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We know Washington Irving best for his folk tales The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Rip Van Winkle. Born in the year the American Revolution ended, Irving died not long before the start of the Civil War. During his lifetime, his versatility as an author who could successfully write satire, history and biography helped to establish him as the country’s first professional man of letters. How this lifelong bachelor and citizen of the world put Manhattan on the literary map is the subject of Andrew Burstein’s discerning biography The Original Knickerbocker.

From early on, Irving was part of a mutually supportive New York literary community that included three of his brothers, who were well-connected and politically engaged. His first book, 1809’s A History of New York, allegedly written by Diedrich Knickerbocker, was a mock history, a widely read satiric masterpiece. In 1815, Irving sailed to Europe in search of new directions for his writing. When he returned home 17 years later, he was an international celebrity.

Burstein guides us carefully through Irving’s works, explaining both how each was received in its time and how later readers viewed them. [Irving] gave his country the epic historical romances they craved, he writes, He celebrated an at once vigorous, amusing, and opportunistic people. Although Irving the historian appreciated primary sources and archives, Burstein says he had a jaunty, sometimes starry-eyed way of telling history. He could not help but re-create it imaginatively. Irving was congenial and witty, had a naturally tolerant personality, was good company for the likes of Sir Walter Scott and Martin Van Buren, and was generous in trying to help other authors, even James Fenimore Cooper, who did not care for him. Burstein, who is best known for his books on Thomas Jefferson and Andrew Jackson, demonstrates here that he is also skilled in bringing readers the life and times of an important literary figure.

We know Washington Irving best for his folk tales The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Rip Van Winkle. Born in the year the American Revolution ended, Irving died not long before the start of the Civil War. During his lifetime, his versatility as an author…
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There is no dearth of literature on World War II and the Holocaust. But events so cataclysmic, even 60 years later, continue to inspire research into stories not yet fully told. Such is the case with Roger Cohen’s Soldiers and Slaves: American POWs Trapped by the Nazis’ Final Gamble. In early 1945, as Allied bombers began to wreak havoc on Germany’s major cities, Nazi soldiers were ordered to construct a synthetic fuel facility outside the quaint East German village of Berga. To accomplish the necessary hard labor, 350 American GIs captured during the Battle of the Bulge were transferred to the construction site, along with a detail of Hungarian Jews who were otherwise destined for concentration camps.

Berga, it turns out, became little more than a concentration camp itself, where prisoners were beaten, starved and driven beyond their physical endurance, primarily doing the dangerous work of digging underground tunnels. Approximately 25 percent of the captured U.S. soldiers were Jewish, a fact that does not appear coincidental, and it is the intersection between the GIs and the Hungarian internees that drives this account beyond the mere numerical facts and recalls the ugly ghost of Nazi anti-Semitism.

Cohen, a former European bureau chief for The New York Times, followed the human trail of this story with the assistance of the late documentary filmmaker Charles Guggenheim, whose work helped lead Cohen to Berga survivors. Their testimony fills in the blanks about the horrific experience and the fate of those who perished. Cohen also draws upon a few published accounts as well as the records of the National Archives, which well document the awful Berga reality. That evidence includes photographs of the camp when liberated by Allied troops, reproduced here in all their stark grimness. Cohen also provides some background on individual Nazi officers at Berga, and catalogs the policies of such heinous Third Reich figures as Josef Mengele and Adolf Eichmann. This volume certainly functions as yet another reminder of the horrors of war, but its ultimate value exists as a testament to the courage of the men who endured and learned to forge on with their lives.

There is no dearth of literature on World War II and the Holocaust. But events so cataclysmic, even 60 years later, continue to inspire research into stories not yet fully told. Such is the case with Roger Cohen's Soldiers and Slaves: American POWs Trapped by…
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At 12, Ishmael Beah was a bit of a naughty boy. He didn’t bother to tell anyone where he was going when he, his older brother and a friend set off to walk from their village in Sierra Leone to rap and dance in a talent show 16 miles away. He thought there was no need, because they’d be back soon. Rebel troops chose that day in 1993 to attack his village, burning the houses and slaughtering or driving off the inhabitants. Ishmael never saw his family again. When he was 13, the Sierra Leone government army press-ganged him into a unit of boy soldiers to fight the rebels. By 15, he was a hardened cutthroat, too drugged and traumatized to feel any pity when he killed.

