Books on Thursday

I've read a few interesting books and would like to tell you about them today.

 

I’ve been trying to expand my reading this summer, and part of that has meant seeking out memoirs by people whose lives are very different from mine. Sober Mom fits that description. Liz Jannuzzi’s account of her alcoholism, its devastating effects on her marriage and family, and her eventual recovery through AA is a candid and often remarkable story.

What struck me most was the amount of energy and planning that went into maintaining the illusion that everything was fine. Jannuzzi was raising three young children while drinking vodka for much of the day, all while hiding bottles, concealing how much she drank, hiding the money she spent on alcohol, and trying to keep her husband from discovering the extent of the problem. Her description of reaching the point where she could no longer keep the pieces of her life separated is painful but compelling.

I also appreciated that Jannuzzi doesn’t present recovery as a neat, inspirational transformation. There are cravings, uncomfortable amends, grief, marital difficulties, and plenty of awkward moments. Her willingness to describe the less glamorous parts of AA and sobriety makes the story feel honest rather than overly polished. There is also a welcome vein of humor amid some very difficult material.

One caveat for those of us who enjoy a drink: Jannuzzi occasionally describes vodka and cranberry juice with such lush, sensory detail that I found myself thinking, "Well, that sounds pretty good!" It's an acknowledgement of her writing ability, and an interesting reminder of just how seductive alcohol can be, even when you’re reading about the destruction it caused.

This isn’t a memoir I would describe as an easy or comfortable read, but it is a compelling one. Jannuzzi tells her story with considerable honesty and gives a vivid picture of what alcoholism can look like when it is hidden behind the façade of an ordinary suburban family life. Most importantly, Sober Mom offers a convincing portrait of recovery as something built one day at a time, with help from other people and a willingness to confront the damage left behind. This was four stars for me.  

 

Any Bitter Thing is a quietly moving novel about memory, forgiveness, family, and the ways that the truth can become complicated when viewed through the imperfect lens of time.

After a near-fatal accident leaves Lizzy Mitchell struggling to recover, she becomes preoccupied with the vision she had while unconscious: her beloved Uncle Mike, the Catholic priest who raised her until she was nine. Twenty years earlier, accusations of impropriety had destroyed Mike’s career and separated him from Lizzy, sending her away to boarding school. Now, as Lizzy tries to piece together what happened to her in the accident, she also finds herself compelled to revisit the events that changed both their lives.

I particularly liked the way Monica Wood explores the uncertainty surrounding memory. Lizzy isn't simply trying to uncover an objective version of the past; she has to confront how children understand adult behavior, how families protect themselves, and how easily suspicion can become accepted as fact. The question of what really happened to Father Mike provides the mystery at the heart of the novel, but the emotional consequences are ultimately more important than solving it.

Lizzy's recovery, her troubled marriage, and her complicated feelings about Mike give the story plenty of emotional depth. At times the novel felt a little overly sentimental to me, and some of the spiritual elements didn't completely work for me. Still, Wood writes with considerable compassion, and I appreciated that she allows her characters to be flawed without making them easy to judge. 

This is ultimately a story about the damage caused by secrets and accusations, but also about the possibility of reconciliation and hope. Any Bitter Thing isn't a fast-paced mystery so much as an intimate exploration of how we remember the people we love, and how understanding the past can sometimes help us find a way forward. Thanks for the four-star recommendation, Becky! 

 

I thought that Homeschooled sounded like it might be interesting, but I found myself wishing the author had chosen a different title and framed the book quite differently. This is not a book about homeschooling so much as a memoir about an unhealthy mother-son relationship marked by codependency, isolation, emotional manipulation, mental health issues, and familial dysfunction.

Stefan’s mother removes him from school because she believes his teachers are stifling his creativity, but what follows is far removed from what most people would consider education. His world becomes increasingly restricted, while his mother involves him in increasingly bizarre projects and attempts to control his behavior and development. The emotional manipulation and isolation are particularly disturbing because they are presented under the guise of homeschooling.

