Books on Thursday

I finished three books this week, but none of them were terrific. That's okay; I'm reading One Man's Meat, a collection of E.B. White's essays and that more than makes up for a less-than-stellar week in reading. 

This reread was a surprise, but not in the way I'd hoped.

I clearly remember reading The Tale of Despereaux with my children, and I remember all of us enjoying it. In my memory, it was a quirky, heartfelt story about bravery, forgiveness, and a mouse who refused to accept the limits placed on him.

Reading it again more than two decades later, I found myself reacting to an entirely different book.

What stood out this time was the darkness. The rats felt relentlessly evil, Miggery Sow's heartbreaking mistreatment (beginning with the cruel nickname that becomes her identity) was far more upsetting than I remembered, and many of the other characters behaved in ways that struck me as unnecessarily harsh or simply strange. I know fairy tales have always contained cruelty, but this time those elements overwhelmed the gentleness and hope I remembered from my first reading.

Perhaps my memory has softened the story over the years. Or maybe I've simply changed as a reader. I'm glad I revisited this once-beloved childhood favorite, if only to discover how much both books and readers can change over time. Unfortunately, this wasn't the story I remembered, and it didn't recapture the magic I'd hoped to find. Two stars. 

I picked up Good Morning, Monster hoping for something thoughtful and illuminating, along the lines of Maybe You Should Talk to Someone. Instead, I found myself increasingly uncomfortable with both the stories and the way they were presented.

There's no denying that the five patients described here survived extraordinary trauma, and their resilience is remarkable. But rather than deepening my understanding of trauma or the therapeutic process, the book often felt as though it was elevating suffering into something almost heroic. I couldn't shake the feeling that the patients' experiences were being shaped into inspirational narratives at the expense of the patients themselves and the nuances of therapy.

Even more troubling were some of Gildiner's own comments and interactions with her patients. Several things she said to them and about them struck me as surprisingly insensitive or self-congratulatory. Maybe she intended these moments to demonstrate honesty or breakthrough therapeutic techniques, but they often landed as dismissive or simply unkind.

I also found myself questioning the overall tone. The book asks us to admire both the patients and the therapist, yet I never felt convinced by the latter. Instead of coming away with a greater appreciation for psychotherapy, I was left with an uneasy sense that I had read something more interested in dramatic storytelling than in thoughtfully exploring the therapeutic relationship.

The patients' stories are undeniably compelling, but my lasting impression wasn't one of inspiration. It was just (for lack of a better word) icky. Another pitiful two star book. 

Murder at the Grand Alpine Hotel is an enjoyable mystery that should appeal to Agatha Christie fans. The snowbound setting of an elegant Swiss hotel, a cast of wealthy guests with secrets to hide, and an isolated location cut off by a blizzard all create a mysterious atmosphere.

Unfortunately, I never felt this mystery reached the level of cleverness needed to stand alongside the grande dame herself. I kept waiting for the intricate plotting and satisfying misdirection that make Christie's novels so memorable, but this story never quite delivered.

The pacing felt off to me. I spent the first half of the book anticipating the central murder, only to realize it doesn't actually occur until around the 40% mark. From there, the novel shifts into a sprint toward the conclusion. Rather than building tension, the rushed second half diminished the suspense that I usually associate with good mysteries.

My biggest disappointment, however, was Miss Marple herself. I was surprised that we never get much of Miss Marple at all, not even her sitting there placidly knitting. While she's certainly present, she remains on the periphery for much of the story, and I missed seeing her quietly observing, connecting seemingly insignificant details, and allowing readers to appreciate her remarkable deductive mind. As a result, the final reveal lacked the satisfying "aha!" moment I was expecting.

Overall, this is a perfectly entertaining three star mystery with a wonderfully atmospheric setting, but it left me feeling more underwhelmed than impressed. It's a pleasant homage to Christie, but not one I'll personally remember alongside the classics.

Thank you to NetGalley and William Morrow for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on September 22, 2026. 

Now I'd love to know what you're reading!   

 

Unraveled Wednesday: 7/15/26

I’m happy to join Kat and the Unravelers today with (you guessed it) a kitchen towel. Last week I received a (good-natured) demand to knit a little faster. Becky said, "Your third color of yarn is my favorite, so get cracking!" How could I resist a challenge like that?

I tried, Becky, I really did, but I'm afraid I came up short. I still have 30 rows left before I cast off, and I know that if I had tried to stay up late to finish, mistakes would have been made. So all I can do is show my almost-completed second towel, with a promise to cast on with your favorite color very soon. Maybe even this afternoon. I hope to make good progress on it this coming week as it's blazingly hot again, so all I want to do is sit in an air-conditioned room and knit with with cotton yarn. 

 

Since I've only shown you photos of kitchen towels for several weeks, I thought I'd include a bonus picture this week. See that red tub in the background behind the towel? That's water for the deer since it's been so hot. They drink it, but usually at 2:30 am when it's tough to get a picture. But for some reason, a couple of them visited during the day over the weekend. The fawns are cuter, but these guys are impressive in their own antlered ways. 

