Stephenie Harrison

FictionComing of Age

A criminal tries to go straight for his daughter

Review by Stephenie Harrison

Who has more lives than a cat and the bullet scars to prove it? That would be Samuel Hawley, the fascinatingly complicated and morally dubious titular character of Hannah Tinti’s gorgeous and gut-wrenching new novel, The Twelve Lives of Samuel Hawley.

Having escaped more than his fair share of criminal capers by little more than the skin of his teeth, Hawley has spent most of his life on the lam, pulling up stakes and starting over with his daughter, Loo, whenever a job goes poorly. But when Loo turns 12, Hawley decides a little stability might serve her well and moves them to Olympus, Massachusetts, the small coastal village where Loo’s dead mother spent her girlhood. As the two perennial outsiders cautiously become part of a community, the past that Hawley has spent so long running from begins to close in on them. Loo’s adolescent misadventures are interspersed with histories of the dozen bullet wounds that decorate Hawley’s body, the narrative nimbly flitting between past and present day until the two timelines merge in a deadly and devastating climax.

Cinematic in its scope, this expansive novel confidently dwells in the murky liminal spaces of human morality while exploring enduring topics of time, death, love and grief. Tinti has created a darkly daring (yet oddly uplifting) book that serves as a beguiling study in contrasts and contradictions, one that will leave readers pondering the conundrum of whether her protagonist is a good man who has done bad things or a bad man who has done good things. Expertly infusing old-fashioned storytelling with a modern sensibility, Tinti blends spaghetti Western, literary suspense and mythology to great success.

 

This article was originally published in the April 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Who has more lives than a cat and the bullet scars to prove it? That would be Samuel Hawley, the fascinatingly complicated and morally dubious titular character of Hannah Tinti’s gorgeous and gut-wrenching new novel, The Twelve Lives of Samuel Hawley.

FictionLiterary Fiction

Unconventional parenthood

Review by Stephenie Harrison

When it comes to oddball families, no author puts the “fun” in “dysfunctional” quite like Kevin Wilson. Having previously explored the indelible influences of nature and nurture in his cheeky debut, The Family Fang, Wilson wades deeper into the complexities of child-rearing and family life in Perfect Little World.

Pregnant by her emotionally unstable high school art teacher, Izzy Poole finds herself facing single motherhood at the ripe old age of 18. So when Izzy meets Dr. Preston Grind, a child psychologist who tells her a study he’s launching will cover all of Izzy and her child’s needs as well as provide them with a built-in family, it seems like a dream come true. The only catch? Izzy must cohabitate with nine other families for 10 years and agree to co-parent and love their children as though they were her own. Reasoning that if two parents are better than one, 20 must be even more of an advantage, Izzy agrees.

In light and lively prose that practically tap dances on the page, Wilson shrewdly probes the intricate tensions and machinations that lie at the core of this eccentric family unit. Throughout the narrative, there is the ever-increasing sense that all families—like all systems—are ultimately trending towards chaos, yet Wilson’s story is infused with a tenderhearted hopefulness. For fans of whimsical family dramas and character-driven novels, Perfect Little World is a provocative and uplifting read.

 

This article was originally published in the February 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

When it comes to oddball families, no author puts the “fun” in “dysfunctional” quite like Kevin Wilson. Having previously explored the indelible influences of nature and nurture in his cheeky debut, The Family Fang, Wilson wades deeper into the complexities of child-rearing and family life in Perfect Little World.

Mystery & SuspenseFictionSuspense

The Girl in Green

Review by Stephenie Harrison

BookPage Fiction Top Pick, January 2017

While much of the world watched the Gulf War play out from the safety of their homes, Derek B. Miller found himself smack-dab in the middle of the action as an American university student studying abroad in Israel in the early 1990s. Now, with The Girl in Green, the award-winning writer (Norwegian by Night) returns to the conflict in Iraq in a darkly comic thriller that lays bare the absurdities of war.

It’s 1991, and the Gulf War has officially ended, but Arwood Hobbes, an American solider, is stationed at a sleepy outpost 100 miles from the Kuwaiti border. He is approached by Thomas Benton, a British journalist keen to visit an off-limits town; reckless from boredom, Hobbes allows Benton to pass. The off-base excursion, however, ends in tragedy when both he and Hobbes are forced to watch the cold-blooded killing of a young girl dressed in green.

