A Gathering of Poetry: August 2025

It's the third Thursday of the month so I'd like to welcome you to A Gathering of Poetry. I know I just shared a Billy Collins poem with you last month, but I've got another one that's just too good not to share now, as summer camp season is ending. A friend and I were talking about making lanyards (we actually remembered how!) and this poem just miraculously showed up. I did make several of these for my mother, although never out of boredom, and I was convinced they were beautifully crafted and infinitely useful.

(I'll try to choose a different poet for September!)

The Lanyard

by Billy Collins 

 

The other day I was ricocheting slowly

off the blue walls of this room,

moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,

from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,

when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary

where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist

could send one into the past more suddenly—

a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp

by a deep Adirondack lake

learning how to braid long thin plastic strips

into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard

or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,

but that did not keep me from crossing

strand over strand again and again

until I had made a boxy

red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,

and I gave her a lanyard.

She nursed me in many a sick room,

lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,

laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,

and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,

and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.

Here are thousands of meals, she said,

and here is clothing and a good education.

And here is your lanyard, I replied,

which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,

strong legs, bones and teeth,

and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,

and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.

And here, I wish to say to her now,

is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,

but the rueful admission that when she took

the two-tone lanyard from my hand,

I was as sure as a boy could be

that this useless, worthless thing I wove

out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

====

Collins, Billy, “The Lanyard”, The Trouble With Poetry: and Other Poems, 2005.

You can read more about Billy Collins here.

====

Thank you for reading and joining us for our monthly Gathering of Poetry. You are

more than welcome to add your link below if you would like to share one of your

favorite poems. The more the merrier!

 

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

Unraveled Wednesday: 8/20/25

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers with some small sock knitting progress. I'm working on a small sock and there is a small amount of progress. 

 

The first sock is done and I even made myself weave in ends and graft the toe. The second sock is just barely past the ankle ribbing but it's started. 

 

I received the yarn that I ordered to knit a Christmas present, so I'm anxious to finish this pair of socks for Jess and cast on for the gift. Depending on how that goes, I may cast on a second pair of shortie socks for Jess in inverse colors. 

I finished two books this week. Wild Dark Shore is an atmospheric, slow-burning story that blends survival, family drama, and eco-thriller elements against the stark, haunting backdrop of Shearwater—a fictional remote island on the edge of Antarctica. Charlotte McConaghy has a gift for crafting setting as character, and the bleak isolation of the island is evident on every page. The descriptions of the storms, the encroaching sea, and the seed bank itself are immersive and often beautiful.

Rowan, the mysterious castaway, is a compelling figure. Watching her tentative bond with the Salt family—fractured, lonely, and desperate for connection—was one of the novel’s strengths. The interplay of secrets and distrust builds tension nicely, especially as Rowan and Dominic circle one another with wary curiosity.

That said, the pacing sometimes falters. Much of the middle leans heavily on atmosphere and introspection, which creates mood but can feel repetitive. The characters, while layered, don’t always feel fully realized, and the revelations at times arrive more conveniently than convincingly.

Still, McConaghy raises urgent questions about climate change, resilience, and the fragile balance between trust and survival. Wild Dark Shore isn’t flawless, but it’s a memorable, windswept read that lingers after the last page. Three and a half stars rounded up.  

The Impossible Thing is an especially original mystery. Belinda Bauer has a gift for taking unusual subjects and spinning them into taut, page-turning mysteries, and The Impossible Thing is no exception. The novel begins in 1926 with a haunting scene on the cliffs of Yorkshire, where desperate men risk their lives to steal rare seabird eggs. From there, Bauer bridges past and present, weaving a story that combines historical intrigue with a modern-day crime.

Patrick Fort stumbles into a case that seems small at first—an apparently simple robbery—but it quickly expands into something far stranger and more dangerous. The stolen object, a scarlet egg in a carved case, connects the present to a century-old legacy of obsession, cruelty, and greed. Bauer balances suspense with thoughtfulness here, raising questions about the human drive to collect, to own, and to risk everything for beauty.

What I enjoyed most was the subject matter of collecting eggs (I had no idea!) and how seamlessly Bauer blended the dual timelines. The historical passages on egg collecting are vivid, atmospheric, and at times harrowing, while the contemporary storyline provides momentum and wit. Patrick is both prickly and compelling, and his relationship with Nick adds warmth to the darker undercurrents of the plot.

