Killing for Keeps by Mari Hannah

Doing another short-short review of this fifth book in the DCI Kate Daniels series.

Pros: compelling plot; compulsively readable. I continue to care about the protagonist even though she frustrates me with her choices! I remain fully invested in Kate’s character arc, and would have immediately dived into book six if I had had it handy. I love secondary character Hank Gormley even more.

Cons: the writing does continue to take me out of the story, only momentarily, but over and over. There continue to be too many ‘things’ where a better noun is almost always available. Some logical leaps don’t feel quite earned for me. (I’m so sorry I did not make note of these for examples. It’s a credit to the book that I wasn’t motivated to go find a pen. Or, I was camping in below-freezing weather and didn’t want to get out of bed.) Each book’s murder mystery plot is electric, but Kate’s romantic difficulties feel stalled and I wish we would get a move on.

What can I say? The pros are absolutely winning and I suspect I’m going to rocket through the next few books as I get a hold of them. But not without qualifications. I wonder if I’ve just been missing the genre; I’m going to try Kate Atkinson next. Any other tips?


Rating: 7 parakeets.

Fatal Games by Mari Hannah

Book four in the DCI Kate Daniels series (following most recently Deadly Deceit) is Fatal Games, for me the most successful to date. I’ve enjoyed each of the previous three books, but always with some reservations, and wishing for a bit more of Daniels’ personal side, feeling she was a bit underdeveloped, perhaps. This time something finally really clicked for me. Don’t get me wrong: the fact that I’m still here for book four means something was working, but this one knocked it out of the park in a new way.

For one thing, I felt that we got into some personal life: not so much that of Kate herself, actually, but especially a few other characters. In fact, I’m beginning to buy that Kate is truly defined by an absence of personal life! (This is not a new message from the author, but maybe it took some convincing.) Secondary characters have more layers: I really like Daniels’ second in command, Hank, who is a real friend as well as professional Watson type. Her ex, Jo, also a professional colleague, is definitely more well rounded. And now we meet Emily, a friend to the rest, who appears mid-crisis: recently widowed, she has just returned to work as a prison psychologist, not the least stressful job to begin with, let alone grieving and struggling to parent a grieving twenty-year-old to boot. When further trauma presents itself – this being a murder-mystery series, friends – Emily does not cope well. Kate is perhaps not showing her best self when she says that her friend is “acting as mad as a box of frogs,” but she’s not exactly wrong, either. One character in particular gave me the creeps; I was not sure if he was going to turn out to be an actual bad guy (in the murder-mystery sense) or ‘just’ a really toxic dude, but ew. Throw in a manipulative psychotic sex offender and a few prison guards of questionable moral standing, and you’ve got a motley crew.

The mystery was properly complex, the cast of characters increasingly compelling, Kate herself showing the usual conflict between wanting to have a life outside work and being incapable of it. It started working for me in this book like it hasn’t before. I could feel her wanting, and trying, and then being consumed once again by the job – which, to be fair, is pretty soul-consuming, and it’s hard to be angry with someone for wanting to solve crimes and save lives… but if you’re her prospective partner, you do want some of her attention. Poor Jo.

The plot, which I’ve not even touched on yet, does involve murdered young girls. There are some truly heinous criminals. And even the law-abiding ones ostensibly on the ‘right’ side can offer some frustrations. It’s a hard-boiled mystery – note that blurb on the front cover that credits Hannah with ‘a dark heart.’ I’m on board like never before.


Rating: 8 gifts.

Soulstar by C. L. Polk

Book three of the Kingston Cycle does not disappoint. It did feel somewhat like a shift in tone for me, and changed up my pacing. But I am a big fan of Polk and hope they’re at work on more like this.

In this installment we see a new protagonist again: Robin Thorpe, who we knew in the first two books as a nurse, Miles’s dear friend, and a witch of the less-privileged, illegal sort. She is also an activist and an important member of the movement to free the witches from asylums and gain some basic human rights for all citizens. She was suspicious of Grace at first (for which I don’t blame her), but also a big enough person to remain open-hearted and learn to trust. (This process we also saw with Grace learning to accept Tristan over her original prejudices.) We’re building communities and coalitions: Robin working with her people, including the Solidarity movement, and their elected official; Robin, Miles, Tristan, and Grace working together and with the Amaranthines for the good of Aeland and its people. Trust has to develop slowly and naturally in several of these relationships; the process is slow and messy, but it’s working.

