CALLING ME HOME by Julie Kibler

My admiration for Kathryn Stockett’s The Help made me hesitant about Calling Me Home until I read an interview with Julie Kibler on Women’s Fiction Writers. The material Julie shared peaked my curiosity as a reader and writer. I ordered the book, but when it arrived I shelved it.

Four months later I tossed it into a book bag with a few other novels and brought it to my aunt’s apartment for our weekly Story Time. My aunt loves non-fiction and biographies and has little tolerance for genre fiction. When her eyes started to go and she was forced to read large print books she was incensed. “Why do publishers think old people are only interested in mysteries and romance? We may forget what we had for breakfast, but we haven’t misplaced our intelligence.”

Imagine my surprise when Calling Me Home, a novel categorized as Women’s Fiction, earned this response from my aunt after I read the book flap. “That’s the one. I’m already hooked.” Once I started reading I knew the reason for her infatuation. My aunt is a ringer for Isabelle: eighty-nine, loves crossword puzzles, a bit cantankerous and although she didn’t marry a black boy, she eloped at sixteen to get out from under a repressive household and community.

If I read Calling Me Home on my own, I would’ve zipped through the pages. Reading aloud to my aunt allowed me to appreciate Kibler’s strength for characterization. Whether they were in the past or present, I never had to think about how to portray either Isabelle or Dorrie. Their vocal qualities shifted inside me as easily as a breath moves in and out.

Another area of effortlessness is Kibler’s ability to show Isabelle’s naivetés about the world and love. Seventeen-year old Isabelle’s thought process or lack of thought and prominence of emotions is so accurate it’s funny, and sad, given the complex situation she has thrust herself into.

But in spite of the heartfelt rendition of Dorrie’s and Isabelle’s stories, I kept the women at a distance until page 194 when Isabelle’s dreams were torn from her. During that scene my past rushed forward and all of my reluctance to read and embrace the novel became clear; Calling Me Home was too close to home. Isabelle’s story reminded me of how sweet I was on Jerome Blakemore when I was sixteen and how my father’s bigotry crushed what might’ve been a lasting relationship, just like Isabelle’s brothers and mother came between her and Robert Prewitt.

Once my catharsis ran its course I was all in. Throughout the rest of our time with Dorrie and Isabelle, my aunt and I cried, laughed and yelled at the characters for the decisions they made and the things they didn’t say. Is there any higher praise for an author than for readers to talk to their characters as if they are real? Bravo, Julie.

Calling Me Home is a story to read, share and talk about with all generations; a personal story with universal ripples.


A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT by Norman Maclean

Norman Maclean’s autobiographical novella is surprisingly suspenseful and laugh-out-loud funny. I never expected to write such a statement when I first decided to read A River Runs Through It.

The film is one of my favorites. I’ve seen it so many times the DVD is worn out. Because I was aware of the humor and tragedy of life that lay within the pages of the novel before I started to read, suspense was the last element of storytelling I expected to encounter. The suspense is driven by Maclean’s brazen humor and the combination allows A River Runs Through It to flow in soul-wrenching harmony.

Riveting storytelling is grounded in details and Maclean’s selection and communication is masterful. His descriptions are often ethereal and transport you to a meditative state in one line, then slam you into reality in the next.

If you have never seen a bear going over the mountain, you have not seen the deed
reduced to its essentials. A bear leaves the earth like a bolt of lightening retrieving
itself and making its thunder backwards.
 

A River Runs Through It shows us a family of distinctly different people who respect each other’s space enough to agree to disagree and love each other regardless.

You can love completely without complete understanding.

This may sound like an easy task, but if you have ever attempted to write a novel or short story you know delivering the goods is no ice cream social. All character actions must link to intention and every intention needs motivation with resonance, otherwise the reader doesn’t care. Craft books often suggest a light touch when revealing intention, motivation and theme. Maclean is not subtle. His younger self, who narrates the novella, is blatant about what he wants and what he fails to accomplish. His ability to expose his regrets endears us to him. His journey to unravel the mystery of his brother’s life becomes our own, along with the lessons learned.

The underlying power of A River Runs Through It is wrapped up in Maclean’s wisdom about living. I don’t know whether his insight is due to the fact that he didn’t write this novella until he was in his seventies, or because the rhythm and wonders of life were second nature to him as a result of learning to fly fish before he was old enough to master cursive writing, or because his father was a Presbyterian minister. But the why doesn’t matter.

As in all great storytelling what reverberates are the zingers of truth; the sentences we return to again and again for their beauty and enlightenment. A River Runs Through It is packed with such gems. It is more than a novella it is a reference for life.

Step into the rapids of life with A River Runs Through It.


FIVE DAYS by Douglas Kennedy

Intimate.