Flash-forward to 2013: In the midst of a different war taking place in Iraq, Benton receives a call from Hobbes. A girl with an uncanny resemblance to the teenager they watched die 22 years earlier has shown up in a viral video of a mortar attack, and Hobbes thinks she has survived. As impossible and ill-fated as this mission seems, neither man can pass up a second chance to atone for a failure that has haunted them for decades.

A modern masterpiece, The Girl in Green taps into the same satirical vein as Joseph Heller’s war classic, Catch-22, as the two mismatched protagonists set out on a quixotic quest for redemption. Miller, who wrote his Ph.D. dissertation on the Iraqi war and has worked for the United Nations in disarmament policy, is well qualified to explore the tangled political, bureaucratic, cultural and religious issues at play in the Middle East. His tongue-in-cheek candor brings much-needed levity to the proceedings, making the difficult subject matter relatable and engaging. Bursting with humanity and humor, The Girl in Green is heartbreaking and hopeful in equal measures, delivering nail-biting suspense while bringing readers into the heart of the conflict in Iraq.

RELATED CONTENT: Read our Q&A with Derek B. Miller.

This article was originally published in the January 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

 

With The Girl in Green, an award-winning writer (Norwegian by Night) explores the conflict in Iraq in a darkly comic thriller that lays bare the absurdities of war.

FictionHistorical Fiction

Beauty and perfection in 16th-century Italy

Review by Stephenie Harrison

In 16th-century Italy, where goodness and beauty are believed to go hand in hand, blemishes on the skin are seen as physical manifestations of the state of one’s soul. So when Flavia is born with a lurid birthmark across her face, the girl is viewed as an object of horror. After years of rejection, on the eve of her sister’s wedding Flavia snaps and does something so terrible that she is banished to a convent. 

Here her path crosses with Ghostanza, a woman whose otherworldly beauty inspires reverence in women and men alike. She claims Flavia as her ornatrix (a lady’s maid), schooling her in the art of Renaissance-era beauty regimens and cosmetics. However, Ghostanza’s tutelage goes much deeper, teaching Flavia that physical perfection carries a hefty price. 

By drawing sly parallels between Flavia’s world and our own, debut novelist Kate Howard demonstrates that unattainable beauty standards are hardly new. But Howard’s true genius lies in her skillful interweaving of themes of beauty, self-acceptance and artifice versus authenticity into an immersive story. The meticulous research and rich world-building place Howard alongside masters of the genre like Sarah Dunant and Tracy Chevalier (though Howard isn’t afraid to take readers down more ominous paths). If the idea of The Picture of Dorian Gray with feminist leanings gives you a thrill, then The Ornatrix is for you.

 

This article was originally published in the December 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

In 16th-century Italy, where goodness and beauty are believed to go hand in hand, blemishes on the skin are seen as physical manifestations of the state of one’s soul. So when Flavia is born with a lurid birthmark across her face, the girl is viewed as an object of horror. After years of rejection, on the eve of her sister’s wedding Flavia snaps and does something so terrible that she is banished to a convent.
FictionDebut Fiction

The meaning of motherlessness

Review by Stephenie Harrison

BookPage Top Pick in Fiction, October 2016

It may be no coincidence that the female protagonists of Brit Bennett’s remarkable debut are 17 at the start of the story: This was Bennett’s age when she first began writing The Mothers. Now, after nearly a decade of work, Bennett has completed a mature and moving masterpiece about the indelible bond between mothers and daughters and what it means for motherless girls to grow into women.

We meet Nadia Turner during her senior year of high school. It should be a time of excitement and anticipation, but Nadia is reeling from her mother’s recent suicide. She attempts to dull her pain through various acts of rebellion, including a romance with the pastor’s son, Luke. Their fling turns serious, however, when Nadia discovers she is pregnant, and their decision about how to handle her condition will shape the lives of Luke, Nadia and her religious best friend, Aubrey, in ways none of them can imagine. As the years pass, despite their collective efforts to move on, Nadia’s secret forms an inescapable anchor to the past. The aftershocks of her choice—and the nagging question of what might have been—continue to haunt the trio, threatening to unravel their friendship and shake the foundations of their tight-knit black community in Southern California.