One episode that stayed with me was his mother’s insistence that he crawl around the house like a baby, supposedly as a way to improve his penmanship. I kept wondering what his father thought about having a middle-school-aged son crawling around the house because his mother believed this was somehow beneficial. The author repeatedly mentions that his father was very busy, but I found myself wishing there had been more exploration of his role in what was happening. I would also like to have read some of the older brother's thoughts.

There is no question that this is a sad and, ultimately, empowering story. Stefan’s return to public school after five years of isolation and his gradual discovery of a life outside his mother’s control are compelling. His journey toward independence is the strongest part of the book, but it still felt like Block excused or even romanticized much of his mother's highly aberrant behavior.

For me, the homeschooling aspect felt almost incidental to the larger story. The real subject is a mother whose controlling behavior and increasingly eccentric worldview profoundly affected her son. I think I would have connected with the book more if it had been presented as a memoir about mental health, family dysfunction, and a young person struggling to establish his own identity rather than as a book purportedly about homeschooling.

There are some powerful and heartbreaking moments here, but ultimately I found the framing of the story frustrating, and I still have many unanswered questions about what this family went through. 1.5 stars rounded up.

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

Books on Thursday

I have three ARC reviews for you this week. I've been trying to blog about them closer to their publication dates so you can place a hold at your library if you are interested. That seems far better than telling you about them three to six months before they are even published!

I went into Sophie, Standing There by Meg Mason expecting something sharp, funny, and emotionally insightful, and to be fair, it does deliver on some of that. Sophie is an immediately sympathetic character: gentle, withdrawn, and quietly struggling in ways that feel recognizable and real. Mason has a gift for capturing the interior life of loneliness, and there are moments of genuine wit and poignancy scattered throughout.

One of my favorite aspects of the novel was its deep immersion in the literary world. I loved all the references to books, publishing, and especially to authors themselves. They loom large in Sophie’s life, not just as creators but as emotional anchors. The portrayal of a reader’s relationship to a beloved writer felt incredibly authentic, capturing that peculiar blend of admiration, intimacy, and dependence that can form across the page. Those elements added a richness and specificity that really elevated the reading experience for me.

That said, I found myself increasingly frustrated with the pacing. I enjoyed the story, but it felt like it took forever to get anywhere. Much of the novel lingers in Sophie’s inner world without enough forward momentum, and while that may be intentional, mirroring her stagnation, it sometimes makes the reading experience feel stuck rather than immersive. I kept waiting for a shift, a spark, or a deeper development that would push things forward in a meaningful way.

The premise, especially Sophie’s attachment to the author who becomes a kind of emotional lifeline, is compelling and full of potential. When the book focuses on that idea, it’s at its strongest, exploring the strange intimacy between reader and writer in a thoughtful, almost tender way. But those moments are somewhat buried beneath repetition and a narrative that circles more than it progresses.

Overall, this is a thoughtful and occasionally moving novel with a strong central character, and a love letter of sorts to the literary world, but one that might have benefited from a tighter structure and a bit more narrative drive. I’m glad I read it, but I can’t help feeling it didn’t quite live up to what it could have been. (But Meg Mason is the author and I am clearly not!) Three stars.

Thank you to Edelweiss and Harper for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on September 8, 2026.

I was immediately captivated when a friend mentioned that she was reading Swimming With Turtles and I ended up enjoying this memoir even more than I expected. Susan Baur has a gift for translating the quiet act of snorkeling in Cape Cod ponds into something genuinely adventurous. Her descriptions of the underwater world are so vivid that it often feels as though you're swimming alongside her, peering beneath lily pads and scanning the shadows for painted, musk, and snapping turtles. She captures both the beauty and the thrill of discovery in a way that made me appreciate an ecosystem I'd never given much thought to.

The memoir is also about grief, aging, patience, and learning to pay closer attention to the natural world. Baur's love story and the loss that follows add emotional depth without overwhelming the central joy of her observations. I especially appreciated how her fascination with turtles evolved into environmental stewardship, reminding us that wonder often leads to caring.

I have to admit that I'm still slightly terrified of muddy pond bottoms and snapping turtles, too, but this book somehow made me want to grab a snorkel and see what I've been missing beneath the surface. That's a testament to Baur's enthusiasm and powers of observation. 