 

 

What are you making this antepenultimate Wednesday in July? 

Read With Us Lounge: 7/13/26

In keeping with the RWU Lounge motto (No Rules, Just Fun), I'd like to talk about childhood favorites today, not just for children.

Recently, I relistened to Charlotte's Web, narrated by E. B. White himself. If you've never heard it, it's a treasure. His quiet, unhurried voice feels exactly right for the story, gentle, warm, and completely without fuss. I'd forgotten how much emotion he can convey with the simplest sentences.

Then Kat mentioned reading The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, which reminded me how much I've always loved Kate DiCamillo. Before long, I was looking up some old favorites, Because of Winn-Dixie and The Tale of Despereaux, along with several I'd somehow never gotten around to reading: The Magician's Elephant, The Tiger Rising, The Puppets of Spelhorst, and Lost Evangeline.

As I read interviews with DiCamillo, trying to better understand what it was about her writing that I (and so many others ) are drawn to, I came across a quote that stopped me in my tracks. Speaking to the Orlando Sentinel, she explained that she always tries to leave room for the reader to read between the lines. She said she has tried to emulate E. B. White:

"He's using the same words we're all using. It must be that stripped-away quality, his heart is resting more on each word, and that's what I'm always trying to do."

The moment I read those words, something clicked.

I've often wondered why E. B. White and Kate DiCamillo feel so similar to me, even though they're writing decades apart. This quote explained it perfectly. Neither writer relies on elaborate language or flashy storytelling. Instead, they trust ordinary words to carry extraordinary feelings. They leave space for the reader. They never tell us exactly what to think or feel; they invite us there instead.

Maybe that's one reason so many children's books become lifelong companions. The best ones appeal to both children and adults. They're for anyone willing to approach them with an open heart. They ask big questions about love, loss, friendship, courage, loneliness, hope, and what it means to be kind. We simply hear different answers at different ages. The best children's books explore universal themes with remarkable clarity and without unnecessary cynicism. Rereading them as adults often reveals layers of wisdom and craftsmanship that we were too young to appreciate the first time. That's why I'm rereading some of them now.

So today I'm curious:

• Have you revisited a favorite from childhood recently? Did it hold up? Did it surprise you? Did it horrify you (like I just felt when I reread The Tale of Desperaux)?

• Have you discovered a children's or young adult novel as an adult and wondered where it had been all your life? 

• Or maybe you've found that children's literature is best read by children. I'd love to know what your experience has been. 

Be sure and visit Kym and Carole to see what they're talking about today.   

 

Books on Thursday

I read three books this week and they each provided me with something else to focus on during a week of oppressive and sweltering heat and humidity. 

 

 

Celestial Lights is less a novel about space exploration than it is about the emotional gravity that pulls us back to the people and moments that shape our lives. Although the story follows astronaut Oliver Ines from his birth on the day the Challenger disaster shocked the world to his selection for a groundbreaking mission to Europa, its real focus is memory, family, ambition, and the cost of pursuing extraordinary dreams.

Cecile Pin writes with remarkable elegance. The novel moves fluidly between Ollie's childhood, his naval career, his marriage, fatherhood, and the high-stakes mission that forces him to confront the choices he's made. The shifts in time mirror the way memory works, and while they occasionally left me wishing for a stronger sense of forward momentum, they also create a rich portrait of a life rather than simply a sequence of events.

Readers expecting a fast-paced science fiction adventure may be surprised. The space mission provides the framework, but this is ultimately a quiet, introspective literary novel. The technology and exploration are fascinating, yet they remain secondary to Ollie's inner life and the relationships he struggles to sustain. Pin asks compelling questions about what we owe our families, what we owe ourselves, and whether great achievement inevitably comes with personal sacrifice. The novel's reflective tone and beautiful prose kept me invested until the end. The ending, in particular, lingers long after the final page, inviting readers to consider the fragile balance between reaching for the stars and remaining grounded by the people we love.

Thoughtful, beautifully written, and quietly moving, Celestial Lights is an excellent four-star choice for readers who enjoy literary fiction that happens to take place against the backdrop of space exploration. Thanks for the recommendation, Kat! 

I was never the ideal reader for American Fantasy. I've never taken a cruise nor ever been a fan of boy bands, so I definitely wasn't the target audience for this story.

Emma Straub does captures the nostalgia surrounding the music and celebrity crushes of adolescence. I could (almost) understand why thousands of women would board a themed cruise to relive a happier, simpler time in their lives, even if I couldn't personally relate. The novel explores what happens when middle age collides with teenage dreams, asking whether it's ever too late to reconnect with the person you used to be.

One line that especially stood out to me was, "On board this ship, they were always girls." It neatly sums up the atmosphere of the cruise, where adult responsibilities are temporarily set aside in favor of youthful excitement and fantasy. That may have made for a fun long weekend for the passengers, but I found it less enjoyable to spend an entire novel immersed in that world.  There are thoughtful observations about aging, divorce, friendship, and the ways nostalgia can both comfort and mislead us. Annie is a likable protagonist, and I appreciated her halting journey toward rediscovering herself. Still, I never became invested in the cruise itself or the fantasy surrounding the band, especially because the members of the band didn't really want to be there either. 