Five Days is one of the most intimate novels I have ever read. My word choice has nothing to do with the love affair contained within.

Like Woolf, Bannville and Cunningham, Douglas Kennedy pries open the lockbox that holds the protagonist’s deepest secrets, and in so doing, forces us to confront our own.

…what happens when, over the years, you’ve forced yourself to play a role that you privately know runs contrary to your true nature; when the mask you’ve worn for so long no longer fits and begins to hang lopsidedly, and you fear people are going to finally glimpse the scared part of you that you have so assiduously kept out of view?

Thus begins Laura’s journey.

I was instantly captivated and yet, frustrated with the lack of action. I shrugged it off as a natural response after just coming off of NOS4A2 by Joe Hill. But Laura’s unrest irritated like the itch of chicken pox and when I couldn’t set the book down, I had to ask why?

Kennedy’s rendition of Laura is equivalent to a portrait by Rembrandt. His selection of light and dark, the execution of detail, the juxtaposition of desire and obligation demands our attention.

Yes, Laura is at the bottom of unhappiness and she bemoans her situation, but her sadness doesn’t define her. She is compassionate and tolerant of other people’s weaknesses, even when she has no patience with herself. In order to salvage a marriage, which was a mistake from the start, she transformed herself into the family lifeguard, the one person who is never able to enjoy the water.

And there it is—the intimacy. As Laura separates herself from the cement of her life and explores the probability of change, Kennedy captures the loneliness and sense of failure that has crept into our society, even though we rail about how everyone knows everyone else’s business.

Loneliness is an aspect of ourselves no one wants to talk about—the cancer of our time—something so personal it’s impossible to face without fingering our own culpability. Fortunately, Douglas Kennedy has drawn a heroine with courage enough to face the truth and move through it.

Will Schwalbe, author of The End of Your Life Book Club says, Five Days is “A brilliant meditation on regret, fidelity, family, and second chances.”  No finer blurb could’ve been written.

Delve into the intimacy of Five Days.


IN ONE PERSON by John Irving

John Irving’s novels are compasses of truth that illuminate our individual paths to enlightenment.

Part of my awakening this time around stems from rereading A Prayer For Owen Meany only a few months ago. Reading about Owen is not essential for you to appreciate Billy Abbott’s tale, but writers may find this particular order a fascinating study into Irving’s writing.

Narrators Johnny Wheelwright and Billy Abbott are core opposites and yet, they share similar roots. They were born out of wedlock and learned next to nothing about their biological father from their mother. A grandparent and stepfather were significant role models. And both boys were educated within the confines of a private school in a small New England town, where community theatre played a large part in their lives. But what they share is less important than the personal issues of identity these characters wrestle with.

We are who we are, aren’t we?

Who characters are and what they are willing, or not willing to stand for is a major theme in Irving’s work, and one of the reason I never grow tired of his stories. He draws me into worlds of deeply flawed individuals whose quirks and obsessions appear foreign. Then, in the end I realize the sentiments of the main character are my own; or maybe they have become my own.

Gender issues are a common struggle today. Fortunately, John Irving has turned on the light. Through the life of one particular bisexual man, In One Person will dare you to be a better person. Open your heart and expand your definition of tolerance with John Irving’s thirteenth novel.


BY NIGHTFALL by Michael Cunningham

Michael Cunningham scores again with By Nightfall. I don’t know how he’s able to read my mind, or tap into the love and pain of my heart, but he does it book after book. Each one of his characters is a manifestation of some aspect of my personality.

He owns the secret of how to connect through words. Cunningham’s novels are not action-packed, yet readers are driven to turn the page to uncover how his characters will cope with the turmoil of their lives. If you’re a writer and struggle with character development, look no further—Cunningham will show you the way.

The observations and realizations his characters make reflect a universal truth we may not speak of, but recognize without question. His characters explore darkness, but hope reverberates. His themes spark tension unlike any plot point. And no author captures the nuances and energy of New York better. If you’ve never fallen into Cunningham, take the plunge. By Nightfall you’ll be a fan.


A PRAYER FOR OWEN MEANY by John Irving

I have spent every season of the year with Owen Meany. My first encounter was the summer I played Titania in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Playing a fairy is heady work. Owen grounded me. The following fall I started to write plays. My head overflowed with character voices. But since none of them were as distinct as Owen’s voice I read A Prayer for Owen Meany a second time. A few years down the road I gave birth to my third son. Newborns spend a lot of time nursing. I infused our bonding time with literature. Possibly because he was born on Friday the 13th, we began with the work of Stephen King and turned to Owen Meany in the spring. My son loved Owen too. He laughed and kicked his legs whenever I read Owen’s lines.

