Carla Jean Whitley

FictionFamily Drama

The Most Fun We Ever Had

Review by Carla Jean Whitley

Meet the Sorenson sisters.

Wendy, the eldest sister, has always been headstrong. Even as a baby, her powerful will sometimes overwhelmed her mother. Now she’s a young widow, adrift years after her husband’s death and quick to turn to alcohol in an attempt to hide from discomfort.

That discomfort often arises when her sister Violet arrives. Violet is Wendy’s Irish twin. Her picture-perfect family provides glaring contrast to Wendy’s aloneness.

Liza is a tenured professor whose accomplishments are overshadowed by her boyfriend’s depression. She isn’t sure she can help him—but shortly after attaining tenure, Liza learns she’s having his child.

Grace is the baby of the family—a fact she’s acutely aware of even as she faces postgraduate life. She has always felt coddled, as though she isn’t capable of facing the world alone. Grace is trying to find her way in Oregon, hundreds of miles from her family’s Chicago home. But the distance leaves her just as isolated as her youth always has.

The sisters inevitably compare themselves not only to each other but also to their parents, Marilyn and David. The couple met in college in the 1970s, and their ongoing love story is so vibrant that many assume it’s easy. It isn’t. But they continue to turn to one another for love and support, even as they worry about their adult daughters—and the grandson one of the girls gave up for adoption 15 years earlier. Jonah Bendt’s arrival upends what Marilyn and David knew about their daughters, one of whom helped hide another’s pregnancy.

Throughout The Most Fun We Ever Had, debut novelist Claire Lombardo’s characters challenge their self-defined roles and the assumptions they’ve made about their family. This family drama tracks the Sorensens through 40 years, examining the way family ties affect each person’s identity. Lombardo’s tale is an immersive account of family, identity and the tensions that can arise from both.

Throughout The Most Fun We Ever Had, debut novelist Claire Lombardo’s characters challenge their self-defined roles and the assumptions they’ve made about their family. This family drama tracks the Sorensens through 40 years, examining the way family ties affect each person’s identity. Lombardo’s tale is an immersive account of family, identity and the tensions that can arise from both.

FictionPopular Fiction

The Flatshare

Review by Carla Jean Whitley

If the idea of flatmates sharing a bed at alternate hours without meeting sounds too farfetched, hold your skepticism. If it sounds like a meet cute waiting to happen, you’re in luck. Regardless of your starting point, The Flatshare is a charming love story that’s likely to warm your heart.

Tiffy loves her job as assistant editor for a publisher of DIY books. That’s the only reason she can justify sticking around despite the dismal pay. But after her boyfriend dumps her—for real, this time—she’s got to find a flat with rent she can afford. Leon needs extra cash, and he’s willing to get creative. Working overnight shifts as a palliative care nurse means his place is vacant when most people are home. Why not rent it out? Though it means designating which side of the bed is his and sharing it with a stranger, Leon is willing to go to extremes. His family needs his help.

The flatmates follow a strict schedule to ensure that they won’t meet—a rule Leon’s girlfriend establishes before agreeing to this arrangement. But they begin to get to know each other through notes. Their correspondence starts when Tiffy leaves a sticky note next to a plate of oatmeal bars, and Leon continues it as he realizes how much of the snack he’s consumed. The pair builds a friendship, sight unseen, and their curiosity about each other grows.

The central conceit of The Flatshare may seem unlikely to some readers, but debut novelist Beth O’Leary has created a sweet, never saccharine tale. She drew inspiration from her doctor boyfriend’s long night shifts, as the couple sometimes wouldn’t see each other for long stretches of time, and she would follow his life based on his empty cups of coffee and other remnants he left behind.

Peppered with amusing quips and multidimensional characters, this quick, engaging read is labeled a romantic comedy, but it also grapples with some of life’s more difficult moments. Even readers skeptical of the novel’s fanciful premise may find themselves surprised by the thoughtful way O’Leary faces not only new love but also the traces of individual pasts.

If the idea of flatmates sharing a bed at alternate hours without meeting sounds too farfetched, hold your skepticism. If it sounds like a meet cute waiting to happen, you’re in luck. Regardless of your starting point, The Flatshare is a charming love story that’s likely to warm your heart.

