A multigenerational, multi-viewpoint tale that’s a meditation on everything from history to cultural context to personal strife, Kelly Kerney’s second novel is an adept meditation on the weight of history.

Hard Red Spring takes place in four different time periods over the course of nearly a century, all focused in some way on the history and culture of Guatemala—and on the 1902 disappearance of a young girl, who watches her family’s prospects get ripped to shreds. In 1954, the wife of the American ambassador to Guatemala enters into an affair that drives her to distraction. In 1983, a pair of missionaries get more than they bargained for, and their very faith is rattled. And finally, in 1999, a mother returns to her adopted daughter’s home country in the hope of learning about her child’s heritage and rekindling an old flame. All of these narrative threads are tied together by plot, as well as thematic resonance: These are all people in over their heads.

The novel begins with the 1902 storyline. Evie is American, but she’s obsessed with the mythology of her adoptive Guatemalan home, even attempting to snatch a doll left at a makeshift altar inside a cave near her home. We all like to hope that we’re going to glimpse something mystical in another culture, and in Evie we see that same curiosity. Kerney puts readers into the place of her characters, as they peer into a culture they may not ever understand. Interweaving stories of love, loss and confusion with beautiful prose and pacing, Hard Red Spring will pull readers through page after page.

In five previous novels, Diane McKinney-Whetstone has painted a vivid portrait of 20th-century black life in Philadelphia—from the Jazz Age in her first book, Tumbling, right up to the 1990s in Blues Dancing. With her sixth novel, Lazaretto, McKinney-Whetstone turns to the 19th century.

The book opens on the night of Abraham Lincoln’s assassination, when a pregnant maid named Meda visits a midwife who “had become well known in the whispered circles of rich white men as a viable solution to the consequence of their indiscretions.” The midwife makes a fateful decision regarding Meda’s baby that will reverberate for the rest of the novel. 

This is just one of many deceptions in a book filled with characters who may not be what they seem. Consider orphans Linc and Bram, both named after the beloved fallen president. They tug at the heartstrings of Meda, and, when they grow older, make a fatal mistake, forcing them to flee Philadelphia. They return, however, and that’s when Lazaretto really hits its stride: The quarantine hospital that lends the book its title becomes the site of a much-anticipated wedding, bringing many of the characters together for what is supposed to be a joyous event. But events beyond the staff’s control interrupt the wedding, harshly reminding McKinney-Whetstone’s African-American characters of their place in the social hierarchy.  

There may be a bit too much melodrama in Lazaretto for some readers, and at times the years seem to fly by too quickly. Overall, though, McKinney-Whetstone’s sympathetic characters and historical touches (one character eats a “king’s breakfast of peppered cow’s brain and cornbread”) more than compensate. Meda, at one point, laments “the tragedy of a life with no history at all.” Once again, McKinney-Whetstone has managed to bring to life a wide range of characters whose triumphs and tribulations would never show up in a history book.

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

Kathleen Grissom’s eagerly anticipated sequel to The Kitchen House (2010), which portrayed the grim reality of life on a Virginia plantation, follows some of that novel’s characters to pre-Civil War Philadelphia. But it stands alone as its own compelling story as well.

Jamie Pyke, son of a slave and the master of Tall Oakes plantation, escaped at age 13 to Philadelphia. Jamie easily passed for white, and he has become a well-established society gentleman over the last decade. But when Henry, the slave who helped Jamie get to Philadelphia years earlier, asks him for a life-changing favor, Jamie must confront his past.

Glory Over Everything features an engaging cast of characters. These include Henry and his son, Pan, who reminds Jamie of himself as a child; Robert, a longtime butler who has his own dark history; Sukey, a slave from Tall Oakes who is now part of the Underground Railroad; Caroline, Jamie’s love interest; and Caroline’s parents, a bigoted couple who threaten to reveal Jamie’s multiracial heritage. Chapters are written in the voices of these characters, delving into the interwoven stories. 

Grissom brings the 1830s to life, a time when slavery was still thriving, freed slaves lived in fear of recapture and abolitionists were becoming increasingly active. Like The Kitchen House, Glory Over Everything will appeal to readers who appreciate a thought-provoking historical drama, making it a good selection for book clubs as well.

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

“Rush oh!” was the rallying cry of the whalers in New South Wales, shouted when they spotted their target and set out to sea. It is also the title of Australian screenwriter Shirley Barrett’s fictional debut, a charming blend of history, whaling folklore and period illustrations, based on an actual whaling family in Eden, New South Wales. 

