Maureen Fry and the Angel of the North, by Rachel Joyce

It took me a long time to get to reading this book after The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry and The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessey, but Maureen’s journey (by car, not on foot) from the south to the north of England to see her son’s memorial and try to come to terms with her decades-old grief and with the fallout of Harold’s long and strange journey. This novel provides a poignant and beautiful completion to the trilogy, giving the third of these three senior citizens whose lives are all touched by a young man’s death, a story as complex and thought-provoking as the others. I love all these books.

Take My Hand, by Dolen Perkins-Valdez

This was the third of my middle-of-the-night Libby downloads and, like the others and like all good historical fiction, it not only told a good story but introduced me to some history I didn’t know — in this case, the dark history of forced sterilizations of Black women, some of them girls barely past puberty, in the US in the 1970s. The story is told through the eyes of recently-graduated nurse Civil Townsend; while she and other characters in the story are fictional, the two young girls Civil tries to help are based on the real life Minnie and Mary Alice Relf. Theirs are just two notorious examples of many, many women from marginalized communities — Black, Latina, Indigenous, poor, and disabled women — subjected to coerced or involuntary sterilization, often driven by eugenicist beliefs. This has happened here in Canada and other countries as well as in the US, but by situating the story in a very specific time and place, Perkins-Valdez brings it to life and makes this injustice feel real and immediate.

Beyond That, the Sea, by Laura Spence-Ash

This was the second historical novel I downloaded in my late-night “let’s see what’s available on the Libby app even if I’ve never heard of it before” adventure. This novel is about an English girl sent to live in the United States during the Second World War — a perspective I hadn’t heard before, as I know a fair bit about children coming to Canada to escape the Blitz but hadn’t realized that some went to the US. The novel follows both families — Beatrix’s working-class parents in London, and the more well-off family she lives with for five years in Boston — not just through the war years but beyond, exploring how the complicated relationships forged during those formative years affect Bea throughout her life.

The Sicilian Inheritance, by Jo Piazza

Late one night when I couldn’t sleep and didn’t have anything new on my e-reader to distract me, I went on to my library’s Libby site looking for e-books that maybe weren’t on my “gotta read” list, but had the advantage of being immediately available and sounded like something I might enjoy. This was the first of them; after listening to the excellent podcast Wilder (about Laura Ingalls Wilder and Little House on the Prairie) which Jo Piazza was a co-creator of. This led to the Silician Inheritance podcast, in which Piazza tries to unravel the family mystery that serves as the basis for this novel. I listened to the first episode of that, thought it was interesting, but didn’t really get hooked, so didn’t pursue picking up the novel.

However, for a novel downloaded from the library at 3:00 am with the parameters “historical fiction” “women writers/characters” and “available NOW,” it was pretty good. The novel has a dual timeline, one strand telling the story of a Sicilian woman in the early 20th century who is left behind when her husband and sons move to America, and dies mysteriously before she can join them; the other thread is the story of the modern-day descendant who, facing shattering losses in her own life, goes to Sicily to explore a possible inheritance and ends up tangled both in solving a 100-year-old mystery and fighting modern-day organized crime. I liked what I learned about turn-of-the-century Sicily, which was the most interesting part of the novel.

The River of Silver, by Shannon Chakraborty

I read and absolutely loved the Daevabad trilogy (City of Brass, Kingdom of Copper, Empire of Gold) — hands-down my favourite new fantasy in many years. So of course I picked up River of Silver — a collection of short stories set in the world of Daevabad, visiting the characters before, during, and after the events of the trilogy. But it took me awhile to get around to read it because … y’know, short stories!

Of course I loved them. I don’t think these stories can or should stand alone for anyone who hasn’t read the trilogy, but if you did read it and, like me, loved it, don’t miss this opportunity for a visit back to the world of djinn magic.

How to Solve Your Own Murder

This is a nicely quirky and intriguing little mystery. Frances is a teenager in the mid-1960s when a fortune teller gives her a dire-sounding prediction that shadows the rest of her life and ends up shattering her relationship with her two closest friends. Frances believes, as a result of this prophecy, that she will be murdered — and although she lives to be seventy-five, the obsession with figuring out who’s going to kill her and preventing it dominates her whole life.

Enter Frances’s great-niece Annie is summoned to a meeting about her great-aunt’s estate, only to arrive just as Frances is (finally!) murdered. Following some very unorthodox instructions in Frances’s will, Annie sets out to solve her aunt’s murder. Her quest to do so is juxtaposed with scenes from Frances’s girlhood as she deals with the fallout from the fortune-telling.

While I thought there were some big leaps of logic in this novel, I enjoyed the dual-timeline mystery, thought some of the characters were fun, and, crucially, did not guess whodunnit. It was a light and enjoyable read.

Heartburn, by Nora Ephron

I’ve known about this book forever, as I’ve known about all Nora Ephron’s work in books and movies, though the only book of hers I’ve ever read is her last one, I Remember Nothing. I believe Heartburn was her first book,, later turned into a movie, and is a not-at-all-thinly veiled roman a clef about the breakup of her second marriage after she learned of her husband’s affair.