NonfictionHumorEssays

Kathleen Hale Is a Crazy Stalker

Review by Carla Jean Whitley

Kathleen Hale isn’t hiding from the controversy that inspired the title of her new essay collection, Kathleen Hale Is a Crazy Stalker. Hale pored over reader reviews—as many authors do—for her debut young adult novel, No One Else Can Have You. A one-star review from a Goodreads user named Blythe stood out. The reader slammed the book based on its first chapter—the only one she’d read—and critiqued Hale’s portrayal of mental illness and sexual assault. (“I shook my head, wondering how I could possibly be guilty of mocking mental illness, when I had it myself, and of all that bad rape stuff Blythe accused me of, when I’d been raped myself.”)

Goodreads urges authors not to comment on their own reviews. Hale ignored the site’s advice and engaged with the reviewer. When the reviewer’s response proved unsatisfying, Hale became obsessed with the woman, whom she learned blogged under a pseudonym. Ultimately, Hale ran a background check on the reviewer, rented a car and drove to the woman’s house to confront her in person.

Hale recounts this experience, and her subsequent psychiatric hospital visit, in “Catfish.” The essay introduces the collection, and throughout the book Hale continues to explore societal norms and her own reactions to them. In “Cricket,” Hale recounts her experience attending the Miss America pageant. When fellow audience members jeer at a contestant who takes a car instead of walking in a rainy parade, Hale joins in—even though she thinks the woman’s decision is reasonable. Hale and a filmmaker travel to Snowflake, Arizona, to learn about a community of people coping with what’s labeled “environmental illness.” Hale recognizes something of herself in these people, though they aren’t certain she isn’t just another journalist mocking them.

The six essays that comprise Kathleen Hale Is a Crazy Stalker will leave readers—book bloggers or not—with plenty to consider. Hale shares glimpses of her psyche and experiences, often without tying experiences into a bow for public consumption. The collection isn’t always an easy read, but it’s a thought-provoking look at society and one woman’s place within it.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read a Q&A with Kathleen Hale for Kathleen Hale Is a Crazy Stalker.

Kathleen Hale shares glimpses of her psyche and experiences, often without tying experiences into a bow for public consumption.
NonfictionMemoir

Once More We Saw Stars

Review by Carla Jean Whitley

A parentless child is an orphan. A spouse whose partner dies is a widow. But what, muses Jayson Greene, do you call a parent whose child has died? “It seems telling to me there is no word in our language for our situation,” he writes. “It is unspeakable, and by extension, we are not supposed to exist.”

Greene and his wife, Stacy, find themselves in this nameless state after their only child, Greta, dies at age 2. Greta was sitting on a bench with her grandmother when a brick fell from a nearby windowsill and struck her on the head. 

The couple quickly turn to one another for comfort; while some families are torn apart by such a tragedy, the Greenes find hope in working through their grief together. But grief is a tremendous thing, and mourning Greta is a gargantuan task.

Jayson and Stacy open themselves to healing possibilities outside of their norm. They didn’t think of themselves as the sort of people who would turn to a medium in times of grief, but she becomes part of their journey when the couple travels to the Kripalu Institute for a seminar called “From Grieving to Believing.” A grief expert at this retreat tells them, “Grief is a reflection of a connection that has been lost. . . . It is a reflection of that love you had for that individual.”

The Greenes find comfort in these words, and in the family and friends who rally around them. Even as they move forward—sometimes literally, like when they sell their home—the Greenes carry Greta’s memory and their pain.

“The act of grieving our daughter continues on, and on, and on,” Greene writes. “We have held our firstborn child’s corpse in our arms, and now there is no limit to what we can endure.”

Once More We Saw Stars isn’t about the tragedy that befell a family—although Greene recounts with exquisite detail how he felt in the tragic days that ended his daughter’s life. The memoir is instead a story of a couple who faced one of the worst things imaginable and still continued to choose life.