Readers who fondly remember the boy-band era and stories fueled by nostalgia will probably find much more to enjoy here than I did, but it was still three stars. For me, it was an entertaining enough read with flashes of Emma Straub's warmth and insight, but one that ultimately left me feeling more like an observer than a participant. Thanks for the recommendation, Carole! 

 

Charlotte's Web was as good (or maybe even better) than it was the first three or four times I read it. Hearing E.B. White himself narrate the audiobook is always comforting, no matter how bad things get. 

 

Now I'd love to know what you're reading!   

 

 

 

Unraveled Wednesday: 7/8/26

I’m happy to join Kat and the Unravelers today with (you guessed it) kitchen towels. Now there are two of them. The blue one is done (but not washed yet).

 I've cast on for the green one and it's in progress. 

I still have quite a ways to go on the green one, but it really is comfortable summer knitting. I may even finish it by next week (and then cast on yet another one). 

 

 

What are you making this Wednesday in July? 

Read With Us Lounge: 7/6/26

 

Welcome back to the Read With us Lounge! Today Kym, Carole, and I are all talking about the same topic: Do you finish every book you begin? Or are you comfortable setting a book aside?

When we were planning the RWU Lounge topics, I thought I knew exactly where I stood with this one. Life is too short, there are too many wonderful books waiting to be read, and if a book isn't working, why not move on?

Then last week happened.

I checked out Land by Maggie O'Farrell, and from the very first pages I was completely under its spell. The novel opens with a father and son, Tomás and Liam respectively, working for the British Ordnance Survey in Ireland, ten or fifteen years after the Great Hunger. They are recording the empty homes and graveyards scarred by the famine. 

I quickly realized that the Great Hunger was so much more than the simple "potato famine" I learned about in school. The history felt richer, sadder, and far more complicated than I had ever understood. I couldn't read fast enough, but then I ran into trouble.

The story shifts into a family saga, and the hardships become relentless. Page after page, there seemed to be no relief, and it felt as if it had been written by a different author. At first I kept telling myself to push through. Surely my patience would be rewarded and it would all come together somehow. 

But then I noticed something. I wasn't looking forward to picking the book up each evening. In fact, I was actively dreading it. That was when I knew it was time to return the library book without finishing it. And I felt terrible.

Part of that was because I admire Maggie O'Farrell so much. I loved Hamnet, and I thoroughly enjoyed The Marriage Portrait. She's an author whose work I genuinely look forward to reading. Her prose is exquisite and evocative, her characters feel completely alive, and she always seems to have something meaningful to say.

So this wasn't a matter of disliking the writing or deciding an author wasn't for me. It was almost the opposite. I respected the book so much that setting it aside felt like giving up on something important. Maybe there was something wrong with me as a reader or I had missed some crucial details.

This experience made me realize that deciding not to finish a book isn't always as simple as I had thought. Sometimes the decision is easy. Sometimes it isn't. Sometimes you stop because a book isn't good. Other times you stop because it's too heavy for where you are right now, or because it's asking something of you that you simply can't give. But whatever the reason, I still believe that readers shouldn't feel obligated to finish every book they begin.

But now I understand that choosing to DNF a book can come with a surprising amount of guilt, especially when it's written by an author you deeply admire, and especially when it's a book you were certain you were going to love. So I'm curious.

Have you ever stopped reading a book that you actually thought was excellent? Have you ever returned a book unfinished, not because it was poorly written, but because it simply wasn't the right book for you at that moment? Or do you make a concerted effort to finish almost every book you begin?

I'd love to hear your stories!

Be sure to check in with Kym and Carole to see what they have to say about finishing what you start.  

Books on Thursday

I read two ARCs this week, one was so-so and one was excellent. 

I read Hollow Bones because Jodi Picoult has often been a reliable choice when I’m in the mood for a fast-moving, issue-driven novel. This one certainly has no shortage of big topics: postpartum psychosis, COVID, 9/11, emergency preparedness, natural disasters, child loss, abuse, early maternal loss, and even a May-December romance. Each of those subjects could be compelling on its own, and several could have carried an entire novel.

For me, though, that was also the book’s biggest weakness. As the story unfolded, it began to feel like too many issues were competing for space on the page. Rather than building toward a cohesive emotional core, the narrative kept introducing another major theme, another trauma, another crisis. I found myself wishing the book had narrowed its focus and gone deeper into fewer storylines.

The discussion of postpartum psychosis was important and timely, and I appreciated Picoult bringing attention to a condition that is often misunderstood and misdiagnosed. However, I’m not convinced this was the strongest vehicle for exploring it. Because the novel was juggling so many other plot threads, that aspect of the story didn’t land with the depth and clarity I had hoped for.

That said, this is still very much a typical Jodi Picoult novel: readable, emotionally charged, well-researched, and designed to spark discussion. The pages move quickly, and I can easily imagine many readers becoming invested in Molly’s story and the ethical questions the book raises.

Overall this was three stars for me. Fans of her signature blend of family drama, social issues, and moral dilemmas will most likely enjoy it much more than I did.