If I have one small criticism, it's that the reflective passages occasionally linger a bit longer than I wanted, slightly slowing the momentum. Even so, Swimming with Turtles is a thoughtful, immersive memoir that celebrates curiosity, resilience, and the rewards of slowing down long enough to truly see the world around us. A wonderful read for nature lovers and anyone who enjoys memoirs that quietly inspire. Four and a half stars rounded up.   

Thank you to NetGalley and University of Massachusetts Press for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on September 8, 2026.

 

Switzy is one of those novels that is less concerned with plot than with immersing the reader in a state of mind. Emma Cline's stream-of-consciousness style places us inside David's increasingly fractured thoughts as he travels across Europe, knowing that he has chosen to end his life before dementia erases what remains of his sense of self.

What impressed me most was Cline's ability to make David's experience feel immediate rather than merely observed. Instead of describing dementia from the perspective of family members or caregivers, she invites us into David's shifting consciousness. Memories surface without warning, conversations lose their shape, familiar places become strange, and time itself refuses to behave. It's disorienting, but intentionally so, creating a reading experience that gives what I imagine to be a shockingly realistic sense of dementia.

Despite the heavy subject matter, there are flashes of dry humor and moments of surprising tenderness. As David reflects on childhood, family, career, regrets, and small moments that linger long after larger accomplishments have faded, the novel quietly asks what remains of a person when memory begins to disappear. This question stayed with me even after I finished the book and I will be thinking about this one for a while.

This wasn't an easy or particularly fast read for me. The stream-of-consciousness narrative can be repetitive, occasionally confusing, and difficult to follow. I often found myself going back several pages to try and make sense of what was happening. But the style ultimately serves the story very well, drawing the reader into the confusion, fear, and fleeting moments of clarity that define David's final journey.

Switzy is an enveloping, compassionate novel that offers what a deeply imagined glimpse of dementia might feel like from the inside. It's haunting, thought-provoking, and unlike anything else I've read on the subject.

Thank you to NetGalley and Random House for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on September 8, 2026.There is a Goodreads giveaway for this four-star book if you are interested. 

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

 

Books on Thursday

I read several books this week. It was a good week for reading, given our 90 degrees plus weather combined with oppressive humidity. 

I really liked the premise of The Treasure House. A single mother and her young daughter buying a neglected house overflowing with decades of accumulated belongings has all the ingredients for a cozy, emotionally satisfying story. Watching someone slowly reclaim both a home and a life can make for a compelling read.

For me, though, the execution made it clear that I'm probably not the target audience. This is a perfectly pleasant romance, but many of the obstacles are resolved so easily that the story never felt especially grounded. Zoe sees the house, makes one phone call to the owner, another to the bank, and suddenly she's a homeowner. The many challenges of rehabilitating a rundown house are similarly smoothed over with the help of an endlessly supportive circle of friends and neighbors. Even major jobs, like putting up storm windows during a coastal storm, seem to come together with surprising ease.

The romance was equally predictable. As soon as the somewhat taciturn owner of Jake's Hardware and Lobster Shack appeared, it was obvious where that storyline was headed. Predictability isn't necessarily a flaw. Sometimes it's exactly what you're looking for in a comfort read, but there weren't many surprises along the way.

I did enjoy the small mystery surrounding the previous owner, Marly, and the parallels between her life and Zoe's added some emotional depth. Florence was also a charming presence, bringing warmth and optimism to the story.

Overall, The Treasure House is an easy, feel-good novel that offers a comforting escape. While I wanted a little more realism and complexity in both the home renovation and the relationships, readers looking for a cozy romance with a hopeful message and a satisfying happy ending will likely find plenty to enjoy and a welcome respite from the news. Three stars.

Thank you to NetGalley and Dell for providing me with a copy of the book. It will be published on September 1, 2026. There is a Goodreads giveaway for this book if you are interested. 

 

This book was just not meant for me in so many ways.

I went into Heather hoping that its setting in the New Jersey Pine Barrens would make this mystery especially appealing. Unfortunately, the setting wasn’t enough to overcome the many elements that I tend to struggle with as a reader. There are multiple storylines, a nonlinear timeline, a mixture of second- and third-person narration, a protagonist who often seemed frustratingly incompetent, and a web of relationships so confusing that I found myself trying to construct a family tree just to keep everyone straight.