The story of a couple who faced one of the worst things imaginable and still continued to choose life.
NonfictionMemoir

Save Me the Plums

Review by Carla Jean Whitley

The initial phone call was a surprise. “Is this the restaurant critic of the New York Times?” a British voice asked. Ruth Reichl confirmed her identity, but the name of her caller meant nothing to her: James Truman, editorial director of magazine publishing company Condé Nast, was calling about Gourmet. The magazine had introduced an 8-year-old Reichl to the magic of food and its influence on the world. But she couldn’t imagine why Truman was calling. 

That phone call ultimately led Reichl to a role she’d never dreamed of: editor-in-chief of Gourmet magazine. Truman’s name was the first of many things she had to learn. During Reichl’s first visit to the office, an editor gushed that she’s great at the “teeosee.” Reichl, whose background was in newspapers, didn’t realize the editor was talking about the TOC, or table of contents. 

Save Me the Plums, Reichl’s memoir about her years at Gourmet, is filled with such endearing, revealing moments. Although she considered herself a writer, not a manager, Reichl reimagines the magazine that captured her youthful imagination. Alongside her talented staff, Reichl took the publication from a staid magazine that delivered the luxury readers expected (and no more) to a sometimes scintillating examination of not only food but also its impact.

Readers of her past memoirs will recognize Reichl’s lighthearted but dedicated approach to her work, as seen in Garlic and Sapphires. They’ll be welcomed by her big-hearted approach to the dinner table, as in Tender at the Bone and Comfort Me with Apples. And new readers will be equally delighted by Reichl’s account of an influential magazine, its final days and the many moments that illustrate the ways food can bring people together. 

Save Me the Plums, Reichl’s memoir about her years at Gourmet, is filled with such endearing, revealing moments. Although she considered herself a writer, not a manager, Reichl reimagines the magazine that captured her youthful imagination. Alongside her talented staff, Reichl took the publication from a staid magazine that delivered the luxury readers expected (and no more) to a sometimes scintillating examination of not only food but also its impact.

FictionPopular Fiction

The Binding

Review by Carla Jean Whitley

What would life be if you could forget your most painful memories?

Emmett Farmer’s family is horrified when a bookbinder requests Emmett as her apprentice. Under her guidance, he will learn to lay hands on people, copy their memories onto paper and bind those memories between two covers. Once the memories are committed to the page, their creators forget their most traumatic moments. Sexual assault and violence are no more, but what’s left in their place? Is it worse “to feel nothing, or to grieve for something you no longer remembered?” Emmett asks. “Surely when you forgot, you’d forget to be sad, or what was the point? And yet that numbness would take part of your self away. It would be like having pins and needles in your soul.”

In The Binding, acclaimed young adult author Bridget Collins explores the way memory shapes a person in times both good and bad. Emmett learns that his trade is controversial—considered witchcraft by some—but that he’s powerless to avoid it. His mentor sees binding as a kind act for those who want to leave trauma behind, but other binders aren’t so ethical. Some practitioners sell books on the black market. Other binders take advantage of people’s need for money and purchase their memories. When Emmett spots a book bearing his own name, the ethical quandary becomes personal.

Collins’ interest in bookbinding is apparent in her enchanting descriptions of these vessels of memories. She also found inspiration in her work with the Samaritans, the British charity organization she volunteered with, working with people who had experienced trauma.

The Binding is an imaginative, thought-provoking tale of how—for better and worse—moments can define who we become.

What would life be if you could forget your most painful memories?

NonfictionHistory

Bending Toward Justice

Review by Carla Jean Whitley

On the morning of September 15, 1963, an explosion at 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama, killed four girls gathered in the church’s ladies’ lounge and injured 22 other people. Ku Klux Klan members were immediately suspected of bombing the African-American church. But years passed, and for a variety of reasons, the suspected domestic terrorists walked free.

In November 1977, national attention was drawn back to the case and to the city once nicknamed “Bombingham” when attorney Bill Baxley successfully prosecuted a suspect in the bombing. A young law student, Doug Jones, looked on from a balcony. He was raised only a few miles from 16th Street Baptist Church, yet like many young white people at the time, Jones was largely ignorant of the strife faced by children of color. And though that trial was successful, more bombing suspects remained free.