Beah did ultimately escape that life, through luck and cleverness. Now a 25-year-old American college graduate, he has written A Long Way Gone, a memoir of exceptional power. Beah doesn’t bother much with the convoluted politics behind the civil war that seems now finally to have ended, though he does include a helpful chronology at the end of the book. This is his deeply personal story. In vivid detail, he takes us inside the mind of the boy he was: frightened, depressed, hungry, helpless, alone. When the little boy is first handed an AK-47, he is terrified of it. His superior officers, including a lieutenant who quotes Shakespeare, make the boys into killing machines by feeding them drugs and playing on their desire to avenge families massacred by rebels. Beah’s own psychological turning point comes when two friends are killed while fighting beside him. After that, he has no trouble pulling his trigger. Even after he has the good fortune to be turned over to a United Nations rehabilitation program, Beah’s shell shock doesn’t end. Weeks of monstrous behavior is followed by years of migraines, flashbacks and crippling survivor’s guilt. The recovered Beah now works with Human Rights Watch and speaks out for children’s rights. A Long Way Gone is compelling evidence for that cause.

Anne Bartlett is a journalist in Washington, D.C.

At 12, Ishmael Beah was a bit of a naughty boy. He didn't bother to tell anyone where he was going when he, his older brother and a friend set off to walk from their village in Sierra Leone to rap and dance in a…
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When Sydney married Laurus in 1940, she learned to cook “frikadeller and buttermilk soup and cauliflower in shrimp and dill sauce, recipes sent by Laurus’ mother” from Denmark. They had a ground-floor apartment in the Village with a tiny shade garden off the kitchen. After a lifetime of edgy living with her spectacularly self-centered mother, Sydney was finally learning “what it feels like to have a happy family.” Unfortunately, the world intervened.

While Sydney honed her domestic skills, Laurus, a concert pianist, “never ceased to be a man whose homeland had been invaded.” The contrast between the two world outlooks shapes the remainder of this unforgettable book, as Laurus leaves Sydney behind to tend their home and have their baby, while he joins the support system for the Danish resistance.

As few novelists could, Beth Gutcheon, author of six other outstanding books, juggles the incredible, little-known story of Denmark’s citizens’ rescue of almost 7,000 Jewish compatriots with the story of wartime America. Laurus’ family, especially his sister Nina, imprisoned at Ravensbruck, endure horrors the Americans cannot be expected to understand, and everyone is changed forever by the experience.

Gutcheon’s occasional dry, even deadpan, humor lightens the atmosphere (about a mother’s public display of devotion to her retarded child: “there are worse things . . . than to have a child trapped in childhood, as long as the trap is sprung after continence has been achieved and before the onset of adolescent rebellion.”) What’s more, her skill reaches beyond the juxtaposition of worlds, into the purely personal territory of Sydney becoming her mother, and kindly Laurus coming to terms with the results.

Gutcheon sees the human condition clearly and records it with compassionate understanding. Ugly as some of the scenes of Nazi occupation are, Leeway Cottage (named for the family’s summer retreat in Maine) is a gentle, even tender book. Every reader will be the wiser for it. Maude McDaniel writes from Maryland.

When Sydney married Laurus in 1940, she learned to cook "frikadeller and buttermilk soup and cauliflower in shrimp and dill sauce, recipes sent by Laurus' mother" from Denmark. They had a ground-floor apartment in the Village with a tiny shade garden off the kitchen. After…
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For nearly 2,000 years The Epic of Gilgamesh was considered the greatest poem ever written. It told of the mighty king Gilgamesh, who, grieving over the death of his friend Enkidu, tried to find immortality. This was a story of the power of love, the inscrutability of the gods and the ultimate fate of all men hero, king or peasant. The tale was respected by kings and studied by priests, until it vanished, forgotten beneath dust and stone as ancient Mesopotamia crumbled into history. For another 2,000 years, not even the name Gilgamesh raised the ghost of a memory. The king who sought immortality had apparently lost the struggle.

