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.  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.

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

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

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.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.

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.

 

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.

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