Early in the book, we have a bit of a revelation. One of the freed witches is Robin’s spouse, Zelind. Mere kids when they married in secret, they are now reunited, but only after decades of separation and trauma. Robin will now navigate the political activist roller coaster she’s entered into, while also trying to reintegrate a longed-for relationship with some profound challenges. Zelind of course turns out to have some talents to offer as well, aside from being Robin’s love.

It was my feeling that Soulstar takes a darker turn than the previous two books. The stakes are getting higher, or the problems the reader is aware of are getting bigger – they’re not new, but we’re getting deeper into this world and learning more. As I’ve said before, this world’s problems are easily seen as analogous to our own.

Grace led us through the gilded reception hall, looking neither left nor right at the people lifting priceless works of art from the walls. It pricked my conscience until I turned my face up to behold our reflections in the mirrored tiles in the ceiling fixed together by gold moldings. Solid gold, I remembered from the time we trooped into the palace as schoolchildren to stare at all the finery I now understood to be hoarded wealth. The taxes of five hundred clan houses held those mirrors together. The wealth in that ceiling could fed the entire country for a year. This ostentation and greed had to end.

The dream team our leaders are putting together is up for this dismantling if anyone is, but the bad guys’ power is considerable and they’re not giving up easily. There was one special challenge mounted late in the book that about broke my will, although luckily these characters are tougher than I am.

Race has been a sort of understated issue throughout the trilogy. Class and privilege make up an obvious one, and climate change, and politically, we’re moving towards self-determination and communal systems of support. The issue of race is less clear: characters are sometimes noted as being Black or white, or described in terms that imply race (blonde, dreadlocked, dark skin), and privilege sometimes lines up with race, but I think not always. I’m not certain how this is meant to be read, whether we’re looking at a mostly-race-stratified society or simply a diverse one. Queer relationships have also been centered throughout. Book one saw a romance between two men, book two featured one between two women, and in book three, Robin is rejoined to her nonbinary spouse. (We also see a triangle marriage buck against Aeland’s societal norms, although it’s not unusual in Samindan culture.) Queerness seems to encounter some raised eyebrows, but not enormous resistance (the triangle marriage is much less accepted).

As another note, now that I’ve got all three books in me, I want to appreciate the covers, which are visually pleasing and offer some clue as to setting, and feature modes of transportation associated with the protagonist of each: a man on a bicycle for Miles on the cover of Witchmark; two figures in a coach for Grace (Stormsong); and now a couple skating for Robin in Soulstar. It’s a neat nod to the world Polk has built here.

As a trilogy: fantasy, world-building, romance, allegory, lovely writing and beautiful details, easy immersion. This writer is a great talent. I hope there is so much more to come, whether in Aeland or anywhere else Polk chooses to take me.


Rating: 8 sweaters.

Stormsong by C. L. Polk

Book two in the Kingston Cycle is every bit as riveting and delicious as the first, and I immediately opened book three upon its conclusion, so fair warning there. As is my practice, this review will contain mild spoilers for book one but not this book.

Witchmark‘s narrator and protagonist was Miles, but having seen him through danger and triumph and into the beginning of a delightful new romance, we are moving on to a new central character: Miles’s sister the indomitable Dame Grace Hensley narrates and stars in Stormsong. I was only sad for a moment; Grace is an exciting woman to follow, and anyway Miles is still on the scene, and his partner Tristan plays at least as big a role. (Miles is recuperating from injuries sustained in the big crescendo finish to Witchmark.) Many common threads continue: political intrigue as well as familial, as Grace and Miles’ family is one of the most powerful in the land. Romance, as Grace finds her own love, although she must navigate it amid all that intrigue. Self-actualization. “You make me want to be better… you know exactly who you are, even if it’s not what you’re supposed to be.” There are some neat instances of thinly veiled reference to our real world, as with worsening weather patterns (and the people demanding the government control the weather – which in this case is possible, because witches), and labor and civic unrest. Crime and punishment, just government and revolution, compromise and how to best run a country: it’s huge stuff, but it’s also still a sweet story of relationships, romantic love and siblinghood and respectful alliances. Oh, and I think I failed to say with book one, Polk writes really tantalizing food and the details of things like fashion which don’t usually interest me but do here. But especially food.

