews all around to come. Oh, and I had a nice visit to a beautiful library on Saturday that I’ll have to tell you about, too.

Finally, check out my new friend over at Critical Wit where I may be doing some guest hosting at some point – very exciting! Thanks Chris for the invitation!

The other busyness this weekend relates to the planning of more busyness: we’re currently working on two trips, to Ireland and to the Gila National Forest in New Mexico. Busy busy!

Sorry for the brief digest post this morning. How’s your week starting out?

First Lady of Fleet Street by Eilat Negev and Yehuda Koren

The biography of a pioneering female newspaper editor in early 20th-century London.


Rachel Sassoon was the heiress daughter of a wealthy Jewish businessman who was rooted in Baghdad but proud of the family’s new status after he moved them to London in 1860, while Rachel was still a baby. Only nine years old when her father died, Rachel’s options were increased by his fortune and broadened by his absence until, long past the standard marriageable age, and with considerable life experience behind her, she made what her family viewed as an unforgivable decision: she married Frederick Beer, who was also of Jewish ancestry but had converted to Christianity. (For this, Rachel was ostracized from the family until Frederick’s death, when a brother had her certified as “of unsound mind.”)

She found love with Frederick, but more importantly for posterity, she found a newspaper: Beer’s Observer drew her interest, but it took her own newspaper, the Sunday Times, to unleash Rachel’s creative and industrial spirit. She took on issues of women’s rights and suffrage, workers’ rights, the arts, criminal justice, and international political and social issues; the Sunday Times was for a decade Rachel Beer’s personal soapbox.

Eilat Negev and Yehuda Koren’s matter-of-fact portrayal of Rachel’s life sheds light on the experiences of women and people with Jewish backgrounds in her time, while the stories of the Beer and Sassoon families depict larger issues regarding the era’s immigration and business patterns. The First Lady of Fleet Street is an engaging snapshot of several aspects of early 20th-century life as seen through the lens of one remarkable woman.


This review originally ran in the March 2, 2012 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: 5 understudied women.

Bleed for Me by Michael Robotham

A darkly entertaining thriller with a surprisingly lovable hero.


Joe O’Loughlin is a semi-retired psychologist struggling to hold his marriage and family together while coping with Parkinson’s disease. After moving from London to a quiet small town to find some peace, Joe is trying to teach part-time at the local university, make up with his wife and be a good father to his teenage daughter, Charlie. But then Charlie’s best friend Sienna shows up one night covered in blood. She can’t remember what happened, but her father, a decorated ex-cop, has been murdered and it’s his blood on her hands. Joe is reluctantly talked into helping out with the investigation.

The mystery begins with the murder of Sienna’s father, but it quickly gets more complicated, until Joe is investigating decades-old crimes, a neo-Nazi gang and a schoolteacher’s past–all while trying to understand Sienna’s wounded psyche. Of course, he’s also still trying to patch things up with his wife and Charlie.

Bleed for Me, Michael Robotham’s fourth novel featuring Joe O’Loughlin, is fast-paced, disturbing, gritty and complex, with a highly charismatic narrator and hero. As the well-meaning and earnest Joe turns rogue investigator, puts his own life at risk and battles Parkinson’s all at the same time, he easily earns the reader’s compassion. His unlikely friends (including a bitter but loving ex-cop) make for surprising moments of humor, and the suspense keeps the reader ducking surprise blows.


This review originally ran in the February 28, 2012 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: 4 pagesofjulia.

book beginnings on Friday: A Difficult Woman: The Challenging Life and Times of Lillian Hellman by Alice Kessler-Harris

Thanks to Katy at A Few More Pages for hosting this meme. To participate, share the first line or two of the book you are currently reading and, if you feel so moved, let us know what your first impressions were based on that first line.

Alice Kessler-Harris is a well-respected author and historian, and here she tackles the formidable subject of Lillian Hellman. I am not terribly familiar with Hellman, so this book is my introduction, and so far it looks like it will be a fine one. I love biographies of ambiguous, contradictory, not-entirely-loveable characters; they’re so much more interesting than altogether sympathetic or entirely monstrous ones!