Sharply observed and written in soul-searing prose, The Mothers is a powerful first novel that isn’t afraid to tackle tough issues, taking a hard look at family, friendship, grief and growing up. In a de facto Greek chorus, the united voice of the elderly church mothers in the community who have seen it all narrate the proceedings, punctuating events with their wise and wistful insights. Bennett’s writing is ripe with emotion and empathy, but she exhibits impressive restraint, never veering into melodrama. Moreover, her inspired juxtaposition of Nadia and Audrey—how their mothers have each wounded them in different but equally damaging ways, how they attempt to make themselves whole and compensate for their losses, how they each choose to emulate or reject their mothers in turn—is fascinating, and perfect fodder for lively book club discussions. Filled with compassionate storytelling and unforgettable characters, The Mothers is a provocative introduction to a talented new author.

 

This article was originally published in the October 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

RELATED CONTENT: Read a Q&A with Brit Bennett about The Mothers.

It may be no coincidence that the female protagonists of Brit Bennett’s remarkable debut are 17 at the start of the story: This was Bennett’s age when she first began writing The Mothers. Now, after nearly a decade of work, Bennett has completed a mature and moving masterpiece about the indelible bond between mothers and daughters.
FictionLiterary Fiction

The Underground Railroad

Review by Stephenie Harrison

A cursory peek into his backlist reveals that there is no such thing as a “typical” Colson Whitehead novel. Having tackled everything from post-apocalyptic zombie horror to jocular coming-of-age shenanigans in the Hamptons, this prizewinning author seems to have the philosophy that big risk equals big reward. So it should come as no surprise that The Underground Railroad, his sixth novel, is not only his most daring but also his very best—and most important—book to date. It’s also the latest selection of Oprah’s Book Club.

In The Underground Railroad, Whitehead dives into the past for the first time, transporting readers back to pre-Civil War America and the plantations of the South. We are introduced to Cora, a third-generation slave in Georgia who has never set foot off her master’s property and for whom the idea of fleeing is unthinkable—that is, until a fellow slave, Caesar, approaches her about hitching a ride on the rumored Underground Railroad to the North. With a ruthless slave catcher hot on their heels, they embark on a perilous journey through America in search of a freedom that feels increasingly elusive.

A sly reframing of Gulliver’s Travels within the traditional black slave narrative, The Underground Railroad is an arresting tale that puts Whitehead’s imagination and intelligence on full display. His inspired decision to have Cora adventure through the South by means of a literal subterranean locomotive suffuses the narrative with a fable-like quality, but Whitehead’s overall approach is far from whimsical. Throughout her journey, Cora is confronted with some of the most disgraceful facets of the period, from eugenics programs to the Fugitive Slave Act, and the narrative is frequently grim.

Whitehead exercises his artistic license, deviating from the historical record to create an augmented reality. But his skillful balancing of intellect and fact with emotion and highly nuanced storytelling only makes the meditation on the insidious values that allow prejudice and brutality to continue to flourish all the more indelible. Chilling in its timeliness, The Underground Railroad is a devastating  literary masterpiece that should be considered required reading.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our interview with Colson Whitehead on The Underground Railroad.

This daring modern masterpiece is the BookPage Fiction Top Pick, September 2016.
FictionHistorical Fiction

Blending history and myth

Review by Stephenie Harrison

BookPage Fiction Top Pick, August 2016

Magical realism may most frequently be associated with Latin-American literature, but Pulitzer Prize finalist Eowyn Ivey (The Snow Child) has proven that the technique works equally well in novels set in distinctly chillier locales. Her second novel, To the Bright Edge of the World, is a spellbinding tale of adventure that blends myth and historical fiction and takes readers into the heart of the untamed wilderness of the Alaskan frontier.

Told through private diary entries, newspaper clippings, government reports, personal letters and more, the patchwork-quilt narrative results in a fully immersive reading experience that draws readers deep into 19th-century Alaska. It’s 1885, and Lieutenant Colonel Allen Forrester has been asked by the U.S. government to travel north along the Wolverine River and survey the surrounding land and its peoples. Along with a small company of soldiers, Allen embarks on a grueling foray into an unforgiving terrain. His reports detail the harsh conditions the group experiences and are firmly grounded in this world; however, his journal and letters to his wife, Sophie, shed a different light on the events, describing encounters with the local indigenous people that have a decidedly supernatural bent. The deeper his team moves into the Alaskan backcountry, the more the wilderness exposes their own primal natures. Meanwhile, feeling stifled by the small-minded community back home, Sophie embarks on her own journey of self-discovery.