Rush Oh! is set during the harsh whaling season of 1908. At 19, Mary Davidson is the oldest daughter of the community’s lead whaler. Responsible for the care of her five motherless siblings, she is also the cook and laundress for her father’s crew and old enough to understand what the use of kerosene over whale oil might mean to the family finances. A mysterious new arrival—a minister turned whaler—provides some romantic distraction for Mary, but the day-to-day worries over dwindling reserves and an empty larder take precedence. 

Barrett’s inspiration for this novel came from a visit to the Killer Whale Museum in Eden, and it is her depiction of the symbiotic relationship between human and beast that gives this novel so much of its offbeat charm. Killer whales earned their nickname because of their method of attacking and hunting fish and sea mammals with incredible skill and dexterity. In Rush Oh!, the pod of whales work in tandem with the fishermen, luring larger whales to the bay, and receiving their cut of the spoils when the killing is done. 

 Rush Oh! is buoyed by Mary’s tart and unsentimental tone and wry observations of her family and neighbors. But her gentle scorn blinds her to some of the events happening right under her nose, especially when her frivolous sister Louisa makes a decision that shocks the whole family. Despite the graphic depictions of whale hunting (perhaps not for the squeamish), Rush Oh! is a lively, humorous portrayal of the domestic side of whaling at the end of its heyday, told with genuine sympathy and good will.

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.

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.

A day in anyone’s life can seem ordinary. But when those moments are taken together, and especially when they intersect with the lives of others, a bigger story emerges.That’s evident from the early pages of Flight of Dreams by Ariel Lawhon, a novel in which the author poses a theory for what could have brought down the famed German airship Hindenburg. 

Even a reader without a firm grasp on history knows the ship is doomed. But what happened on board to create the fiery blast that destroyed the ship and dozens of lives in only 34 seconds? After all, as was recorded in the disaster’s investigation and newspapers, it was an uneventful flight.

Through the perspectives of passengers and crew members, Lawhon deftly draws readers into the lives of the cabin boy, the navigator and the stewardess. The latter two are romantically entangled, hiding their involvement from the rest of the crew even as the lovesick navigator and the widowed stewardess work out what’s ahead for their relationship. Then there are the passengers, including a mysterious American and a curious journalist. As each shares his or her insight into the others around them, an explanation for the ship’s ultimate demise begins to come into focus.

As with her debut novel, The Wife, the Maid, and the Mistress, Lawhon uses real-life people and their stories, drawing from what is known about the ship’s passengers and crew to construct believable characters. Flight of Dreams melds historical fiction, a touch of romance and mystery to create a tale that becomes more difficult to put down as the disaster draws near.

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

Tracy Chevalier’s new novel, At the Edge of the Orchard, is a heartbreaking narrative of an Ohio pioneer family’s struggles that bears no resemblance to the pastoral stories in the Little House series.

The novel begins amid the loamy misery of 19th-century rural Ohio. James and Sadie Goodenough and their 10 children—swamp fever ends up claiming five—have traveled from Connecticut in search of a place to put down roots. When the family’s wagon becomes stuck in the mud, their grueling, cross-country journey comes to an abrupt halt, and the Black Swamp becomes home by default.

While readers will likely find it tough to sympathize with the hard-drinking, ill-tempered and foul-mouthed Sadie, her seemingly stolid and mild-mannered husband is no more sympathetic. Obsessed with the welfare of his apple trees, especially his rare and delicate Golden Pippins, James makes his orchard the third party in their relationship.

But when a traveling apple tree salesman becomes a frequent visitor to the Goodenough’s Black Swamp home, Sadie becomes smitten by the charismatic man. Known as John Appleseed, he provides an escape from her daily drudgery with a steady stream of alcohol-infused applejack.

After a random act of violence shatters the Goodenough family’s already precarious existence, the couple’s son, Robert, flees the Black Swamp, straight into the muscular arms of the California Gold Rush.

While some readers might grow a bit restless with the slow and steady pace of Chevalier’s patient narrative, her impeccable research and the abundance of fascinating historical anecdotes about everything from grafting apple trees to the circumference of the mighty redwoods add up to a pleasurable literary experience.

Novelist and essayist Darryl Pinckney draws on the legacy of Christopher Isherwood’s 1930s expat classic, The Berlin Stories, in his second novel, Black Deutschland. Pinckney’s young, African-American narrator, Jed Goodfinch, makes repeated visits to Berlin in the decade before the Berlin Wall falls in 1989. Unlike Isherwood’s characters, however, Jed can openly state that the city’s thriving gay community is a big part of its appeal.