Then in 1872, amateur linguist George Smith, working for the British Museum, began to translate ancient tablets from the ruins of Nineveh. Smith thought he had stumbled on an account of the Biblical flood, but soon he unearthed the tale of a hero we now know as Gilgamesh the king who was dead and lost lived again. The Buried Book: The Loss and Rediscovery of the Great Epic of Gilgamesh is David Damrosch’s account of the discovery, preservation and translation of this remarkable poem, tracing both the history of the epic and archaeology itself. Like the epic, Damrosch’s book offers tales of dangerous journeys, heroic struggles and tragic defeats. Sometimes the battles are as grand as the clash of East and West, sometimes as petty as scholarly jealousy, yet always the story is compelling and fascinating.

Damrosch treats his subject with both excellent scholarship and a deft hand; he has a gift for telling the human side of events, revealing the characters behind the names and dates of history. The Buried Book is equally fast-moving and fascinating, offering insights not only into the distant past, but also the very immediate conflicts of today. Kings, emperors, scholars, poets even dictator Saddam Hussein all share a part in the story of Gilgamesh a fitting taste of immortality for a once forgotten king.

Howard Shirley is a writer in Franklin, Tennessee.

For nearly 2,000 years The Epic of Gilgamesh was considered the greatest poem ever written. It told of the mighty king Gilgamesh, who, grieving over the death of his friend Enkidu, tried to find immortality. This was a story of the power of love, the…
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Nothing defines the history of the Jewish people so much as exile. Exile and expulsion in successive stages from the Promised Land in the first place, then from this or that country constitute the tragedy of the Jews, their poetry and paradox, their ironic survival. So deeply ingrained is the millennia-long dream of return to Israel that it can never be quenched, not even by a Jewish family’s literal, physical residence on a Judean hillside overlooking the Old City of Jerusalem.

This is where the family Shepher comes to live, a rocky place with pepper trees and scorpions, a few minutes’ walk from the Western Wall. One way or another, four generations of Shephers feel the perverse, irresistible pull of exile, until at last the current daughter of the clan the bemused, brilliant Shulamith, an unmarried Englishwoman of 40 finds herself planted, as ineradicably as ever, back in the Diaspora.

In Shulamith, debut author Tamar Yellin gives us a Jewish heroine for our time, a woman both steeped in ancient lore (she is a Biblical scholar) and acutely conscious of her own puzzling moment in history. A curse looms over Shulamith’s family, passed down through the generations on account of great-grandfather Shalom’s possession of a book, a variant of the holy Torah, which he improbably stole from remnants of the Ten Lost Tribes in Azerbaijan. Shulamith meets and befriends Gideon, an enigmatic figure charged with reclaiming the stolen book. A romance springs up between them, as sweetly fugitive as an exile’s dream of Zion.

The inexhaustible richness of Yellin’s book is best summed up in the twofold meaning of the word genizah of the novel’s title: for observant Jews, a genizah is a place where damaged or discredited documents which bear God’s name and which therefore cannot be destroyed are stored in perpetuity. In The Genizah at the House of Shepher, the genizah is the House of Shepher: a repository of broken dreams, a family filled with God’s presence yet mired in dysfunction. Shepher is the Hebrew word for beauty. This stunning book has its proper name Michael Alec Rose is a professor at Vanderbilt University.

Nothing defines the history of the Jewish people so much as exile. Exile and expulsion in successive stages from the Promised Land in the first place, then from this or that country constitute the tragedy of the Jews, their poetry and paradox, their ironic survival.…
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Even people from slightly less remote villages in Papau New Guinea could barely imagine visiting the corner of the jungle where Sabine Kuegler grew up. The resident Fayu tribe had been engaged in decades-long civil warfare and all contact with the outside world had been forgotten. Enter a German family with three children under the age of nine and two linguist parents who are intent on documenting the Fayu language. Kuegler would later be trapped between her primitive upbringing and her European heritage; she grew up a true child of the jungle, which is the title of her memoir.

