This is a literary novel about a young woman named Faby who lives in Vermont in the 1920s. Faby is obsessed with vaudeville acts that come to town. Every year, she attends with her sister and relishes watching the different acts.
One performer in particular who catches her eye is a dancer called Slim White, who bills himself as “America’s Favorite Hoofer.” Faby catches his eye as well, and after a quick fling one evening, Faby becomes pregnant. White, whose real name is Louis Kittell, seems willing to do the right thing and marries her, and the newlyweds start off on a trip across the Eastern United States, as Kittell moves from one town to another performing in various shows.
Normally, what I’ll find most memorable about a book is either the plot or the characters. I’ve just described about 80% of the plot, saving one semi-twist near the end, and while it’s certainly fine, it wasn’t what grabbed me.
As for the characters: Faby starts out as a naive girl, barely more than a child, and while it’s easy to feel pity for the situation she finds herself in, she’s a very passive type. Things happen to her, rather than her doing them.
And then we’ve got Louis: he’s basically a con man. A charming con man, to be sure, (think Robert Preston in The Music Man, or Burt Lancaster in The Rainmaker) but still ultimately a con man. It quickly becomes clear to Faby that he lies routinely and often for no apparent reason. Given this, many of his later actions are not really surprising. He’s not an absolutely terrible person, and he does in some sense care for Faby, but he’s far from being a good guy, and much of the book is just waiting for the inevitable in that regard.
But even though the characters weren’t the most likable folks in the world, and the plot is straightforward, I recommend this book strongly to fans of literary fiction. There are two reasons: one, the writing is just beautiful. It reminds me of Mark Paxson’s, and his mentor, Zoe Keithley’s, knack for crafting gorgeous paragraphs that really make you feel what the characters are feeling. For that reason alone, this is worth picking up.
The other reason is the setting. The author clearly spent a lot of time researching the culture, the fashions, the technology, and the slang of the 1920s, and it paid off in a big way. And I loved all the references to vaudeville. Louis may be a lying scoundrel, but I can’t deny that his little tidbits about the vaudeville life are enjoyable.
There are numerous references to many then-famous performers, including a brief mention of Elsie Janis. Janis is little-remembered today, but she was known as “The Sweetheart of the American Expeditionary Force” for her benefit shows in World War I. (She also hailed from my own stomping grounds of Central Ohio. I once lived in an apartment built more or less on the site of her Columbus home.)
As you can tell from the above, I love history, and this book is like stepping into a time machine to a bygone era. I’ve read a decent amount of historical fiction, but it’s rare to find something that transports you so completely to another era. That, combined with the wonderful prose, are what make Telling Sonny memorable.
This is a classic space-opera style adventure. The protagonist, a starfarer or “starfer” named Riel Dunbar finds himself with a night of leave on his homeworld of Isvalar, a world home to an active nightlife. He meets up with another starfer, an adventurous soul named Cera Marn, and is quickly swept up with the roguish Marn into one wild escapade after another.
Basically, if you’ve enjoyed the other Litka books I’ve reviewed, it’s a safe bet you’ll like this one. There are fights with gangs of thugs reminiscent of Keiree, and Marn herself reminded me more than a little of Ren Loh, the daring, often inconsiderate and rebellious noblewoman from Beneath the Lanterns. She even uses Loh’s signature line, “Pff!” when dismissing our more risk-averse protagonist’s concerns. And of course, against his better judgment, he goes along with her. I can’t blame him; I’d do the same.
At times, I found the action a little hard to follow. There are so many new worlds, characters, and technologies packed into such a short book that it made my head spin a bit. But, that didn’t detract from my enjoyment of the overall tale. I liked Marn a lot, and she’s really what makes this story flow. Even if she turns out to be not quite what she appeared at first, I found her an entertaining character.
This is a novella, originally published on Kindle Vella, and the ending leaves room for plenty more adventures. I wouldn’t mind spending more time in the world Litka has created here, with its inter-gang turf wars and neuro-blade fights. It’s just a good old fashioned throwback to Golden Age sci-fi.
I ended my review of the previous book in this series with the words, “Martuneac is a promising author. I’ll definitely be reading more of his work.” Zombie apocalypse books aren’t a genre I normally read, but the characters and writing in His Name Was Zach were strong enough to hold my attention and make me pick up the sequel.
