Tag: reviews

Snowbound: A Novel of Suspense by A.J. Questenberg

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Snowbound: A Novel of Suspense by A.J. Questenberg

Snowbound is the slow exposure of a long-buried small town mystery. The arrival of a newcomer causes suspicions to rise, old questions are rehashed, and as truths become visible, the lives and community begin to unravel. The story begins with Sam Egar as she moves into a new home and begins to learn its quirks — and the quirks of her new neighbors, some of whom welcome her and others who… well, are a little shady. Soon Sam discovers the shade is far darker than she imagined.

Readers of slow, gothic-style horror will find Snowbound a deeply immersive tale, one which mimics the slow pace of rural life. The novel includes a large cast of characters, the various members of the community past and present, those who vanished and those left behind to sort through the mysteries of the others’ disappearances. (At times this reader found it hard to recall who was who and their place in this tale.)

The novel, compelling as the story is, was less to my personal taste than I had hoped. There were minor issues, which on their own are easily overlooked, however, collectively these errors made the reading less enjoyable for me. There was the occasional — forgivable — typographical or spelling error (“stock” instead of “stalk”, for example), which was jarring, but did not detract from the overall meaning intended (I think). Some parts of the exposition provided unnecessary details and therefore distracted me from the arc of the moment. The most dissonance (for this reader) was caused by structural gaps in characters’ knowledge, which undermined these characters’ development: these were things characters couldn’t know about one another (because they were, after all new to the community), turns of phrase which implied a foreknowledge that wasn’t explained. This is not a literary analysis; and readers, you may find these issues less invasive in your experience of the novel than I.

All this said, on the whole, the prose was well-crafted, if plodding and redundant in parts. The story itself is deeply intriguing, and well-paced to draw out the tension of the mystery. Snowbound is a fitting and fantastic read for those grey wintry months, when one isn’t quite sure what happens behind the closed doors of one’s neighbors…

A History of Hangings: A Novel by A. M. Rau

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A History of Hangings: A Novel
by A. M. Rau

A History of Hangings is an indigenous horror thriller. It is the kind of novel that hooks you in from the start. It’s creepy and mysterious, but what really delivers the chills is its depth of history, so ever-present in the novel even though it is never fully explained. It is, in a sense, that shrouded, veiled element of indigenous history, emphasized by the erasure of indigenous rights and history that is so compelling, so horrific; I think that underlying premise makes the book palpably terrifying.

Indeed, the novel and its horror can’t be understood without an acknowledgement of what has happened to indigenous communities in North America. As a reader and historian I greatly appreciate Rau’s attention to indigenous experiences, and the way in which Rau weaves in those awful legacies of settler colonialism.

The novel runs on two timelines: Toby, Faye, and Braxton in one thread of time, Edna Bland in the other, bound together by the captives of the Kesseene people of Oklahoma (a fictitious indigenous tribal community and tribe) in a small, rural Oklahoma town that has disintegrated into poverty and isolation. The Kesseene People’s vengeance has become embodied in something — or someone — and this is the terror Toby, Faye, Braxton, and Edna encounter. I’ll leave it at that; the novel is well-worth the read to discover what happens to them and to the Kesseene people. I finished A History of Hangings in less than a day; I had to know what was going on, who was creeping around, why Toby and Faye were so unwelcome — and what would happen to them.

Rau’s story, compelling as it is, is also very well-crafted and this is a major attraction of the book. Rau’s prose is descriptive, and evocative, with a few well-chosen words; Toby, Faye, Edna, Gil, Tim Jim, and the Sheriff — and even the minor characters they encounter — are fully tangible to the reader. The mood is perfectly captured and sustained throughout the book. Rau’s pace is swift too, delivering the reader to the end where all is explained; it is a satisfying and perplexing ending, perfect for a novel of this genre.

1666: A Novel by Lora Chilton

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1666: A Novel by Lora Chilton

I read it all in one night. I couldn’t stop until I learnt what happened to Ah’SaWei. NePa’WeXo, and their children MaNa’AnGwa and O’Sai WaBus. I had to know, I couldn’t sleep without knowing.

Afterwards, I found I could not sleep, now knowing.

1666 was a hard book to read, even for me, a historian of decolonization. I teach students about the Doctrine of Discovery every semester. I highlight resistance to systems of oppression, especially colonization. Still, for all that I know, 1666 eviscerated me. I continued to read it because it is a work of resistance, because the women of the Patawomeck/PaTow’O’Mek tribe deserve to be read and seen and remembered. Awful as it is for me to read it, that in no way compares to the pain they lived and the pain that continues in indigenous communities today.