These books have momentum and atmosphere. The world-building is well thought out, which I think is evident for any series that shifts its focus between protagonists with each novel. They are sumptuous stories to get lost in, while dealing with serious themes. I’m impressed. And I’m already well into book three, so stay tuned.


Rating: 8 outfits on the bed.

repost: No Son of Mine by Jonathan Corcoran

This is a repost of an earlier review, because this moving book has just become available today.


Disclosure: Jon has taught as guest faculty in my MFA program. I admire his work and he is a dear friend.


I found this memoir remarkable. It encompasses much in terms of its time span and the bigger events in the world, and Jon accomplishes something special by being raw and vulnerable, and never self-indulgent. I think the struggles he portrays here will offer something to any reader, because we are all struggling to navigate even the closest of relationships. I am impressed by the writing in terms of that larger storytelling and meaning-making, as well as line by line.

Corcoran grew up in a small town in West Virginia that is just a few minutes’ drive from where I live now. (It’s always a little exciting to read a place written well that you personally know, and I did enjoy that part here. Elkins is not perfect, but I think this author has handled it with respect for both positive and negative qualities.) As a gay kid, he suffered in the town, in the evangelical church his family attended, and in his family itself. He did some secretive explorations of sexuality in West Virginia (not too dissimilar, I think, from those in The Rope Swing, which is however fiction), but did not live as an openly gay man until he left for college at Brown University. Coming from poverty, Brown was both a great accomplishment and a shock: a wider world, but rarified, and Jon was a foreigner to many of his peers and professors there. It’s at Brown that he met Sam.

In his second year at Brown, Jon is in Portland, Maine, with his boyfriend, Sam, meeting Sam’s family for the first time. It’s his twentieth birthday when his mother calls, seething with what she’s discovered. Jon confirms that he is gay. “You are no longer my son,” she says, and she hangs up. This leaves him traumatized, trying to finish college with no financial or emotional or any other kind of support, with no family, and no options, surrounded by Ivy League administrators whose understanding of what all this means is so poor that he is advised to take a year off and travel. His mother spends the next six months calling in the early morning and waking him up to tell him he will die of AIDS or go to hell, or both.

Jon and his mother spend years–fifteen years, the rest of her life–being estranged and trying again, having massive, blow-up fights and years of silence, and abuse and toxicity and cautious attempts at peace and acceptance. Her bad behavior is horribly, shockingly bad. But tangled up with the bad is the fact that this is his mother, his caretaker, whom he has loved, and who still (somewhere, twistedly) loves him, and misses him when they are on the outs. It’s a level of trauma that’s hard to fathom if you haven’t lived it. But as a narrator, he does a good job of describing its effects, including a mistrust of memory and various physical ailments. It also poses some challenges for his relationship with Sam, which will continue until they eventually marry, and into the present.

This is a memoir of trying to reconcile a parent that the narrator loves, his memories of her and of his hometown, with the pain inflicted at the hands of that same person (and place). It’s all a puzzle, to question the causes, to wonder how much forgiveness is due to such a figure. It’s a memoir that is also an assay, both a personal narrative and an exploration of ideas. “…some part of my brain is perpetually trying to explain her actions, to find the root cause for them, and what this really comes dangerously close to is the notion that her actions have an excuse, that if I searched hard and long enough the hurt and pain she caused me can be written away. But she hurt more, a voice says, and I don’t doubt that. So here I am, operating the world’s worst justice system from the recesses of my brain.” “I do not know how to balance all the pain she caused with all the pain she felt.”

There’s a lot to appreciate here, and a lot of wisdom that I think will help just about anybody. Not to say answers, but wise observations about one man’s experience. Most of us are wrestling with difficult, tangled-up relationships where abuse and love meet; many of us are struggling with what to take and what to leave about a family or a place. “I hear her laugh, hear the crinkle of her dyed-blonde hair. I rub her cracked feet, feel her hand on my back. I smell her nicotine fingers. There is her cup of Lipton tea in the little ceramic mug that is white with flowers around the brim. I taste the milky black tea. And I say, I don’t want to lose this all. I don’t want to lose what made me.” There is also some lovely writing here. If the story itself is often difficult, there’s a remarkable amount of grace, beauty, and hope. I think it’s a book for anybody and everybody. Thank you, Jon, for sharing so much in a way that feels both raw and wide-open, and careful and thoughtful. I’m awed.