And what a sequel it is! The foundation Martuneac laid in the first book really pays off in a number of ways in this sprawling epic. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you all the details, lest I spoil both books. But, I’ll do my best to give you the flavor of it.
Our protagonist is, naturally, Abby, the teenaged girl from the first book, who is struggling to survive in the harsh wilds of the Midwest, infested by zombies and small gangs of people struggling for self-preservation with varying degrees of brutality.
For reasons which I can’t say without spoiling the previous installment, but which will be obvious if you have read it, Abby can no longer rely on Zach, the man who raised her, and has to fend for herself. Her Name Was Abby picks up right where the first book left off, with an unrelenting post-apocalyptic world, full of violence, betrayal, and in general a reversion to the anarchic condition of life that Thomas Hobbes described as “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.”
This nightmarish world, in which no one can be fully trusted and the worst survive while the best perish, takes a major psychological toll on Abby, whose own hands are far from clean at the end of the first part of the book.
But then, she finds her way to something approaching civilization. And this is where the book takes a turn. For a long time, I’ve wondered why this series is categorized as “dystopian.” Maybe it’s me, but I don’t consider zombie apocalypse books dystopian. (I’m not really sure why. They’re certainly not utopian!) But once Abby reaches the West, she finds an area where the government remains in control.
And when I say “in control,” I mean police-state level control. This is where the book starts to resemble what I think of as a dystopia, as the reconstituted government under President Cyrus Arthur uses patrols of an elite military unit, the DAS, to terrorize the civilian population.
In fairness, we are talking about an outbreak of zombies here. You can see it would take a firm hand to reassert control in a situation like that. As other apologists for other tyrants have said, “You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.” In the case of President Arthur, “breaking eggs” includes a naval bombardment of San Diego. (This incident is only referenced a few times in passing, but somehow I found it one of the most haunting bits of world-building lore in the entire book.)
Abby quickly joins a resistance movement, where she meets a young man close to her own age named Hiamovi, the grandson of the movement’s leader. Abby is, understandably, slow to trust, but eventually she and Hiamovi fall in love.
Unfortunately, nothing good ever seems to last for Abby, and she soon finds herself infiltrating the DAS on an undercover mission that takes her into the very highest levels of the government, and into a relationship with President Arthur’s own son, Derrick.
And that’s about as far as I can go without spoiling things. It’s too bad, because what I’ve summarized so far is just the setup for a thrilling final act, full of suspense, action, and even a remarkable love triangle. It’s really well-done, and pieces that have been hinted at going back to the first book start to fall satisfyingly into place.
For instance: if, like me, you were wondering how the government was managing to keep firm control of the Western half of the country while the East collapses into zombie-barbarism; that question is answered quite clearly in the later parts of this book.
To recap: the first quarter of the book is pure survival-horror, brimming with relentless violence and a constant sense that Abby is living on a razor’s edge, kept alive by a combination of sheer luck and an ever-increasing willingness to betray her own moral code for the chance to see another sunrise.
Then the book transforms, fairly smoothly, from a zombie-horror book to more of a spy thriller. Spy thrillers are more my usual fare, so for me, this was a pleasant surprise.
So, would I say the book is a zombie book with some spy thriller elements, or a spy thriller with some zombie elements?
Answer: it’s neither.
Her Name Was Abby has another facet to it beyond the zombies and the cool high-tech espionage. It’s actually a surprisingly deep psychological portrait of Abby. More specifically, of how Abby tries to cope with all the horrific trauma she’s experienced from a young age.
Now, I get it: almost all thrillers have a Protagonist With A Dark Past™. Many, many books have a flawed anti-hero who is running from some kind of horrible event that has left a scar on their psyche. And it almost always feels forced and fake to me.
But Abby’s feels genuine. I can’t really explain it. Somehow, though, Martuneac conveys her mental state in a way that seems real. Her PTSD flashbacks are vivid, and the way she struggles with feelings of depression, rage, doubt, and guilt are all viscerally powerful.
Abby’s journey is a moving one, and whereas in the previous book she relied heavily on Zach to save her, in this one, she has no one else to turn to. As one character, one of my favorites in the book, says, “If your life is going to be saved, it must be you who does the saving.”