If I have one tiny quibble, it’s that the pacing occasionally falters—there are moments when the narrative lingers a bit too long on background or exposition—but Bauer always manages to pull the story back into sharp focus.

Overall, The Impossible Thing is an inventive, intelligent thriller that marries history, natural history, and crime in a way that feels both surprising and deeply satisfying. A strong recommendation for anyone who enjoys mysteries that step outside the ordinary. This one was four stars for me. 

What are you making and reading this week?

 

Another Quote From Justin

Back in June, I wrote about a quote Justin had shown me and I wondered what it might mean. You helpfully provided some interesting answers and gave me plenty to think about. I've got another quote from Justin today.

 

This one is a little easier to grasp than the last quote. To me, it’s a reminder that real confidence and self-worth come from within—not from other people’s approval. Justin has been dealing with some challenges at work lately, and he said starting each day with this thought has actually helped him stay grounded. Ryan has some things going on this week, so I've passed it along to him. 

 

I've found it's helping me, too—at least a little. I may not be able to control the world burning around me, but I can choose to act like a thoughtful, rational, moral, and decent human who still gives a damn. Nugget, of course, always carries herself like royalty, so this regal photo felt like the perfect companion to the quote. 

 

I hope your week is off to a strong start—and may you keep striding through it like the absolute queen you are. 👑

 

Unraveled Wednesday: 8/13/25

I’m joining Kat and the Unravelers this week with a little unraveling and a little sock progress. A couple of weeks ago I mentioned my watermelon sock yarn, and I finally cast on with it—planning to make shortie socks for Jess. That’s when the unraveling began, both literally and in my head.

First attempt: knit the cuff in the watermelon yarn. Didn’t like how the “seeds” (the black speckles) looked in ribbing. Rip. Second attempt: cuff in solid green, then straight into the heel flap after only three rows of watermelon yarn. Didn’t like how the seeds looked in my usual eye of partridge heel. Tried solid green for the heel—looked silly with just those three watermelon rows in between. After the third unsuccessful attempt, I admitted defeat. The watermelon yarn is in time-out.

 

 

While putting it away, I spotted some bright green yarn that matches Jess' new scrubs, along with some purple yarn I’d wound ages ago. Inspiration struck! I cast on shortie socks with the green for the cuff, purple for the foot, and I’ll probably go back to green for the toe. The second sock will match—but if time allows, I might knit another pair with the colors reversed for fun. (You know how quickly I knit in my mind, even if real life is slower!)

 

I also finished and grafted the second sock of my blue-and-green striped pair, which I love almost as much as my rainbow socks. Now I just need some crisp fall weather to wear them.

 

 

Reading-wise, I caught up with the books I've finished on Monday. I'm currently reading The Impossible Thing and The Friend (our Read With Us selection), so I'll probably be sharing my thoughts about them next week.  

 

What are you making and reading this week?

Books: Part II

I hope you've had a good weekend and that it included reading something good. I'm here today with some more of my thoughts on books I finished recently.

Family Drama by Rebecca Fallon is an ambitious, emotionally layered novel that straddles the line between glitzy soap-opera glamour and quiet New England melancholy. At its heart is Susan Bliss—soap star, mother, enigma—whose life and death shape the trajectory of her fractured family.

Fallon sets a striking opening scene: a Viking funeral on a snowy beach, two bewildered children watching their mother disappear into the water. It’s a bold start and full of promise. The novel then shifts between timelines and perspectives—tracing Susan’s passionate, bifurcated existence between L.A. stardom and New England motherhood, while also following her twins, Sebastian and Viola, into adulthood.

There’s a lot to admire here: vivid prose, clever structure, and emotionally sharp moments. Sebastian’s longing and artistic obsession with his mother feel tender and well-realized. Viola’s storyline—particularly her entanglement with her mother’s old costar—is messier, and sometimes uncomfortably so.

That said, Family Drama occasionally buckles under its own weight. The narrative momentum falters in places, and Susan herself—though often described as dazzling—feels more like a symbol than a fully inhabited character. The emotional payoff promised in the beginning is somewhat diluted by the novel’s more theatrical flourishes.

