My Nook is still trying to figure out what I like, so I’m trying to give it a push in the right direction by searching for books similar to my favorites. Susanna Kearsley’s The Winter Sea turned up as a Diana Gabaldon read-alike, so I was duly intrigued. I love Gabaldon and eighteenth century Scotland (when it was still a bit wild and rebellious), and I had been experiencing some serious withdrawal with regards to both. The Winter Sea did not disappoint.

The story moves swiftly  between the lives of writer, Carrie McClelland, and Sophia Paterson, a young woman who is sheltered by the Countess of Erroll at Slains Castle. Working on a new novel, Carrie is drawn to Slains during a weekend trip to Scotland, feeling that there is something about the place that will make her new novel come to life. Centuries before, Sophia is also drawn to Slains Castle after the death of her uncle leaves her without a guardian. A newcomer in a strange place, Sophia soon finds herself welcomed by the Castle’s residents and becomes enmeshed in a series of events that have both personal and political implications as loyal Scots, and friends to the Count and Countess of Slains, take part in a plot to restore Prince Charles to the thrown.

Initially, I questioned the dual time frame, but when the connection between Carrie and Sophia emerged, I found myself enjoying the novel more and more. Both timelines are fully realized, as are the characters that people them, so neither plot feels lacking. While not as fast paced as Outlander, Kearsley’s narrative style soon had me craving more (hello, Nook wishlist).

Clementine Pritchard has it all figured out, down to the last detail. She’s over the deadening meds and the personal dramas, it’s time to depart. And that is exactly what Clementine sets out to do, choosing the means to end her life with as little mess as possible and leaving all her baggage in order. Counting down to the day when she’ll settle in for good, she starts on a 30 day journey to pick her poison, make her mark final mark on art, and resolve all the little issues left over from a childhood gone wrong.

Suicide is a delicate subject, so this review starts with a caveat–whatever your views on the matter, if you don’t want to read about suicide, don’t read this one. That said, Ream manages to take a generally morbid subject and turn it into something witty and engaging. Clementine is a great character; fully realized and colorful, she adds snark as much as poignancy to the story. This could be a very dark novel, dealing with extreme depression, abandonment, and personal fears, Clementine’s narrative has the potential to become an existentialist playground, but it just manages to steer clear of that as Clementine finds meaning in the madness.

This is an oddly entertaining novel, if you don’t mind a bit of dark humor. Clementine’s constant need to pee, her renewed sense of flavor after dumping her cocktail of antidepressants, and her unapologetic determination to do things her way, including leaving her car as the tip after a lavish last meal to ensure it does not become a loose end after her death, add a tragicomic element that make the story more than just a manic depressive’s final manifesto.

I received my copy from William Morrow.

To say that I love Oz is a bit of an understatement. I live in green (and red). Finding bits of green glass or red shoes always brings on a Dorothy moment. Yes, I know all the songs and still think the Wheelers are the creepiest baddies on wheels.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz is one of the few, truly American fairy tales that continues to resonate as a sort of cult, imaginary world peopled with a hodgepodge of characters, creatures, and possibilities waiting to happen. Oz is boundless, lending itself to all manner of re-imaginings, tellings, and mediums.

There are 14 Oz books in the Baum canon and a slew of sequels and companion books set in Oz. Maguire’s revisionist history of Oz in the Wicked Years series adds a new layer of complexity to an already captivating series, raising issues on politics, animal rights, ethics, gender, and more.

I first read Wicked at the recommendation of a friend, whose suggestions I rarely took (our taste in books being too dissimilar to generate much confidence). I picked up a copy and devoured it in three days (oh, those lazy days of summer before I became a responsible adult). I loved the power-play in the novel, the one-liners and richness of language that made it impossible to put down. I was more than eager to know how Elphaba’s legacy would end in Out of Oz.

Opening with the siege of Mockbeggar Hall, Lady Glinda’s country seat, the reader is tossed into the middle of a secret plot to secure the waters of Oz for the Emerald City. A prisoner in her home, Glinda faces all the inconvenience that comes with being in the middle of military mission. Having to make due with a limited staff, Glinda keeps only four members of her household: a companion, Miss Murth, Chef, Puggles the butler, and her broomgirl–Rain. A prickly little girl of indeterminate age, Rain knows little about her past other than a couple of obscure memories involving the ability to feel for animals. Drawn into the battle between Lady Glinda and General Cherrystone of the Emerald City forces, Rain becomes part of a bet between the two: Glinda will learn to cook, if Rain learns to read. But reading can be a dangerous pastime, revealing more about people and power than a child can comprehend. Rain is soon drawn into the struggle for Oz, becoming part of a history that she never imagined.