I dusted off my copy of A Prayer for Owen Meany in January and read it in weekly installments to my 89-year old Aunt. We finished last week. After spending the winter with Owen Meany the spring looks a little less promising. When I asked my Aunt what we should read next she said, “I don’t know. That Owen is a hard act to follow.”

I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice—not because of his voice, or
because he was the smallest person I ever knew, or even because he was an instrument
of my mother’s death, but because he is the reason I believe in God; I am a Christian
because of Owen Meany.

If there is an opening in literature more haunting or compelling then this, I haven’t read it. These words like Owen Meany, force me to move forward not only in the story, but in my life. He is one of the most inspiring fictional characters around.

I’ve met several people who do not care for this particular novel by John Irving. They scrunch up their noses when I mention the title because they don’t like the narrator Johnny Wheelwright. My fondness for the story made me defensive whenever I heard such tosh twenty years ago. I am no longer defensive.

Johnny is a dishrag next to Owen Meany. He lacks initiative and his personality is so neutral he can’t even get laid. But this is exactly why he is the perfect narrator for the story. Owen’s unconditional and unwavering faith means nothing to the reader without Johnny’s endless confusion about life. Irving’s choice to lay such opposites side-by-side forces the reader, just like Owen’s sacrifice forces Johnny to take a stand.

YOU HAVE TO MAKE A DECISION…IF YOU CARE ABOUT SOMETHING, YOU HAVE TO PROTECT IT—IF YOU’RE LUCKY ENOUGH TO FIND A WAY OF LIFE YOU LOVE, YOU HAVE TO FIND THE COURAGE TO LIVE IT.

This is one of the many reason’s I love John Irving. He is not shy about examining the issues most people refrain from talking about like death, religion, abortion and politics. When I picked up the novel this time I feared the story might feel dated because of the backdrop of the Vietnam War. I was mistaken.

The political unrest and arguments against the war in Owen’s and Johnny’s world seem to have more resonance today. Or maybe the relevance only feels stronger because, like Johnny Wheelwright, I have grown and experienced enough in life to take a stand.

For me, A Prayer for Owen Meany is a book that keeps on giving. I uncover more about the characters and myself each time I witness the journey of these inseparable friends.

Discover what you believe with A Prayer for Owen Meany.


THE RIVER WITCH by Kimberly Brock

A ballerina, a ten-year old and an alligator walk into a bar…Interested? If not, you will be.

The River Witch captivated me like the ghost stories my friends shared around the campfire. The longer the tale the closer we sat together. We huddled out of fear and because we didn’t want to miss a word.

Opening pages ground readers in character, conflict and either lead us to care about the main character(s) or not. Kimberly Brock leaves no other option than to invest in her dueling narrators, Roslyn Byrne and Damascus Trezevant. Facts pummel the page the way a boxer’s fists attack a speed bag and fuel the reader’s curiosity, for Roslyn’s character defines mystery. And Damascus? She is spunky, determined and moves forward on blind faith—a quality we lose as adults when we need it most.

Few characters are as perfectly matched as Roslyn and Damascus. Two lost souls testing and daring each other to prove themselves worthy of life. These separate, yet interrelated character arcs are equally intriguing. But while the mystery and evolution of Roslyn is the main focus of the novel, I have to say Damascus is the character that drove me to turn page after page. I couldn’t stop thinking, “Why?” Why do children’s voices grab our attention? Why do child characters often reach further into our hearts then adults?

These questions nudged me to reexamine my fascination with Tillie from Up from the Blue by Susan Henderson and Gemma from Meg Tilly’s Gemma. Here is my realization. Children draw us in because a part of every adult still needs to be healed, and the character trait the adult needs to strengthen in order to mend, lies within the child they are drawn to.

We are vehicles of change and Brock’s characters encourage us to step away from fear and into the hope that true change offers us.

“I never done nothing like this,” Ivy said, breathless. “Just took off without nobody.
Something about you, Roslyn, when I’m with you I think I can do all this stuff.” 

The River Witch is a complex and magical tale of broken souls struggling to stay above the tide of loss and the inevitable, yet unexpected force of love that heals them.

Experience the spellbinding power of The River Witch.


THE SEA by John Banville

The Sea (2005 Man Booker Prize Winner) is a story built on memory and the immediacy of the present. The past and present coexist like different colored wools woven on a loom. The specificity of Banville’s observations is unmatched. The details, so vivid, evoke emotions and recollections from the reader’s own childhood, which somehow feed immediately back to protagonist Max Morden and the reader is snared.

As his childhood and adult life collide, Max shows us that in the midst of the light and joy of our lives, our ability to comprehend the weight of our experiences is palpable; all we need do is open our awareness. Our transformational potential is mind-bending, and may be the reason—in my humble opinion—we delegate it to our subconscious. But The Sea is more than a story of human potential. It deals with love and loss, truth and fabrication. I dare say, Max Morden’s journey to the sea is a tale to be visited again and again, for each encounter will yield new insights for the reader.

