Tag Archives: historical-fiction

Happy Land by Dolen Perkins-Valdez

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Calling something your own is a powerful prayer and there was God in it.

This is sacred ground for my family. I graze the tips of the grass with my palm as I wonder about their stories. Who were my people, and what had they sought on this mountain? I’ve never done any kind of family research, never had enough of a family to even know where to start, but now I’m beginning to realize, since arriving here, how much this missing hole goes beyond a decade-long spat.

When Veronica (Nikki) Lovejoy-Berry, a D.C. real estate agent, receives a summons from her long unseen grandmother in North Carolina, she senses the urgency and hurries down. Grandma is getting on, but remains self-reliant and reasonably spry.

Mother Rita was insistent—I need your help and if you come down here I will tell you everything your Mama hasn’t told you about our family. It wasn’t exactly an invitation I could refuse.

Mom and Grandma had become estranged many years earlier, erecting a wall between grandmother and granddaughter as well. During her visit Nikki is regaled with a tale that has a magical aura. The place where her grandmother lives was once called Happy Land. It was a community formed in the post-Civil-War period by freed slaves, not as a typical American town or village, but in the image of the communities from which the ancestors of its members had been taken. These people decided to create a kingdom, with a king and queen, as their ancestors had had in Africa.

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Dolen Perkins-Velez – image from Torch Literary Arts

The story alternates between the contemporary struggle of Mother Rita to retain ownership of her land, as she fills her granddaughter in on the history of the place, and the tale of one of the original settlers of the kingdom, its first queen, Luella Bobo. We are given a very up-close-and-personal look at what life was like in the 1870s, the closing years of Reconstruction, for freed slaves, what it took to establish themselves both personally and as communities, what obstacles they had to overcome. It offers an eye-opening perspective for any who are not very familiar with the era.

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Working the Fields illustration by Erwin Sherman

Nikki is not on a mission. She is tired, struggling and unsatisfied with her life. She is eager to quickly resolve whatever it is that Mother Rita wants of her and dash back to DC as quickly as possible. She has no particular interest in history, family or other, which makes her a fair every-person stand-in for readers. It is through her POV that we slowly gain an appreciation for the importance of knowing one’s personal, and family history, and the significance of the land as an anchor for that connection. The novel is based on real events.

While researching Black history in western North Carolina, I stumbled on an article about this kingdom outside of Hendersonville. It was just a local newspaper, and I thought, “What is that?” It was a very brief article with an illustration showing that there had been this Black community during Reconstruction in the mountains. – from the Rumpus interview

Mother Rita does her best to pass on to Nikki the lore and knowledge she has tended her entire life.

All my life, I’ve been part of a small family circle. By the time my daddy was 20, both of his parents had passed away. He and Mama, with their desire to build a family out of nothing, were a perfect match for each other in that way. The two of them against the world. For me, not having a sibling or even a cousin has been the only existence I’ve ever known. Now here I am, walking beside my grandmother on acres and acres of land that my people have inhabited for over a hundred years. It’s hard to put how I’m feeling into words other than to say I’m dizzy with grief. I didn’t know you could mourn something you never had.

One element is the connection to the outdoors that Rita is able to spark in her grandchild, teaching her to appreciate gardening, and to pass on her considerable expertise. Nikki slowly finds herself able to step back from her urban self to find a connection with and a love for the sights, scents, the tactile feel of this other sort of place.

After the Great Migration, so many Black people ended up concentrated in cities, and we often forget that we are fundamentally a rural people. You don’t have to go back many generations to a grandmother or a great-grandfather who was a country person. – from The Rumpus interview

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Cross Anchor, a remote township in southern Spartanburg County, S.C., was home to the founders of the Kingdom of the Happy Land before and just after the Civil War. – image from Blue Ridge Archive

A particular revelation is a particular legal mechanism used by the greedy and unscrupulous to cheat people, black people in particular, out of their land. It is remarkable just how much land was taken this way. Less surprising was the abuse of the criminal system to intimidate blacks who owned land, or aspired to do so. Equal treatment before the law remained a dream deferred. This gives the novel particular resonance in a time when the Deconstruction of the Trump era seeks to turn the clock back to an age before legal protections existed.

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The Kingdom by Erwin Sherman

That said, Happy Land presents a message of hope. Whatever one may think of the royal approach those people favored, they took the opportunity presented by the end of slavery to make decisions for themselves, to organize their own community, to develop their own businesses, to participate in an equal way with the commerce of the area beyond their enclave. Even emerging from the horrors of enslavement, and suffering the ongoing oppression of those who preferred the ownership of human beings as property, these people kept the light of possibility alive. It is a surprising and moving story, which offers us historical reason to keep our spirits receptive to the need for and possibility of hope in an increasingly dark time.

In fall of 1873, a group of freedpeople left Spartanburg County, South Carolina, headed north across the state line into North Carolina. Near Zirconia, North Carolina, the people established a remote community that they called a kingdom. They named a king and queen, formed a communal treasury, and eventually purchased 205 acres of land in 1882 from John Davis, land that was spread across the North Carolina–South Carolina state line. Approximately half was deeded to Luella Montgomery and the other half to Robert Montgomery.
At its height, it is believed the kingdom numbered over two hundred people.
– from the Author’s Note

Review posted – 6/6/25

Publication date – 4/8/25

I received an ARE of Happy Land from Berkley in return for a fair review. Thanks, folks, and thanks to NetGalley for facilitating.

This review is cross-posted on Goodreads. Stop by and say Hi!

=======================================EXTRA STUFF

Links to the author’s personal, FB, Instagram, and Twitter pages

Interviews
—–The Rumpus – The Kingdom of Happy Land: A Conversation with Dolen Perkins-Valdez by NEFERTITI ASANTI – APRIL 28, 2025
—–NPR – Author Dolen Perkins-Valdez discusses her new novel ‘Happy Land’ by Michael Martin
—–May 2025 Feature: Dolen Perkins-Valdez by Jae Nichelle – begins down on the page, after the excerpt
—–Writers Digest – Dolen Perkins-Valdez: On History’s Untold Stories – More about her prior novel, but still quite interesting

My reviews of earlier work by Perkins-Velez
—–2010 – Wench
—–2022 – Take My Hand

Item of Interest from the author
—–Torch Literary Arts – excerpt – Chapter 4

Items of Interest
—–OurState.com – Lost & Found: The Kingdom of the Happy Land by Brad Campbell
—–Blue Ridge Archive – Welcome to the Kingdom of the Happy Land

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Filed under American history, Fiction, Historical Fiction, Literary Fiction, Reviews

Murder at Gulls Nest by Jess Kidd

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This is a house that keeps her secrets well hidden. Her yew trees whisper together in their dour huddles and her windows reflect nothing more than the darkening sky.

Gulls Nest may be quiet but Nora does not feel at peace here. Who knows what dark thoughts are brewing, what chaos is being hatched? In her old life Nora was a ship anchored firmly to the bedrock. Tumultuous waves might come and go but she knew she had a lifeline. At Gulls Nest she feels like a frantically bobbing cork in an unfriendly ocean.

Nora Breen is late of a monastery, having spent the last thirty years as Sister Agnes. A young nun had left the sisterhood, but promised to write back regularly. The sudden absence of these letters is the prompt for Nora’s sudden travels. Frieda had been staying at a seaside hotel, Gulls Nest, in Gore-on-Sea, so that is where Nora begins her search. But what starts out as a missing person inquiry takes a turn when one of the guests catches a bad case of dead. And the game is afoot.

There were several sources of inspiration. The idea of writing a former religious sister came from my childhood. I was taught by a former nun as a child. I was intrigued by her story, in terms of why she joined a religious order and then why she left, but I was never brave enough to ask her about it. The main setting of the first book, Gulls Nest boarding house, was inspired by a disastrous romantic weekend. We booked into an unnamed hotel in Kent, and it was marvellous but not perhaps in the way you’d hope for. There was a formidable landlady, haunted plumbing and eccentric guests. The house would have been beautiful in its day but was shabbily strange when we came to it. But I loved it for its character. – from The Nerd Daily interview

Kidd has planned out a series of eight Nora Breen novels. In the first we are introduced not only to Nora, but to several characters who will be returning. In the Dabble interview, Kidd talks about having a detective who is seeing the world with fresh eyes, after having been shut away for thirty years. Her age, and complete absence of ego also make her seem unthreatening. They do not, however, make her ineffective. While she had to stifle her curiosity and willfulness in the community, she is patient and very deliberate. That said, she remains very much a stranger in a strange world.

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Jess Kidd – Image from Faber & Faber

1953 England is indeed a strange, gritty place. Still recovering from the war, impacted by the massive loss of men, and the damage done to many of the returning soldiers, and their families. Survival is all. Making things pretty takes a back seat. Gulls Nest is down at the heels, well past its prime. There is a non-zero concern about the safety of the less-than-palatable meals being served at the hotel (very reminiscent of a memorable personal hospital stay). But it is not short on quirky characters. The supporting cast in this one is quite robust. “But Gulls Nest is that sort of a place, isn’t it? Where the dreamers and schemers wash up.”

The hotel residents include Professor Poppy, a Punch and Judy showman, looking the worse for wear, with his own studio and a collection of puppets, Teddy, a well-liked caretaker at the local amusement park, his wife Stella, who clerks at the town hall, Bill Carter, a retired navy chief who works as a bartender at another hotel, Mr. Karel Ježek, a small photographer with a difficult-to-place accent, Irene Rawlings, a resentful housekeeper, the hotel owner, Helena Wells, who sports a posh accent, suggesting a reduction in her circumstances, and then there is Dinah, her daughter, a seemingly feral child who has the run of the hotel and grounds, appears in surprising places, and does not speak. A few locals, including a non-human one, flesh out the roster. Everyone in Gore-on-Sea has secrets, including Nora. Part of the fun of this novel is getting to each one.

Every cozy amateur detective requires a police contact, and DI Rideout serves that role here. We can assume that they will form an alliance. He has the added benefit of rugged good looks, and sundry characteristics that Nora cannot help but observe. But, as in most cozies, there is not much actual flesh on display, of either the steamy or cold variety. Per the genre, bodies are discovered, not actively deprived of their life forces on the page. That said, there are some scary bits.