Overall, this is a solid, evocative read that touches on fame, family, memory, and identity. For fans of literary fiction with a dramatic flair, Family Drama is worth picking up—but be prepared for a slow burn rather than a soap-worthy explosion. This was three stars for me (despite the great cover).

Thanks to Edelelweiss and Simon & Schuster for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on February 3, 2026. 

Sarah Moss’s Ripeness is a quiet, layered novel that weaves together two timelines with characteristic intelligence and restraint. Set partly in 1960s rural Italy and partly in present-day Ireland, the novel follows Edith—first as a dutiful teenager sent to assist her pregnant sister Lydia through a complex and emotionally fraught birth, and later as a mature woman navigating a friend's unexpected family revelation.

Moss is at her best when writing about the subtleties of obligation, memory, and the undercurrents in female relationships. The sections in Italy are especially evocative, filled with tension, sunlight, and the heavy silence of things left unsaid. Edith's youth and the decisions she’s asked to carry out on behalf of others create a sense of unease that lingers well into the present-day narrative.

However, while the prose is typically sharp and the themes compelling—particularly the question of who gets to make life-altering decisions and why—the novel occasionally feels underdeveloped emotionally. The present-day plotline, involving Maebh’s surprise sibling and Edith’s role in unearthing that family mystery, doesn’t land with the same weight as the earlier story. There’s a detachment that makes it hard to fully invest in the characters' current dilemmas. Some of this may be due to the fact that the book feels overstuffed. Lots of issues are mixed up in this book—it deals with refugees, migration and immigration, Jewishness, rape culture, abortions, Irishness, the Magdalene Laundries, the war in Ukraine, toxic ballet culture, and much more. It often felt like too much and made Edith a frustrating character.

A thoughtful, readable novel that explores the long reach of the past, Ripeness doesn’t quite deliver the emotional payoff it promises, but Moss’s elegant writing and insight into the lives of women still make it worth the read.

Thank you to Farrar, Straus and Giroux and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on September 9, 2025. 

Isola is a beautifully written survival story rooted in historical truth and elevated by Allegra Goodman's lyrical prose. Inspired by a real sixteenth-century woman who was abandoned on an island as punishment for an illicit relationship, the novel imagines what inner strength, longing, and faith might look like when stripped of society, family, and even hope.

Marguerite begins the novel as a privileged young woman—an heiress raised to expect comfort and refinement. But after a series of betrayals by her guardian, she finds herself exiled to a remote, frozen island. What follows is not just a story of physical survival, but a spiritual and emotional reckoning.

Goodman’s writing is spare and evocative, especially when describing the stark beauty and brutality of the natural world. The island becomes a character in its own right—merciless, isolating, but also strangely liberating. Marguerite’s transformation from ornamented girl to self-reliant woman is subtle but deeply felt, and her voice—narrating from a place of endurance rather than drama—is compelling in its restraint.

Some readers might find the pacing slow or the emotional register too muted, but for me, the novel’s quiet intensity made it all the more powerful. It doesn’t sensationalize Marguerite’s suffering, but it doesn’t look away from it either. Instead, Isola invites us to sit with loneliness, resilience, forbidden love, and the aching clarity that can come when everything else is stripped away.

A contemplative, moving book that lingers after the final page. Recommended for readers of literary historical fiction and survival narratives with emotional depth. This was a solid four stars for me. 

 

Maggie Smith’s A Suit or a Suitcase is an introspective, tender, and at times disorienting collection that blurs the lines between mind and body, past and present, self and world. Smith has a gift for crafting images that feel both fragile and sharp-edged, offering moments of clarity that catch you off guard. Many of the poems linger in that liminal space between what we know and what we can only guess at—asking questions about identity, continuity, and the limits of human perception.

That said, while the language is often gorgeous and contemplative, the book can feel somewhat diffuse. The thematic repetition sometimes risks dulling its impact, and a few poems felt more like sketches than fully realized pieces. Still, when Smith’s words and ideas land, they land well, and the best moments have the kind of quiet resonance that stays with you long after you’ve closed the book.

Not every poem here will speak to every reader, but for those who appreciate meditative, thought-tinged verse and a willingness to explore uncertainty, this is a collection worth spending time with—whether you’re in a suit, a suitcase, or somewhere in between. Three and a half stars rounded up. There is a Goodreads giveaway for this book if you're interested.

Thank you to Washington Square Press and Edelweiss for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on March 24, 2026. 