Rating: 9 paper bags.

Witchmark by C. L. Polk

I really enjoyed this magical alternative history or speculative fiction, with mystery, intrigue, romance, and bicycles! What a treat. Happily, it’s first in a trilogy. I’ve already purchased books two and three.

I was calling this setting Victorian-esque, in my head; the back of the book calls it Edwardian, which is a smallish distinction (the two eras abut), and this is not really my area of expertise, and anyway this is an alternative world, without an Edward or a Victoria at the helm. In a British-type major city called Kingston, Miles Singer, a veteran of the ongoing war, works as a psychiatrist at a veterans’ hospital. We meet him as he’s asked to send 16 patients home to free up their beds for the next round of returning soldiers. This is an impossible task for Miles; his patients are suffering and cannot yet care for themselves. He’s been working to discover the nature of the dangerous sickness that plagues them. And oh yes, he has to hide his magical powers and his true identity. Miles has been on the run for years from his powerful family of mages, who would enslave him to use his lesser powers to support those of his sister. They are involved in some national- and world-scale political connivings that he’d rather have nothing to do with, although he does miss his sister. A strange man brought to the hospital on the brink of death, a handsome stranger, and an unfortunate surprise at a donors’ dinner together offer a major disruption to Miles’s quiet life. He has a dangerous mystery to solve, patients to care for, his own need for privacy to attend to. But there might be more still.

Miles rides a bicycle! And the rules and etiquette for bicycles on the busy Kingston streets are elaborate. There is one remarkable bicycle *chase* that I’m still thrilled about. This feels like a period-appropriate detail and obviously pleases me immensely.

I love the world-building here, and how class plays into the significance of different types of magic. And the slow-burn love affair is stimulating, both for plot and world-building and for the reader who simply wants to see good-hearted Miles happy and comfortable. The story has momentum; I could easily have stayed up all night in a delicious binge session (instead I took three rapid days). Witchmark ends on a high, hopeful note, leaving me excited for book two. C.L. Polk is one to watch. Please join me.


Rating: 8 egg knots.

A Wounded Deer Leaps Highest by Charlie J. Stephens

In a town beset by poverty and violence, an unusual child turns to the natural world for comfort in this novel of suffering and tenderness.

A Wounded Deer Leaps Highest is a heart-wrenching first novel by Charlie J. Stephens that incorporates moments of beauty in a traumatizing coming-of-age tale. In the 1980s, eight-year-old Smokey Washington lives with their mother in Moss River, Oregon, a small town beset by poverty, violence, and a shortage of options for improving one’s lot, but surrounded by vibrant natural life. As Smokey’s situation worsens, they turn increasingly toward that outside world, seeking solace in dirt, deer, and trees. The tragedies that befall Smokey and their family and neighbors will disturb even jaded and strong-stomached readers, but notes of stark truth and tenderness filter through. A will to live pervades these pages from beginning to end.

Moss River is inundated with violence against women and children, from the opening scene (“Stop TJ, you’re hurting me”) through a PBS special about the death of a mother gazelle (“It’s just the rules of nature”), and throughout Smokey’s childhood. Smokey’s mom dates a series of men who hurt her and hurt Smokey, a child who engages with animals and the outdoors more than with people, and who doesn’t fall into a gender binary. With a friend, Smokey wonders, at the sound of a gunshot, “which of the men we know might have shot the gun and who he might have shot. We worried about our moms with their bruises and their need….”

Stephens gives the child narrator a wise, inquisitive voice that feels perfectly suited to Smokey’s age and distinctive personality. Through Smokey’s point of view, readers follow an increasingly grim story, dreading the multiplying wounds that begin to feel inevitable. While Mom tries to care for Smokey, she cannot always protect them; nevertheless, she is a woman with moments of startling, defiant strength.

Smokey’s descriptions and perspective are insightful, often surprising, and lovely. Mom drinks steaming coffee and smokes Lucky Strikes; Smokey wonders if “evaporating the things she loves is her most practiced spell.” Smokey sees her as a crow in her black jacket; for themself, they hope to grow up and become a deer. In a world with few apparent escape routes, the woods hold great appeal. “I want to spend more time low to the ground…. I want my animal body. I want to get it back.”