Nora goes about her detecting business, follows clues, talks to people in the hotel and in town. She keeps her eyes peeled, pokes her nose in places beyond her remit, makes a few friends and develops a very useful local informant. Nora growing parallels Nora finding things out.

While this is a pretty-straight-ahead crime story, Kidd drops in at least one dollop of magical realism, a major feature of her prior work. Personally, I would have liked more of this, fan as I am of Kidd’s magical realism writing, but that’s just me. The 1950s setting is rich with possibility, beautifully achieved here. Kidd is a wonderful writer, and offers not only well-realized characters, but an intriguing mystery or two, and evocative atmospherics.

While it may not hold the same appeal as more exotic vacation spots, if you appreciate a little time away, with quiet days in which to read, walk the beach, enjoy a cuppa, and maybe stumble across the odd body, Gore-on-Sea might be just the place. Jess Kidd will save you a room. You will find yourself eager to return.

Nora tells herself that the world may seem confusing but it is just the sum of its parts. Take it piece by piece until you can work out the whole.

Review posted – 5/9/25

Publication date – 4/8/25

I received an ARE of Murder at Gull’s Nest from Atria in return for a fair review. Thanks, folks, and thanks to NetGalley for facilitating.

This review is cross-posted on Goodreads. Stop by and say Hi!

=======================================EXTRA STUFF

Links to Kidd’s personal, Twitter, Goodreads, Instagram and FB pages

Profile – from Calgary Women’s Literary Club

Kidd holds a Ph.D. in Creative Writing, she has earned numerous literary awards from England and Ireland, and—in addition to her novels, short stories, and children’s books—she is currently developing her own original television project.

Kidd has already written #2 in the series, Murder at the Spirit Lounge. It centers on a famous medium who arrives in Gore-on-Sea and starts taking seances. When one séance goes terribly and mysteriously wrong it seems that Nora might have a supernatural serial killer on her hands.

Interviews
—–The Nerd Daily – Q&A: Jess Kidd, Author of ‘Murder At Gulls Nest’ by Elise Dumpleton
—–Dabble – Writing Historical Cozy Mysteries With Jess Kidd by Hank Garner – video – 56:26

Items of interest – author
—–Writing.ie – Changing Genre by Jess Kidd
—–The Guardian – Jess Kidd: ‘My older sister taught me to read with Mills & Boon’

Item of Interest
—– Death in Paris – this review offers a walk-through on elements in the cozy mystery genre

My reviews of other books by Jess Kidd
—–2020 – Things in Jars
—–2022 – The Night Ship

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Filed under cozy-mystery, Fiction, Historical Fiction, Mystery, Suspense

The Haunting of Moscow House by Olesya Salnikova Gilmore

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Irina calls her fanciful whenever she mentions ghosts. Still, something isn’t right about the house, hasn’t been right since Uncle Pasha was shot dead there three years before, and Grand-père Sergei succumbed to his illness mere days after.
Though she’s never seen one, Lili has believed in ghosts for quite a long time.
Do you think the dead can rise? Her voice, from a long-forgotten memory.
Of course, Nicky had answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

…with each death, the spirits are more corporeal and alive. And the family is in greater danger.

It is 1921, and the suffering is not yet done. World War I, then the ongoing civil war, now famine. Bolsheviks have taken charge. They use the Cheka to enforce the new norms, inflict the governing biases, and relentlessly add to the general misery. The displaced aristocracy struggles to get by, well, those who were not summarily shot.

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Olesya Salnikova Gilmore – Image from PRH – credit Nicola Levine Photography

To the new Soviet republic, the Bolsheviks, and the Cheka secret police, they are still countesses Irina and Liliya Goliteva, the people’s class enemy as descendants of one of the greatest and most ancient aristocratic clans of an imperial Russia dead and buried. Like most of their family. But unlike many former people, Irina’s family didn’t flee Russia. They stayed in hope of a return to normalcy. Now it is too late. Even if they could obtain papers, how could a household of women and children brave the danger of travel and exile?

Running out of household valuables to sell, the sisters take jobs with the American Relief Administration (ARA). The ARA is there to provide aid, food in particular. The sisters are managing the challenges, but there is something else. It appears that there are strange, spectral things going on in their home, the once-grand Moscow House. There are sounds, scents, footsteps, the sorts of things one can expect in a gothic novel.

So much of the novel is inspired by some of my favorite gothic stories, particularly by the Russian/Slavic gothic genre and the Ukrainian author who arguably founded it—Nikolai Gogol. – from the Afterward

Gogol and other folk sources are given plenty of recognition in the pages, allowing one the opportunity to do some digging and appreciate the inspirations.

We follow Irina (28) and her sister, Lili (18), as they try to survive through this trying period. Chapters alternate, more or less, between the two. The gothic elements build, from a few inklings to full-blown. It is not just one or two spectres turning up, but a whole host of late family members. The house is commandeered by the government, and the actual family is relegated to the attic. That does not work out well for the occupiers, as one then another is found dead. The work of one of the living inhabitants or ghostly revenge?

There are certainly some creepy bits, a norm for the genre, a few jump-cut scenes, and a spooky soothsayer. But is it scary? Mostly not, for me, (a particularly high bar) although there were some welcome surprises. There is one particular sort of ghost from Russian lore that was a new one on me. A creepy doll offers a tingle or two. That they grow in corporeality with each new death offered a welcome bit of unease. After a while, though, one gets used to the spirits, and in doing so their impact is reduced. Yeah, we’ve got a haunted house. So? The sisters keep coming and going as if it were infested with a more usual sort of pest.

Both become involved in romances, one with a Yank, the other with a childhood sweetheart. This is lovely, particularly in offering the possibility of positive outcomes for the sibs. Of course, it also adds to the ongoing tension between staying to preserve the family history and line, and fighting the good fight, or leaving to preserve their lives. How many people today are faced with comparable choices?

In fairy tales, paupers became princesses, not the other way around. But Soviet Russia is a warped Wonderland, where all is topsy-turvy and not what it should be.

One might, I expect, consider a take in which the Cheka taking charge in Moscow is a lot like the spectres taking over the Moscow House. It does cause one to recall that the Introduction of The Communist Manifesto begins, “A spectre is haunting Europe—the spectre of communism.” Certainly those spooks have landed in Russia and, through bloodshed, are gaining in strength. I have no idea if this was at all on Gilmore’s mind. But maybe. Spectres within and spectres without? Maybe a bit of dialectical materialism (or dialectical immaterialism?) for good measure?

Overall. I enjoyed The Haunting of Moscow House, particularly for the portrait of the time (The ARA was a real non-profit), the depiction of the desperation among Muscovites, and exposure to some unfamiliar gothic Slavic writing and lore. The sisters are engaging. The tension is palpable, and the spook infestation is fun.

I suppose one cannot help but compare this to Gilmore’s freshman offering, The Witch and the Tsar. That one was less reality based, more fantastical, and a bit more fun. But this one is also quite good, rich with extras both historical and literary.

Irina is crossing into the next room when she feels a prickle of cold on her arm. A draft of air. But the damask curtains are sealed tight. No, it is as if someone has moved past her. She turns sharply, as fearful as the other morning. Odd. She has never been afraid in the house. She doesn’t have Lili’s active imagination. Nor is she given over to delusions. It is only the howl and tear of the wind, the rattle of the windows in their casements, the faint give of a latch. With all this noise, she almost doesn’t hear it.
The creak of parquet, somewhere near. And again, unmistakable now. Creak. Creeeaak.
Footsteps. Small, like a child’s.
Irina backs up with wide eyes—when there is a deep growl. Then an earsplitting screech, and a dark shape hurtles across her path. A glint of red, as if red eyes have snapped to hers. The next second, scuffling and the thumping of bare feet, then nothing.
What was that? Some animal, trapped in the house?
That’s when the air implodes all around her.

Review posted – 12/20/24

Publication date – 9/3/24

I received an ARE of The Haunting of Moscow House from Berkley in return for a fair review. Thanks, folks, (Does it feel unnaturally cold to you here?) and thanks to NetGalley for facilitating.

This review is cross-posted on Goodreads. Stop by and say Hi!

=======================================EXTRA STUFF

Links to Gilmore’s personal, FB, Instagram, and Twitter pages

Profile – from her site
Olesya Salnikova Gilmore is the author of The Witch and the Tsar and The Haunting of Moscow House. Originally from Moscow, she was raised in the US and graduated from Pepperdine University with a BA in English/political science, and from Northwestern School of Law with a JD. She practiced litigation at a large law firm for several years before pursuing her dream of becoming an author. Now she is happiest writing speculative historical fiction inspired by Eastern European history and folklore. Her work has appeared in LitHub, Tor.com, CrimeReads, Writer’s Digest, Historical Novels Review, Bookish, Washington Independent Review of Books, among others. She lives in a wooded, lakeside suburb of Chicago with her husband and daughter.

Interviews
—–JeanBookNerd – Olesya Salnikova Gilmore Interview – The Haunting of Moscow House
—–Turn the Page – Episode 314E: Olesya Salnikova Gilmore on THE HAUNTING OF MOSCOW HOUSE – audio – 24:17
—–How Do You Write – Ep. 358: POV Hack: Using Method Acting with Olesya Salnikova Gilmore video – 31:09 – with Rachel Herron (from 5:36) – mostly about her prior novel, but offers a nice sense of the author, her process, how she uses method acting and her lawyerly background

My review of Gilmore’s prior book
—–2022 – The Witch and the Tsar

Items of Interest from the author
—–Crimereads – GOTHIC FICTION WITH A TWIST
—–Writer’s Digest – Finding Magic at the Intersection of Reality and Fantasy in Fiction
—–Reactor – Five Books about Haunted Houses that Crumble

Items of Interest
—–Carol’s Notebook – The Shroud – a Russian fairy tale referenced in Chapter 3
—–Story Telling Institute – Vasilia the Beautiful – a Russian fairy tale referenced in Chapter 11

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Filed under Fantasy, Fiction, Historical Fiction, Literary Fiction

Thorn Tree by Max Ludington

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At the base level it’s fear. It’s all about fear. People ask, ‘What are you afraid of?’ and that is not an answerable question. Any time I name a source for my fear I feel it as a deflection. I mean, sure, I can get close. You know, as in: I’m afraid of people because someone I trusted fucked with me when I was a child. I was traumatized, yes, and the fear probably began there, I guess. But I don’t really know because it seems, now, somehow elemental. It embodies some ancient, sleeping doom, and the only escape is self-destruction. You know? Like, if I become my own doom I’ve taken that power away from anything else. It’s preemptive. At least there’s agency in it.”
She felt the laughter spill out of her in a rush. Its piercing volume was at odds with the moment and the release it brought. Leo looked at her dumbfounded.
“Get the fuck out of my head, man,” Celia said.