Kuegler learns to speak Fayu, shoot a bow and arrow, and always shake out her boots in case of scorpions. Though her family receives occasional supplies from the outside world, Kuegler eats a local menu: The huge red ants were quite popular and easy to find. . . . Grilled bat wings are nice and crispy. . . . ever-present grubs were another tasty alternative. She witnesses tribal warfare, the process of stealing young girls for wives, massive floods and disease, but in Child of the Jungle she focuses on the benefits of growing up in a tropical paradise.

Admitting in the preface that as an adult she is unhappy and feeling lonely and lost, lives the life of a vagabond seems a completely appropriate reaction to such a huge transition and an honest ending to a story that is incredible and very real at the same time. In spite of the compelling subject, however, the book can be disjointed at times and readers will have their curiosity unsatisfied (save for a short chapter at the end) about Kuegler’s transition to a boarding school in Switzerland at age 17. In addition, although her parents were not technically missionaries, they did want to bring peace to the Fayu and their impact on the traditional way of life is completely unquestioned by their daughter. And yet, Child of the Jungle, a bestseller when published in Europe two years ago, is well worth reading.

Megan Brenn-White has written and edited for the Let’s Go travel guide series.

Even people from slightly less remote villages in Papau New Guinea could barely imagine visiting the corner of the jungle where Sabine Kuegler grew up. The resident Fayu tribe had been engaged in decades-long civil warfare and all contact with the outside world had been…
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Although journalist Tom Bissell was only an infant when South Vietnam finally fell to the communists in 1975, the war that culminated in that event has cast a particularly tenacious shadow across his family and his own psyche. Bissell’s father was wounded in Vietnam and after leaving the service in 1967, watched in disgust as politics and ineptitude sullied the blood that he and his comrades had spilled there. As Bissell sees it, the injuries the war inflicted on his father had a lot to do with his parents divorcing when he was only three years old.

In an effort to better understand his father and the war, Bissell constructs parallel histories of each. The first part of The Father of All Things imagines his father’s mood and actions at home the day Saigon fell. On April 29, 1975, my father was losing something of himself. . . . This was the certainty that what he had suffered in Vietnam was necessary. Interspersing these agonizing scenes are well documented, near photographic accounts of how Saigon and the U.S. Embassy in particular were overrun. In the second and longest section of the book, Bissell describes the journey he and his father made through Vietnam in 2003. Alongside this personal chronicle, he lays out the stages of that country’s turbulent evolution and assesses what it has become today.

Bissell’s obvious adoration for his father is balanced nicely by his ongoing annoyance at the older man’s caginess and unpredictability. While there are many revealing moments between the two, there is no epiphany that cleanses everything. The father’s sense of self will forever be shaped by his war experiences, but now the son can feel that he’s shared in them, however minimally.

All this ruminating about the tentacles of the past might have become intolerably grave or dreary. But Bissell’s wandering and deliciously wicked eye keeps this from happening. Still, war is always a horror story. And as Bissell strives to put the ghosts of Vietnam to rest, one can see the ghosts of Iraq arising behind another generation. Edward Morris reviews from Nashville.

 

Although journalist Tom Bissell was only an infant when South Vietnam finally fell to the communists in 1975, the war that culminated in that event has cast a particularly tenacious shadow across his family and his own psyche. Bissell's father was wounded in Vietnam…

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To say Jon Clinch’s writing talent matches his literary ambition is high praise indeed. In his bleak and savage Finn, Clinch masterfully creates the series of circumstances which lead James Manchester Finn, father to inimitable Huckleberry, to the peculiar surroundings of his death.

Finn is a man adrift. Torn like the border state he lives in, he is trapped between his inherited hatred of miscegenation and his lust for black women. It is the latter, in the form of a revolution-minded slave named Mary that he takes to his bed, which sunders his relationship with his own father.

His early years with Mary are the only time of normalcy told in a series of flashbacks that will leave linear-minded readers in the dust in Finn’s existence. At his sober best, Finn still gives off a violent, incendiary heat.

The catalyst for his demise is when he and Mary skip this sentence if you don’t wish the mild surprise spoiled have a child, who of course is Huck.