In Bending Toward Justice: The Birmingham Church Bombing That Changed the Course of Civil Rights, current Alabama U.S. Senator Jones recounts the church bombing that became a rallying point for the civil rights movement, as well as the criminal cases against the two surviving bombing suspects that he prosecuted in 2001 and 2002 as a U.S. attorney. Some people around the nation—and certainly in Birmingham—argued that the past should stay in the past. A prison guard once told Jones that the elderly bombers shouldn’t be left to die in jail. Jones disagrees. Throughout the book, he reiterates the importance of justice—for the girls’ families, certainly, but also for all people affected by this act of terrorism. Bending Toward Justice is a vivid journey toward that understanding. As Jones and co-author Greg Truman lay out the details of these pivotal civil rights cases, they also examine how much the country has learned—and how much it still has to grow.

In Bending Toward Justice: The Birmingham Church Bombing That Changed the Course of Civil Rights, current Alabama U.S. Senator Jones recounts the church bombing that became a rallying point for the civil rights movement, as well as the criminal cases against the two surviving bombing suspects that he prosecuted in 2001 and 2002 as a U.S. attorney.

NonfictionEssays

Deep Creek

Review by Carla Jean Whitley

BookPage starred review, February 2019

The world can be a chaotic, terrifying place. That has been evident to Pam Houston since childhood; she was born to reluctant parents whose abuse and neglect echo through her memories. But at age 31, Houston found a plot of land that became a place to heal. She purchased a 120-acre ranch in rural Colorado with money from a book advance—an amount which was far less than the typically recommended 20 percent down payment—and with the faith of the ranch’s previous owner. 

In the decades since that bold purchase, Houston has uncovered her identity through her relationship with the property. She shares that journey in Deep Creek: Finding Hope in the High Country, a collection of personal essays that reveals Houston’s process of self-discovery while surrounded by the Colorado mountains. Houston also writes of the challenges of rural living, including a detailed essay about a fire raging through the state toward her land. 

“How do we become who we are in the world? We ask the world to teach us. But we have to ask with an open heart, with no idea what the answer will be,” Houston writes in the book’s early pages. Although she examines the forces that uniquely shaped her in Deep Creek, the collection is as universal as it is personal. 

“I started writing toward an answer to the question I wake up with every morning and go to bed with every night. How do I find hope on a dying planet, and if there is no hope to be found, how do I live in its absence? In what state of being? Respect? Tenderness? Unmitigated love? The rich and sometimes deeply clarifying dreamscape of vast inconsolable grief?” Houston invites readers into these questions. Deep Creek is one woman’s reckoning of her past and the land where she’s found herself, but it is also a reflection on what it means to be a soft-hearted human in an ever-changing and sometimes frightening world. 

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our Q&A with Pam Houston for Deep Creek.

This article was originally published in the February 2019 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

A collection of personal essays that reveals Pam Houston’s process of self-discovery while surrounded by the Colorado mountains. Houston also writes of the challenges of rural living, including a detailed essay about a fire raging through the state toward her land. 

FictionHistorical FictionDebut Fiction

The Age of Light

Review by Carla Jean Whitley

Lee Miller is accustomed to the male gaze. She has stood in its light for decades, first as the subject of her father’s photos and then as a Vogue cover model. But by the time she meets renowned photographer Man Ray in Paris, Lee has grown tired of being captured on film. Instead, she wants to step behind the camera. She wants to become the person wielding control, to tell stories instead of serving as a prop in someone else’s narrative. She convinces Man Ray to take her on as an assistant, but eventually Lee finds herself guided by her mentor’s instincts. She morphs from assistant to protégé, muse and lover.

Decades later, Lee has rewritten her story. She’s a domestic correspondent for Vogue, but she knows her editor has grown weary of the multicourse dinners she writes about and photographs. The editor offers her an ultimatum: Write about your years with Man Ray—or else your time at Vogue may end.

Lee agrees, but she insists the magazine publish her photos, not Man Ray’s, and the editor pushes back. “This is a story about Man Ray,” she says. “But it’s not,” Lee thinks. “And that’s been the problem all along.”