I'm grateful that I enjoy reading so much as it provides an escape, a respite, and it's also educational. I hope you have a good book in your hands or your ears and are also experiencing all the benefits that reading can provide. 

Books: Part I

I read lots of books while I was away from blogging and sitting around in waiting rooms, so it's time to share my thoughts. There are lots of them, so today is Part I, and I'll post Part II on Monday. 

Wreck by Catherine Newman is everything I want in a novel about family: messy, hilarious, heartfelt, and full of tender truth. Returning to Rocky and her crew two years after Sandwich felt like coming home—not to a perfectly tidy house, but to one filled with life, love, and chaos in equal measure.

Rocky is as funny and neurotic and deeply lovable as ever, navigating a new phase of adulthood where the kids are grown, the parents are aging, and the existential dread doesn’t take a day off. Newman captures this liminal space—the “what now?” years—with clarity and compassion. I laughed out loud at the family’s banter, teared up more than once, and found myself nodding in recognition page after page.

What elevates Wreck is the way Newman threads weightier themes—illness, grief, fear, identity—into the story without ever losing its warmth. Rocky’s obsession with a local tragedy and her spiral into medical what-ifs feels so real and human, and it’s this emotional honesty that makes the novel so moving. Life doesn’t always follow a clean arc, and Newman doesn’t try to force it to. Instead, she gives us something better: a beautifully messy, sharply observed portrait of a family doing their best, loving imperfectly, and staying afloat in the wreckage.

You don’t need to have read Sandwich to appreciate Wreck, but fans of Newman’s earlier work will be thrilled to reunite with these characters. I know lots of reviewers said that Sandwich was dull, boring, and didn't reflect their experiences. Not every book is for everybody, but I loved Sandwich and I enjoyed Wreck even more. This is a novel that affirms how strange and beautiful it is to be alive and connected to other people. Five stars from me, and there is a Goodreads giveaway if you are interested.

Thank you to Edelweiss and Harper Collins for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on October 28, 2025.

The Headache by Tom Zeller Jr. is part memoir, part science journalism, and part social commentary on how one of the world’s most common ailments remains so widely misunderstood and still too often dismissed. Zeller, a veteran science writer, uses his own decades-long battle with cluster headaches as a starting point for a deep dive into the world of chronic head pain, weaving personal narrative with reporting that spans medical history, pharmaceutical research, and the often frustrating world of clinical care.

The book's greatest strength lies in its accessibility. Zeller does a commendable job breaking down complex neurological science and exploring how cultural perceptions of pain—especially invisible pain—contribute to the marginalization of headache sufferers. His descriptions of cluster headaches are harrowing and vivid, bringing to life what is often an invisible condition. His voice is empathetic and clear-eyed, especially in his interviews with other sufferers and researchers.

That said, the blend of memoir and research isn't seamless. At times, the many personal digressions—while heartfelt—slow the narrative momentum or detract from the more investigative parts of the book. Readers looking for a focused scientific account might find the structure a little meandering, while memoir fans may occasionally get bogged down in the medical detail.

Still, The Headache is an important contribution to health literature. It advocates for greater awareness and research without slipping into sensationalism or self-pity. For those living with migraines, cluster headaches, or even just trying to understand someone who does, this book offers not just insight, but validation.

Recommended for: readers of narrative nonfiction, science writing, medical memoirs, and anyone who has ever had to explain that a headache is so much more than “just” a headache. Three and a half stars rounded up.  

 What We Can Know by Ian McEwan is a cerebral, speculative novel that blends literary mystery with climate fiction and philosophical inquiry. As always, McEwan writes with polish and intelligence, but this novel doesn’t quite achieve the emotional or narrative impact of his best work.

Set in 2119, in a Britain dramatically altered by climate catastrophe, the novel follows academic Tom Metcalfe as he becomes obsessed with a lost poem from 2014. This premise—part detective story, part meditation on memory, loss, and legacy—offers fertile ground. The scenes of a drowned Britain, rich with eerie detail and melancholy, are among the book’s strongest, capturing both the slow violence of climate change and the weight of cultural forgetting.

However, the narrative often feels more interested in ideas than in people. Tom's journey is intellectually intriguing but emotionally muted. Characters are sketched in ways that serve the book’s themes, rather than developing as fully human figures. The past/present structure, while initially engaging, sometimes bogs down in exposition and philosophical asides, stalling momentum. The central mystery of the poem and the interpersonal betrayals it uncovers promise more drama than they ultimately deliver.