Ephron had a very specific voice that is present in this lightly fictional work as well as in her non-fiction — an stylized, ironic, sometimes snarky manner of writing that for me, takes a bit of getting used but definitely won me over. As was the case when I read her writing about her own early life in I Remember Nothing and often is the case when I read novels or memoirs about women who came of age in the 1960s, it feels jarring to remember how recent that time was, when such unrealistic expectations were placed on women and such limitations were put around what they were allowed to be and achieve. Not that all the battles are one, and it’s possible (as we have seen in many places and maybe are seeing now) for ground once gained to be lost again … but it really is powerful to be reminded that not long ago, in an era that for women of my age was our mothers’ youth, smart and ambitious women really were taught that marriage was their most important job and that they would never be the equal of men in the workplace. That was the main thing I took away from Heartburn — a glimpse into a world that, while chronologically not that far in the past, feels ancient to me now.

Death at the Sign of the Rook, by Kate Atkinson

I read the first five Jackson Brodie mysteries back in 2019, and enjoyed them a lot, though by the end I was getting a little overdosed on Brodie’s world-weary cynicism and his inability to form and sustain meaningful relationships. I enjoyed the beautiful writing and the well-crafted mysteries, but I needed a break from the detective.

Maybe Atkinson did too, or maybe she was just busy with other stories. Anyway, Jackson Brodie is back, older and maybe wiser (still having difficulty maintaining relationships with women though, and still a little cynical) in this new mystery, which is an intricate puzzle-box of a story with a wildly misleading blurb.

If you read the book’s description, you will be given the impression that this story centres around a group of people who arrive at an English country house for a murder mystery game when a real murder occurs. This is a great premise, and it does happen in the book … but it happens at least 2/3 of the way through, maybe later. It’s really the climax of the story, which has been gradually building throughout the earlier chapters.

Unusually for Jackson Brodie, the mystery begins, not with a missing or murdered woman, but with an art theft, and a relatively low-stakes one at that — he’s not even sure it’s actually a theft. From there, various threads (and a wonderful cast of vividly developed characters) come together to create a mystery that is twisty, complicated, and hard to predict. I very much enjoyed reading this.

How to Survive a Bear Attack, by Claire Cameron

What an interesting book this is. The best essayists and memoirists have a great talent for taking two apparently unrelated subjects and using one to illuminate the other. In this case, it’s the lifelong fascination author Claire Cameron has had with a 1991 bear attack that killed two people in Algonquin Park, and her own midlife diagnosis of and treatment for the same cancer that killed her father when she was young.

In the wake of her diagnosis, Cameron (who has already written a novel inspired by the Algonquin Park bear attack), decides to take an even deeper dive than she’s done before into researching this event, while at the same time navigating her own relationship with the outdoors. Healing from the grief over her father’s death, she became, as a young person, very active in outdoor activities, particularly canoeing and backcountry camping. After her surgery for melanoma, she was told by a doctor that she should avoid exposure to almost all UV light … meaning that most of the activities she loved, the things that spelled healing and wholeness for her, were impossible. When she returns to Algonquin Park, it’s to pursue the seemingly unrelated question of why and how a black bear attacked and killed two campers all those years ago.

But of course, the two unrelated things are never really unrelated. This is an insightful book about black bears, a specific bear attack, backcountry camping, living with cancer, and grief. In other words, it’s a book about the fear of death and how we cope with it. If you learn everything about bears and bear attacks, can you protect yourself from an (incredibly rare) attack? If you avoid daylight, can you avoid a recurrence of your (also quite rare) deadly skin cancer? What does it mean to be “safe,” and how can we cope with the uncertainty that is an inevitable part of being human?

This book has received a lot of attention and acclaim, and that’s very well deserved. I found it fascinating.

The Griffin Sisters’ Greatest Hits, by Jennifer Weiner

I know I’ve said this before, but Jennifer Weiner is just so reliable. When I pick up one of her novels I know what the tone will be, I know the type of story to expect, and I know that I will be satisfied at the end. Her latest novel did not disappoint. The Griffin Sisters’ Greatest Hits is about two sisters — the phenomenally talented but painfully shy-to-the-point-of-reclusive Cassie, and the beautiful, ambitious, but only minimally talented Zoe, who become a brief pop music sensation as a musical duo in the early 2000s. The band breaks up disastrously after one album and one tour. When the story opens, two decades later, Zoe is trying to live as quiet and low-key a life as possible as a suburban mom, and Cassie is … well, nobody knows where Cassie is. Not Zoe, and not the rabid fans who still adore her music and try to find out what happened to her. Throw in Zoe’s teenage daughter who’s also a talented musician, and you have the recipe for a story that unfolds in the present day as well as in flashback scenes from twenty years ago, leading to a final reckoning when both sisters have to face what happened to stop the music. I really enjoyed this book.