In her bold debut novel, The Age of Light, Whitney Scharer gives new life to Lee Miller, whose place in history has been overshadowed by her larger-than-life teacher. Scharer’s retelling draws from Lee’s relationships with men and her remarkable body of work as she progresses from a New York City model to a photographer in 1930s Paris, from a World War II correspondent to a gourmet cook in the 1960s. Scharer’s lusty prose illuminates Lee’s struggles and ambition in this lush tale.

 

This article was originally published in the February 2019 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

In her bold debut novel, The Age of Light, Whitney Scharer gives new life to Lee Miller, whose place in history has been overshadowed by her larger-than-life teacher, Man Ray.

FictionLiterary Fiction

Elsey Come Home

Review by Carla Jean Whitley

Elsey once had a strong sense of self. She was an artist, an American expat in Ireland whose paintings drew acclaim. But she’s now lost in marriage, motherhood and alcohol. Elsey moved from Ireland to China to settle in with Lukas, the Danish DJ she met at a rave. Two children later, Elsey knows who is supposed to take precedence in her life—and it’s no longer herself. When Lukas suggests Elsey participate in a weeklong yoga retreat in the mountains, Elsey sees it as an ultimatum. If she doesn’t take this time away, their marriage will unravel. So she accepts.

The retreat is a challenge. Elsey struggles to be vulnerable during the regular Talking Circles, and her mind is constantly focused on drinking—or not drinking. Elsey thinks, “I had two small girls. I would stop drinking. I know this is what Lukas thought. But drinking doesn’t work like that, and my need for it was stronger than I realized.”

Throughout the retreat, Elsey reflects on her sense of self and the people around her. They become touchstones of sorts, pointing Elsey back to herself. One of the women, Mei, is also wrestling with a marriage that isn’t what she’d hoped. “I want to be the heroine of my story. And you, too, Elsey. You, too, be the heroine,” Mei says. “Not the victim. Understand? Because the heroine is the one who owns the story.”

Susan Conley’s Elsey Come Home is a quiet, contemplative portrait of a woman searching for herself in the midst of the mundane.

 

This article was originally published in the January 2019 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Elsey once had a strong sense of self. She was an artist, an American expat in Ireland whose paintings drew acclaim. But she’s now lost in marriage, motherhood and alcohol. Elsey moved from Ireland to China to settle in with Lukas, the Danish DJ she met at a rave. Two children later, Elsey knows who is supposed to take precedence in her life—and it’s no longer herself. When Lukas suggests Elsey participate in a weeklong yoga retreat in the mountains, Elsey sees it as an ultimatum. If she doesn’t take this time away, their marriage will unravel. So she accepts.

NonfictionEssays

Barking with the Big Dogs

Review by Carla Jean Whitley

Natalie Babbitt’s career in children’s literature began with a picture book, The Forty-Ninth Magician, which her husband, Samuel, wrote and she illustrated. After Samuel, a college president, became too busy to collaborate on books, Babbitt began writing and illustrating children’s books on her own, resulting in more than a dozen works. Her 1970 novel, Knee-Knock Rise, won a Newbery Honor, and her beloved children’s novel Tuck Everlasting (1975) was twice adapted for film and also became a musical.

It’s no surprise that Babbitt, who died in 2016 at age 84, wrote and spoke extensively about children’s literature during her life. Barking with the Big Dogs: On Writing and Reading Books for Children compiles Babbitt’s speeches and articles spanning 34 years, and in many cases the work addresses the “big dogs,” the writers and critics who focus on work meant for adults.

“There is no reason why children’s authors should have to serve up the sherbet of the literary feast and be forced to apologize to our colleagues in the adult world because our creations melt on touch,” Babbitt writes, bringing up a theme she revisits repeatedly in this collection. Some adults are prone to reducing children to a single, monolithic audience. They deserve better, Babbitt argues: “The children I remember had precious little in common.”

Children’s books often tackle big questions in a way that’s accessible to still-developing minds. Babbitt knew that; Tuck Everlasting, for example, examined the ever-present shadow of time and the appeal of immortality. Throughout the timeless essays in Barking with the Big Dogs, Babbitt dissects these concepts for her adult audiences. Regardless of the reader’s age, imaginative work can invite people to step out of themselves and their everyday lives to explore other possibilities.