He had merely done what men had been doing since the primeval birth of jealousy. Just a spoon of love from my forty-five, save you from another man. Howlin’ Wolf was just singing about what thousands had wished they could do, and probably had done, before there were cops and laws and all the rest of the arbitrary bullshit. And it had felt good, hadn’t it?

Daniel is 68, living a quiet life in a Hollywood Hills guest house when a visitor repeatedly appears. Dean is six years old and clearly in need of companionship. He lives with his grandfather, Jack, on the larger house on the property. Jack is not always particularly attentive. And Mom, Celia, is a rising young actress who is often away on prolonged shoots. Daniel is happy for the company.

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Max Ludington – image from Macmillan – shot by Jennifer Silverman

The novel braids the stories of Jack, Daniel and Celia, mostly Jack and Daniel. The story takes place in multiple times, today being 2017, and the backstory stepping up from 1968 to the seventies, to 1980, and 1988. Celia is not a part of the earlier events.

The sixties events cast a light on a turbulent time, touching on many of the aspects one might expect, young love, drug-dealing, acid trips, communes, San Francisco, wth a very dodgy cult among them. But despite the surface level, there is also consideration of the sort of existential, philosophical searching that was, for many, an important part of those times.

Young Daniel (1960s) makes a youthful mistake and suffers a grievous wrong, which follows him all his life. In the 1970s he finds solace in the desert, constructing a significant work of art, the Thorn Tree of the title. It gets him some notice, gives him a way to express what is inside him, and leads to some stability in his life.

Celia did an image search for the sculpture, and there it was, standing next to the modern art museum, taller than the building itself. It was huge, with thick, meandering branches and bristling snakelike twigs. Most of the branches, while not attempting verisimilitude, were formed with inherently natural shapes and gnarled twists, but here and there some were deliberately hewn into shapes that could never have occurred in nature: curving double on themselves and then back again to form tight willowy S-shapes, or turning straight downward at acute angles for a foot or two before continuing up and outward, as if infused genetically with lightning.

Jack is a very different sort. A predator, a sociopath or something like it, Jack wants what he wants and is not much concerned about who he damages to get it. He is routinely unkind, and worse, but he is also a seeker of truth, becoming connected with a cult and seriously mulling the writings on which the cult bases its outlook, even if the tenets of that group serve to bolster his own self-justification.

Daniel and Jack are linked through these years, the source of that link being one of the mysteries of the book. Jack is definitely a dark force. Daniel exists on a brighter side, despite having made some bad choices. He is a character who grows. But while Jack grows in a way, his widened view of reality is ultimately redirected to his narcissism. Not much is really done with Celia.

There is some lyrical writing which gives the story texture, depth to the two main characters, which makes it engaging, and a look at the times, both 60s and 70s, which gives it some substance. In addition it considers repercussions throughout one’s lives of actions taken in our youth.

Daniel stood for a moment at the threshold of the branches and looked up. The wind was made louder here in contact with the tree. The gravel path went around the south side, and he followed it to where it ended at an overlook. There was a plaque on a post, but he didn’t read it. Instead of standing at the overlook and staring out to sea, as the landscape designer had intended, he turned and went in under the branches, and immediately the world of the tree took over. He was surprised—he’d thought his memory of it was hopelessly colored by LSD and shock and time, that he had probably falsely mythologized every aspect of it and it would be just a place, with soil and roots and air but not the indwelling spirit he’d imbued it with in his mind. But it was as it had been—the wind quieting and the light clarifying, damping the sun into deep greenness—inhabited by a sense of protection and safety unchanged by the years of foot traffic and human attention.

There are many more of this sort. The voice is omniscient narrator, which presents way too many opportunities to tell rather than show. But I doubt this will bother most readers. Some characters come and go, seeming to be throw-aways. It is one of the things that make the book feel over-long. I kept hoping that some of these might be given a deeper look, with Jack getting less.

The alternating timelines, a fairly typical literary device, made sense to me. The Grateful Dead offer a link between now and then. There seemed some interest in other literary devices. For example, a boy appears to have a magical relationship with birds, but the image drops after partial usage.

Thorn Tree is an interesting read, offering some substance, interesting characters, and a strong core mystery. But for a book that is not overlong, at about four hundred pages, it felt like a much longer read because of the excess attention paid to Jack, and some tangential tales. The descriptive writing (I am a sucker for that) gives one a reason to push through, however prickly the passage.

Review posted – 11/01/24

Publication date – 4/15/24

I received an ARE of Thorn Tree from St. Martin’s Press in return for a fair review. Thanks, folks, and thanks to NetGalley for facilitating.

This review is cross-posted on Goodreads. Stop by and say Hi!

=======================================EXTRA STUFF

Links to Ludington’s personal, Goodreads, and Twitter pages

Profile – from Macmillan

MAX LUDINGTON’s first novel, Tiger in a Trance, was a New York Times Notable book, and his fiction has appeared in Tin House, Meridian, HOW Journal, Outerbridge, and On the Rocks: the KGB Bar Fiction Reader. He lives in Brooklyn, New York and teaches in the writing department at Pratt Institute.

Interview
—–The Palisades Newsletter – Max Ludington Reflects on His Second Novel, THORN TREE

Song
—–The Doors – Five To One
—–The Grateful Dead – The Very Best of the Grateful Dead

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Filed under California, Fiction, Historical Fiction, Literary Fiction, Reviews

Goldenseal by Maria Hummel

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Falling into friendship, with Edith was also, for Lacey, inextricable, with falling in love with the northern summer. Never had she woken to birdsong, or plunged headfirst into cool water on a blazing day, or listened to the whispers of the oaks as a thunderstorm, swept in. Never had the sun felt so warm and golden, or rain soaked her so completely. The shrill of crickets, alarming at first, began to soothe her to sleep at night. A toad hunched by a log was so intensely ugly she cried out in shock, while a fox, slipping through the pines, looked like the tip of a paintbrush dipped in orange. Her hands and legs became tan and useful. She could tie three kinds of sailor knots, and she could kick her way up a river current. Her face in the spotty cabin mirror was freckled, it also looked rounder and full. She was gaining weight back, and when one night Edith observed, “You’re not coughing anymore,” Lacey realized it was true.

“When the stranger returned to the city…” are the opening words of Goldenseal, or could be of a fun Western. The description that follows is pure delight, set in 1990 Los Angeles, as Maria Hummel shows off her poet’s gift for description. In The Rumpus interview she talks about having to tone that element down to spend more focus on moving the story forward. A loss for the likes of me. Edith Holle left Lacey, and Los Angeles forty-four years ago. She is back now on a mission known only to herself.

I was interested in creating a novel that had an allegorical Western feel. The stranger comes back to this city for the first time in forty-four years; “the stranger comes to town.” That’s the beginning of the classic Western, and Westerns play an important role throughout the story, as both subject and backdrop, especially in regard to gender. Because in the classic Western, the “stranger” is male, right? But here, it’s Edith, an old woman in a wrinkled skirt and sneaker boots. – from The Rumpus interview

In addition to the western genre references, there is a mystery afoot here, well, a few. What was the nature of Edith’s connection to Lacey? Why did she leave? Why is she back?

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Maria Hummel – Image from her site

We get an up close look at Lacey’s discomfort, wondering what Edith is up to, stressing over what to wear, as if her sartorial selections might provide a layer of armor, but Lacey is also clearly dying to see her. Once the waiting is done, we get on with the bulk of the story. It is told in two time lines. First is an ongoing conversation between the two women, the frame. Second is the history they recount within it.

Lacey Crane was born in Prague, her parents fleeing before, but not because of, the future Nazi invasion. Middle class, they were able to experience success in the hotel business. We get a look at the impact of the Holocaust on her parents, particularly her Jewish mother. As girls, Lacey and Edith meet at a California camp, where Edith is a bit of a loner, the daughter of the camp caretaker, special for her talent at stage performance, among other things, but seen as too lower class for most of the privileged girls. Not for Lacey. They become instant besties. (see quote at top) Edith’s home life is challenging, and Lacey wants to take her away from all that.

We follow the development of their friendship, and of their lives, together and apart. It is events in adulthood that split them, a final, dramatic schism. Dirty laundry is pulled from their memory bags, and held up for close inspection. Some garments are left unaired.

The contemporary conversation functions as a way for them to both examine the lives they have led. It also illuminates some of the changes women experienced in the 20th century.

The novel germinated over a protracted period, until all the elements finally came together. First was the Biltmore. When she and her husband moved there in the early aughts, Hummel was smitten with the LA hotel culture, particularly that hotel.

[This] combined with a book that I read that came out in American translation in 2001 called Embers …originally published in 1942, is a story about two old friends, males, an old general and a soldier, meeting in a castle in the Carpathians for the first time in forty years. They’re also weighing out friendship. When I read that book, I thought, this is such a great treatise on friendship, but it’s about male friendship. Female friendship is different. Wouldn’t it be great to use this structure but set it in an American castle? There it is. Then the third piece was, as we all experienced, we lived like recluses, particularly for me, the academic year that was 2020/’21. I thought, I know how to write this character now, this person who’s basically a hermit who lives in the hotel and never goes out and is locked in her tower. – from the Moms Don’t Have Time to Read Books interview

Underneath it all is that primal bond, forged in childhood, hardened in adulthood but seriously damaged. We are waiting for the high noon moment when the women unholster their revelations and take aim.

The Lacey-Edith intersection is, in a way, where Old World meets New. Lacey having been born middle class in Europe. Edith living a much more frontier-type of existence in the American far west. Lacey is relatively well-to-do, while Edith is a bit of a Cinderella character, responsible beyond her years, kept as something of a household slave by an unfeeling parent. Maybe Lacey can fit her up with a glass slipper, get her a carriage ride to something better? There are medical remedies from both the Old World and the New that present the strengths of both cultures. Familial tragedies echo across the divide.