Filled with love, loss, grief and joy, To the Bright Edge of the World is a cracking adventure that pulses with emotional power and a brutal kind of beauty. Though the story is filled with tender correspondence between Allen and Sophie, the book itself stands as a love letter from Ivey to her home state: Even at their most harrowing, her descriptions of Alaska’s sweeping wilds are breathtaking and evocative. With rich prose, compelling characters and elegant storytelling, To the Bright Edge of the World brings history and folklore to life in a visceral and utterly beguiling way.

 

This article was originally published in the August 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Magical realism may most frequently be associated with Latin-American literature, but Pulitzer Prize finalist Eowyn Ivey (The Snow Child) has proven that the technique works equally well in novels set in distinctly chillier locales. Her second novel, To the Bright Edge of the World, is a spellbinding tale of adventure that blends myth and historical fiction and takes readers into the heart of the untamed wilderness of the Alaskan frontier.
FictionLiterary Fiction

What comes after ‘I do’

Review by Stephenie Harrison

In his first novel, On Love, philosopher Alain de Botton catalogued the process of falling in and out of love, putting his own unique and perceptive spin on the modern day love story. Now, over two decades later, de Botton finds himself deeply fascinated by another facet of love, one that literature and films too often neglect: Having fallen in love and committed ourselves to another person, what is it like to have been married awhile? He explores the question of how love changes and evolves when sustained over time with astounding insight in his latest novel, The Course of Love.

Superficially, The Course of Love is the story of Rabih and Kirsten, who follow a relatively well-trod path: They meet, they fall in love, they get married, they have kids and one of them even has an affair. Normally it would be poor form to reveal the milestones in their relationship upfront, but de Botton is seemingly less concerned with what happens between Rabih and Kristen than he is with why it happens and, more importantly, what this reveals about the nature of romantic love and attachment. Throughout the book, he approaches the pair with an air of impartial detachment and the plot is frequently punctuated by philosophical and psychological reflections, resulting in something that resembles a fascinating case study of a marriage more than a traditional novel. Delving deep into his characters’ psyches and explicitly dissecting their inner yearnings and motivations for his readers’ instruction and enlightenment, de Botton has effectively crafted an intellectual love story that somewhat paradoxically manages to clinical in its tone yet extremely intimate in its scope.

The Course of Love is not a fairy-tale love story; it is unlikely to make readers palms sweat or hearts flutter, but this book clearly means to challenge the conventions of what makes us swoon and which elements of love, in all its complexities, we celebrate. As de Botton painstakingly documents, the reality of “happily ever after” is rarely easy or pretty, but as Shakespeare famously wrote, “the course of true love never did run smooth.” If The Course of Love is any indication, not only does de Botton agree, but perhaps we—as well as love—are all the better for it.

In his first novel, On Love, philosopher Alain de Botton catalogued the process of falling in and out of love, putting his own unique and perceptive spin on the modern day love story. Now, over two decades later, de Botton finds himself deeply fascinated by another facet of love, one that literature and films too often neglect: Having fallen in love and committed ourselves to another person, what is it like to have been married awhile? He explores the question of how love changes and evolves when sustained over time with astounding insight in his latest novel, The Course of Love.
FictionLiterary Fiction

The complex web of a life’s relationships

Review by Stephenie Harrison

With seven books to her credit, based on the law of averages alone you might think that Irish author Maggie O’Farrell would be due to deliver a dud. On the contrary: Her latest novel proves that practice really does make perfect. This Must Be the Place may be her best work to date.

O’Farrell returns to the topics that have become her literary bread and butter over the years: love, loss and the things that make—and break—a family. Daniel Sullivan has more than a passing familiarity with all three of these things. We first meet Daniel in 2015, living with his two young children and his reclusive wife on a remote patch of land in Ireland. However, as subsequent chapters jump between past and present, as well as other characters’ perspectives, the complex web of relationships and choices that have brought Daniel to this place and continue to shape his life are slowly illuminated. The result is an intricate and emotional jigsaw puzzle whose pieces interlock in immensely satisfying—and startling—ways.