Thank you to NetGalley and Ballantine Books for providing me with a copy of the book. It will be published on September 15, 2026. 

Chris Bohjalian has a gift for taking a single catastrophic moment and exploring the shockwaves that ripple outward, and The Amateur is one of his strongest character studies.

The novel opens with an accident so horrifying that it's impossible to look away: eighteen-year-old golf prodigy Mira Winston hits a practice ball through a damaged net, killing a teenage caddy. From there, the story becomes part courtroom drama, part mystery, but mostly an examination of guilt, privilege, responsibility, and the stories we tell ourselves about the people involved in tragedy.

What impressed me most was Bohjalian's portrayal of Mira. He (as a 63-year-old male) does an excellent job writing an eighteen-year-old female golf prodigy. Mira is not an especially likable character; she's impulsive, selfish at times, and makes some truly questionable decisions but she never felt like a caricature of a spoiled rich girl. Instead, she came across to me as a complicated young woman who has had remarkably poor role models and very little meaningful guidance. That complexity made me care about what happened to her, even when I didn't approve of her choices.

I also appreciated that you don't have to play golf (or even understand the game, as I certainly don't) to become completely immersed in the story. Bohjalian explains just enough without ever bogging the narrative down, and the country club setting becomes its own fascinating world.

Although there's a trial and an intriguing mystery surrounding the damaged practice net, I found myself reading less for the "big reveal" and more because I wanted to know what would become of Mira. These days, surprise endings often feel overhyped, and for me, the emotional journey mattered far more than uncovering every last secret.

The ending and especially the epilogue elevate the novel even further, forcing readers to reconsider who the real villains are. Was it recklessness? Negligence? Privilege? The adults who failed Mira? Or is assigning blame itself more complicated than we'd like it to be? Bohjalian leaves readers with questions rather than easy answers, and I found that far more satisfying.

"You took advantage of my disadvantage." ~ Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov

A compelling, nuanced novel about one terrible swing of a golf club and the lives forever altered by it. This was 4.5 stars for me, rounded up. Thank you to Edelweiss and Doubleday for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on August 4, 2026.

 

Now I'd love to know what you're reading!  

Unraveled Wednesday: 7/1/26

I’m happy to join Kat and the Unravelers today with more of the kitchen towel. I know it's a little boring to keep showing you the same old photos of it, so this week I also have some pictures of the yarn colors I have to choose from for the next one. I'm not sure if I'll use the same pattern or try a different one, but I am getting just a tiny bit tired of knitting this one. 

I'm just past the stockinette strip on the end of the towel and now I only have to knit 28 more rows before I'm done with this towel.

These are the other colors I've got in worsted cotton yarn, so I think I'll cast on for a green one as soon as I finish the first one. This really is perfect knitting for the far-too-hot weather we're having, so the next cast on will probably be happening later today.  

What are you making this first Wednesday in July? (Tempus fugit!)

Read With Us: It's a New Book!

And it's a good one!

We're thrilled to announce the Read With Us summer selection: John of John by Douglas Stuart.

Sometimes our Read With Us books become favorites. Sometimes they challenge me. Sometimes they leave me thinking for days after I've finished the last page. I'm hoping our next selection will do exactly that for you, too.

If Stuart's name sounds familiar, it's because he won the Booker Prize for Shuggie Bain and followed it with Young Mungo, both of which we've read. His novels are known for unforgettable characters, beautiful writing, and enormous compassion for people who are often overlooked.

At its heart, John of John asks questions about family, identity, love, and the complicated ways we inherit both strengths and wounds from the people who came before us. Stuart has a remarkable ability to write characters who feel completely real, flawed, vulnerable, funny, and resilient all at once. Even when difficult things happen, there's a generosity in his writing that keeps me turning the pages. 

At first glance, this may not seem like the kind of book that announces itself with a big, dramatic premise. Instead, it invites us into the lives of some ordinary men and asks us to pay close attention, to memory, family, identity, faith, the stories we inherit about ourselves, and what it means to become your own person.  

Whether this book becomes a new favorite or simply gives you something interesting to think about, I hope you'll bring your thoughts to our Zoom discussion. I'm always curious to hear what everyone thinks, because you almost always see things in different and interesting ways.

The hardcover and audiobook versions have a manageable hold queue at my libraries, so I hope that is also the case for you. I started listening to the audiobook, narrated by Lorne Macfadyen in a wonderful (but still understandable brogue) but decided that I also needed to read it with my eyes, so I bought the Kindle version for $14.99.  

Kym, Carole, and I will be talking about the book, giving additional information, and doing promotional posts throughout July. Discussion day for John of John is scheduled for Tuesday, September 15, 2026 at 7:00 pm Eastern time, so mark your calendars. We'll ask questions on our blogs that day and then host the always educational and illuminating Zoom discussion. I think this is my favorite Douglas Stuart novel so far, and one that is also very discussable, so I hope you'll Read With Us!

Read With Us Lounge: 6/29/26

Welcome back to the Read With Us Lounge!