The book has many good lines, but I can’t quote most of them because they would also spoil important plot developments. In general, let me just say that Martuneac’s style of writing is very interesting to me. I do think most modern fiction critics would argue it relies too much on “telling” rather than “showing” and we all know the standard rule about that.
However, I’ve never been completely onboard with this rule. (Yeah, yeah; if you watch the Writers Supporting Writers videos, I’m sure you’re just shocked by this.) I know what people mean when they say it, but at best, it’s badly phrased. Because all fiction is actually telling, never showing. The art is in making people feel like you’re showing them something.
Anyway, this is a roundabout way of saying Martuneac tends to use what I think of as an older style of narration that is often detached from the immediate thoughts of the characters. Some people might not like this approach, but personally, I found it kind of refreshing. There is such a thing as too much immediacy, and I feel like a lot of modern fiction has it. Probably because most writers have had the “show, don’t tell” rule drilled into them.
This is a really good story, and one that should have broad appeal. While I do think it’s better to read the series in order, I will say that if you like thrillers but are positively allergic to the zombie genre, you could start by reading this book without reading His Name Was Zach. That’s what H.R.R. Gorman did, and if it’s good enough for Gorman, it’s good enough for me.
And one more thing about Zach. Despite the fact he’s not in this one, his presence still can be felt throughout this book. Like Abby, I often found myself wondering what Zach would think of this or that. I’m always impressed when a character looms large even when not actually “in” the story as such.
I’d like to say a lot more about this book, but I don’t want to spoil anything. Hopefully I’ve piqued your interest enough that you’ll want to check it out, and after you’ve read it, you can come back here and discuss it in detail.
This is a novel with layers. Superficially, it’s a “chick lit” relationship novel. The narrator, Dr. Sarah Phelan, says as much in the first chapter. This layer is a classic romance of a woman falling in love with a man who at first seems to be Mr. Perfect, but who has hidden Byronic depths.
The difference with this book is, Dr. Phelan is aware of how her story fits into the conventions of the genre, and repeatedly makes meta references to what part of the standard story she’s in, or acknowledges different tropes that she encounters.
And she has more going on in her life than just her relationship with her new beau (name: Dylan Cakebread). She’s still getting over her ex-husband, who has become a published author, and dealing with a long-running feud with her sister Ella. Fortunately, she has the support of her close friend, Jules, whose chatty, gossiping manner made her a treat every time she appeared.
But there’s more to this book than a mere girl-meets-boy light romance. It’s deeper than that, and it doesn’t always hew to the conventions of the genre. In fact, it’s not really a “genre” book at all, though of course at first glance it appears to be. Like other Brennan books I’ve reviewed, it’s not one you can easily pigeonhole.
Also like other Brennan books, it’s full of memorable lines. Like Dr. Phelan’s comments on a certain genre of fiction:
“I think there’s really only one enormous thriller out there now, made up of the hundreds of thousands of them that are published every ten minutes or so, and our job as readers is to somehow knit them all together.”
And then there’s this line from Jules’ husband, Wayne:
“Everything is unsustainable,[…]We’re living in the Apocalypse Years, right? Nobody knows when the shit’s gonna hit the fan, but it’s pretty obvious that it is.”
Occasional Soulmates was published in 2014, and this line reminded me of Brennan’s later novel, Eternity Began Tomorrow, an environmentalist political thriller that painted a picture of the year 2020 almost as insane as the real one.
Like Eternity Began Tomorrow, Occasional Soulmates doesn’t conform to the genre it superficially appears to be. It winds up going in a very different direction than I expected, but I should have known it would. Brennan never falls back on tired clichés, and always strives to surprise his readers.
If you like clever literary fiction that has more to it than meets the eye, this is a good read. Also impressive is how well Brennan writes his female protagonist. As Audrey Driscoll said in her review, “Either Mr. Brennan is a mind-reader or he had really good intel from women. I loved the girly-gossipy tone of the narration, especially the parts where Sarah and her best pal Jules dissect relationships and classify men.”
I couldn’t agree more. Writing female characters when you’re a male is quite tricky, but Brennan manages it beautifully. This is just one more reason why this book is worth your time: Brennan is a master of the craft, and it shows on every page.
This is a collection of three short stories set in Chicago. I’ll be reviewing them in the reverse of the order they appear in the book.
“Annie Doesn’t Mean Any Harm” was my least-favorite story in the book, which is not to say it was bad. On the contrary, it was quite good. Keithley writes beautiful prose and creates characters who stick in your mind long after you close the book.