A Wounded Deer Leaps Highest offers a harrowing and wholly realistic story of suffering, but also a message about resiliency, the healing power of nature, and simple survival. “Being alive can sometimes feel like a miracle, even as you let it go.” Stephens’s debut will shock its readers with love, pain, and fresh perspective.


This review originally ran in the February 2, 2024 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.


Rating: 7 darting eyes.

Upright Women Wanted by Sarah Gailey

My biggest question about this book is, is this the beginning of a series? Because it was so short and maybe a little bit rushed but also left us absolutely on the edge of a sequel, and I’m interested in finding out more.

Upright Women Wanted is under 200 pages, set in an alternative American Southwest under a totalitarian regime with strict control of information and vigilante troops of bandit-sheriffs running small towns. Esther has just run away from home to escape a forced marriage to the former fiancé of her best friend, following that best friend’s execution (by Esther’s father) for possession of resistance literature. The dead best friend was also her secret partner. Esther stows away in a Librarian’s book wagon, hoping the Librarians can straighten her out, in more ways than one, but they will instead open a wider and far more dangerous world than she’d previously imagined. And it might just be a good thing.

Some of the character development and romance goes by a bit more quickly than might have been most satisfying. If queer librarian resisters, spies, and assassins on horseback sound exciting, you should check this one out. That said, there might not be much more than you just saw in the preview. But again, it’s a short little novel, and pretty action packed, and I’m prepared to be excited about book two. Is there a book two??


Rating: 7 synth-pouches of wine.

The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea by Maggie Tokuda-Hall

There’s a little bit of everything in this unusual fantasy novel for older kids or young adults (or any of us, obviously). Sweet, heartwarming, and surprisingly bloody, The Mermaid, the Witch and the Sea offers mermaids, pirates, and young love. Imagine a bit of Treasure Island, but gender-bending and with a greater emphasis on political workings and class divisions. And magic.

We open with a murder on a pirate ship, then shift to high tea in a house of wealth and privilege. In the first scene, a teenaged boy named Florian earns his keep, having gambled on a life of piracy to save him and his brother from a life of deprivation and scant survival on the streets of the Imperial capital city. In the second, a girl named Evelyn chafes at the bounds of her household, where she enjoys status but not the love of her parents, who plan to send her away to be married to a man none of the family has ever met. Evelyn winds up on the same ship as Florian, where loyalties are split between factions supporting the Empire (who have colonized almost all of the known world, to the discontent of many) and the Pirate Supreme, who serves the Sea. “The Pirate Supreme’s forces were the only thing standing in the way of complete Imperial rule on the open sea. If pirates could still disrupt the merchants, still stymie the trade routes, then the Imperialists could not claim full control. Every robbery, every kidnapping, every galleon destroyed was a protest against the Emperor.” Some loyalties have yet to reveal themselves. And oh, Florian is also Flora, whose pronouns and identity as ‘boy’ or ‘girl’ shift throughout the story. “Both, maybe, but not neither.” “Both were equally true to her” (or him); “neither told the whole story.” Florian is Black and Evelyn is something like Japanese, although these seem to be descriptive details rather than identities that affect status or prejudice in their world.

Flora has lived life on the margins, making hard choices, fighting for life in the most basic ways. Evelyn has suffered a different kind of privation, unloved and lacking agency, but has never imagined the kinds of challenges Flora has faced. The two have much to learn from each other. And I haven’t even mentioned the effects of mermaid blood or its price on the open market, the scarcity of witches in Imperial colonies, or the far-seeing powers of a conscious Sea.

Delightful, weird, fanciful, queer coming-of-age with murder and magic. Violence, rather than sex, may recommend a readership in their teens more than their tweens, depending on blood tolerance, but the themes are solid: finding oneself, living one’s truth, navigating ethical puzzles, being a good friend. And it’s a page-turner to boot.


Rating: 7 haircuts.

Maximum Shelf: The Safekeep by Yael van der Wouden

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 January 17, 2024.


Yael van der Wouden’s first novel, The Safekeep, explores the rural Dutch landscape in the years following World War II through the life of a lonely, sheltered woman reluctantly forging new bonds. In what is largely a closed-in, personal story with a solitary protagonist, van der Wouden also examines larger issues in the social context of Dutch postwar society.