For this Happy Friday today I will be sharing several snippets, because I feel like it. First of all, Kessler-Harris opens her introduction with a quotation I loved:

If a man could say nothing against a character but what he can prove, history could not be written; for a great deal is known of men of which proof cannot be brought.
–John Boswell, The Life of Samuel Johnson

I love this idea, and the implication that history involves the unproveable, unavoidably. Beware! This quotation is followed by Kessler-Harris’s first sentences:

In 1976, aged seventy-one, playwright and memoirist Lillian Hellman posed in a mink coat for a resonant advertisement. Cigarette in hand, gazing insouciantly at the camera, Hellman claimed the legendary status she craved.

Indeed. Beginning her introduction with a description of that remarkable photograph (below) really evokes her subject right at the beginning. The photo in question:

The first chapter, however, returns to a standard biography’s beginning:

Beautiful Julia Newhouse, daughter of a wealthy southern family, married Max Hellman–who had nothing to recommend him but charm–in 1904. A year later, Julia gave birth to a child they called Lillian Florence Hellman.

These unadorned sentences tell us a little something about Julia & Max, which I appreciate. Hellman’s story is fascinating, and so far I really enjoy the way Kessler-Harris is portraying it, with the context of her time & place fully involved.

This quotation comes from an uncorrected advance proof and is subject to change.

guest review: Running the Rift by Naomi Benaron, from Pops

I spotted this title when it was released (in January) and bought it for my Pops – he’ll explain why that was an obvious move, below – and he has graciously written us a review. I’m always glad to have his insightful and well-written book reviews! With no further ado, Pops.

I am a runner; and for more than 3 decades I have been casually collecting fiction having something to do with running. This is a very small niche; so you either can’t be too selective as a literary critic, or you end up with a very small collection. I am such a glutton for the subject that I have read through all levels of writing expertise top to bottom, usually finding “average” entertainment value – and usually centered on running, with a story woven in. All of which makes it pretty special to enjoy the occasional literary gem on this narrow bookshelf.

Even at first mention, the title Running the Rift had my attention. I needed no explanation to surmise the connection between running and the famed Rift valley in Africa. A quick notice of Barbara Kingsolver’s perky book cover endorsement (“culturally rich and completely engrossing”) and the Bellwether Prize for Fiction winner’s medal sharpened my interest. But none of this prepared me for what lies between the covers.

This is not a “book about running”; rather, it is the rare work of fine literature that features a boy who just happens to love running. (For that, I suspect we can thank an author who just happens to be a triathlete.) This is a love story: a love story within family, and about connections to physical and cultural place, more than the trite “love of country.” And it is a coming of age love story between adolescents. But it is so much more, because the story occurs in Rwanda in the 1990’s when that country was the scene of an unspeakable and terrible genocide committed by neighbor upon neighbor.

Rather than explore the colonial, political, economic and social roots of this fratricidal event in history, the story focuses on our main characters and their families, Tutsi and Hutu both, as their lives are torn by forces beyond their grasp. Accounts of the brutal killings are awful to read, as is the gradual approach to the event since we know what’s coming. But it is the richness of the characters, their love of life and family – and, yes, country – that carries us along.

Personally, I was also carried along by an appreciation that the story is based in history – a history we should know better, since these events were truly “unspeakable,” under-reported and poorly understood by much of the world. And of course I was captured by our main character, a boy who truly loves to run and manages to run through one of humankind’s worst moments into manhood and a promising future.

Thank you, Pops, for this lovely review; you’ve certainly convinced me of the value of this book. I’m so glad you liked it, too; I knew very little about it when it caught my eye but it sounds like my instinct was on target. 🙂

Because Pops asked for them, I’ve linked to some other reviews of the book for your reference.

The verdict appears to be a resounding “read this book now.” Thanks for sharing, Pops.

two-wheeled thoughts: Willie Weir on portaging

two-wheeled thoughts

A bicycle is freedom when you’re riding it; it’s a millstone when you’re not.

–Willie Weir, “Back Roads and Back Waters,” India section, Spokesongs

Portaging one’s bicycle is always a drag. Then again, some of us choose to race cyclocross. 🙂