Do we care? Each girl faces challenges at home. And both are portrayed as decent kids, so it is not hard to feel for them. The tale of their early friendship is incredibly charming and engaging, a major strength of the novel. The bond between these two is palpable and we want it to be eternal. Each girl finds relief from her personal stresses in having someone with whom to share. We get glimpses of their time together later, as teens, but these are fleeting, and lack the immediacy and impact of their camp days. Their time as adults is also presented in brief glimpses, stroboscopic flashes of events. Sure, there is angst, pain, heartbreak, betrayal, and disappointment, but having stepped back from Lacey and Edith, the impact is dulled. It is not a bad thing to leave readers wanting more of a character but it seemed to me that we got a bit short-changed and should not have needed that much more.

The narrative flow works quite well, switching back and forth between the contemporary and historical. But in a latter section of the novel, the conversation became much less…conversational, transforming into almost straight up exposition. I found this distancing, and thus off-putting.

There is a lot going on in Goldenseal. Thematically, it offers a trove of genre touches, coming of age, mystery, western, domestic drama and probably others. Hummel writes beautiful descriptions. I wish there had been even more of that. She gets us to care about her leads. And offers a persuasive explanation at the end, for most questions. It is a good read for sure, but maybe a Silver Seal instead of a Golden One.

Review posted – 03/29/24

Publication date – 01/09/24

I received a hardcover copy of Goldenseal from Counterpoint in return for a fair review. Thanks, folks.

This review is cross-posted on Goodreads. Stop by and say Hi!

=======================================EXTRA STUFF

Links to Hummel’s personal and Twitter pages

Profile – from her website

Maria Hummel is a novelist and poet. Her books include Goldenseal, Lesson in Red, a follow-up to Still Lives, a Reese Witherspoon x Hello Sunshine pick, a Book of the Month Club pick, and BBC Culture Best Book of 2018; Motherland, a San Francisco Chronicle Book of the Year; and House and Fire, winner of the APR/Honickman Poetry Prize… Hummel worked for many years as an arts editor and journalist, and as a writer/editor for The Museum of Contemporary Art, experience that informed Still Lives and Lesson in Red. She also taught creative writing at Stanford University and Colorado College, and is now a full professor at the University of Vermont. She lives in Vermont with her husband and sons.

Interviews
—–The Mark Twain House & Museum Program – GOLDENSEAL with Maria Hummerl and Barbara Bourland by Omar Savedo – Video – 58:15
—–Moms Don’t Have Time to Read Books – Maria Hummel, Goldenseal by Zibby Owens
—–The Rumpus Friendship Sunset: A Conversation with Maria Hummel by Jenny Bartoy

Items of Interest from the author
—–Reading Group Guide
—–LitHub – The Shadow Self of Domestic Stories: A Reading List of Novels Set in Hotels

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Filed under Fiction, Historical Fiction, Literary Fiction, Mystery

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, introduction by Jeffrey D. Keeten

book cover

There were moments when he looked on evil simply as a mode through which he could realize his conception of the beautiful.

“How sad it is! I shall grow old, and horrible, and dreadful. But this picture will remain always young. It will never be older than this particular day of June…. If it were only the other way! If it were I who was to be always young, and the picture that was to grow old! For that—for that—I would give everything! Yes, there is nothing in the whole world I would not give! I would give my soul for that!”

Be careful what you wish for.

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Oscar Wilde – image from Wikipedia

Man sells soul to the devil in return for…something, in this case a body encased in eternal youth, while a portrait takes on the outward manifestation of his aging and his sins. It ends badly, as deals with the devil usually do. This is hardly a unique tale. In fact, it is a bit of a trope, a Faustian bargain. There is a lovely listing here of examples new and old. Absent, of course, is the most famous, and least successful example of a soul-selling, really more of a soul-buying, from Matthew 4:1-11, when the devil made Jesus an offer he actually could refuse. Don Corleone would have been very disappointed.

But it is a bit more complicated than that, as these things often are. It is always a challenge and an adventure to read a classic. Books become regarded as a base part of our culture for reasons. They can establish motifs, or ways of seeing the world that resonate with their contemporary audiences (well, not always) and future generations. They can offer us a portrait of a time and place, a culture, a class, a social or political issue. They can illuminate moral questions, deal in universal themes, offer insight into human motivation, whether individually or en masse. And we come to see them in particular ways. In The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the prior re-pub in this Gravelight series, what one finds in the original is not quite what one might expect, given how popular culture has transformed the story by bleaching out important nuance. That is less the case with Dorian Gray, at least in part because there appears to have been fewer iterations of the tale in popular entertainments. But, nonetheless, our understanding of the story is generally of the bare bones sort. There is plenty of flesh to give those bones some added heft.

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Jeffrey Keeten – they came to take his furniture, but the only way they will take his books is from his cold dead hands – image from his site

The history of a book matters. Keeten’s introduction offers an excellent take on how Dorian was received at publication. It generated quite a bit of attention on its release. There were many who were not amused. That may have contributed to the fact that The Picture of Dorian Gray is singular in being the sole novel published by Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde. The subject matter was considered a big no-no in 1890. The Dorian of the title is a man of many tastes, and apparently insatiable appetites. He manages to bring ruin to both men and women. It was not, in particular, the ruination of women that caused a storm. The periodical in which it was first published was withdrawn from bookshops due to the outrage.

Wilde was a very popular writer of the time, wearing his sexuality like a badge. A tough stance to assume in a culture that preferred to sate it appetites and interests discretely. His novel was a shocker for the time in portraying homosexuality in interest, if hardly in action. The painter of Dorian’s portrait is clearly smitten with him, dazzled by his physical beauty, which he sees also as representative of an underlying perfection.

For all the shock of its homosexual content, there is no physical contact of that sort in the pages. (an earlier version may have been more direct) All is insinuation, suggestion, hinting. It is the same technique that has worked quite well for ages in the horror genre. Shadows, rattling chains, creaky doors, unsourced moans. Sometimes we are offered the shocker scene in which the monster is revealed. The Opera Phantom’s mask is pulled off to reveal the horror of his face. Hyde’s deformity is revealed as the window into Jekyll’s soul. And so it is here. Dorian’s true nature is revealed. The “I’m shocked, shocked” reaction of contemporary critics suggests more about what they were projecting onto the novel than what was actually there.

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The portrait used in the 1945 film by Ivan Le Lorraine Albright – image from Wikipedia

So, what is the horror that is on display? It is the hedonism of the late 19th century English upper class, sashaying about in the interesting, entertaining, appealing drag of philosophy. Henry argues for the unashamedly sybaritic life. Art need have no meaning, no being other than itself. Apply to humans. Is art, is beauty the highest value? When beauty is left to dangle free, disconnected from any higher value, what is its impact on the world? Actions have no moral content. It is in fact a positive good to live a life dedicated to the primitive accumulation of sensation, through the arts, through physical pleasures, not just of sex, but of sight, smell, sound and touch, to experience beauty in all its forms. Try everything. Art for art’s sake in the guise of human experience. Some people have an amazing ability to come up with excuses for their excesses, explanations, some reason for why they shouldn’t be held accountable for their actions. Like the poor and taxes, we will always have the morally challenged, the malignant narcissists, the sociopaths with us.

beauty is a form of genius—is higher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no explanation. It is of the great facts of the world, like sunlight, or spring-time, or the reflection in dark waters of that silver shell we call the moon. It cannot be questioned. It has its divine right of sovereignty. It makes princes of those who have it. You smile? Ah! when you have lost it you won’t smile…. People say sometimes that beauty is only superficial. That may be so, but at least it is not so superficial as thought is. To me, beauty is the wonder of wonders. It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances. The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible….

But if this was on the up and up, there would have been no need to keep one’s behavior secret. It is clearly a place where freedom crosses the line into license. The practitioners of such a “philosophy” knew they were up to no good. They merely wanted to hide from the responsibility. Dr Jekyll was quite happy to have an alter-ego he could let loose on the world, to have the sorts of fun he could not have as himself in public view. They knew, not just that their behavior was wrong, not just that it ran afoul of extant mores, but that their reasoned explanation was taffeta thick.

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Hurd Hatfield as Dorian in the 1945 film – image from Wikipedia

It is not the barely latent bisexuality of the novel that marks Dorian as fallen, it is that he had ruined peoples’ lives, men and women, not by having sex with them, (which is suggested, but never acted out on the pages) but by corrupting them in various ways, by causing them to become as self-centered, as pleasure-seeking as he was. A person can get away with this if he or she is wealthy enough. Paying off porn stars to keep quiet about an extramarital fling certainly fits into such a scenario. Dorian manages to keep his scandals at bay with the use of his wealth.

It is as true today as it was when Wilde was writing this book, the selfishness, the hedonism, the amorality of the wealthy feeds on the blood and life forces of those they exploit, few of whom can afford to fight back directly. (You go, E. Jean!) I imagine this is a core of what Wilde was getting at, and the real reason his critics were so angry at him.

Dorian does not come to his corruption unaided. He arrives as a beautiful young man, who is seen as being as pristine inside as he is on the surface. The Victorians were very concerned with exteriors, believing that they served as personal screens displaying to the world a person’s character. But then he is introduced to Lord Henry Wotton. Henry proceeds to emit a torrent of nonsense, albeit amusing nonsense, mocking the morals of the time. Wilde, speaking through Henry, is cattier than my living room when I shake a container of treats. Henry offers a torrent of false, cynical aphorisms, suitable material to be printed on small pieces of paper and tucked inside poisoned fortune cookies. Were he opining today, Henry would be posting outrageous clickbait opinions on Twitter. Here are a few examples. They are legion, and will sound familiar in tone to characters from Wilde’s 1895 theatrical triumph, The Importance of Being Earnest

…beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid.

…the one charm of marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties. I never know where my wife is, and my wife never knows what I am doing. When we meet-we do meet occasionally, when we dine out together or go down to the Duke’s—we tell each other the most absurd stories with the most serious faces.

…as for believing things, I can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible.

It is the cynical Henry who finds in the gullible Dorian the raw material with which to cast the young man into a representative of his very hedonistic view of life. Dorian offers the plasticity of the young to the dubious molding of the amoral. The young man is all ears. He even takes time away from the painter, Basil Hallward, to learn at Wotton’s feet. .