There’s no question that McEwan is wrestling with urgent questions—what will be left of us, and how will we be understood? But What We Can Know occasionally feels more like a thought experiment than a novel. It’s elegant and thought-provoking, but lacks the narrative drive or emotional resonance that might have made it a great one. This one was three stars for me, and there is a Goodreads giveaway if you are interested, 

Recommended for McEwan completists and fans of climate fiction with a literary bent, but others may find it a bit too aloof. Thank you to Knopf and Edelweiss for providing me with a copy of the book. It will be published on September 23, 2025.

Kat is a big fan of Bruno so I decided to start with the first one and see for myself. Bruno, Chief of Police by Martin Walker is a charming and atmospheric mystery set in a picturesque French village. The book introduces Bruno Courrèges, a kind-hearted local policeman who prefers to resolve issues with diplomacy rather than force. When a murder with possible racist undertones disrupts the town’s peaceful rhythm, Bruno finds himself navigating tensions between tradition, modernity, and a darker history.

The real strength here is the setting—Walker paints the Dordogne region with such affection that the food, wine, and scenery practically steal the show. The mystery itself is solid, though a bit meandering at times, and the pace is more leisurely than suspenseful.

While the plot could have been tighter and some characters more fully developed, Bruno, Chief of Police is a satisfying start to a series that’s as much about community and culture as it is about crime. Best enjoyed with a glass of wine and some cheese. Three and a half stars rounded up. I haven't read any more in the series (yet) but I'll definitely continue, especially since they are available on hoopla. 

I hope you've got something good to read this weekend. I'll be back on Monday with more books.  

Unraveled Wednesday: 8/6/25

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers with some knitting progress. A finished pair of rainbow socks:

The blue and green striped socks are still in progress. One is done (even grafted) and the second sock is in progress, heading down the foot for the toe. 

As soon as I finish this sock, I'll be casting on with the watermelon sock yarn that I mentioned several weeks ago. There is just something about knitting socks that I'm finding satisfying. Maybe it's not just knitting socks but I also really love knitting with self-striping yarn. One of my kids actually had a knitting request, so I couldn't order the yarn (more self-striping!) I wanted fast enough. I'll have to find some sort of pattern but I'm looking forward to much more knitting with colorful self-striping yarn for the foreseeable future.

I read six books during my break (and might possibly finish a couple more in the next couple of days) so I'll split my book "reports" into a couple of posts, probably this Friday and next Monday.  

What are you making and reading this week?

Hello Again

I cross this bridge a lot; it's the one from Milford, New Jersey to Upper Black Eddy, Pennsylvania. There is a more direct route to PA via the Frenchtown bridge, but that bridge is under construction (possibly until the 12th of Never). So I take this detour that adds about 20 minutes to my trips but it also gives me time to really look at the bridge and think about what I'm seeing. 

After a longer-than-anticipated break—thanks to an ongoing series of medical tests and the unpredictable detours life tends to throw—I’m finally back. The time away has been necessary, sometimes frustrating, sometimes clarifying. But now, even though the sign says no diving or jumping, it’s time to dive back into writing blog posts.

Blogging isn’t always easy. Some days the words come slow, and the doubts come fast. But what I’ve missed most isn’t just the writing—it’s you. The people. The connections. The quiet encouragements and the kind messages from those who reached out to say they were thinking of me, and even missed me.

It’s amazing how much a simple “you were missed” can do. So I offer a big thank you. A little encouragement truly does go a long way—and here I am, back at the keyboard.

See you in the comments. Let’s pick up where we left off.

 

Unraveled Wednesday: 7/23/25

I'm sad to not actually be joining Kat and the Unravelers today, just posting that I may have come a bit unraveled myself so I will be taking a break for a little while. With any luck I may even have a completed pair of socks to show you when I return next week. Who knows, there could even be two pairs!

And because every blog post needs a photo, here's one of my random favorites:

A Gathering of Poetry: July 2025

It's the third Thursday of the month so I'd like to welcome you to A Gathering of Poetry. I had glimmers of this poem in my memory, but what I mainly recalled was tables and chairs abandoned by a pond. It took me a while to find it, but I knew it as soon as I read it, and was glad to see that chairs, tables, and a lake were actually mentioned. 