As Babbitt wrote in 1986, “In these terrible days of uncertainty and fear not just for our own individual lives but of the life of our lovely, lonely planet, we need our fantasies more than ever, especially our fantasies of hope.”

 

This article was originally published in the December 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Natalie Babbitt’s career in children’s literature began with a picture book, The Forty-Ninth Magician, which her husband, Samuel, wrote and she illustrated. After Samuel, a college president, became too busy to collaborate on books, Babbitt began writing and illustrating children’s books on her own, resulting in more than a dozen works. Her 1970 novel, Knee-Knock Rise, won a Newbery Honor, and her beloved children’s novel Tuck Everlasting (1975) was twice adapted for film and also became a musical.

FictionFamily Drama

Listen to the Marriage

Review by Carla Jean Whitley

Gretchen has had enough of her husband, Steve. He’s been obsessed with work and emotionally distant for years. She’s sought revenge for his affairs by embarking upon one of her own. Gretchen is ready for a new life.

But before the couple splits, they decide to visit a marriage counselor. With Sandy’s guidance, the couple learns to look beyond the surface of what the other says and examine what’s really happening in their relationship. The time they spend in Sandy’s office requires Gretchen and Steve to slow down, listen to each other and listen to their marriage.

It’s been 37 years since John Jay Osborn’s last novel, and 47 since his debut, The Paper Chase, soared onto the literary scene. That novel followed a first-year law student as he dealt with a professor he both admired and feared. It was ultimately adapted for both television and film. Though decades have passed, Listen to the Marriage shows Osborn is still able to home in on the heart of a story and reveal its characters’ motivations.

Counseling sessions can be revealing, and so it is for Gretchen and Steve. Listen to the Marriage is set entirely in Sandy’s office, where they reconvene each week to discuss the obstacles between them. The novel is a page turner, with the reader thrust into the characters’ most vulnerable moments, and it’s easy to read in a single sitting.

Osborn’s tale focuses on a single relationship, and in doing so, examines the power of empathy and invites readers to consider how they relate to others in their own lives.

Gretchen has had enough of her husband, Steve. He’s been obsessed with work and emotionally distant for years. She’s sought revenge for his affairs by embarking upon one of her own. Gretchen is ready for a new life.

NonfictionMemoir

All You Can Ever Know

Review by Carla Jean Whitley

Nicole Chung has known she was adopted since she was old enough to understand the concept. It would be difficult to miss, anyway; she’s Korean-American and was raised by white parents in a lily-white Oregon town. Although Chung faced challenges as the only Asian person in her community, she was raised in a loving family who taught her that her birth parents made the difficult decision to give her up so she could have a better life.

“Everything I knew of my life began on the day I was adopted. It was as if I had simply sprung into being as the five-pound, chubby-cheeked two-month-old my parents picked up at the hospital,” she writes.

But as Chung entered adulthood, her curiosity about her birth family grew. She wanted to provide her future children with an understanding and history she lacked, so she set out to find her birth parents.

And the tale she’d been taught about her adoption quickly unraveled.

It is true that Chung was born severely premature to Korean parents, and her medical complications did create a challenge. But the details of her adoption weren’t nearly as straightforward—or as rosy—as her parents portrayed them.

Chung’s exploration of identity and adoption becomes even more complicated when her initial contact with her birth family coincides with her first pregnancy. As a result, her ideas of family begin to be reshaped by multiple forces.

As she wrestles with her identity as an adopted child and as the sole person of color in most of her childhood circles, Chung confronts universal questions: Who am I? How does that shape how I interact with the world? Chung’s origin story is messier than she’d hoped, but All You Can Ever Know is a tale told with empathy and grace.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our Q&A with Nicole Chung.

This article was originally published in the October 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Nicole Chung has known she was adopted since she was old enough to understand the concept. It would be difficult to miss, anyway; she’s Korean-American and was raised by white parents in a lily-white Oregon town. Although Chung faced challenges as the only Asian person in her community, she was raised in a loving family who taught her that her birth parents made the difficult decision to give her up so she could have a better life.

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