To a large extent the lad was his own creation. He had made him premature. That was something. Ordinary people waited till life disclosed to them its secrets, but to the few, to the elect, the mysteries of life were revealed before the veil was drawn away. Sometimes this was the effect of art, and chiefly of the art of literature, which dealt immediately with the passions and the intellect. But now and then a complex personality took the place and assumed the office of art, was indeed, in its way, a real work of art, life having its elaborate masterpieces, just as poetry has, or sculpture, or painting.

We are offered a bit of background on Dorian, to help explain his vulnerability to Lord Henry’s dark influence. And are even given a bit of theatrical brimstone to explain how the deal with the devil is achieved. Neither really matters much.

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Angela Lansbury as Sibyl Vane in the 1945 film – image from Wikipedia

Early on, Dorian is smitten with a beautiful young actress, Sibyl Vane, who considers him her Prince Charming. It is Sibyl’s appearance, her elevated acting performances, in addition to her beauty, that attracts Dorian. But when her dazzling talent on stage suddenly vanishes, she can no longer offer Dorian the thing he most admired, and he dumps her, cruelly. It is the first crime to which we are witness, the first time his painting changes. The pursuit of beauty and sensation above all else has claimed its first victim. There will be many more, but most of those bad behaviors take place off screen.

Wilde put all of himself into this novel

“Basil Hallward is what I think I am: Lord Henry is what the world thinks me: Dorian what I would like to be.”

Unlike Lord Henry and Basil Hallward though, Wilde acted on his urges. Unlike Dorian, Wilde was imprisoned for his actions. Unlike Henry’s and Dorian’s depraved indifference to the harm they caused others, it is not clear that Wilde was a cruel person.

Dorian is clearly a corrupt individual. Whether he arrived there unaided or had a push is of secondary importance. Lord Henry is clearly corrupt as well, even though we do not see him engage in any physical acts of treachery. Perhaps the corruption of youth, pulling Luke Dorian to the dark side is enough. Henry and Dorian both represent the worst of the amorality of the Victorian age, the hypocrisy of the upper class. This seems the true target of Wilde’s effort. He is not celebrating amorality, but pointing an accusing finger at it, and letting us know who are its most damaging practitioners. At one point Dorian even shows enough residual humanity to want to turn over a new leaf, not appreciating that to succeed he would need to upend an entire forest. (don’t write. I know that the leaf in question was supposed to mean a book page.)

Keeten goes into some detail on the derivation of the name Dorian Gray. Why not Loki? There are very concrete reasons. In fact, there is a lot you will enjoy learning when you check out his introduction. It is rich with detail about the author, the book, and the controversy that surrounded its publication. It also looks at the lasting impact Wilde has had on modern culture. It will definitely increase your appreciation of this wonderful novel.

I suppose there might be a modern version in which Gray and his portrait are linked by quantum entanglement, or one should be made if it does not already exist. The battle between inner self and outer manifestation is certainly an eternal literary theme.

For the second time, a sojourn down the Gravelight illuminated alley of classic horror has proved stimulating and enlightening. From Keeten’s smart, incisive introduction to the chance to see what the original of a household-name classic was really on about, The Picture of Dorian Gray offers a richly rewarding reading experience, clever, funny, dark, shocking, intelligent, satirical, and satisfying.

There were moments when he looked on evil simply as a mode through which he could realize his conception of the beautiful.

Review posted – 02/23/24

Publication date – 11/6/23

I received copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray from Gravelight Press in return for a fair review. Thanks, folks.

This review is cross-posted on my site, Goodreads. Stop by and say Hi!

=======================================EXTRA STUFF

Links to Keeten’s personal, FB, and Instagram pages

Prior reviews for books intro’d by Jeffrey Keeten
—– Exhumed: 13 Tales Too Terrifying to Stay Dead – edited by David Yurkovich
—– The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde – edited by David Yurkovich

Items of Interest
—–Les Cent Nouvelles – a book of coarse French stories referenced in Chapter 4
—–Margaret of Valois
—–Manon Lescaut – an 18th C. novel in which young lovers live a life of sexual and social freedom, while giving morality little thought – referenced in chapter 4
—–The St. James’s Gazette – referenced in chapter 10
—–Elephantis – author of a sex manual in Classical Greece – noted in Chapter 11
—–Against Nature by Joris-Karl Huysmans – cited in the introduction – Dorian’s reading of this 1884 celebration of sensory gluttony contributes to his corruption
—–Wiki Deals with the devil in popular culture

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Filed under classics, Fantasy, Fiction, Historical Fiction, Horror, Literary Fiction, Reviews

The Hive and the Honey by Paul Yoon

book cover

Come. I want to show you something. I learned it from the missionary. We haven’t seen him in a while, yes?…I retrieve my teacup where there is a little honey left, and I walk toward the perimeter of the woods and hold it up. I hear her coming up behind me, the slow rustle of her skirt in the grass, but I don’t turn.
A few minutes later, a bee appears, hovering, circling, then dips into the cup. Then it flies away into the woods. I follow it. She follows me. When I can’t see it anymore or hear it anymore, I stand still and hold up the cup and wait for the bee to come back. Which it does. So we move on, and as we head farther into the woods, I tell the daughter that it is a trick I learned from the missionary. We’re creating a trail.
“To the hive,” I say. “And the honey.”

In The Hive and the Honey Paul Yoon returns to areas that readers of his earlier work will recognize. This is his third story collection, following Once the Shore (2009) and The Mountain (2017). He has published two novels as well, Snow Hunters (2013) and Run Me To Earth (2020). He treats often in themes of Korean diaspora, losing a sense of home, trying to build new families and communities, feeling alone, often being alone, the impact of history on one’s lived experience, and the impacts of war. That holds here.

I can’t speak to a unifying Korean identity, but I think, growing up, because I had very little access to an extended family, I was often searching for my own version of that. And I think all my characters are searching for their own version of family. They’re quite literally and figuratively orphans. And they want to rebuild. They want to find a home in all sense of that word. – from the Pen-Ten Interview

There are seven stories in the collection, ranging from 17th century Japan to 20th century New York. The age of the primary characters covers a wide range. One lead is 16, others are in their 20s, returning from war or prison, or still in uniform. There is a couple in their forties and we see one life across decades.

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Paul Yoon – image from Interlocutor – shot by Paul Yoon

A persistent challenge is to make a home. In Bosun, Bo tries to find a home and family in a small upstate NY town. In At The Post Station, Two samurai must repatriate a 12yo Korean boy to officials from his country. Toshio, the samurai who has been raising his young charge for many years, must face this direct loss of family. The boy must face introduction to an entirely alien culture. Cromer offers a middle-aged London shop-keeper couple, both children of North Korean refugees, who had opted to never have children of their own. But when a 12 yo apparently- battered runaway boy turns up in their shop, many miles from home, it makes them face the insular, child-free lives they had chosen, the community they had not built, the family they had not made. In The Valley of the Moon a man returns from a settlement to his isolated family farm after The Korean War. It is a moonscape, littered with bones and craters. He slowly but steadily brings the farm back. He even takes in two orphans to make a proto-family, but the damage from the war, and from an act he commits before the kids arrived, haunts him for the rest of his life.

Biological families here are all dispersed, or worse. Characters are often stuck on their own. Relations in other places are unreachable, unresponsive, or dead. Some of the impetus for the collection was Yoon’s own familial diaspora.

My grandfather was a Korean War refugee who eventually, after the war, settled in a house in the mountains in South Korea. Where he lived wasn’t nearly as isolated as the setting of “Valley of the Moon,” but my memory of him was that he was—or had become after the war—a bit of a loner, someone who kept to himself, and so I think (a) the character of Tongsu and where he returns to was always linked from the start, and (b) that initial push forward into this story stemmed from wanting to create and capture, perhaps, some corner of family history that felt, and still feels, really distant to me—to engage with that distance, creatively, and to engage with him and with so many others of that generation who had to flee their homes and do anything they could to survive during those horrific years. – from the New Yorker interview

Yoon’s characters also travel far afield. Bosun came to the USA at 18. In Komarov, a Korean cleaning woman is living in Spain. At the Post Station features a boy who was held prisoner by Japan for his entire life and will now be faced with living in an alien culture in Korea. In Cromer, the parents of the couple living in London all escaped from North Korea, and a young Korean boy flees apparent physical abuse. In The Hive and the Honey, the community over which the young soldier watches is comprised of Koreans who had left Korea and were establishing a small community in eastern Russia. In Person of Korea, the lead’s father had taken work far from home and had become unreachable. Families that remain (the survivors) are severely depleted, family trees having been pruned to stumps or worse by war and dispersion. Holding on even to images of one’s past can become a challenge.

Bo thought he would eventually miss Queens or perhaps even South Korea, where he had spent the first eighteen years of his life, but as the months went on, they were like the faces he tried to recall: far away, as though the places he’d once lived had been homes to someone else.

But for all the travails, the challenges, there is an intrepid spirit at work that pushes them onward. How easy would it have been for the farmer to simply walk away from his devastated fields? For the convict to have given up hope?

The use of imagery is exquisite, illuminating themes, showing how the past impacts, intercedes in, and informs the present.

Every night, the moon rose from here, and fell, and shattered. And then built itself back up again.

This certainly stands in well for the challenge of all these characters, forced as they are to reconstruct lives after the world has caused them so much disruption. The quote at the top of this review offers another wonderful image. Luring bees with honey then following them back to their nest, taking the steps one can take, however many may be needed, to reach your goal, whether the location of a hive, a home, or something else. A tree grows through the skull of a corpse, offering a (perhaps grim) reminder that life continues, creating a future by feeding on the past.

These are very moving tales, as rich with hope, tenacity, and sweetness as they are with loss, disappointment, and sadness, personal tales told against a backdrop of a nation’s history. The Hive and the Honey is an outstanding literary short-story collection, well deserving of all the award buzz it has been receiving. What could be sweeter?

economic reasons.”During the pandemic, Yoon says, “we were all scattered. I was separated from friends and to cope I imagined a kind of map. We were all in different places, but we were all part of one world. That got me thinking about the family tree, thinking of that as a map as well. This was the seed of the collection: the movement of a country and its people.” – from the Louisa Ermelino PW interview

THE STORIES

Bosun – a Korean man, just released from an upstate New York prison, tris to make a life for himself in a small community nearby.

Komarov – A refugee from North Korea is working as a cleaner in Spain when she is approached by Korean agents to spy on a Russian boxer they believe to be her son.