More troubling for me was the repeated failure of the adults in this community to protect the young women at the center of the story. Police officers, parents, teachers, and other authority figures repeatedly miss or fail to act on things that seem like they should have raised serious red flags. I kept wondering how so many adults could fail these girls so thoroughly and so repeatedly.

I can appreciate what Caitlin Mullen was attempting to explore: how difficult it can be to know the truth about another person's life, how memory and perspective shape our understanding of the past, and how a community can carry the consequences of long-buried secrets. There are some genuinely disturbing and heartbreaking ideas here.

But as a reading experience, I found Heather confusing rather than compelling. The structural choices that may work beautifully for other readers mostly kept me at a distance from the characters and the mystery. I wanted to enjoy this one, mainly because of the Pine Barrens setting, but unfortunately the setting couldn't make up for the rest of the book for me. Two and a half stars.

I picked up Tough Cases after hearing one of the editors, Gregory Mize, interviewed on NPR, and the book turned out to be even more compelling than I expected.

Most of us encounter famous court cases only through headlines or the final ruling. Tough Cases shifts the focus from the courtroom drama to the judge's chambers, where the real burden of decision-making takes place. Each chapter is written by the judge who presided over a particularly difficult case, explaining not only the legal reasoning but also the human weight of making decisions that can alter lives forever.

I was familiar with several of the high-profile cases, including those involving Elián González, Terri Schiavo, and Scooter Libby, but I had never really considered the painstaking thought process behind the rulings. The essays do an excellent job of explaining how judges balance precedent, statutory law, constitutional principles, and compassion while recognizing that there may be no outcome that satisfies everyone. The writing is remarkably accessible, making complex legal issues understandable without talking down to readers who don't have a legal background.

One of the book's greatest strengths is that it humanizes judges without turning them into heroes or villains. They come across as thoughtful people wrestling with imperfect facts, competing legal obligations, and the knowledge that every decision will profoundly affect someone's life.

Reading this made me realize how much I enjoy this kind of behind-the-scenes legal history. I would eagerly read a similar collection explaining the judicial reasoning behind landmark Supreme Court decisions such as Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission or Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization. Regardless of where readers stand on those cases, understanding how judges work through difficult constitutional questions in plain language would make for fascinating reading.

If you enjoy legal nonfiction, true courtroom stories, or simply want a better understanding of what judges actually do beyond issuing rulings, Tough Cases is an engaging and enlightening collection. It reminded me that the law is rarely as simple as it appears from the outside, and that some of the hardest work in our justice system happens long before a verdict is announced. Four stars. 

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

 

Books on Thursday

I read a couple of books this week. They were both 3.5 stars which normally makes me think "meh", but both of these had some interesting things going on.

I'm glad I took a chance on this one. I don't often choose from the free monthly Amazon First Reads selections because, in my experience, you tend to get what you pay for. This time, though, I decided to give I've Got a New Complaint a try, and it turned out to be a pleasant surprise.

Laurie Notaro's (no relation to Tig) collection of essays captures the strange stage of life where you're juggling aging parents, your own aches and pains, and the realization that you have somehow become the adult in every situation. Her observations are often exaggerated for comedic effect, but they're rooted in experiences that will feel familiar to many readers.

As with most essay collections, some pieces landed better than others. A few had me smiling more than laughing out loud, while others showcased Notaro's wonderfully dry, self-deprecating wit. I especially enjoyed her sharp sense of humor and the way she finds comedy in everything from office politics to getting older and all the indignities that come with it.

The biggest compliment I can give I've Got a New Complaint is that it made me want to read more of Laurie Notaro's work. If her other books have the same blend of wit, honesty, and humor, I'll happily pick up another one. Three and a half stars.

 

I picked up Seek Immediate Shelter after spotting it on President Obama's summer reading list and the premise immediately grabbed me. A false ballistic missile alert sends an entire Massachusetts town into crisis, and for a few terrifying minutes everyone believes they're living their final moments. What follows isn't so much a thriller as a series of interconnected character studies exploring what people reveal about themselves when they think there's no tomorrow.