Jed has spent several summers in Berlin, drinking and drugging at the Chi Chi bar and sponging off his cousin Cello, an imperious classical pianist who married into a wealthy German family. But his latest visit is different: Fresh out of rehab, Jed is working with a celebrated and controversial architect whose project to renovate whole sections of West Berlin mirror Jed’s hopes for his own reinvention. 

The novel shifts in time, much as Jed travels between Berlin and Chicago. Chicago represents the complexities of being a black man in the United States, not to mention Jed’s parents’ disappointment in him—though whether that is due to his addiction or his sexuality, he’s not sure. Berlin means AA meetings with black GIs, bohemian clubs, socialist co-ops—and lots of love, mostly unrequited but, in one magical instance, very requited indeed. 

Black Deutschland is an episodic mix of ideas, places, happenings and emotions. At its best, the novel plunges the reader directly into singular events—the dismantling of the Berlin Wall, or the somber days after the sudden death of Harold Washington, Chicago’s first black mayor. Though the shifts in time and place can be disorientingly swift, the through note is Jed’s wryly comic, witheringly honest voice. Pinckney’s belief in a ferocious intellect as a key component in the engaged life is deliciously present in this inviting and absorbing novel. 

RELATED CONTENT: Read a Q&A with Darryl Pinckney about this book.

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

The terrible waste of war—especially its unrelenting effect on those who somehow survive—lies at the center of Sebastian Faulks’ 13th novel. Where My Heart Used to Beat is a return to historical fiction, the genre Faulks is best known for thanks to bestsellers like Birdsong.

London psychiatrist Robert Hendricks, now in his 60s, has tried to bury the memories of his service in World War II, but the losses he experienced still haunt him. Isolated and lonely, Robert is intrigued when he receives a letter from 93-year-old Alexander Pereira, a neurologist and World War I vet who claims to have served in the same infantry unit as the father Robert barely knew. Curious, Robert decides to accept Dr. Pereira’s offer to visit him at his home on a remote island off the southern coast of France.

Over the next several months, Robert makes a series of visits to Pereira, immersing himself in the revelations about his father and his own cloudy wartime memories. Pereira gradually gets Robert to open up about his war experiences—things he had not shared with anyone except the woman he loved and lost. Throughout the course of these introspective episodes, Robert and Pereira debate an array of philosophical issues, including whether 20th-century “ills” like the Holocaust and apartheid were the fault of individuals or governments. Robert gradually concludes that his postwar work as a psychiatrist has been “little more than an attempt at rebuttal.”

Faulks delves into the subjects of memory and loss with erudition and perception, engaging his readers in the task of grappling with their own memories of the past, and how those memories interject themselves into the present. His latest is a thoughtful and moving novel, beautifully told, about how humans can comprehend—or fail to comprehend—the atrocities that surround us every day. 

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

It’s difficult to overstate the disastrous impact World War II had on civilians caught in its many war zones. These stories are often overshadowed by tales from the front, but these days the more unusual contributions of civilians to the war effort are being recognized more and more, as in movies like The Imitation Game. Kristin Hannah’s moving The Nightingale joins these ranks to take a look at the experiences of ordinary people and the great reserves of courage and innovation the fighting called forth from them.

The heroines of this story are two sisters, the somewhat matronly Viann and the younger and wilder Isabelle. Having lost their mother as children, with a father who is too torn up with grief and the effects of the last world war, the two are not close. Besides, Viann, who married young, is happy to concentrate on her pretty little daughter, Sophie, and her loving husband, the town postmaster. 

Then comes the war. Viann’s husband is mobilized, but since France capitulated to Germany with hardly a shot being fired, things in their town are not too bad at first. But when the Nazis start billeting their soldiers among the townsfolk, life deteriorates. Jewish friends and colleagues are humiliated, then rounded up. Food and fuel become scarce.

Meanwhile, Isabelle enters the resistance. Her task is to find downed British then American airmen and guide them over the Pyrenees into Spain, a trip so grueling that it made this reviewer's feet hurt just to read it. Her code name is Nightingale, the English version of her real last name: Rossignol. Having saved hundreds of Allied airmen, she becomes one of the Nazis' most wanted.

The book is narrated by an omniscient narrator and a woman, now elderly and ill, who decides to return to France to accept honors for her bravery and sacrifice during the war. If nothing else made you cry during this book, this part, with its gentle twists and surprises, should do it.