This week, I have a question that's been simmering in the back of my mind:

Why does food writing affect us so deeply?

Or maybe it doesn't affect you that way at all. That's part of what makes these conversations interesting.

Food shows up everywhere in literature. Sometimes it's a lavish feast. Part of why I loved reading Redwall with my kids was because of the vivid descriptions of the feasts. Sometimes it's a simple cup of tea, a sandwich, or a bowl of soup. Yet those scenes often linger in our memories long after we've forgotten other details of the story.  

Why is that?

Food is one of the most universal experiences we share. We all eat. We all have favorite foods, comfort foods, foods tied to celebrations, and foods connected to people we've loved. A description of a meal can evoke memories, emotions, and even physical sensations. Reading about cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven or tomatoes warm from the garden can make us feel as though we're right there at the table.

Food also tells us something about people. What they cook, what they crave, what they refuse to eat, and who they share meals with can reveal character in ways that pages of exposition never could. A family dinner can expose tensions, a holiday meal can reveal traditions, and a simple act of cooking for someone can become an expression of love.

Some of my favorite food writing comes from Laurie Colwin's Home Cooking and More Home Cooking. They're not cookbooks in the traditional sense. They're collections of essays about food, cooking, family, friendship, hospitality, and everyday life. Colwin understood that cooking is rarely just about the food itself. It's about caring for people, creating a home, making mistakes, celebrating successes, and gathering around a table. Reading her essays often feels like sitting in a kitchen with a wise and funny friend.

The best food writing seems to understand that meals are rarely just meals. They carry memories, relationships, hopes, disappointments, traditions, and sometimes entire histories. Food becomes a language all its own.

So this week's questions are:

• What books, memoirs, essays, or stories contain food scenes that have stayed with you?

• Is there a particular meal in a book that you still remember?

• Why do you think food writing can feel so intimate?

• Have you ever cooked something because you read about it in a book?

• Or are you completely unmoved by food writing and prefer your books with as little discussion of meals as possible?

As always, there are no right answers here. Read what you want, think what you think, and tell us about it. I'm looking forward to hearing what books and meals have found a place at your table this summer.

I think this prompt fits especially well with the Lounge's spirit of exploring how reading connects to everyday life and personal experience. It invites people to talk about books, but also about memory, family, and the stories we carry with us.

I hope you're enjoying hanging out in the Read With Us Lounge so far. Be sure and visit Kym and Carole to see what they're talking about today.  

Books on Thursday

I finished one book this week, but it was an interesting one.

Joe Biden devoted his life to public service, guided by a genuine concern for others and a desire to do the greatest good for the greatest number of people. Jill was by his side for much of that journey, and together they have endured more than their share of personal heartbreak, something that, sadly, continues even now. I wish them both peace, comfort, and all the best in the years ahead.

That being said, I read View from the East Wing hoping for a deeper, substantive memoir from Jill Biden. Instead, much of the book focuses on feel-good anecdotes about White House life, like Christmas decorations, teaching classes, grading papers in the Rose Garden, and other behind-the-scenes moments that, while pleasant enough, never felt particularly revealing.

What I was most interested in was Jill Biden's perspective on Joe Biden's disastrous debate performance against Donald Trump. That section was easily the most compelling part of the book. According to her account, both she and Joe immediately knew he had "f***ed up". She writes that she wondered whether he was having a stroke or had somehow been poisoned. I remember watching the debate and wondering if he was experiencing a stroke or TIA myself, especially after the now-infamous "we finally beat Medicare" comment.

What surprised me most was what happened next: they went to Waffle House. Personally, if I genuinely thought my spouse might be having a stroke, I think I would have skipped Waffle House and headed straight to the ER. That detail left me with more questions than answers.

Overall, this memoir never quite became the book I hoped for. There are warm family stories and plenty of optimistic moments, but I finished wishing for more substance, more candor, and a deeper examination of the events and challenges that defined the Biden presidency. For readers looking for a comforting portrait of Jill Biden, this may be satisfying. For those hoping for sharper insights and a more revealing account, it may feel somewhat superficial. Three stars from me. 

Now I'd love to know what you're reading!  

Unraveled Wednesday: 6/24/26

I’m happy to join Kat and the Unravelers today with more of the kitchen towel. I know it's not exciting knitting, so I tried to take some slightly different photos. 

Justin and Jess have been with John this week, fishing in the Blackfoot River in Montana, so I've been checking on their cats. It's fine but it's honestly been a lot of driving to go down to their house, check on the automatic feeders to make sure they're not blocked (they always are), clean the litterboxes, water plants, collect mail and packages, put the trash out, etc. ....

So I decided to take my knitting yesterday and see if I could convince Nugget to pose with it for some pictures. A few treats were required to make that happen.

This is on Justin and Jess' oven so I could get an idea of how far along I was. 

Maybe a bit more than halfway? I was picturing gifting a stack (maybe three or four) of these to Ryan at Christmas, but it's looking like that stack might consist of only two towels. We'll see. 

What are you making this last Wednesday in June?  