So, why was this my least-favorite? Simply because it’s so brutal and tragic. As in her novel, The Calling of Mother Adelli, Keithley portrays cruelty upon cruelty. The story deals with a petty tyrant who works as an aide in a senior citizen home, but who badly mistreats those in his care. The story is a terrific character study, but its unrelenting bleakness can be a lot to take.
The middle story in the collection “The Only Thanks I Wanted” is another grim tale that illustrates the old adage “No good deed goes unpunished.” It has a darkly comic undertone to it that resolves in a way that layers irony upon irony.
And this brings me to my favorite story in the collection, “The Second Marriage of Albert Li Wu,” which tells the story of a widower trying to cope with loneliness and haunted by unpleasant memories of his first wife.
This story was my favorite, not because it was written better than the rest, (Keithley’s prose is uniformly excellent in every story.) but because it strikes a bittersweet note, and leaves the reader with a sense of hope. It’s also the longest story, with the most room to develop and get to know the characters.
I’ve been meaning to read this collection for years, ever since Mark Paxson told me about Keithley’s work. I read and reviewed Mother Adelli shortly after. It’s a wonderful novel, but incredibly haunting and emotionally tough to take. I admit, I wanted to wait until I was in the right frame of mind to read this, and reading Mark’s recent novel The Dime, which is dedicated to Keithley, inspired me to do it.
Anyone who loves literary fiction with gorgeous writing, fascinating characters, and a fatalistic, tragic sensibility, should read this collection.
So, what is The Fall of Alla Xul? Well, it’s presented as a translation of ancient Sumerian tablets recounting the epic quest of Atun-Shei to topple the evil Emperor Alla Xul. The preface includes a whole summary of how the tablets were found, and various scholarly interpretations of them. These interpretations are referenced throughout the book in footnotes as well.
Except… well, you know, my favorite short story of all time is The Repairer of Reputations. I’m a big fan of stories where all is not what it seems. There are layers to this story, and half the fun is in seeing how many different elements have been woven together to make this narrative enjoyable.
Oh, and the titular fall of Alla Xul? Well, that particular scene evoked something else for me, something not out of Sumerian legend at all. But I don’t want to say what it was. Read it yourself, and see if it conjures up any memories for you. I think it’s a clever reference to… something. But then again, it may be just the universal tropes of Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey.
All in all, this is a very fun, fast read that will be particularly entertaining for anyone who enjoys scholarly takes on ancient legends, stories-within-stories, and generally weird, esoteric tales. I recommend it. I also recommend checking out that YouTube channel linked above, particularly if you’re into history and/or film.
Another book I picked up through Lydia Schoch’s weekly Twitter thread of free books. This is a military sci-fi novella, and military sci-fi is one of my favorite genres, so of course I had to check it out!
The book tells the story of Floribeth Salinas O’Shea Dalisay, a deep-space pilot exploring an uncharted system. A stunning discovery and a narrow escape only land her in deeper trouble with the corporation she works for, leaving her with few options, save one that leads her into a series of interstellar fighter battles as part of the Navy of Humanity.
Floribeth (“Beth”) is fun protagonist to root for, and her fellow pilots make for enjoyable sidekicks. At times, I had a little difficulty keeping track of all the secondary characters, so making notes may be helpful. But all of them are entertaining and real, so that’s not really a problem. As long as I’m enjoying the characters, I don’t mind if I have trouble remembering who’s who.
I also had a bit of difficulty visualizing some of the action scenes. Sometimes, trying to picture what deep space combat would actually look like can be a bit daunting. (I had the same problem with the book We Are Legion (We Are Bob.)) That may just be a commentary on the limits of my imagination, though. Overall, I really liked the fast pace and the camaraderie among the pilots. It made me think of Rogue Squadron, which is always a good thing. And the motives of the different corporations and governments are well-thought-out and plausible.
The book is the first in a series, and having read it, I’m eager to read more of these. Fans of sci-fi, or just adventure in general, should definitely give this one a try.
Mark Paxson has often said that he writes in order to see things from other perspectives. The Dime is a great example of this. There are three main characters: Sophie, a teenage girl, now in a wheelchair after the car crash that killed her parents; Lily, her sister, who has been her guardian since turning 18, and Pete, a boy Sophie’s age with a violent alcoholic father and a distant, uncaring mother.