At the Post Station – Two 17th C. samurai accompany a Korean boy, who had been held hostage all his life, to Korean officials who will take him home.

Cromer – The children of escaped North Koreans, a middle-aged couple in London consider their life choices when a 12yo runaway boy happens into their convenience store.

The Hive and the Honey – A young Russian soldier is charged with overseeing a Korean settlement in remote eastern Russia. Things get out of hand when there is a killing, then another.

Person of Korea – When the uncle with whom he had been living dies, a 16yo boy travels to find his father, a security guard on an island off the east coast of Russia.

Valley of the Moon – two years after the Korean War a man returns home to a devastated, vacated farm, and tries to bring it back to life. He takes in two orphans and has a difficult, life-changing encounter with someone looking to cross the border.

Review posted – 02/09/24

Publication date – 10/10/23

I received an ARE of The Hive and the Honey from Simon & Schuster in return for a fair review. Thanks, folks, and thanks to NetGalley for facilitating.

This review is cross-posted on my site, Goodreads. Stop by and say Hi!

=======================================EXTRA STUFF

Paul Yoon’s personal site

Profile – from Wiki

Paul Yoon (born 1980) is an American fiction writer. In 2010 The National Book Foundation named him a 5 Under 35 honoree.

Early life and education
Yoon’s grandfather was a North Korean refugee who resettled in South Korea, where he later founded an orphanage. Yoon graduated from Phillips Exeter Academy in 1998 and Wesleyan University in 2002.

Career
His first book, Once the Shore, was selected as a New York Times Notable Book; a Los Angeles Times, San Francisco Chronicle, Publishers Weekly, and Minneapolis Star Tribune Best Book of the Year; and a National Public Radio Best Debut of the Year. His work has appeared in the PEN/O. Henry Prize Stories collection, and he is the recipient of a 5 under 35 Award from the National Book Foundation. His novel, Snow Hunters, won the 2014 New York Public Library Young Lions Fiction Award. His 2023 story collection, The Hive and the Honey, was named a finalist for The Story Prize.
Recently a part of the faculty of the Bennington Writing Seminars, Yoon is now a Briggs-Copeland lecturer at Harvard University.

Interviews
—–Publishers Weekly – In Seven Stories, Paul Yoon’s New Book Spans 500 Years of Korean Diaspora By Louisa Ermelino | Jul 07, 2023
—–The Pen-Ten Interview – Paul Yoon | The PEN Ten Interview by Sabir Sultan – October 12, 2023
—–The New Yorker – Paul Yoon on the Korean War’s Aftershocks by Cressida Leyshon – about Valley of the Moon
—–Publisher’s Weekly – Paul Yoon’s Haunted Geographies by Conner Reed
—–LitHub – Writing as Transformation: Who Paul Yoon Needed to Become to Finish His Book by Laura van den Berg (Yoon’s wife)

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Filed under Fiction, Historical Fiction, Literary Fiction, Short Stories

Golden Gate by Amy Chua

book cover

“Evil is everywhere. Where you least expect it. It can seep out of the radio. Or a lobster salad.”
“Oh, Issy—why do you say that?”
“Because it talks to me.”
“What talks to you?”
“Evil.”
“Iris talks to you, and evil talks to you?”
“Yes.”
“Are they the same?”

Part of me wanted to shut her up—if there’s one thing I couldn’t stand, it was a rich girl who felt unlucky in life. But another part knew that what she was saying was factually true. Her family was a train wreck, almost as bad as my mine except rich. Meanwhile, a third part of me couldn’t help noticing her long lashes and her lips—she had what they call a rosebud mouth, a perfect version of it. “I may have misjudged you, miss. If I did, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t soften on me,” she said.
“If it was a hundred in the shade, I wouldn’t soften on you, miss.”
“Good. Because I’m bad, Detective. I do terrible things. And if you soften on me, I’ll do them to you.”

There are six primary (fictional) females driving the story in The Golden Gate, with Detective Al Sullivan functioning as the hub to which they all connect and around whom they all spin. There might have been a seventh, but Iris Stafford plunged down a laundry chute in 1930 at age seven, under mysterious circumstances, and appears now mostly in memories, dark visions, and dreams. Her sister, Isabella, all grown up in 1944, is a knockout, as was their mother, Sadie. The Stafford girls have two first cousins. Cassie Bainbridge is an expert hunter, (think Artemis) and a frightening wonder to behold when butchering large game. Nicole is fascinated by the far left, maybe dangerously so. Then there is Genevieve Bainbridge, grandmother to Iris and Isabella, Cassie and Nicole, mother to Sadie and John (who does not much figure in any of this.)

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Professor Amy Chua – image from AboveTheLaw.com

Genevieve is 62 when we meet her, through a deposition she is writing for the DA. There are eleven parts to this document, sub-chapters, spread throughout the book. It is through these that we learn of the events circa and before 1930. But take her words with a shaker of salt. This Bainbridge is an unreliable narrator. She is faced with a very tough situation. The DA has made clear his belief that one of her three granddaughters is guilty of murder, and he is squeezing her to finger the guilty party, lest all three suffer consequences. The events of the novel take place primarily in two times, 1930, when Iris dies, and 1944, the today of the tale.

Detective Sullivan is having drinks with a young woman in the hotel bar, when he is summoned by hotel management, about a report of gunshots in one of the rooms. Walter Wilkinson, an industrialist running for president, has acquired a new bit of decoration in his room, a bullet hole above his bed. He offers a tale about a Russian Communist assassin, is relocated to another room, and goes about his night, as does Sullivan. Until a call comes in several hours later. The renowned Claremont Hotel in Berkeley, CA, need some assistance dealing with a newly deceased guest. Mr. Wilkinson had clearly had a pretty tough night.

A crew of detectives is called in. Guests, employees and everyone in the vicinity are identified and interviewed, and clues begin to emerge. Timelines and whereabouts are established. Who saw whom emerge from what room, or walk down which hall, at what time, dressed how, gender, ethnicity, age, and so on. The usual procedural digging offers up a list of folks who may have had it in for WW, for a wide range of issues, some personal, some professional.

Complications appear like shadows at dusk. Was it the same shooter both times? And what about the unusual way in which his body was left? Witnesses can be unreliable. You cannot believe everything people tell you. Can you believe anything? In fact, there is a sufficient number of the questionably balanced in this novel that the place could be known as much for its head cases as for its headlands. The constant lying and misdirection offer up enough twists to make this read feel like a very tasty bowl of rotini. And it is indeed very tasty.

There are two levels at play, the payload, a take on the time and place, and the mystery…well, mysteries. We are eager to learn not only what happened to candidate Wilkinson including wondering if he had it coming) but to Iris Stafford. Did she really fall down a laundry chute to her death? Or was there some dark force at play responsible for killing a seven-year-old child? Chua does a great job of keeping us guessing, and there is plenty to guess about. I figured out one element about halfway through, but there were many others I did not see coming at all. There are surprises aplenty.

So, who killed WW (who is loosely based on Wendell Wilkie)? Who was that cowled person seen leaving the scene of the crime? Some people were seen entering and leaving the victim’s room, including an Asian woman and someone answering to the description of the three cousins. Interestingly, Wilkinson had a connection with Madame Chiang Kai-shek.

Speaking of which, Chua peppers her novel with actual historical figures. The First Lady of China did, in fact, live in Berkeley during the period of the novel. Her reason for being there is not known. Chua offers one possible explanation. August Vollmer is a name you are unlikely to know, but he was a seminal figure in the evolution of policing. He served as police chief in Berkeley for a time, and is lightly incorporated into the tale, as Al’s mentor, among other things.

Place is of paramount importance in good detective tales, and Chua further satisfies the historical need by telling us about the construction of the Golden Gate Bridge, offering some of her characters a role in its opening. She also writes about the boom-town growth of the area during World War II, when it replaced Pearl Harbor as the premier shipbuilding location in the states, producing an astounding number of vessels for the war, and in so doing, attracting workers from around the country. Some were more welcome than others, as one might expect. There are union issues, housing shortages, poverty, racism, political intrigue, sexual shenanigans, tong gangs, and appearances by two noteworthy ahead-of-their-time accomplished female professionals.

Bigotry was shameless and rampant, with Mexicans forcibly “repatriated” by the hundreds of thousands, the Chinese Exclusion Act still in place, and hostile derision openly directed at “Okies,” a term then referring to poor white migrants from the Dust Bowl. In the 1940s came the Japanese internment, when full-fledged American citizens were literally caged off. For the first time, Blacks came to the Bay Area in significant numbers, pouring in from the American South in search of jobs, only to find themselves subjected to vicious prejudice, excluded by labor unions, denied entry into restaurants, theaters and hotels, and barred from living in white neighborhoods. Throughout this period, numerous other ethnic groups—such as Italians, Greeks, Poles, Slavs, Hungarians, and Jews—occupied a subordinate position too, not yet considered fully white. – from the Author’s Note

Chua builds this into her characters.

I chose to make Detective Sullivan a light-skinned mixed-race man in part because Berkeley’s police force in the 1940s included almost no women or minorities, but also because I wanted to explore the phenomenon of racial “passing.” Sullivan is part Mexican, part Nebraskan, and part Jewish on his Mexican side…But Sullivan can pass as white and chooses to go by Al Sullivan rather than Alejo Gutiérrez for reasons he has not fully admitted to himself. – from the Author’s Note

In fact, there is enough passing here to make one wonder if Berkeley streets are constructed of all left lanes. In addition to Al, noted above, Japanese characters pass for Chinese. Gay characters pass for straight. One does what one must to survive in a hostile environment. Pathological liars pass for honest citizens. Crazy people pass for sane, and rich kids pass for revolutionaries. But another way to look at some of this is as reinvention. Sometimes you need to change how you present yourself to the world, change how the world sees you, in order to become your truest self.

Al is a good guy, conflicted about his decision to conceal his heritage. In addition to his detective work, Al must handle a family problem. His half-sister does not function well in the world, has issues with substances and decision-making. Somehow, she produced an amazing kid. Miriam is eleven going on thirty, from having to cope with so much. She could use some more schooling, but is uber bright, and she loves her uncle Al, who is put into the position of having to take care of her during of her mom’s absences. The love between these two glows like a lighthouse beacon glaring through thick bay fog. Some of the most wonderful scenes in the book are those between Al and Miriam.

