Redbery Books

Lesley Kagen has given us a sequel to Whistling in the Dark, with Good Graces. I felt as though I was walking through the streets of Milwaukee (Vilet Street, North Avenue) as I read Whistling in the Dark and it was no different reading Good Graces. I love books written with such care to setting, characters and storyline.

We meet the O’Malley sisters a year after the fateful summer that rocked them and the residents from their neighborhood (Whistling in the Dark).

Sally, the older of the sisters, has made a promise to her father before he died that she would protect her sister Troo. Good Graces is the story of how Sally tries valiantly to keep this promise. It’s summer again in Milwaukee. Hot, steaming, unrelenting. The sisters return from camp where they’ve made crafts, experienced the great outdoors and are now back to the business of summer in Milwaukee. There has been a rash of home burglaries, Sally is working on her essay of good deeds for the summer, one of the neighborhood kids escapes from reform school and another of the neighborhood kids is missing. Sally’s got a lot to think about and keep in place. In the meantime, Troo is trying Sally’s patience. What’s with all the secrets all of a sudden? Sally’s working hard to figure it all out. Is Troo involved in something bad?

In between everything else happening in the neighborhood, Kagen weaves in subplots that keep you turning the pages. Where has the daughter of one of the neighbors gone? The parish priest is such a cutie, all the ladies swoon and is known to all from his younger days. Has he changed? Kagen also stays true to the time in our history where racial issues and neighborhood bias ran deep. Her ability to write from a child’s point of view will make you love the book even more. You will laugh out loud and shake your head at Sally’s naiveté while you turn the pages. Part mystery, part continued coming of age novel, Kagen has another winner.

I have three basic philosophies I live by: 1) Everything happens for a reason, 2) We all decide what we can live with and 3) Everyone handles grief differently. The Grief of Others illustrates these three philosophies admirably. The Grief of Others is the story of how a family can create a unique dynamic individually and that ultimately, connecting, somehow is the only way we can survive.

Ricky and John Ryrie have been married a while. When Ricky becomes pregnant with their third child, neither Ricky or John is sure how a third child will fit in to their family. Ricky is the main breadwinner; John builds theater sets. Their marriage is not without ups and downs.

Life takes an unexpected turn when Ricky finds out something about their unborn child at a doctor visit that she chooses not to share with John. Ricky and John’s son lives only 57 hours. The single incident should be enough to set the family into a tailspin; however, it also proves to be a catalyst for more than either of them expect. Their two other children, Paul, age 13 and Elizabeth (Biscuit), 10 each attempt to cope with the loss of a brother they will never know, while coping with the changes they’re experiencing as they grow and change.

There are many questions. Should Ricky have told John what the doctor found as soon as she knew? Was it her right as the mother carrying the child to withhold this information? Is it possible for a couple to completely move on when one feels betrayed? How do you deal with your own grief when there are others in the family suffering the same loss?

Subplots involving people known to the Ryrie family (Jess) and previously unknown (Gordie and Will), but now a part of the Ryrie family, play an important role in how the family manages all that has been thrown their way. I particularly enjoyed how Leah Hager Cohen used the writing style of alternating chapter-character-POV without the clunkiness and awkward voice that hugely popular authors have used in several books and has now become trite. Her style was third-person omniscient and draws us in with ease.

Leah Hager Cohen writes a beautiful story that will make you question all your relationships, all your decisions made in these relationships. Placed in Ricky and John’s shoes, what would you do? How much are you willing to give? How much can you forgive?

Laura Lippman is a master storyteller. I haven't read all of her novels, but those I've read have impressed me.  And, here she goes again with The Most Dangerous Thing.

Five kids start out as pre-teen friends: three brothers, Tim, Sean and Gordon and two girls, unlikely acquaintances, Gwen and Mickey.  What happens to them as they play in the woods in the 1980s will shape them as adults, even as they grow further and further apart.  Why can't you talk about that particular incident?  What would you do to be popular?  What would you do to save someone?  How does your conscience grow or deteriorate as you age?

Lippman asks these questions, but as an incredible bonus, she tosses the children's parents into the story and how their lives are shaped by the event in the woods.  The parents range from poor to middle class to wealthy.  How much will their lives so far keep their children safe and how much will it change it?  What happens to the parents as they age?  Did they do the right thing?  How will they know?

When Gordon dies unexpectedly, the remaining four former friends go back in their minds to the time, for a few summers, when they were as close as friends can be and what changed everything forever.

My advice: when this novel hits the shelf, snap it up.  Lippman proves again that she can write recurring characters as well as develop new ones in standalone stories that grip us.  Have you talked lately to your friend from 10, 15, 30 years ago?  It's not too late.

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There is so much to like about this book, I don’t know where to start. I’ll do my best. My friend and I saw Jodi Picoult at a local event for Sing You Home when it was first released. I don’t care what people say, there’s something about hearing an author read his work and talk about it, that gives me shivers and tingles every time. Picoult has so much passion about writing, storytelling and trying to get it all right, you can’t help but want to see what she comes up with next. What made the book event even more satisfying, was the music CD included with the novel. Jodi Picoult wrote the lyrics and Ellen Wilber, who accompanied Picoult at the event, wrote the music and performed songs from the CD (“Sammy’s Song” is my favorite). A reading AND a concert in one - simply magnificent.

Sing You Home introduces us to Zoe and Max Baxter who have tried for nine years to have a child. At first, both want nothing more than to have children. They have used in vitro on more than one occasion and are financially ruined because of it. At one point it becomes clear that the desire for a child has shifted from both of them to only one. What follows is a story of betrayal, misunderstanding, love and hope.

Watch closely as the cast of characters is introduced, including Vanessa Shaw, someone Zoe grows to love; Zoe’s mother, Dara (I think it’s safe to say, we’d like a bit of Dara in all our mothers); Lucy, one of Zoe’s clients; Pastor Clive; and Reid and Liddy, Max’s brother and sister-in-law.

Zoe is a music therapist and consequently, music shapes her life. There is a melody that runs through this novel and Zoe and her music are at the heart of it. The characters are well-drawn and promote definite feelings in us as we read.

I did tire of Picoult’s method of shifting narrator POV each chapter. It’s time she tried something new, or old, for that matter. The alternating typeface was getting on my nerves too. There are so many hot issues introduced in Sing You Home, it amazes me how Picoult links them into one story. Maybe a bit much to absorb and that seems to be recurring in Picoult’s work in the last several years. However, her attention to research, facts and their presentation cannot be beat.

I confess here that I did not read the end of the book, something I routinely do (I HAVE to know it’s going to work out). I was about ready to whip to page 466 when I groused to my friend that everything had better end well. She said, “just wait until you get to the end.” Oh, no, did that mean I was going to have to hurl this book across the room (yes, yes, I know, it’s a petulant act, but sometimes a book has to be hurled)? I did not tell her my plan to sneak a peek. For once in my life, I did as I was told. I closed the book; I cried, then I called my son to tell him again how much I love him.