Read With Us Lounge: 6/22/26

One of the things I hope we'll do together in the Read With Us Summer Reading Lounge is question some of the assumptions we carry around about books and reading. So my question this week is:

What makes a book "summer reading"?

When someone says they're looking for a good summer read, most of us probably have an idea of what that means. But when you stop and think about it, it's surprisingly difficult to define.

Is it the setting? A book that takes place at the beach, on vacation, or during a long hot summer?

Is it the tone? Something light, fun, and easy to read while sitting on a porch or beside a pool?

Is it the pacing? A page-turner that keeps you reading long after you planned to turn out the light?

Or maybe it's nostalgia. Perhaps a "summer read" is whatever reminds us of childhood summers when school was out and we had long stretches of time to disappear into a book.

It could even be marketing. Publishers and booksellers certainly have ideas about what belongs on a summer reading list, and every year we see displays filled with the latest beach reads, thrillers, romances, and family dramas.

It could simply be reading that happens in the summer. 

But I wonder if summer reading is really much more personal than that.

For some people, summer is the season when they finally have time to tackle a long classic they've been putting off for years. For others, it's the perfect time for mysteries, romance novels, memoirs, graphic novels, or rereading old favorites. Maybe a summer read is simply any book that arrives at the right moment.

I know my own definition has changed over the years. There was a time when I would have said summer reading was light and entertaining, like when I used to check out ten Nancy Drew mysteries from the library. Now I'm not so sure. Some of my most memorable summer reading experiences have involved books that were thoughtful, challenging, or even a little difficult.

So I'm curious:

• What makes a book feel like summer reading to you?

• Are there certain genres you gravitate toward in the summer?

• Do you intentionally choose lighter books, or do you read whatever appeals to you?

• Can a serious or literary novel be a perfect summer read?

• What's the best "summer reading" book you've ever read, and what made it feel that way?

As always in the Read With Us Summer Reading Lounge, there are no wrong answers and no reading rules. Read what you want, when you want, and tell us about it. I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts.

I like this question because it gets at one of the themes of the Lounge: challenging the idea that there is a "right" way to read or a particular kind of book we should be reading at any given time.

I hope you're enjoying hanging out in the Read With Us Lounge so far. Be sure and visit Kym and Carole to see what they're talking about today.  

Books on Thursday

I read three books this week. One was a recommendation from Jane; one was a rediscovery and reread after three decades, and one was nonfiction that made me think. 

Street Haunting was my introduction to the writing of Virginia Woolf thanks to Jane, and after finishing this collection of essays, I'm curious to try some of her fiction next.

Woolf's writing style is fascinating, evocative, observant, and packed with vivid details. Even when she's describing something as ordinary as a walk through the streets of London, she notices small moments and textures that most people would overlook. Her essays often feel less like arguments and more like invitations to see the world through her eyes.

As with most essay collections, some pieces resonated with me more than others. A few felt dated or simply didn't capture my interest, but the strongest essays were excellent and made the collection worthwhile. My favorite was "How Should One Read a Book?" In it, Woolf celebrates the freedom and pleasure of reading without rigid rules, a message that still feels fresh and relevant today. 

 

Woolf's writing speaks better for itself than I ever could. While I didn't love every essay equally, I admired her intelligence, her powers of observation, and her ability to transform everyday experiences into something memorable. A rewarding introduction to an author I've long meant to read, and one that has encouraged me to finally pick up some of her novels. Three and a half stars rounded up.  

 

I first read Harvesting the Heart by Jodi Picoult in 1993, shortly after my second son was born. Over the years I remembered it fondly and looked for it several times, although I somehow convinced myself that it had been written by Hilma Wolitzer. I was excited to find it again for a reread.

 

Reading a novel about new motherhood hits very differently when the baby you were caring for the first time around has just turned 33. As a young mother, I identified with Paige's uncertainty, exhaustion, and fierce love for her child. Now, with the perspective that comes from decades of parenting, I found myself noticing different aspects of the story, the strains on a marriage, the lingering effects of family history, and the ways people struggle to understand one another.

This isn't Picoult at her most polished or ambitious, and some of the plot developments feel melodramatic by today's standards. Still, I found the emotional core of the novel convincing. The depiction of early motherhood, in particular, rang true, capturing both its joys and its isolating challenges. Paige's mistakes can be frustrating, but they also feel recognizably human.

While Harvesting the Heart didn't have quite the same impact on me as it did when I first read it more than three decades ago, it remained an entertaining and heartfelt read. Revisiting it offered not only a chance to evaluate the book itself but also a reminder of how much a reader can change over time. Sometimes the most interesting part of a reread is discovering the distance between who you were then and who you are now. Three stars. 

 

I borrowed Comfortable with Uncertainty from the library, hoping for something like an instruction manual, a practical guide that would teach me how to become more comfortable with uncertainty. Instead, what I found was something both simpler and more challenging.

Pema Chödrön's central message seems to be that there are no instructions. There is no formula for eliminating uncertainty, no set of steps that will guarantee peace of mind. Rather, the practice is learning to stop resisting life's inherent unpredictability and to meet whatever arises with openness, curiosity, and compassion.