While it is not a large element, there is also occasional humor.

I hate to say it of a fellow Berkeley officer, but Dicky O’Gar was so thick he couldn’t tell which way an elevator was going if you gave him two guesses.

The events take place in the Berkeley Hills, for the most part. So, near to, while not exactly one of, the ground-zeros for hard-boiled detective yarns. There is some nifty noir-ish patois, (the second quote at the top of this review offers an excellent example) but I would not call this a noir novel, per se. While there is plenty of darkness and grim reality, there is enough optimism to float it out of that sub-genre.

Gripes are few. I found the explanation of one of the deaths that occurs less than satisfying. There is a taste of a fantasy element, revolving around the continued presence in the Claremont of the late Iris Stafford. While it adds atmosphere, it suggests more than it actually delivers.

Bottom line is that The Golden Gate is a first-rate entertainment, with fun, quirky, interesting fictional supporting characters, an introduction to some actual historical people of note, an insightful look at a vibrant place in an exciting time, a primary character to care about, and mysteries to keep your gray cells sparking. What’s not to like?

I put my collar up, pulled my hat brim down, and set off through the drizzle, wondering how much I’d been played in the last seventy-two hours and by how many different women.

Review posted – 12/29/23

Publication date – 9/19/23

I received an ARE of The Golden Gate from Minotaur Books in return for a fair review. Thanks, folks, and thanks to NetGalley for facilitating an ePub as well.

This review is cross-posted on Goodreads. Stop by and say Hi!

=======================================EXTRA STUFF

Links to Chua’s personal, FB, Instagram, and Twitter pages

Profile – from Wikipedia

Amy Lynn Chua (born October 26, 1962), also known as “the Tiger Mom“, is an American corporate lawyer, legal scholar, and writer. She is the John M. Duff Jr. Professor of Law at Yale Law School with an expertise in international business transactions, law and development, ethnic conflict, and globalization.[5] She joined the Yale faculty in 2001 after teaching at Duke Law School for seven years. Prior to teaching, she was a corporate law associate at Cleary, Gottlieb, Steen & Hamilton. Chua is also known for her parenting memoir Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. In 2011, she was named one of Time magazine’s 100 most influential people, one of The Atlantic’s Brave Thinkers, and one of Foreign Policy‘s Global Thinkers.

The Golden Gate is her first novel.

Interviews
—–Washington Post – Amy Chua says her hard-boiled detective also is a bit of a ‘tiger mom’ By Sophia Nguyen
—–USNews – ‘Tiger Mom’ Amy Chua Writes First Novel, ‘The Golden Gate’

Item of Interest from the author
—–Macmillan – Discussion Questions

Items of Interest
—–Wiki on August Vollmer, mentioned in Chapter 3, and throughout
—–Wiki on The Mann Act – mentioned in Chapter 14.4
—–Wiki on The Golden Gate Bridge

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Filed under Fiction, Historical Fiction, Mystery, Noir, Reviews, Suspense

The Invisible Hour by Alice Hoffman

book cover

in every fairy tale girl who is saved is the one who rescues herself.

people in love were such fools, they made up excuses, they wound up doing as they pleased no matter how much good advice they been given.

The Invisible Hour is a twice-told tale of a mother and a daughter.

Ivy Jacobs’ Beacon Hill family did not exactly treat it as a crimson-letter day when the sixteen-year-old informed her parents that she was pregnant by a feckless Harvard sophomore. Despite her tender years, Ivy wanted to see the pregnancy through and keep the baby. Decisions and plans were made, none of them involving input from Ivy. The newborn would be put up for adoption. Ivy bails, getting as far away as she can, which turns out to be a sort-of commune in western Massachusetts.

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Alice Hoffman – image from Penguin Random House – shot by Alyssa Peek

Mia Jacob is the daughter Ivy bore. We meet her at 15. Living in the place to which her mother had fled, The Community. More of a cult really, an authoritarian farm where the leader’s will is law. Joel Davis took Ivy in, married her soon after she’d arrived, so is Mia’s step-father. But child-rearing is communal here, so parenting is not what you or I would recognize. You will recognize the cult-leader, control-freak personality Joel wears like the headgear sported by the QAnon Shaman. Vanity is supposedly being punished, but it is accomplishment, growth, intelligence and independence that are the targets. He likes his followers unquestioning and compliant.

Ivy has stolen parenting moments over the years, so has had a hand in helping Mia find her true self, a young woman who is curious about the world, eager to learn, to investigate, to explore, to read. Discovery of her criminal reading marks her for punishment. When we meet Mia she is, as her mother was, a teen about to flee her oppressive environment.

Although we learn about and spend time with both women, it is Mia who is our primary focus. In a dark time, she considers suicide, but, fortuitously, reads a book that saves her, changing her life, giving her hope, The Scarlet Letter.

We follow her coming of age, assisted by her mother and an understanding librarian in the town where The Community sells their produce.

Her passion for Hawthorne is such that she finds in it a magical power. Alice Hoffman loves her some fairy tales, so it will come as no great shock that one fine day Mia finds herself transported back to the 19th century, and into the presence of her literary love object. Complications ensue. In those, however, we get a sense of Hawthorne, his personality, his material conditions, his family and friends, and his writing challenges. Nice looking fellah, too, to go with that oversized talent.

There is some wonderful imagery woven into the novel. The notion of invisibility is large among these. There are times in which it might be useful to go unseen, as in when one is doing something for which one might be punished, or which are simply secret. On the other hand, it is not so wonderful to be unseen in normal human interactions. Like “Yo, dude, human here. Whaddaya? Blind?” There is some literal invisibility as well.

Apples are a core element as well. There is a particular breed of apple grown in the area, which is no Eden. They seem less associated with The Fall than with a push. Joel uses leaves of that apple tree as a threat. One could certainly see his actions as serpentine. Mia even decides never to eat apples, given the associations she has for them with The Community. Howdaya like dem apples? Johnny Appleseed comes in for some attention, with plantings of his effort bearing local fruit.

The woods as a magical place gets a visit or two. Indeed, magical things go on there. Strange people and buildings appear. There is even one “Once upon a time” in the book. The Woods is where Mia goes to escape.

Much of the tension in the book centers around women taking control of their own lives. This happens in various ways. There is the usual disobedience one would expect, with the most daring taking the greatest risks. Reading figures large in this, as subservience is sustained under the lash of forced-ignorance. Reading is the gateway drug to independent thinking, and dreaming of better. Some women even learn herbal medicine, to see to their needs. The comparisons of the modern day with the repressive Puritan world depicted in The Scarlet Letter are clearly drawn. Plus ça change…

I think it’s a bad idea to write for the moment because the moment passes so quickly. The other thing about time is that what’s right and what’s good and what’s accepted suddenly becomes not. I thought about that with the way women were treated in “The Scarlet Letter,” the way that the Puritans blamed women, and they believed in original sin and that women were responsible for that because of Eve. It all changed, but then it changes back. And then it changes again. A lot of the things that women are coping with right now are not that different, really. The judgment against women. – from the Salon interview

There is a garden in town where all the plants are red. It may feel familiar to frequent readers of Hoffman.

This new book [The Invisible Hour] actually takes place in a town where I wrote a book of connecting stories about called The Red Garden, so it’s the same place. It’s just a novel that takes place in that town. – from the Salon interview

I consider myself an Alice Hoffman fan. While I have not read all her books, I have certainly read more than a couple. Any reader of her books knows that there are certain things one can expect. Among other things, there will be an engaging lead, facing difficult choices, and there will usually be bits, at least, of magic, often of a fairy tale sort. So, one cannot really gripe about a time-travel element pushing things too far, particularly when done in the service of giving us a closer look at a literary icon. My sole gripe is that I felt that the baddie was given too much magical license to pursue his dark ends.

Otherwise, despite it’s title, The Invisible Hours very much deserves to be seen. It offers not only an uplifting, engaging tale of empowerment, but an homage to one of the greats of American literature, and long-form praise of the power, the importance, the necessity of reading. I am sure we can all see the value in that.

“Q: Did you set out to write a novel so deeply rooted in women’s empowerment? How did it evolve to include time travel?”

“A: I started to think about The Scarlet Letter and how modern-day issues for women are not that foreign from issues in that time period. I’m not certain I realized when I first read Nathaniel Hawthorne’s great novel what the deeper meaning of his heroine’s situation is—she has no say over her body or her choices and yet, she does make her own choices. It’s a very brave book.
I’ve always wanted to time travel and been drawn to books about time travel. I think during the time of Covid, when I was writing this, more than ever I want it to be in another time period.”
– from A Conversation with Alice Hoffman, an appendix in the book

Review posted – 12/22/23

Publication date – 8/15/23

This review is cross-posted on my site, Goodreads. Stop by and say Hi!

=======================================EXTRA STUFF

Links to the author’s personal, Instagram and FB pages
Profile

Other Hoffman books I have reviewed:
—–1999 – Local Girls
—–2003 – Green Angel
—–2004 – Blackbird House
—–2005 – The Ice Queen
—–2011 – The Red Garden
—–2011 – The Dovekeepers
—–2017 – Faithful
—–2017 – The Rules of Magic
—–2019 – The World That We Knew

Interviews
—–Salon – “I want to believe”: Alice Hoffman is always seeking magic, practical and otherwise by Alison Stine
—–Shondaland – Alice Hoffman Talks Her Latest Novel, ‘The Invisible Hour’ by Sandra Ebejer
—–Harvard Review – An Interview with Alice Hoffman by Christina Thompson

Song
—–Agnes Obel – Brother Sparrow – relevance to the chapter title

Item of Interest from the author
—–Salon – Alice Hoffman: Five amazing tips to help you write your novel

Items of Interest
—–Wiki on Nathaniel Hawthorne
—–Wiki on Johnny Appleseed, mentioned multiple times
—–Gutenberg – full text of The Scarlet Letter
—–Good Will Hunting – Howdaya like dem apples?
—–Wiki on the QAnon Shaman

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Filed under Fantasy, Feminism, Fiction, Historical Fiction, Literary Fiction, Religion

The Apartment by Ana Menéndez

book cover

The dead, after all, do not walk backwards but they do walk behind us. They have no lungs and cannot call out but would love for us to turn around. They are victims of love, many of them. – Anne Carson – from the epigraph

We are our own ghosts, dragging our mournful pasts behind us forever.