The three live a manageably hardscrabble existence until a man insults Huck’s half-caste status in Finn’s presence. Finn hurts the man badly enough to be sent to prison. When he gets out, his jealousy and bigotry quickly make him recognizable as the monster Mark Twain created. The updated Finn owes more to Cormac McCarthy than to Twain, however. Post-prison, he is a ruthless, murderous, nihilistic lover of rotgut whisky and hater of virtually everything. He schemes to gain possession of his son and by extension the boy’s $6,000, and his single-mindedness nearly wins through. Clinch’s language is as spare as his characters, who are nearly all soulless, unapologetic caricatures of the American frontier. There are no heroes here. Huck himself exists here mostly as a counterpunch to his father’s deeds, gracefully allowing him to take center stage. And Finn possesses that stage with his ungodly presence, dangerous as a rattlesnake and forlorn as a desert wind.

Ian Schwartz writes from San Diego, California.

 

To say Jon Clinch's writing talent matches his literary ambition is high praise indeed. In his bleak and savage Finn, Clinch masterfully creates the series of circumstances which lead James Manchester Finn, father to inimitable Huckleberry, to the peculiar surroundings of his death.

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Tawni O’Dell made a dramatic entrance onto the literary scene with her first novel, Back Roads (1999), an Oprah’s Book Club selection which garnered rave reviews. Both that debut and her second novel, Coal Run, were set in the hardscrabble world of Pennsylvania’s mine country and showcased O’Dell’s deft characterizations and evocative descriptions of that left-behind niche of the world.

Sister Mine also takes place in a small coal-mining town: Jolly Mount, home of the mine where, two years earlier, five local men were trapped for four days before their harrowing rescue. It’s also home to Shae-Lynn Penrose, O’Dell’s gutsy and marvelously engaging 40-year-old heroine, who has recently returned after a long absence. Shae-Lynn was six when her mother died shortly after giving birth to her sister Shannon; they were left with their bitter and abusive father. Shae-Lynn becomes a single teenage mother and spends her college years filling three roles: mother to an infant son, sister to a difficult teen, and daughter to a bully. After graduation she reluctantly leaves Shannon with their father and moves with her son to Washington, D.C., where she works for the Capitol Police. Two years after Shae-Lynn’s move, Shannon disappears without a trace until the novel’s opening scene, when she reappears after 18 years, pregnant and followed closely by a trio of characters more than casually interested in her baby.

Amid this ongoing family saga, O’Dell never drops the thread running in and out of all these familial details the story of the five trapped miners, and how that tragedy continues to ripple through their lives, like an earthquake’s aftershocks. O’Dell’s simultaneously sad and humorous chronicle of Shae-Lynn, her dysfunctional family and her newfound but tenuous love life keeps the reader rooting for her all the way to the last page . . . and beyond. Deborah Donovan writes from Cincinnati and La Veta, Colorado.

Tawni O'Dell made a dramatic entrance onto the literary scene with her first novel, Back Roads (1999), an Oprah's Book Club selection which garnered rave reviews. Both that debut and her second novel, Coal Run, were set in the hardscrabble world of Pennsylvania's mine country…
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Guns? Tanks? Fighter planes? Submarines? There must be a better way to fight a war, at least that’s what some high-ranking officials in the U.S.tates military thought. Unwilling to rule out any weapon in the cause of global democracy, respectable military men like Maj. Gen. Albert Stubblebine III made a serious call for the Army to research the potential of telepathy in defeating the enemy. Stubblebine believed that, with a little more study, he and others could learn to walk through walls.

Using Stubblebine’s unlikely plea as a starting point, Jon Ronson weaves a true tale, one that often sounds like fiction, about largely unpublished military dabblings in the paranormal. Ronson’s title, The Men Who Stare at Goats, comes from a covert operation in which soldiers were assigned to stop the hearts of goats without using any physical force. By staring at them, hard, in other words. Bizarre as it sounds, one goat actually fell over dead during this experiment, and people within that covert group sincerely believe that a soldier named Guy Savelli made it die with the power of his mind. When Ronson finally runs him to earth, Savelli is also convinced that, more recently, he’s killed his kid’s hamster.