 

The Chairs That No One Sits In

by Billy Collins 

 

You see them on porches and on lawns

down by the lakeside,

usually arranged in pairs implying a couple

who might sit there and look out

at the water or the big shade trees.

The trouble is you never see anyone

sitting in these forlorn chairs

though at one time it must have seemed   

a good place to stop and do nothing for a while.

Sometimes there is a little table

between the chairs where no one   

is resting a glass or placing a book facedown.

It might be none of my business,

but it might be a good idea one day

for everyone who placed those vacant chairs

on a veranda or a dock to sit down in them

for the sake of remembering

whatever it was they thought deserved

to be viewed from two chairs   

side by side with a table in between.

The clouds are high and massive that day.

The woman looks up from her book.

The man takes a sip of his drink.

Then there is nothing but the sound of their looking,

the lapping of lake water, and a call of one bird

then another, cries of joy or warning—

it passes the time to wonder which. 

====

Collins, Billy. "The Chairs That No One Sits In". Poetry, November 2008. 

You can read more about Billy Collins here.  

====

Thank you for reading and joining us for our monthly Gathering of Poetry. You are

more than welcome to add your link below if you would like to share one of your

favorite poems. The more the merrier!

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

Unraveled Wednesday: 7/16/25

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers with some very slow progress on the second rainbow sock. Behold, three quarters of a heel flap! 

I did find the watermelon yarn I talked about last week and it's sitting here by my knitting spot as incentive. 

It was a not-terrific week in reading but that's to be expected once in a while. The first two are ARCs and the last book is one that was definitely not for me. 

I requested Next of Kin from NetGalley solely because I thought I might enjoy a memoir written by a chef, but I knew nothing about Gabrielle Hamilton. I should have started with her first memoir, Blood, Bones & Butter as that one was more becoming a chef and opening her restaurant. The best way I can describe this book is that it is sharp, unsentimental, but not very cohesive. It is more meandering and introspective, at times to the point of feeling closed off. I might know a little bit more about Hamilton after reading Next of Kin but not much.

The themes—family (chosen and otherwise), aging, duty, and estrangement—are compelling, and there are moving moments, particularly when Hamilton explores the unspoken bonds and emotional labor that come with caring for someone out of obligation rather than affection. Still, I found the pacing slow, and at times the narrative felt stuck in its own head, circling the same emotional territory without offering new insight. I admired the honesty, but I also felt like I was being kept at arm’s length.

One moment that especially stayed with me involved the death of one of Hamilton’s siblings by suicide. Their father’s reaction—"Well, if you have to lose one, at least it's the one you liked least"—was staggering. Hamilton’s response, “I had known, of course I had, that we were ranked,” is chilling in its quiet acceptance. I can’t begin to understand what it would be like to grow up in a family like that. My own experience with family offers no frame of reference for that kind of hierarchy or cruelty, and I found myself wondering what kind of people her parents really were.

That said, Hamilton’s prose is often incisive, and readers who enjoy character-driven, reflective nonfiction might find more to appreciate here than I did. A worthwhile but uneven read.

Thank you to NetGalley and Random House for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on October 14, 2025. Three stars from me. 

Like Family by Erin O. White is a thoughtful, emotionally layered debut that explores the complexities of chosen family, parenthood, and the invisible threads that bind people together. Set in the picturesque town of Radclyffe, New York—a place so idyllic it almost feels like a lifestyle catalog—the novel offers a warm and often touching portrait of three interconnected families trying to live out their values in real life while holding onto long-held secrets.

The heart of the story lies in Ruth and Caroline’s deep, decades-long friendship, and White does a lovely job capturing the quiet intimacies and unspoken loyalties that define such relationships. The novel thoughtfully examines how love—romantic, platonic, parental—can be both sustaining and messy, especially when secrets and unresolved tensions are involved.

However, the book sometimes feels a bit too serene, even when major emotional revelations or crises occur. The stakes don’t always land with the weight they should, and some of the characters—especially the men—come off more like supporting cast than fully realized people. There are moments when the prose veers into overly reflective territory, slowing the pace and dampening the tension that the story hints at but never quite fully delivers on. I often found myself confused by the number of characters, particularly the adults and their many children, who sometimes blended together. Many of the characters had similar voices or traits, making it hard to keep track of who was who or feel fully invested in each of their stories. While the writing is warm and reflective, the pacing occasionally drags, and some emotional revelations felt muted by the calm, almost too-peaceful tone.