The novel is structured as a collection of vignettes, with each chapter focusing on a different person affected by the alert. Some stories resonated with me more than others, but together they create an interesting portrait of a community and the complicated relationships that exist beneath everyday life. Vincent Yu does a thoughtful job showing how one brief moment of panic can expose years of buried resentments, regrets, and unspoken feelings.

I found myself imagining what I would do if I received a message like that. One of the characters, Nina, uses what she believes are her last moments to send a cruel text to her daughter. I simply couldn't relate to that reaction. I'd like to think my instinct would be to call or text my own kids to tell them I loved them and hope for the best. That contrast made me reflect on the choices the characters make and what those choices say about them.

While I appreciated the novel's ambition and its exploration of second chances, the vignette format kept me from becoming deeply invested in many of the characters before moving on to the next perspective. A few storylines lingered with me long after I finished, while others felt less fully developed.

Overall, this is a thoughtful and compassionate debut that asks compelling questions about love, regret, forgiveness, and what truly matters when we believe time has run out. It didn't completely win me over emotionally, but it certainly gave me plenty to think about, and I'll be interested to see what Vincent Yu writes next. Three and a half stars, but I think it would be absolutely wonderful to talk about books with Obama!

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

Books on Thursday

I read several ARCs this week but will review them closer to their publication date. I did read one other book after hearing about Christopher Nolan's Odyssey almost everywhere I turned.  

I'm not nearly as familiar with The Odyssey as I probably should be, but even with only a basic knowledge of the original, I'm fairly certain I appreciated Margaret Atwood's retelling more than I would Homer's epic.

By allowing Penelope and the twelve hanged maids to tell their own stories, Atwood shifts the focus away from the celebrated hero and toward those who were expected to wait patiently while history glorified someone else's adventures. I couldn't help thinking that if I had been in Penelope's place, Odysseus and I would have had some very serious conversations when he finally deigned to return home after twenty years of wandering, monster-slaying, and "spending time" with various goddesses.

What I admire most about Atwood is her ability to subvert familiar narratives without dismissing them. Her deep knowledge of and respect for the original myth is evident throughout, even as she playfully pokes holes in its assumptions. The novel is witty, clever, and often surprisingly funny, but beneath the humor is a sharp examination of whose voices are preserved, whose are ignored, and how gender and class shape the stories that survive.

The Penelopiad is brief but thought-provoking. It made me want to revisit The Odyssey with fresh eyes, and that's probably one of the highest compliments a retelling can earn. I just wish I was better at pronouncing Margaret Atwood's title. 

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

 

Books on Thursday: 7/23/26

I read three books last week, but two of them were Advance Readers' Copies that won't be published for at least a couple of months, so I'll wait a while to review them. But I did read one other book and it was excellent so I'd love to tell you about that one. 

I read Her Honor after hearing Judge LaDoris Hazzard Cordell interviewed on NPR. She was so thoughtful and engaging that I immediately wanted to learn more about her work and her perspective on the American legal system, and I'm glad I did.

Cordell has written an excellent memoir that reflects on her years on the bench through a wide variety of cases, from small claims and probate disputes to criminal trials, mental health hearings, and family law matters. I especially appreciated her compassion in discussing family law, including the care and sensitivity she brought to cases involving name changes. Throughout the book, she reminds readers that every file represents a real person whose life may be changed by what happens in a courtroom.

One of the book's greatest strengths is its balance. Cordell clearly believes in the justice system while acknowledging its flaws. She traces ways the courts have become fairer over time, but she also doesn't shy away from broken processes that continue to produce unjust outcomes. Rather than simply criticizing, she thoughtfully proposes practical reforms.

I found her discussion of drunk driving particularly compelling. She explains her efforts to require convicted offenders to install ignition interlock devices, despite significant opposition from those who felt she was overstepping. Her account illustrates both the limits of judicial power and the determination of a judge trying to prevent future tragedies.

Cordell also writes candidly about race and the ways white privilege and unconscious assumptions can influence the pursuit of justice. She approaches these topics without bitterness or accusation, instead offering clear explanations of how lived experiences, and the lack of awareness of others' experiences can affect courtroom outcomes.