Savelli’s story is interlaced with that of retired Lt. Jim Channon, who brought the New Age phenomenon into the military with his proposal for a “First Earth Battalion.” This new battalion would take over enemy territory without the use of conventional weapons. Channon proposed soldiers go into combat clinging not to assault rifles, but to lambs (or other “symbolic animals”) and dazzle the enemy into cooperation with a combination of gentle music and effective eye contact.

Ronson’s exposŽ of the military’s infatuation with New Age spirituality and the paranormal is hugely funny and entertaining without ever turning ugly. While gently lampooning the military at large, Ronson somehow steers clear of any political agenda. As a consequence, The Men Who Stare at Goats will be a must-read for people who want to learn about the quirkier side of the military.

Guns? Tanks? Fighter planes? Submarines? There must be a better way to fight a war, at least that's what some high-ranking officials in the U.S.tates military thought. Unwilling to rule out any weapon in the cause of global democracy, respectable military men like Maj.…
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British mystery and thriller writer Mo Hayder (The Devil of Nanking) will please her growing body of fans with this latest novel, her fourth. It’s a book best read on a night when the wind howls and the rain lashes against the windows. Just be sure the doors are locked.

Joe Oakes, a journalist whose specialty is debunking hoaxes, is summoned to Pig Island, off the coast of Scotland, by the members of a religious cult known as the Psychogenic Healing Ministries, to calm the uproar caused by a video of a half-human, half-animal creature cavorting on the island’s beach and rumors about the practice of satanic rituals there. When Oakes encounters the PHM members, he finds a seemingly benign, if slightly furtive, group of voluntary exiles from conventional society. But the group lives in fear of its charismatic founder, Malachi Dove, who’s fled to the other half of the island to live in grim isolation, walled off from his former followers by a line of pig skulls, an electrified fence and chemical waste drums.

Not satisfied with the evasive explanations for Dove’s frightening behavior offered by the island’s inhabitants, Joe sets off to find the truth. His investigation leads indirectly to a horrific act that devastates the PHM community and to the discovery of Dove’s daughter, Angeline, who is afflicted by a bizarre congenital deformity. With Angeline in tow, Joe flees to the mainland, where his troubled wife, Lexie, who narrates a significant portion of the novel in counterpoint to Joe, has been awaiting his return. From that point on, the novel recounts the heart-pounding race between the authorities who are trying to bring Dove to justice for the crimes they believe he’s committed and the deranged killer. Pig Island is not a book for the squeamish, but it’s one that will keep readers turning the pages until the horrifying mysteries of the island ultimately are unraveled.

Harvey Freedenberg writes from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

British mystery and thriller writer Mo Hayder (The Devil of Nanking) will please her growing body of fans with this latest novel, her fourth. It's a book best read on a night when the wind howls and the rain lashes against the windows. Just be…
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Renée Manfredi makes a first-class debut with this highly acclaimed work of literary fiction. At the center of the novel is Bostonian Anna Brinkman, a widow in her 50s, who is a successful medical technologist and academic. Anna’s life is turned upside-down after Poppy, her heroin-addict daughter, phones from Alaska and asks to visit. When Poppy’s husband arrives instead, looking for help in raising their 10-year-old daughter, Flynn, Anna is pushed to her limit. As a mentor for an AIDS support group, she has other worries to contend with, including her growing attachment to an HIV-positive patient a young homosexual named Jack. Making all of this bearable for Anna is the presence of her granddaughter. An extraordinarily sharp little girl with a wild imagination and a quick mind, Flynn charms everyone around her. In the end, it is Flynn’s remarkable spirit that redeems Anna in the midst of her trials, inspiring her to form a unique family of her own, along with Jack. Manfredi, who was named one of Granta’s best American novelists under the age of 40, writes about complex medical issues like AIDS with poise and confidence. With Above the Thunder, she has created an exceptional novel about hope, loyalty and the meaning of family.

A reading group guide is available in print and online at www.readinggroupcenter.com.

 

Renée Manfredi makes a first-class debut with this highly acclaimed work of literary fiction. At the center of the novel is Bostonian Anna Brinkman, a widow in her 50s, who is a successful medical technologist and academic. Anna's life is turned upside-down after Poppy, her…

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