The three are brought together by a chance encounter between Pete and Lily at the Five & Dime where the latter works. Together, they are forced to navigate their difficult circumstances, and confront a lot of personal trauma and pain.
The book is told from the perspectives of all three, supplemented by the voices of secondary characters, such as Pete’s mother, the owner of the Five & Dime, a boyfriend of Lily’s, etc. The book is great at showing multiple people’s perspectives. Often, characters I initially disliked became more understandable once I heard their side of it. Not always likable, but at the very least, pitiable.
This book combines many of the features of Mark’s previous works: the almost poetic character study found in The Irrepairable Past with the many different perspectives and people woven throughout his short stories collected inShady Acresand The Marfa Lights. Elements of both are in The Dime. It’s a focused portrait of specific characters and also a portrayal of a whole world.
If you like the idea of getting in somebody else’s shoes and walking around a bit, of seeing the world through new eyes, then The Dime is a good book for you. It’s a powerful, emotional, and ultimately uplifting story, told with empathy and thoughtfulness.
One other thing: the book is dedicated to a writer named Zoe Keithley. I’ve only read one of Keithley’s books so far, but it haunts me still, as one of the most emotionally powerful books I’ve ever read. Two of the most memorable pieces of imagery used in The Dime were inspired by her literary techniques, and I can definitely see it, because they have a way of staying with you long after you close the book.
But I won’t say what they are! The Dime is more driven by characters than plot, it’s true; but even so, I wouldn’t want to give away too much about it. You must meet Sophie, Lily, Pete, and the rest for yourself. Inhabit their world; get to know them a bit. What is the point of books, after all, if not to learn to connect with other people?
Sorry, I’m behind schedule. Finding time to read is getting harder lately.
But, not all is lost for the week! I will give you a peek at what’s on my TBR list. And as a bonus, if any of these books strike your fancy, and you decide to review them, let me know, and I’ll link to your review.
The Dime, by Mark Paxson. I’m reading this right now. I’m about halfway through, and it’s terrific. If you’ve read Paxson’s other books, you have an idea of what to expect: deep characters, lots of emotional trauma and healing, and wonderful prose. I’ll be reviewing it soon.
Burke and the Bedouin, by Tom Williams. This has been on my TBR list for months, but I had to read the first book in the series first. If this one is as good as the first, I won’t be able to put it down once I start.
Arctic Snow to Dust of Normandy, by Patrick Dalzel-Job. This is a non-fiction book. It’s a memoir by British Naval Officer Patrick Dalzel-Job, recounting his service in the Second World War. Dalzel-Job is said to have been one of the inspirations for Ian Fleming in creating the character of James Bond, so I’m expecting an exciting read.
These are books I’m hoping to read in the near-ish future. I actually have a lot more on my list, but hey, if I had the time to list them all, I’d have time to write a review this week. 🙂 Anyway, I hope you see something interesting here. With any luck, next week I’ll be back to posting reviews.
I heard of this book thanks to Lydia Schoch’s review. I wasn’t sure what to expect, as it looked like a children’s book.
But it’s not a children’s book, not exactly. It is true that it is about a child’s toy, and one of the major characters is a child. But the book has a few PG-13 words in it, and the drama is more intense than you might expect. It’s about a valiant Teddy Bear fighting to defend his owner from a monster living in his closet, and it’s not played lightly or humorously. Sure, it may sound fanciful, but there’s a grittiness to the way Teddy fights against his sinister enemy. He’s a grizzled veteran of many nightly battles against the creature, and it shows. In short, I loved the character of Teddy Bear.
His nemesis, the monster in the closet, was also brilliantly described: a wraith-like being that assumes different forms. The author did a fantastic job describing just enough to let the reader form a picture, and then fill in the blanks with their imaginations.
The book is very short, but it packs a punch. Anyone who enjoys a good fantasy should check out this story.
This is a literary novel about a young woman named Faby who lives in Vermont in the 1920s. Faby is obsessed with vaudeville acts that come to town. Every year, she attends with her sister and relishes watching the different acts.
The Dime, by Mark Paxson.
Fire Ant, by Jonathan P. Brazee
Arctic Snow to Dust of Normandy, by Patrick Dalzel-Job.