That may sound frustratingly circular to readers looking for concrete advice, and at times I found myself wishing for more practical guidance. Yet as I continued reading, I began to understand that this longing for certainty and clear answers is exactly what Chödrön is encouraging us to examine. The discomfort we feel when things are unresolved isn't a problem to solve but a reality to face.

As with many collections of teachings and reflections, some sections resonated with me more than others. Chödrön's writing is warm, accessible, and often insightful, but there were passages that felt repetitive. Still, I frequently found myself pausing to reflect on an idea or reread a particularly meaningful passage.

In the end, I didn't come away with a roadmap for becoming comfortable with uncertainty. I came away with the realization that comfort may not be the goal at all. Instead, the book invites us to drop our expectations, stop grasping for certainty, and learn to face whatever comes with an open heart. That's easier said than done, but still an important lesson.Three stars.

Now I'd love to know what you're reading!  

Unraveled Wednesday: 6/17/26

I’m happy to join Kat and the Unravelers today with some less-than-exciting knitting. The kitchen towel is back, and it’s now a bit longer than the last time you saw it.

I’ve been on a roll with this project. The knitting is both wonderfully mindless and relaxing, making it easy to pick up throughout the day. I’ve worked on it outside while listening to the birds and using Merlin, while waiting for loads of laundry to finish, and even at the auto body shop.

John had a car accident last week (he’s okay), but he left for a fishing trip this week, so I had to meet the insurance adjuster at the body shop while he inspected the damage. The knitting may not be exciting, but this towel has been getting around.

Later this afternoon, I’m taking it with me to Justin and Jess’s house, where I’ll be checking on my grand-kitties, Nugget and Fletch. The towel may be clamoring for even more adventures before it’s finally finished.

What are you making this Wednesday in June?

  

Read With Us Lounge: 6/15/26

I've been forced to change my comment settings because I was inundated with stupid spam. Currently it's set for users with Google accounts. I'm sorry to do this and don't mean to make things more cumbersome for my valued readers as I do appreciate your comments. I also chose to moderate all comments, so please submit your comments (just once!) and they will be visible after I moderate and publish them. Sorry and thank you! Now, back to the much more relaxing Read With Us Lounge.

Today in the Read With Us Lounge I'm wondering if star ratings help or flatten the reading experience? Can a deeply meaningful book still be just 3 stars?

If you've spent any time on Goodreads, StoryGraph, or Bookstagram, you've probably noticed that star ratings have become one of the dominant ways we talk about books. Before we know anything about a novel's themes, characters, or emotional impact, we often know whether someone gave it two stars or five.

But what do those stars actually tell us?

Star ratings are useful. They offer a quick shorthand for our reactions and help us keep track of what we've read. They can guide recommendations and make it easier to spot patterns in our own reading lives. Looking back at a year's worth of books, a rating system can reveal surprising things about our tastes.

But I think star ratings can also flatten the reading experience. A single number has to carry the weight of hundreds of pages, dozens of emotions, and countless personal connections. The result is that books with very different strengths and weaknesses often end up receiving the same score.

Think about two books you rated three stars. One may have been a perfectly competent novel that entertained you for a weekend and was forgotten a month later. I would choose On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan for this example. Lovely prose but not much else for me. The other may have been a challenging, flawed, but unforgettable work that raised difficult questions and stayed in your mind for a long time. This one for me is Better: A Surgeon's Notes on Performance by Atul Gawande. I probably think about this book at least six or eight times a year. My star ratings are identical, but my experiences were not.

This raises an interesting question for me: Can a deeply meaningful book still be just three stars?

I would answer yes.

We often assume that ratings measure importance, but they may actually measure enjoyment, or some combination of enjoyment, craft, originality, emotional impact, and personal timing. A book can be significant without being entirely successful. It can provoke thought without being pleasurable. It can change the way we see the world while also frustrating us as readers.

Some of the books that generate the best discussions fall into this category. They may have pacing issues, unlikeable characters, or uneven writing, yet they tackle subjects that linger long after the final page. We may admire them more than we enjoy them. We may be grateful we read them even if we would hesitate to recommend them broadly.

In book groups especially, the most interesting conversations often emerge from books that land somewhere in the middle. A universally beloved five-star read can generate enthusiastic agreement, but a three-star book can produce debate. Kym, Carole, and I have purposefully not chosen some books that we thought everyone would love (e.g. Tom Lake) because we were afraid there would be little discussion and we would all just sit around saying how much we enjoyed the book. Readers bring different experiences, values, and expectations, revealing just how subjective reading can be.

Perhaps the real limitation of star ratings is not that they exist, but that they sometimes become the entire conversation. I have long wished that Goodreads would allow for the awarding of half stars, but even that wouldn't really solve the star issue. When we focus too much on assigning a number, we risk overlooking the richer questions: Why did this book affect me? What challenged me? What frustrated me? What will I remember a year from now?

A star rating can capture a verdict, but it rarely captures the whole picture. Maybe I should stop depending on them so much! 

Things to think about:

• What factors influence your star ratings most: enjoyment, literary quality, emotional impact, originality, something else, or all of them together?