The richness of the imagery and the elegant flow of the prose will coax you to read out loud. If you do, the story will unfold in a blink. I advise a whisper, just enough articulation to appreciate the brilliance of the music on the page. Let the words resonate ever so slightly and they will plunge deep into your heart and leave a tattoo of love.

Banville’s mastery of words and effortless storytelling echoes Virginia Woolf and Michael Cunningham. Yet he is himself—unique. We are fortunate to have him in our midst.

Delve into the magical world of The Sea.



THE THIEF OF AUSCHWITZ by Jon Clinch

Just when you think it’s impossible to tolerate another tale about the holocaust, The Thief of Auschwitz sucks you in. Jon Clinch possesses a slight of hand magic with words. Their simple declaration of truth is woven on the page as if he is about to entertain us with a fairytale, except this one is dark and twisted like The Black Swan, and we can’t turn away.

The events of the story stab and gut us and we are mesmerized by the horror. Not because we are evil, but because we are human. Our fascination lies in our need to prepare for the worst, for it is unthinkable that such cruelty exists. Our willingness to observe how others suffer reminds us to give thanks for the fortune in our lives.

What we reap from Clinch’s story is the result of the fine art of selection. Each word piles on top of the next—precise words in exactly the right order—to form sentences that reach into our hearts and squeeze our humanity. His ability to capture, with empathy, a situation he could not have experienced—the entire horrible truth of it—is a gift.

It’s true enough that in the city you never know what’s lurking around the next corner, but in the wide open spaces you just never know, period. Anything could happen. In the city you’ve got a fair chance, but out in the open you could get struck by lightening, or the earth could open right up or you could just get lost without one single thing to help you tell one cornfield from another.

Don’t call it paranoia, either. It’s not paranoia. It’s an acquired response. It’s one more souvenir I picked up at Auschwitz. Try working in the sun and the wind for a year or two, with Ukrainians pointing machine guns at you the whole time—or try lining up in a big open square every day for something that’s ostensibly roll call but that’s really a kind of random selection process for who’s going to get a bullet in his brain this morning—and you’ll decide that a blind alley with a broken streetlamp is a pretty good alternative to the great outdoors. Try watching the clouds race overhead when you can’t go anywhere yourself. Try watching the seasons change.

You’ll end up like me.

The Thief of Auschwitz is a compelling tale of Jacob, Eidel, Max and Lydia Rosen. Their situation portends death, but their hearts ooze with hope, strength in the presence of frailty and courage within a constant state of fear. They are exquisite examples of Sun Tzu’s wisdom that opportunities multiply as they are seized.

You may enter the world of Auschwitz with trepidation. You will exit with the certainty that love is the strongest thread in our lives.

Allow your heart to be stolen by The Thief of Auschwitz.


THE CASUAL VACANCY by J.K. Rowling

I don’t know if writing about a boy who can ride a broom has anything to do with her skill, but the prose of The Casual Vacancy lifts off the page. Rowling’s words transport us without effort from one character’s milieu to the next, while weaving in personality traits with such specificity there is never a chance of feeling adrift.

We know Rowling honed her craft while documenting the complicated life of Harry Potter, but there is no magic in the town of Pagford. An undercurrent of unrest lies within each resident. Their unhappiness runs so deep it festers and causes people to lash out, damage and destroy whoever is in their path.

Anyone who remembers the hell of adolescence will get a vicarious thrill as the teens of Pagford enact revenge. This portion of the tale must have been great fun to write. However, games are not all that is underfoot and Rowling is not afraid to show the ugliness of life.

Much like Stephen King, she presents the cast of characters in isolated bubbles and then allows them to intersect until the crosshairs explode. As a King fan, I was delighted. Then around page 200 my excitement dipped. There are so many characters I couldn’t decide who I was supposed to root for. A hundred pages later, I discovered the fault was my own. Although I knew the story was character driven, for some reason, I expected the twists and turns of plot to take over and drive the novel to the finish. My own expectation took me out of the story.

The Casual Vacancy is pure ensemble, no different than an ensemble piece in the theatre. No character is more significant than another because their angst and dreams are one. The interplay between characters is so deeply rooted they have no choice other than to barrel down the jagged hill together, while exposing the dangers of small town life and the complexities of human frailty.

The domino ending leaves the reader to crawl through the dirt, then just as the last bit of rubble falls, the final words—thanks to a delicate hand—lifts the reader up.

Harry Potter may have been a wizard, but J.K. Rowling holds the magic.

Read The Casual Vacancy.


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