Still, Like Family is a compassionate and earnest exploration of modern family life and the blurry lines between friends and kin. It's not a book that will shake you, but it may leave you quietly moved—and grateful for the complicated people who make up your own chosen family.

Thank you to Random House and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on November 4, 2025. This was another three star book for me. 

I'll admit that I placed These Summer Storms by Sarah Maclean on hold at the library because I liked the cover and it had a Kirkus starred review. It's my fault for not realizing that the author usually writes historical romance novels and this is her first foray into contemporary fiction. I am not her target audience but I was curious enough to find out how the premise played out. Sadly, I found cardboard characters, contrived conflict, and dialogue so over‑explained it felt like a never‑ending game of “tell, don’t show.”

The premise has promise but it is never realized. A dead billionaire patriarch forces his heirs to stay on the family’s private Rhode Island island for a week and complete a series of “tasks” if they want their inheritance. Each assignment is supposed to expose hidden desires and deep wounds; instead, they’re little more than petty errands that telegraph their moral lessons from a mile away. The family's last name is Storm, so there are far too many storm, ocean, sand, and saltwater similes and metaphors.

The one-dimensional characters include Greta, the eldest daughter desperate for approval; Alice, the “black‑sheep” sibling is defined almost entirely by how often she reminds us she left the family fortune behind and how badly she wants to leave again. Brother Sam, the presumptive heir mansplains, while youngest sister Emily provides crystals and whimsy and Mom weaponizes grief. Jack Dean, the rugged executor of Dad’s will, exists to smolder and provide romance for Alice. That’s it for depth.

The pacing alternates between glacial and frantic. We crawl through heaps of internal monologue (often the same revelation repeated in slightly different words) before racing through a final act pile‑up of twists that feel tacked on for shock value. I was not shocked, just let down by the final "twist".

I admire Sarah MacLean for leaving her historical comfort zone and she seems fairly successful there, but These Summer Storms reads like an early draft. At best I was entertained by dialogue like this: "The moment Jack's big hands slid into the back pockets of her shorts, activating a number of as yet undiscovered neural pathways, clear-mindedness was lost at sea." And this: "Jack made it feel like fantasy, slanting his kiss over hers, like the pirate that dived into the sea leaving his ship behind to follow her to shore." I've also learned to question what Kirkus Reviews considers exceptional merit and high quality. One puny little star and a lesson learned. 

What are you making and reading this week?

 

Read With Us: The Friend

Our summer Read With Us book is The Friend by Sigrid Nunez, winner of the 2018 National Book Award for Fiction. A quiet yet powerful meditation on grief, love, writing, and the unbreakable bond between humans and animals, this novel is sure to spark deep conversation and reflection.

What’s It About?

After the sudden death of her closest friend and mentor, an unnamed writer inherits his Great Dane—an enormous, grieving dog she’s not entirely sure she can care for. As she adjusts to this unexpected companionship, the narrator finds herself contemplating not only the nature of friendship and loss, but the meaning of writing, solitude, and emotional survival.

The Friend is spare, elegant, and emotionally resonant. It’s not your typical dog book—though fans of animal stories will appreciate it—but a literary exploration of the way we tether ourselves to others, and what happens when those ties are severed.

Why Read with Us?
This is a perfect book for discussion. It blends narrative with philosophical musings, literary references, and dark humor. Whether you’ve experienced loss, wrestled with loneliness, or simply love a story that digs below the surface, there’s something here for you.

Together, we’ll explore questions like:

• How do we grieve in silence, and how do we make meaning from absence?

• What role do animals play in helping us heal?

• Can a relationship endure even after one person is gone?

The hardcover, Kindle, and audio versions of the book are all available from my library without much of a wait. Hopefully, we'll all have plenty of time to place a hold, get the book, and read it. The Kindle and paperback versions are priced reasonably from Amazon and the audio version is narrated beautifully by Louisa Harland. I'm sure your local bookseller could order a copy for you if you're lucky enough to have a local bookseller.