This was an interesting, educational, and very well-written book, so I rounded my 4.5 stars up to 5. Whether you're fascinated by the legal system or simply enjoy thoughtful memoirs from people who have spent their careers in public service, Her Honor is well worth reading. 

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

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!   

 

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!   

 

 

 

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!  

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!  

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!  

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!  

Books on Thursday

I finished two books this week, and they were both a little outside of my usual reading. Sarah recommended this first one, and since I seem to be on a memoir streak, I gave it a try. 

In How to Lose Your Mother, Molly Jong-Fast writes with a voice that is unmistakably her own, sharp, self-aware, anxious, funny, exhausting, and often brutally candid all at once. The memoir moves quickly between humor, resentment, grief, celebrity gossip, family history, and the slow devastation of Erica Jong’s dementia. At times the tone feels almost frenetic, but that energy also feels true to the life she’s describing. Even when I wasn’t fully invested, I was rarely bored.

One of the most compelling aspects of the book is its complicated portrait of motherhood and daughterhood. Jong-Fast clearly spent much of her life longing for stability and attention from a mother who was consumed by fame, relationships, ambition, her own needs, and addiction to alcohol. The title itself captures the emotional core of the memoir: how do you mourn a mother you never really had in the first place? Some passages about caregiving, aging, and anticipatory grief were genuinely moving.

I listened to the audiobook, which added another interesting layer to the experience. Molly Jong-Fast has a very distinctive narration style and voice. At first I found it a little jarring , clipped, intense, almost breathless at times and strident at others , but as the memoir went on it started to feel perfectly matched to the story she was telling and the emotional chaos underneath it.

In the end, I think readers who enjoy messy family memoirs, literary gossip, and emotionally complicated mother-daughter stories will probably get the most out of this one. I didn’t love every moment, but I appreciated its honesty and refusal to sentimentalize difficult relationships. This is a story about a little girl who didn't get what she needed from her mother while she was growing up, and that's a sad story no matter the circumstances. Three and a half stars.

Sally Hepworth has built a reputation for writing domestic suspense with sharp humor and memorable characters, and Mad Mabel leans heavily into both strengths. Part mystery, part character study, and part dark comedy, this novel follows eighty-one-year-old Elsie Mabel Fitzpatrick, a woman whose prickly exterior hides a lifetime of secrets, and possibly a trail of bodies.

The strongest aspect of the book is undoubtedly Mabel herself. She's nosy, opinionated, unapologetically difficult, and far more complex than she initially appears. Hepworth does an excellent job balancing Mabel's sharp edges with enough vulnerability to make readers invested in her story. The friendship that develops between Mabel and her young neighbor Persephone is also unexpectedly charming and provides much of the novel's heart.

The dual timelines gradually reveal Mabel's past, and while the mystery kept me turning pages, some of the twists felt more entertaining than surprising. The pacing occasionally lagged a bit in the middle. The novel's blend of humor and darker subject matter is mostly successful, though at times the tonal shifts felt a little uneven.

What ultimately makes Mad Mabel work is its exploration of justice, redemption, and the assumptions we make about people based on age and appearance. It's a clever premise that asks readers to reconsider who gets labeled "dangerous" and who gets overlooked. It is an engaging, quirky mystery with a memorable protagonist and enough twists to keep suspense fans satisfied. Three and a half stars rounded up.   

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

Books on Thursday

I read three books this week, two ARCs and one already published book. A couple of them were just average, but I've read a lot of stellar books lately and they can't all be five stars. 

The Left and the Lucky was something I checked out on the spur of the moment. It is filled with empathy and bruised humanity, and at its best, the novel offers a moving portrait of connection between damaged people trying to survive difficult lives. Eddie, the lonely house painter carrying decades of guilt, and young Russell, desperate for safety and kindness, form the emotional core of the story, and their growing bond is genuinely tender. Vlautin writes beautifully about small mercies: a shared meal, a little work to do, a quiet place to sit, someone finally paying attention. Those moments feel earned and deeply human.

But for me, the novel’s relentless bleakness eventually became overwhelming. There is more than enough sibling abuse, substance abuse, neglect, poverty, violence, and child abandonment to go around, and while Vlautin clearly approaches his characters with compassion rather than judgment, the accumulation of misery sometimes overwhelmed the story entirely. Curtis, Russell's brother, is portrayed with such frightening volatility that many scenes become difficult to read, and the constant sense of danger hanging over Russell made the reading experience emotionally exhausting.