The story is set in 1961, in a rural Dutch province that has largely recovered from war, on its surface. Isabel has spent her life tucked away in the house where her family relocated from Amsterdam during the war. An uncle found the place for them, and 11-year-old Isabel took up residence with her mother, younger brother Hendrik and elder brother Louis. Eventually, their mother died and the brothers moved away, but Isabel stayed, believing there was nowhere else for her. She keeps the house meticulously, polishing dishes and micromanaging a series of beleaguered maids. “She belonged to the house in the sense that she had nothing else, no other life than the house, but the house, by itself, did not belong to her.” She lunches occasionally with Hendrik, less often with Louis. In her lonely, strictly regimented life, the house is Isabel’s constant, the thing she can control, her greatest comfort.

The Safekeep opens in her garden. While digging out late-season vegetables, Isabel finds a shard of broken ceramic, “Blue flowers along the inch of a rim, the suggestion of a hare’s leg where the crockery had broken. It had once been a plate, which was part of a set–her mother’s favourite…. There was no explanation for the broken piece, for where it had come from and why it had been buried. None of Mother’s plates had ever gone missing.” This beginning offers an early clue that Isabel’s understanding of the house and its contents, of her own personal history, may be flawed.

Further disruptions follow. Hendrik, a steadfast supporter of his solitary sister, nevertheless lives a life she hasn’t come to terms with. He lives with a man; this makes Isabel uncomfortable. Worse, Louis brings yet another young woman, Eva, to a dinner with his siblings. Eva sets Isabel on edge for reasons Isabel does not understand. Additionally, any serious liaison for Louis implies a threat to Isabel, who is permitted to stay in the house only until Louis (its intended inheritor) settles down to start a family. Worse yet, at Louis’s insistence, Eva comes to stay at the house with Isabel while he is on a trip: Isabel is horrified to be made to share her space with a woman she despises.

The tension in the house rises to a nearly unbearable pitch. Isabel habitually suspects her maids of stealing, and now suspects Eva, whose own history is murky, as well. Isabel obsessively inventories china dishes, silverware, and items of décor, counting spoons and watching Eva’s every move. She cleans and displays and relocates the mysterious shard of plate from the garden, imbuing this small object with outsized power. Eva’s presence continues to feel inexplicable. Louis’s return from abroad, to collect Isabel’s unwanted houseguest, is delayed. Tensions continue to build.

Van der Wouden excels in surprises, including changes in tone. The Safekeep remains, almost in its entirety, nearly claustrophobic in its focus on Isabel’s commitment to her family home. “Bound to the house, [Hendrik] said. As if it was a tether and not a shelter. And not her own love, too.” But this tightly bound, insular story of one woman’s struggle finally zooms out, with near dizzying quickness, to engage with larger questions. An old friend of Isabel’s mother is preoccupied with a dish that was given to her “to keep” before the war, by a neighbor who now wants it back. This friend believes it is hers now; the neighbor disagrees. “What does it matter, gifting, keeping? She gave it to me. It was a terrible time. She was gone for years.” As its title hints, van der Wouden’s novel will puzzle over various meanings of safekeeping. Likewise, the sparsely populated story is punctuated by passages of erotic writing that surprise as much by their loveliness as by their departure from the book’s otherwise lonely atmosphere. Not only the story of one family’s struggle or Isabel’s quiet pain, The Safekeep addresses themes of yearning, possession, the difficulties of Dutch recovery from World War II and of same-sex couples’ experiences in a society still regaining its feet.

In the end, like a country recovering from a trauma, Isabel must step outside her space of comfort and familiarity in order to learn and grow. “Isabel tested one [of the frozen canals] with her foot, and found it solid, and then stood on it in wonder: a miracle, she thought, to stand so solidly on what could also engulf you.” Van der Wouden communicates and implies much with a minimalist style that is often quietly, shockingly, beautiful. “The shadows lifted as though they’d only been glimpsed under the hem of a skirt–the lift on an arm, secrets of the body that only unfolded for the night.” The Safekeep is a slow-burning, deceptively austere novel, whose subtle, crafty questions and lovely, lyric style will follow the reader long after its conclusion.


Rating: 8 pears.

Come back Friday for my interview with van der Wouden.