• Have you ever given three stars to a book that you still think about years later?

• Is there a difference between a "good" book and an "important" book?

• Do you rate books based on your personal experience or on what you believe the author achieved?

• Have star ratings changed the way you choose books or talk about them with other readers?

• If you had to give up either written reviews or star ratings, which would you keep?

Be sure and check with Kym and Carole to see what they're thinking about today!

Books on Thursday

I've been forced to change my comment settings this morning because I was inundated with stupid spam. Currently it's set for users with Google accounts. I'm sorry to do this and don't mean to make things more cumbersome for my valued readers as I do appreciate your comments. I also chose to moderate all comments, so please submit your comments (just once!) and they will be visible after I moderate and publish them. Sorry and thank you!

I read two books this week; both of them are pre-publication copies. 

For about three-quarters of Country People, I was convinced I was reading a five-star novel.

Daniel Mason creates a wonderfully eccentric world populated by characters who are odd without feeling cartoonish, and he balances humor, lyricism, and genuine emotional insight with remarkable ease. Miles is a lovable mess of a protagonist, perpetually distracted, endlessly curious, and forever chasing the next fascinating idea rather than finishing the things already on his plate. His struggles with marriage, parenthood, ambition, and self-worth give the novel a surprisingly sturdy emotional center beneath all its whimsy.

I enjoyed the community of misfits and others that Miles encounters in Vermont. My favorite among them was the character inspired by Snowflake Bentley and his endlessly fascinating "Inventory of Wrong Ideas", a catalog of humanity's mistaken beliefs and discarded certainties. That project felt perfectly suited to a novel so interested in stories, myths, and the strange things people choose to believe.

Unfortunately, the book lost me when it became increasingly invested in the local legend of an underground kingdom. Up to that point, the novel's magic had come from its blend of recognizable human struggles and delightfully quirky characters. As the plot shifted toward unraveling this bizarre legend, the story began to feel less focused and more self-indulgent. What had seemed charmingly eccentric started veering into territory that felt unnecessarily loony.

The ending was the biggest disappointment. After such a rich and engaging build-up, the novel seemed to fizzle out rather than arrive anywhere meaningful. The two epilogues only reinforced that feeling for me, extending a conclusion that was already struggling to land and drawing attention away from the characters and relationships I had become invested in.

Even so, there's an enormous amount to admire here. Mason is a gifted writer, and many passages are genuinely beautiful. The novel is packed with intelligence, warmth, humor, and affection for human oddity. I just wish it had trusted the strengths that made the first part of the book so wonderful instead of disappearing down its own metaphorical rabbit hole. This fascinating, frequently delightful novel was 3.5 stars overall for me, rounded up because the story was exceptional in the beginning. 

Thank you to NetGalley and Random House for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on July 7, 2026.  

Ann Cleeves continues to prove why she is one of the most reliable voices in contemporary crime fiction with The Dying Light, a strong fourth installment in the Matthew Venn series. Set against a sweltering Devon heatwave, the novel combines a compelling mystery with the author's trademark exploration of family dynamics, community tensions, and the secrets people keep hidden behind carefully constructed facades.

The plot begins with the death of a young woman found in a swimming pool and the disappearance of her best friend, but what initially appears straightforward quickly grows more complex. Cleeves expertly peels back layer after layer of deception, drawing connections between local residents, holidaymakers, politics, social media, and long-buried grievances. The oppressive summer heat and the claustrophobic atmosphere of a small community under scrutiny create a palpable sense of tension throughout.

What continues to elevate this series for me, however, is Matthew Venn himself. In this novel, he feels increasingly confident and mature in his role as a detective. He has grown into his leadership position, trusting his team while still displaying the empathy and thoughtful observation that make him such an effective investigator. Rather than relying on dramatic breakthroughs, Venn solves cases by listening carefully and noticing what others overlook.

I also appreciated the continued development of his personal life. His relationship with his husband, Jonathan, remains one of the series' strengths. Their marriage feels authentic and lived-in, providing warmth and stability amid the darkness of the investigation. Cleeves portrays their partnership with a quiet tenderness and respect that adds emotional depth without overwhelming the mystery.

Equally compelling is Matthew's still-fractured relationship with his mother. The wounds left by his upbringing in the strict religious community that rejected him have not magically healed, and the novel continues to explore the complicated mixture of love, resentment, obligation, and grief that defines their connection. These scenes add a layer of emotional realism that makes Matthew far more than just another detective protagonist.

This book was four stars for me. My only reason for not rating the book higher is that some sections felt a bit slower than necessary, particularly in the middle, as the investigation broadened and the cast of suspects expanded. Still, the payoff is satisfying, and the resolution feels both believable and emotionally resonant.

The Dying Light is a thoughtful, character-driven mystery that balances an intricate plot with genuine emotional insight. Fans of the series will enjoy seeing Matthew Venn continue to grow both professionally and personally, while newcomers will find a well-crafted crime novel that stands comfortably on its own. I am anxiously looking forward to the next book in the series. Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin' Press for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on September 29, 2026. 

Now I'd love to know what you're reading!