An apartment in Miami Beach, from 1942 to 2012, seventy years of tenants, eleven of them, each with a story to be told. The conceit of the novel is that the apartment retains some form of consciousness. Nothing particularly overt, mind you. It is handled more like a repository for emotional flotsam, psychic impressions that accumulate and rattle around with the tide of each new resident, to no obvious major purpose, until the final third of the book, when the apartment acquires a spokesperson, a late resident, who is on a mission to save the current one, Lana.

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Ana Menendez – Image from her site

So, was all the depositing of emotional residue by the prior nine tenants merely substructure on which this final pair could rest? I found that a jarring shift, a sort of unwelcome unreliable narrator, as we are no longer hearing apt 2B, but as if this person proclaimed, “Shove over, flat. I’ll take it from here.”

Menendez’s work is mostly in short form, so it makes sense that her novel is of the linked-story form, as each resident in turn gets anywhere from six to twenty-two pages for their tale. Even though there is a through-arc, it still feels like a short-story collection, which is fine with me. But this form does limit how much one can get invested in any one character. The final chapter, at a novella-length eighty-four pages, changes this dynamic and gives us a bit more to hold on to with its two primaries.

After a prologue, in which an indigenous woman sees the first European invaders on what is now Miami Beach, establishes the roots of the storytelling arc, we jump to the beginnings of World War II. An apartment building called The Helena is still moist with drying paint when it is requisitioned by the military. Major Jack Appleton has been moved from Texas to lead an officers’ school. His wife, Sophie, is not what you might call thrilled. Appleton is controlling and abusive. They are not long for this place.

During their stay a ship is set ablaze and sunk off the coast by a German U-boat, bringing the war home. In fact, while the violence may be almost entirely off-screen, there is plenty of it. It is a pervasive thread in The Apartment, from the genocidal infections brought by the first Europeans, to carnage wrought by German forces. A veteran suffers from PTSD after serving in Viet Nam. A Marielita flees her abusive father, but is being kept by an abusive lover. A woman dreams that her husband is coming to kill her. A couple fear for their lives, concerned that they are being pursued by agents from their home country. A soldier is killed in action. There is a suicide and another tenant who might follow suit. A man is set upon by thugs in the street and is beaten bloody.

Each chapter ends with an interstitial piece, as the apartment is vacant for a time. Cleaners come in to prepare for the next renter. Some offer some wonderful short character pieces. The apartment sees and feels.

The front door closes, and absence returns to apartment 2B. but there is still someone here to record the fact, this unseen eye that moves across the floor as it if were a page, sweeps the bedroom, the naked walls, lingers at the single living room window with its blinds at half-mast.

We get a Cook’s Tour of many significant moments in American history, including foreign events that impact here through the residents of 2B, WWII, tensions between the USA and Cuba, Viet Nam, the Mariel boatlift, the demise of the junta in Argentina, USA involvement in Central American conflicts, 9/11, the demise of printed newspapers, Lebanon, Afghanistan. A lot.

I’ve been interested for a long time in how the trauma of war and displacement plays out across generations. So this was one of the main ideas I wanted to explore in the novel. Many of the conflicts in this novel have ties to the United States, which of course can sadly be said of many conflicts in the world today. We are all implicated. But simply on a craft level, as a writer, there were some conflicts that I wanted to include for personal reasons.
The conflict in Lebanon is one of them, as my great-grandparents fled to Cuba following early conflict there at the turn of the last century. The violence in Cuba and its long aftermath is of course a special obsession as the daughter of Cuban immigrants. And the conflict in Afghanistan looms large for us as Americans and for me personally as I spent ten unforgettable days in the country in 1998.
– from the Lithub interview

Everyone at the Helena is a transplant from someplace else. Many of the characters are foreign-born, carrying with them a sense of mourning for their lost birthplaces. Some have to jump down to the bottom of the work ladder they had ascended back home and begin the climb again, or take on completely alternate work just to get by. Even those who have made successful new lives pine for what was lost.

SHAPIRO: You introduce us very early on in the text to a Spanish word, morrina. What does the word mean? And how did you think about the concept in relation to the narrative you were writing?
MENENDEZ: It’s a concept that I think runs through maybe all of my books – this sense of saudade, as the Portuguese maybe would describe it. Most cultures have a word for this. It’s this sort of bittersweet nostalgia – the sense that the past is sweet and wonderful to wallow in precisely because it cannot be recovered. And I think that that’s an obsession that has run through most of what I write – not consciously but simply as a product of my upbringing and my own situation. My parents, of course, are immigrants. They call themselves exiles from Cuba. And so for me, it speaks to, you know, one doesn’t need to be an exile or a migrant to have this sense that things were sweet in the past and to sort of take refuge in it.
– from the NPR interview

The vast majority of the stories, eight of eleven, center on women. Conflict abroad manifests as abuse or misery at home. Few move on from 2B to a better life. There are exceptions. Relationships are pretty universally strained. Abuse recurs. A marriage of convenience challenges a relationship of love. There are betrayals, problems with gambling, alcoholism, depression, desperation, racism, bigotry of various sorts, and shame. Some are tormented by decisions they have made in the past. Some seem more like lost wanderers, thrown up on shore after being tossed roughly about by an angry sea.

The residents vary in their work lives, with creative arts well represented. There are multiple painters, their models, a journalist and a concert pianist. The most piercing spectral presence of all is a painting one of the residents is working on, as it manifests a particular bit of darkness.

Snakes pop up throughout. The book opens with A serpent coils through the underbrush of palmetto and coco plum…Harmless, this one, this time.. Later “Time, spooky and fickle. Not arrow, but snake.” There are more.

And now back to the apartment designation. Wait, 2B? Or not? Certainly calls up a soliloquy from Hamlet. And informs a fair piece of the book. The Danish Prince wonders if he should keep on keeping on after, learning that dear uncle murdered his father. Certainly many of the characters here have suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Some put up a good fight, taking up arms against a sea of troubles. And by opposing [attempting to] end them. Well, some efforts are made. The alternative, the not 2B part, is to end the Heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that the flesh is heir to. One last “check, please.” And one of ours does indeed choose to find out what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil. Is it the fear of the undiscovered country, of unknowable death, that keeps most grinding through the day-after-day? Or some loftier feeling, hope, or value? May it is simply momentum.

While The Apartment is not a traditionally formatted novel, it is nonetheless a beautiful work of writing. While we may not have much time with many of the characters, Menendez does a lot in a short space, a talent no doubt honed by her history of short story writing. The stories are moving, at times to the point of tears.

Will Sophie get away from her abusive spouse? Will Eugenio find his way to California? Will Sandman find a way to survive his PTSD? Will Isabel make her own life and not remain a kept toy of an older man? Will Margot and her husband evade those who might be after them? How will Susan handle her loss? Will Marilyn stay with her damaged bf? How will Beatrice cope with the change in her circumstances? Will Pilar be able to find journalism work again? Will Lenin succeed in his mission? Will Lana let the many friendly neighbors help her out, or is her secret too much to reveal?

There is poetic beauty in here that deserves to be read, to be appreciated. You may or may not feel impelled to look for deteriorating flats in a soon-to-be submerged part of Florida, but it would be worth your while to check in with your real estate agent and arrange to give 2B a look. It might turn out to be just the right place for you.

In the English novels she studied in school, the characters all seemed masters of their own fates. When they stumbled, it was because of a flaw. The direction their lives took was the direction they determined through their choices. But this was not Margot’s experience of the world. The world so far acted on her without consultation or sympathy. Her life, dictated first by her family’s wealth and now by her husband’s work, lacked the agency she was taught to recognize in great works. Even this latest leaving had been out of her hands. Maybe the only true literature was the old ghost stories her grandmother used to whisper to her on those windy cold nights on the Pampas. Spirit and mortals alike, all subject to unseen forces that swelled beneath them, hidden and untamable.

Review posted – 9/8/23

Publication date – 6/27/23

I received hardcover of The Apartment from Counterpoint in return for a fair review and a one-year lease. Thanks, folks.

This review is cross-posted on Goodreads. Stop by and say Hi!

=======================================EXTRA STUFF

Links to the Menendez’s personal, FB, Instagram, and Twitter, sorry, X pages

Profile – from her site

Ana Menéndez has published five books of fiction: The Apartment (2023), Adios, Happy Homeland! (2011), The Last War (2009), Loving Che (2004) and In Cuba I Was a German Shepherd (2001), whose title story won a Pushcart Prize. She has worked as a journalist in the United States and abroad, lastly as a prize-winning columnist for The Miami Herald.
As a reporter, she wrote about Cuba, Haiti, Kashmir, Afghanistan, and India. Her work has appeared in Vogue, Bomb Magazine, The New York Times and Tin House and has been included in several anthologies, including The Norton Anthology of Latino Literature. She has a BA in English from Florida International University and an MFA from New York University.
From 2008 to 2009, she lived in Cairo as a Fulbright Scholar in Egypt. She has also lived in India, Turkey, Slovakia and The Netherlands, where she designed a creative writing minor at Maastricht University in 2011. For the past 20 years, she has taught at various writing conferences and programs including, most recently, Bread Loaf and the MFA Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College. She lives in Miami and is currently an associate professor at FIU with joint appointments in English and the Wolfsonian Public Humanities Lab.

Interviews
—–NPR – Author Ana Menendez explores stories a single location could tell in ‘The Apartment’ by Linah Mohammad, Ashley Brown, Ari Shapiro
—–Lithub – Ana Menéndez on Crafting a Connected Cast of Characters by Jane Ciabattari

Items of Interest from the author
—–Links to other things she has written

Items of Interest
—–The Poetry Foundation – To Be or Not To Be – from Shakespeare’s Hamlet
—–Wiki – The Mariel Boatlift
—–Museum of Florida History – Florida on the Home Front: The German Submarine Threat off Florida’s Coast – “The most dramatic sinking in Florida waters took place the night of April 10, 1942, when U-123 torpedoed the tanker Gulfamerica off Jacksonville Beach. The resulting fiery explosion was clearly seen onshore and curious crowds gathered to view the ship’s destruction and looked on in shock as the German submarine surfaced and fired its deck gun at the tanker.”

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Filed under Fiction, Historical Fiction, Literary Fiction, Short Stories