I enjoyed the book; actually, I was surprised by how much I did enjoy it. Maguire is great with language and setting, he takes all manner of liberties with his creation. That said, Out of Oz was slow to start… very slow. It took a while for Rain to grow on me, but it takes a while for Rain to grow on herself. This is a story of self-discovery, and that comes with a lot of wandering and wondering. Old characters appear out of nowhere, loose ends are picked up, and there is a lot of self-doubt.

However, when Rain finally came into her own, the pace picked up considerably and I was sucked right in. Young Rain is an odd, ragamuffin with little personality, only the Lion seems willing to bother with her until she grows up. Teenaged Rain makes the story come together, becoming an agent of change in her own right rather than the unfortunate victim of her parents’ misguided efforts to protect her. I wish there was more to Rain’s story and her relationship with Tip (which can make for all kinds of interesting discussions on gender and love), just when the story was getting truly interesting, it ended. But, given the history of Oz books, is there ever really an ending?

Once upon a time, I wrote a nostalgic response to Wicked.

My copy of Out of Oz magically appeared in my mailbox, courtesy of HarperCollins.

-Gricel 

Pen, Will, and Cat meet under the most dramatic of circumstances–while Cat was having a seizure. They can’t help but fall in together after such a meeting. The closest of friends throughout college, these three share an intensity that is nearly impossible to overcome, and so they decide to go their separate ways with the memory of this passion intact and spare themselves the disappointment of growing up and growing apart.

Years later, they are once again drawn together when one of their number is in need, but they soon find that they are all in need of each other and that their impulsive decision to lead entirely separate lives cannot go on forever.

Though not one of my usual chick lit type reads, I found myself enjoying Falling Together. I had never read one of Marisa de los Santos’ books, so it was a new experience and one that I might like to repeat. That’s not to say that it was a perfect read. I found some elements a bit far-fetched… like taking off to another country at the drop of a hat to save someone who may or may not need saving, but that’s why it’s fiction. It’s a bit escapist, but sweet and refreshing after reading too many “serious” books. It’s a perfect read for a lazy weekend or after a long day at work and sure to appeal to a wide readership.

I received my copy of Falling Together from HarperCollins.

I’m smack in the middle of arranging a week of festivities based on Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love (part of the library’s campus-wide reading project), so I’ve been looking for inspiration everywhere. And, as “everywhere” usually involves some sort of book, I started looking for anything and everything on or about Italy, India, and Indonesia. A Good Indian Wife was one of my many finds, and one that I absolutely had to read at once.

Cherian’s novel explores the emotional and psychological aspects of the immigrant experience among the Indian community in the US, particularly sexism, racism, and the reasoning behind arranged marriages. What she does not do is glamorize or lend any sense of exoticism to her characters or the choices they make, resulting in a believable and complex plot that allows the reader to glimpse the awkwardness of marriage between two total strangers who are not quite sure how they found themselves together in the first place.

The novel follows the lives of two very different individuals as their paths converge and they are into a relationship that puts them both in an unfamiliar situation. Suneel Sarath, doctor and Stanford alum, wants nothing more than to become as American as possible, shedding every trace of Indianness that he can in his desire to become a true American. For self-conscious Neel, the American Dream means becoming a well-to-do, educated, American citizen with a white wife who can compensate for his cultural deficiencies. It is a Dream he cultivates every day, ignoring his family’s invitations to come home and most especially his mother’s insistent pleas that he settle down with a good girl from a good Indian family. Meanwhile,  Leila Krishnan teaches at a local college in India, earning her place in her home as she waits for a marriage offer that she is certain will never come. The eldest of three daughters, Leila feels she is a disappointment to her family, failing to do that which she is meant to do–get married to a good Indian man and have children. Well-educated and desiring nothing more but a happy life and the ability to do right by her family, Leila has long suffered under the weight of convention and her mother’s efforts to marry her off.