The story begins and ends with the PaTow’O’Mek women and it is told entirely from their perspective; it is the narrative of the massacre of their people, their enslavement, and their resistance against the British who destroyed them. Readers who were moved by Beast of No Nation by Uzodinma Iweala, Elie Wiesel’s Night, The Bird Tattoo by Dunya Mikhail — or more topically pertinent — Texaco by Patrick Chamoiseau will find 1666 an equally powerful read.

As an educator, I consider 1666 a valuable college level read. It is ideal, lengthwise, for an undergraduate course (at just over 200 pages, and with glossary and explanations of terms). Harrowing as the subject matter is, it is highly relevant and provides a number of points for discussion, historical examination, and resistance in the classroom. Chilton’s writing is also highly accessible, her prose smooth and flowing, her characters full of depth and humanity.

Yolk: A Novel by Mary HK Choi

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Yolk: A Novel by Mary HK Choi

Yolk made me feel things, not all of which was pleasant. Nonetheless, I was drawn to finish it, indeed, compelled to finish it.

The novel revolves around two twenty-something Korean American sisters, June (the elder) and Jayne (the younger) living in New York City. June has graduated from college and begun what appears to be a flourishing, successful career, while Jayne is struggling through college. Both are new adults, learning how to navigate relationships and new responsibilities. Both fail the task. But find themselves needing and relying on the other to come to terms with their limitations, desires, their shared history of being yellow and first generation immigrant kids. The reader is treated to a front view of the wreckage of their attempts, watching the sisters bungle every decision as they try to find their way in the world and figure out who they are.

There were parts of this novel I loved, and parts I utterly despised.

I liked the focus on family, and the ways in which being a child of immigrants and the immigrant experience unfolded here, not in a pedantic way that highlights only the awful or only the positive, but all of it. I liked that. But I loved how Choi turned this multifaceted way of looking at the immigrant experience — already great — into a journey that reveals belonging as both a positive and negative transformative factor. I love that Choi acknowledges there is no reconciliation here, no transcending “final” outcome that makes it all perfect in the end.

I liked Jayne and June’s closeness, the assumption of sisterhood. I enjoyed being a voyeur to their dysfunctional relationship.

I hated their privilege, and their obliviousness to it. To be blunt, I hated Jayne. Jayne reeked of “I am the main character” vibes and I couldn’t stand her immaturity. June wasn’t a favorite either. But that said, I appreciated Choi’s ability to make such a horrible characters so readable. Much as I hated the sisters, I had to know what happened to them, how it all resolved in the end.

I don’t think I’d ever want to read Yolk again, but I’m glad I did read it once.

A Cowardly Woman No More: A Novel by Ellen Cooney

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A Cowardly Woman No More:
A Novel by Ellen Cooney

I utterly love, love, love this book. I never knew about or read any of Ellen Cooney’s fiction before, but I am a fan now. And to think, I only found this novel by mere chance. I happened to visit a branch of my local library system that I used to go to quite a bit, but hadn’t for awhile, and I happened to walk past the new arrivals shelf. The title, so striking, so challenging immediately appealed to me. I picked it up, felt its heft in my hand (slim novel as it is) and decided it was coming home with me.

I read it in a day and half. I couldn’t tear myself away. I felt so connected to this woman, felt her latent simmering dissatisfaction so keenly, I had to keep reading.

The novel revolves around a woman who leads an ordinary life, as most of us do: she works for a local company, a office job, and she’s married with kids. She’s hitting her middle years. She’s good at what she does professionally. She is encouraged to and does apply for a promotion. She doesn’t get it, which would be devastating enough — but the kick in the head is that the job goes to a man who is clearly under-qualified for it. It all comes to a head at the company’s annual banquet, held at a famous, local restaurant.

The woman walks in one way, walks out another.

That’s all I’ll say. You have to read this book.

Cooney’s words are knives and silk ribbons. Perhaps they are silk ribbons with edges as sharp as knives; they slice and soothe all at the same time. Women of this age — or, really, of any age once they’ve had a taste of the patriarchal world in which we all must live — will find this novel tragically relatable. It is so nice to hear a chorus of voices bounce back to us, to know what sounds like an echo is not merely our own voice, but the sound of many others screaming same complaints, announcing the same snubs and hurts and disrespects that have been inflicted on ourselves. The isolation Trisha Donahue, the novel’s protagonist, lives is a dark we all know. Cooney shows us that though we may not see each other, she does.