That makes the kindness Eddie offers all the more meaningful, but it also means those quieter moments can feel buried beneath wave after wave of suffering. I appreciated what Vlautin was trying to do ,show how even fragile acts of care can alter a life, and there are passages here that are heartbreakingly lovely. Still, I found myself wishing for a little more balance and breathing room amid the despair.

Readers who appreciate stark, working-class literary fiction with deeply compassionate characters will likely find much to admire here. While I respected the novel more than I enjoyed it, Eddie and Russell’s relationship lingered with me even after I finished the final page. This was three stars for me. 

Barry Werth’s The Age of Cures is an ambitious history of the rise of the American pharmaceutical industry, tracing the scientific breakthroughs that transformed medicine between the 1930s and 1960s. Werth clearly did an enormous amount of research, and the book is packed with details about the development of antibiotics, vaccines, cortisone, and the partnerships between universities, government, and private industry that reshaped modern healthcare.

What worked best for me was the sense of scale. Werth captures how terrifying illness once was before the arrival of so-called “miracle drugs,” and he effectively shows how quickly medicine evolved within just a few decades. Some sections, particularly those dealing with the race to develop penicillin and the polio vaccine, were genuinely compelling and gave me a new appreciation for the scientists and institutions involved.

That said, I found the book uneven as a reading experience. The level of detail can become overwhelming, and the narrative sometimes gets bogged down in long explanations of corporate structures, research funding, and scientific politics. While those elements are obviously important to the story Werth is telling, they occasionally overwhelm the book. I also struggled to connect emotionally with most of the people involved because the cast of researchers, executives, and institutions is so large.

Overall, this is a thoughtful and deeply researched work of medical history that will probably appeal most to readers with a strong interest in science, medicine, or the pharmaceutical industry. I admired it more than I loved it, but I still came away with a greater understanding of how modern medicine and America’s pharmaceutical dominance came to be. Three stars from me.

Thank you to Edelweiss and Simon & Schuster for providing me with a copy of the book. It will be published on September 22, 2026.

Mary Beth Keane’s Whale Harbor is a sprawling family novel that feels both intimate and epic at the same time. Inspired by Keane’s own family history, the story follows eleven brothers whose lives diverge after tragedy fractures their family in Ireland. Some remain behind while others emigrate to Montana and New York, building new lives marked by hardship, loyalty, silence, and longing. At the center of it all is the mystery of a missing brother, Rian, whose absence echoes through generations.

What impressed me most was Keane’s ability to make such a large cast feel emotionally distinct and fully human. Multi-generational novels can sometimes become overwhelming, but here each brother and branch of the family carries its own emotional weight. The novel explores immigration, identity, masculinity, grief, and family obligation without ever feeling heavy-handed. Keane writes with tremendous compassion for her characters, even when they make frustrating or heartbreaking choices.

The emotional texture of the book is what lingered with me most. There’s a quiet sadness running beneath much of the story, but also resilience and tenderness. Keane captures the complicated ways families carry both love and damage across decades. The sections set in New York and Montana were especially vivid, and the immigrant experience felt grounded in the daily realities of work, survival, and reinvention rather than romanticized nostalgia.

I also appreciated the pacing and structure. Despite covering so many years and perspectives, the novel never felt rushed. Keane allows relationships and tensions to develop naturally, and the central mystery of Rian's estrangment gives the story an emotional pull that keeps unfolding right up to the end.

My only slight hesitation is that a few characters inevitably receive less depth simply because the scope is so ambitious. There were moments when I wanted to stay longer with certain family members before the narrative moved on. But honestly, that feeling also speaks to how invested I became in their lives.

Overall, this was a beautifully written and deeply absorbing family saga, rich with history, heartbreak, and humanity. Fans of literary fiction centered on family dynamics and immigration stories will find a lot to love here. I’ll be thinking about these characters for a long time. 4.5 stars rounded up.

Thank you to NetGalley and Scribner for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on November 3, 2026.

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