When Neel reluctantly agrees to travel to India to visit his ailing grandfather, it means a whole new set of possibilities and complications for him. Caught up in the whirlwind of customs he has tried to forget, Neel is unwittingly drawn into an arranged marriage with Leila. Suddenly married, he feels his American Dream slipping away and yearns to hold on to it all the more. Neel’s efforts to remain the All-American doctor he tried so hard to become challenges Leila and places her in an awkward position, that of burdensome, unwanted wife. It is a long and difficult journey for Leila and Nee,l as they learn to get along and overcome the insecurities and emotional baggage that they both carry.

Both Neel and Leila are flawed characters who suffer for their hopes and dreams. Neither is quite without fault in their hasty, unwanted marriage, though Neel’s egocentric personality and inability to ever own up to his own mistakes often make him seem the villain of the piece. However, Cherian does a great job of ensuring that Leila never becomes a victim of circumstance. Leila is aware of the challenges that can accompany an arranged marriage and is quick to act when she realizes that Neel is not the man she thought him to be when they met. Instead, she tries to make the best of a bad situation and takes control of her side of the relationship, making her presence known and gaining what independence she can in her new home.

At times, Cherian’s sudden changes between first and third-person narration is somewhat jarring, but they provide insight into Neel and Leila’s actions, making them all the more believable.

Soon after I received my Nook, my Bchan asked if I was loading it up with trashy novels… ebook sales often show that a lot of so-called trashy novels are purchased by customers with readers. So, yes, I had purchased a trashy novel, but like so many novels in the Romance genre, there was a lot more to it than just ripped bodices and throbbing… er… bits.

Laird of the Mist takes the reader to seventeenth century Scotland, into the bloody feud between the Campbells and the outlawed and proscribed MacGregors. Cromwell rules as Lord Protector and the Scots must obey English law. For Duncan Campbell, English law has much to offer, especially when it comes to taking matters into his own hands against the Devil MacGregor and his sympathizers. But when Kate Campbell, Duncan’s niece, falls to the clutches of the Devil, she soon learns that her uncle’s tales about the brutal MacGregor chieftain are not all that they seem, and sometimes there is more to a man than his reputation.

Kate Campbell is a plucky heroine who always makes her will known, her bravery and self-command serving as a perfect complement to Callum “The Devil” MacGregor’s stalwart honor. The story is fast-paced and romantic, but also filled with plenty of adventure. A nice treat while I wait for another Outlander novel.

Sarah Waters has fast become one of my favorite writers. I never seem to go wrong with one of her works–they are richly descriptive, with fully realized characters, settings, and complex plots. The Night Watch is no exception. Taking a different route, Waters spins this tale in retrospect, taking the reader back in time through the relationships and personal histories of a troubled cast of characters, amid the backdrop of WWII England. The storylines are subtle and clues often have to be inferred as the reader catches glimpses of the events and experiences that brought Kay, Helen, Viv, and Duncan together, however briefly. As these individuals experience the disorienting reality of wartime, their stories become loosely intertwined. As a result, the narratives often seem more like vignettes than a connected plot. This might be disorienting for some readers, but can also prove captivating as details are revealed and relationships unraveled in reverse.

In a sense, the narrative reads like a series of journals or letters discovered long after the events outlined have occurred. The reader is like a historian seeking answers and traveling back in time through other people’s experiences. While not my favorite Waters novel (that honor still goes to Fingersmith), this was another great read with plenty of historical detail.

Summer time has sort of become multicultural novel time for me. I never quite mean it to happen this way, but I have noticed that I tend to explore cross-cultural genres more often during the summer. I suppose it’s because I tend to spend more time in libraries around this time, mostly because I start to lose patience with my TBR pile after so many months of sticking to my so-called reading goals (or as I like to think of it, reading through the books that have spent a shameful amount of time gathering dust). This time, I traveled to the early years of Red China with Lisa See’s Dreams of Joy.

See’s novel explores all the rashness and idealism of being nineteen, introducing the reader to communist China through American-born Joy’s hopes and often irrational motivations. Picking up where Shanghai Girls leaves off, Joy rushes headfirst into a journey that takes her away from the close familiarity of China Town into the homeland that her mothers abandoned during the Japanese invasion of China. Clearly out of place, Joy tries to fit in, dutifully abiding by the laws of the regime, with all the eagerness of a girl who desperately wants to ignore the error she made.

In some ways, Dreams of Joy is more harrowing in its description of strife and despair than Shanghai Girls, but both novels manage to retain a thread of hope and contentment, if not outright happiness in the experience of growing up and finding one’s place.

Overall, one of the best books I read this summer.