Nimbly bounding though time and space, the narrative unfolds with a cinematic quality, and O’Farrell’s prose manages to be both intimate and expansive in its tone and keenly perceptive in its insights on the complexities of marriage. Beautiful and bittersweet, This Must Be the Place will make O’Farrell’s longtime fans swoon while prompting new readers to wonder why they’ve only just discovered her.

 

This article was originally published in the July 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

With seven books to her credit, based on the law of averages alone you might think that Irish author Maggie O’Farrell would be due to deliver a dud. On the contrary: Her latest novel proves that practice really does make perfect. This Must Be the Place may be her best work to date.
FictionHistorical Fiction

Glitz and grit during the Texas oil boom

Review by Stephenie Harrison

With just one previous book under her belt, author Anton DiSclafani has already made a name for herself as a writer whose female protagonists dare to be different. Her debut novel, The Yonahlossee Riding Camp for Girls, was a titillating coming-of-age tale set in a world of privilege in the 1930s South; it rocketed to the top of summer must-read lists and was one of the most buzzed-about bestsellers of 2013. Three years later, DiSclafani is poised to shake up summer reading once more with her second novel, The After Party.

In 1950s Houston, Texas, the champagne and martinis flow as freely as the oil that has made the River Oaks community so very wealthy. Our guide to the ins and outs of Houston’s social milieu is Cece Buchanan, best friend and confidante to Joan Fortier, the indisputable queen bee of the River Oaks scene. Even though it means standing in her shadow, Cece revels in her place by Joan’s side. She takes pride in being the only person who truly knows secretive Joan . . . or so she believes, until Joan disappears one day without a word. When she reappears a year later, Cece is ready to resume their friendship as though no time has passed. But as Joan’s signature wild behavior begins to morph into something more sinister, Cece won’t rest until she has uncovered whatever Joan is hiding.

The After Party is a scintillating journey into the world of the social elite that penetrates beyond manicured lawns and designer duds to expose the dysfunctions of the upper crust. But don’t dismiss this as a literary “Real Housewives of River Oaks”—DiSclafani delves deeper, thoughtfully exploring topics of female sexuality and empowerment, as well as the delicate dynamics of female friendship. Populated with complex and complicated characters and relationships, The After Party is an engrossing period drama.

 

RELATED CONTENT: Read our interview with DiSclafani about The After Party.

This article was originally published in the June 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

With just one previous book under her belt, author Anton DiSclafani has already made a name for herself as a writer whose female protagonists dare to be different. Her debut novel, The Yonahlossee Riding Camp for Girls, was a titillating coming-of-age tale set in a world of privilege in the 1930s South; it rocketed to the top of summer must-read lists and was one of the most buzzed-about bestsellers of 2013. Three years later, DiSclafani is poised to shake up summer reading once more with her second novel, The After Party.
FictionLiterary Fiction

Depression and family dynamics

Review by Stephenie Harrison

When Margaret’s fiancé is hospitalized for depression in the 1960s, she is shaken but ultimately unwilling to abandon the man she loves. Imagine Me Gone traces the aftershock of Margaret’s fateful choice as John’s condition ripples out over the subsequent decades, affecting not only their life together but the lives of their three children.

Although depression and anxiety are foes that many authors have explored in the pages of literature, it is hard to think of a novel that presents as nuanced and intimate a portrait of these diseases as Adam Haslett’s Imagine Me Gone. Told from the perspectives of each of the five members of the family, the novel offers a shockingly raw portrayal of how mental illness afflicts individuals as well as families, sometimes tearing them apart but also binding them closer. But to simply label this as a book about depression—however expert its portrayal—minimizes what Haslett, a previous Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award finalist, has achieved with his third work of fiction. At its core, this is a pensive examination of the very human struggle to connect and find peace—with others and with ourselves—and the nature of time and how it passes. Haslett’s keen eye for and rigorous examination of the intricate messiness of family dynamics calls to mind Jonathan Franzen’s 21st-century masterpiece on intergenerational dysfunction, The Corrections, although Haslett’s approach, while at times playful, is ultimately more tender and sympathetic.