Kym, Carole, and I will be talking about the book, giving additional information, and doing promotional posts through July. Discussion day for The Friend is scheduled for Tuesday, September 16, 2025 at 7:00 pm Eastern time, so mark your calendars. We'll ask questions on our blogs that day and then host the always fun, educational, and entertaining Zoom discussion.

We can’t wait to hear your thoughts on this unforgettable novel.

Grab a copy, find a quiet corner, and Read With Us!

Sometimes Monday ...

 ... is a good day to quit Duolingo. 

I actually stopped effective Friday after I had completed 365 days. I began this one year ago to try to "exercise" my brain in hopes that my cognition wouldn't slip too much as I age, but it's no longer fun. In fact, it's kind of stressful and I'm not sure I'm learning much of anything.  

The darn owl has been persistent in badgering me despite turning off all the reminders. Maybe someday he'll finally understand that I've broken up with him and leave me alone. Maybe someday I'll give Duolingo another try with a different language, but for now I'm enjoying Wordle more and that is certainly testing my brain.

 

 

I'm breathing a big sigh of relief and feeling quite free this morning; I hope you are also having a good Monday! 

What to Write About?

I seem to have run out of things to blog about, so today I am reduced to writing about that. Summer doldrums have hit before, usually in August when it's desperately hot and dry. This is just the beginning of July, but I think I have arrived in the doldrums. 

NOAA's picture of the doldrums. I thought it was kind of pretty

 

 

 

• I only know one definition of doldrums- a period of inactivity or stagnation, but did you know that the "doldrums" is also a nautical term? It refers to the belt around the Earth near the equator where sailing ships sometimes get stuck in windless waters. NOAA has a page about it if you're interested. It says sailing ships can be becalmed for several weeks, but I hope my period of doldrums is shorter. I am fairly sure that I will feel more like doing something when the heat and humidity abate (so maybe in September).

• Be careful how much you earn if you are receiving Social Security. John knew there was a limit as to how much he could earn as a consultant without a penalty, but someone's math was off and he made $144 too much last year. We just paid back Social Security over $6000 in overpayments, and this was an expense I hadn't budgeted for. I'd like to assure Elon that we are not responsible for any waste or fraud. 

• I've told you about two slightly negative things, so it's time for something more positive. John and Justin went to Alaska on a fishing trip and brought back 50 lbs. of salmon and halibut. I rarely make fish, but I have been enjoying it a lot. It's easy to do a few filets in the air fryer after seasoning them with salt, pepper, garlic, and paprika, and I'll probably like them even better once I get motivated enough to go to the grocery store and get some lemons. Fish and lots of garden vegetables make a dinner that I can prepare even if I'm stuck in the doldrums.  

• I am becoming impatient with Patience, a British show on PBS Masterpiece. I really enjoy the show, but only one episode is released each week. There are two more episodes to go, and I'm sure I'll be sad after I've watched them and there aren't any more. But I have also enjoyed Magpie Murders, Moonflower Murders, and Maryland while I wait for more episodes. What I'd really like is another season of Unforgotten, but maybe I'll just have to rewatch the first five seasons while I wait for the sixth season. I'd be glad for any suggestions you might have, and they can be about other things besides murder!

• It's amazing how quickly I can knit in my mind! I haven't yet reached the heel on the second rainbow sock and after I finish that pair I still have to knit the second sock of the blue and green striped pair. And yet, I've found myself wondering what other self-striping yarn I have in my stash. I just checked Ravelry and it looks like there are two skeins of watermelon yarn in my stash. All I have to do is leave the doldrums and go upstairs to my yarn closet and find them. It's certainly a relief to know that I'll be able to continue my sock knitting kick. 

• Here is a great summer salad recipe that I made for the first time this week. I made it pretty much according to the recipe, but I didn't have any hoisin sauce for dressing and I only added chicken to John's portion (because he has to have meat to call it dinner!) but I thought it was delicious. I like how the ramen noodles soak up the dressing and the mandarin oranges taste like a treat when all you want is a nice cold salad. 

It seems that I found a few things to write about even if none of it was of any real consequence. I wish you a lovely weekend and I'll leave you with a quote that I like:

There is no panacea, or utopia, there is just love and kindness and trying, amid the chaos, to make things better where we can. And to keep our minds wide, wide open in a world that often wants to close them.

 ~ Matt Haig, from Notes on a Nervous Planet ~