Imagine Me Gone is immensely personal and private, yet feels universal and ultimately essential in its scope. In its pages, Haslett has laid bare the agonies and ecstasies of the human condition and the familial ties that bind. The end result is a book that you do not read so much as feel, deeply and intensely in the very marrow of your bones.

 

This article was originally published in the May 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

When Margaret’s fiancé is hospitalized for depression in the 1960s, she is shaken but ultimately unwilling to abandon the man she loves. Imagine Me Gone traces the aftershock of Margaret’s fateful choice as John’s condition ripples out over the subsequent decades, affecting not only their life together but the lives of their three children.
FictionHistorical Fiction

A snapshot of a bygone era in the publishing world

Review by Stephenie Harrison

If you’re still mourning the end of the TV show “Mad Men,” dry those tears and turn your attention to Three-Martini Lunch. Suzanne Rindell’s cast of characters may be paying their dues in the world of 1950s book publishing rather than advertising, but it’s not all that hard to imagine them rubbing elbows with the likes of Don Draper or sharing a smoke with Peggy Olson.

A literary triptych, Three-Martini Lunch is a coming-of-age tale about three dreamers trying to break into the New York literary scene. Cliff has recently dropped out of Columbia to focus on writing a novel; Eden has moved to the city from Indiana and aspires to become an editor; and Miles is a black bicycle messenger for an elite publishing house who writes as an attempt to make peace with the father he worries he never truly knew. While pursuing their respective goals, the paths of these three characters will cross, their ambitions and fates entangling in ways none of them could foresee. Each is determined to succeed, but each must decide what they are willing to sacrifice—and whom they will sabotage—in order to do so.

Like Rindell’s bestselling debut, The Other Typist, Three-Martini Lunch is a rollicking period piece that builds to a magnificent crescendo. With an excellent ear for the patter and cadence of the time, Rindell expertly brings a bygone era to life, though the struggles of her trio feel anything but dated. While blackmail and backstabbing keep things suitably scandalous, Rindell also explores deeper issues of race, sexuality, class and gender in ways that feel vital and timely. The end result is a moving novel that proves provocative in more ways than one. 

 

This article was originally published in the April 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

If you’re still mourning the end of the TV show “Mad Men,” dry those tears and turn your attention to Three-Martini Lunch. Suzanne Rindell’s cast of characters may be paying their dues in the world of 1950s book publishing rather than advertising, but it’s not all that hard to imagine them rubbing elbows with the likes of Don Draper or sharing a smoke with Peggy Olson.
FictionLiterary Fiction

Wrong reality

Review by Stephenie Harrison

Dexter Palmer’s second novel, Version Control, is the kind of rich, multilayered book that often feels like it is raising more questions than answers. The first is the question of exactly what type of book it is: Is it a deeply personal story of a marriage and the human condition, or is it a cerebral exploration of the world of astrophysics and time travel? Is it science fiction or literary fiction? 

A description does little to clear this matter up. Version Control tells the story of married couple Rebecca and Philip Wright. Rebecca works in customer support for a web-based dating service, while Philip is a scientist who has been toiling on what some might call a time machine (though he adamantly refers to it as a “causality violation device”) that has made him a joke in the physics community. Though the two have known heartbreak and disappointment, their life together is generally comfortable. Yet Rebecca can’t shake the feeling that the world is “wrong.” Could Philip’s device be the way to set things right? Or might it actually be the source of Rebecca’s anxiety and unease?

Expansive in scope, Version Control burrows into issues of science and technology, religion, relationships, racism and free will. It would be easy for issues to overshadow the story, but Palmer—who has a Ph.D. in English from Princeton—deftly keeps the many components in harmony. The result is an intellectual novel that feels surprisingly intimate and accessible. Weighty yet emotionally rewarding, Version Control will appeal to all curious readers, regardless of their scientific background.

 

This article was originally published in the March 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Dexter Palmer’s second novel, Version Control, is the kind of rich, multilayered book that often feels like it is raising more questions than answers. The first is the question of exactly what type of book it is: Is it a deeply personal story of a marriage and the human condition, or is it a cerebral exploration of the world of astrophysics and time travel? Is it science fiction or literary fiction?

Sign Up

Stay on top of new releases: Sign up for our newsletter to receive reading recommendations in your favorite genres.

Sign up now

Trending Features

All Features