Some novelists run the risk of overstaying their welcome, perhaps overwriting due to indulgence in a particular character or scenario. Roddy Doyle (Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha) never feels like one of those writers. His stories, from short fiction to novels, are tightly wound coils of energy, humor and insight, waiting to spring on us. Smile is another stellar example of Doyle’s brand of dense, kinetic storytelling. In just over 200 pages, Doyle manages to tell us something startling, funny and strange about the nature of human tragedy and pain.

Smile follows Victor, a recently separated writer living on his own for the first time in years. Victor spends his evenings having a pint at the local pub, until this quiet ritual is interrupted by Fitzpatrick, an obnoxious and seemingly inescapable man who claims they were schoolmates. Victor can’t remember Fitzpatrick, but he can remember his Catholic school days, and suddenly the trauma of what happened there begins trickling back into his mind. As Doyle jumps between past and present, Victor’s life spools out before us, building to a startling realization that shakes him to his core.

Doyle has a particular talent for humor and dialogue, but he also has the rare quality of being able to balance an economy of language with a dense sense of perception. Not a word is wasted here, and there aren’t many to waste. This is a gift, and it’s one Doyle harnesses with particular power in Smile. This drives the book at an almost fever pitch, practically daring you to turn each page and see what kind of incisive character wisdom he’s about to impart next. By the end, even if you think you know what’s coming, you will be dumbstruck by the storytelling prowess at work. Smile is a brief, brilliant, frenzied reading experience that only Roddy Doyle could deliver.

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

Collaborative novels can be tricky propositions, even for writers as accomplished as the father-son duo of Stephen and Owen King. Each author’s stylistic and thematic concerns can stick out in jarring ways, creating a mashup far less seamless than either author perhaps would like. Sleeping Beauties is not one of those novels. In the grand tradition of team-ups like Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett’s Good Omens and Stephen King’s own The Talisman (with Peter Straub), it is a triumph of two voices blending wonderfully to take us into a dark and all-too-real dream.

All the women in the Appalachian town of Dooling (and around the world) are falling asleep and refusing to wake up. Once sleep takes them, their bodies are covered by a mysterious, fluffy coating, and if they are disturbed, they awaken as homicidal maniacs. This development naturally sows chaos, inciting riots across the nation and sending men into a frenzy. In Dooling, though, there’s something different: Evie, an enigmatic woman with strange abilities, seems unaffected by the sleeping sickness. Some men think she’s a monster, others a savior, but whatever side they take in a world without women, Dooling is transformed into a powder keg.

Sleeping Beauties traffics in some very potent themes, from the obvious question of what an all-male society would devolve into to less obvious concerns like the politics of a women’s prison and the evolution of sexuality during the aging process. None of these issues, though, are dealt with cheaply or crudely. The book wields the best attributes of each author—Stephen’s ability to ratchet up tension, Owen’s wit and their joint gifts for character detail—with a deftness that makes it feel like the work of a single hybrid imagination. In the authors’ hands, the themes and characters of Sleeping Beauties become powerful fictional case studies, holding the mirror up to our own powder keg of a society in unforgettable and often unnerving ways.

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

Part of the fun of reading a book like Ali Land’s Good Me Bad Me is the anticipation of what’s to come. You know from the get-go that you’re going to be in for a few shocks—you just aren’t sure how you’ll get there. Fortunately, Land delivers on all accounts.

The concept provides an instant hook: The 15-year-old daughter of a serial killer turns in her mother and, while waiting to testify, worries if she too is bad and will become a killer. You might think Annie, who is later renamed Milly by her foster family in order to protect her identity, would breathe easier after escaping her mother’s reign of terror. But her nightmare is just beginning.

In addition to the psychological ramifications of having lived with a serial murderer, Milly must adjust to life with a new family and new school environment. Neither is much of a comfort. Her foster family has its own dysfunctional relationships—an uneasy marriage and a spoiled 15-year-old daughter of their own, Phoebe—while school presents more than its share of challenges. Her foster dad, who doubles as her therapist, seems more interested in making notes for his book about Milly. And instead of embracing Milly with sympathy and care, Phoebe sees her as a rival for her parents’ attention and immediately subjects her to bullying and ridicule in front of their classmates.

As the title of the book implies, it’s only a matter of time before Milly’s darker tendencies get the better of her. Getting there is just half the fun.

A former child and adolescent mental health nurse, Land expertly captures the angst and trauma of teenage adolescence through Milly’s compelling narrative voice. The result is a starkly realized and haunting thriller.

The Child Finder, Rene Denfeld’s second novel and her most personal to date, is a harrowing story about a young girl living in captivity and the one woman who could possibly find her and bring her home. Naomi Cottle, the titular heroine, has a knack for locating missing children. She’s found 30 of them—but not all of them alive.

Her latest case brings her to the chilling remoteness of Oregon’s mountainous Skookum National Forest, where three years earlier, Madison Culver went missing at the age of 5 while looking for a Christmas tree with her family. Previous search-and-rescue attempts have all failed, largely due to the vast terrain and ice-cold temperatures. But Naomi is not one to give up, and as her investigation proceeds, she believes that Madison’s disappearance can only be the result of an abduction.

Naomi’s personal journey from foster child to adulthood parallels her search for Madison. As Naomi’s fears and sources of determination come to light, the narrative also dips into Madison’s mind, allowing readers to experience her terrifying ordeal at the hands of her captor, known only as Mr. B. Both narratives are expertly intertwined into a deeply moving story of survival and hope.

Denfeld writes in part from personal experience. Her stepfather was a sexual predator, and she has adopted three kids from foster care. She’s worked as a death penalty investigator and brings depth and understanding to the victims of such crimes as well as the perpetrators.

The Child Finder is a chillingly good read that will stay with you long after you close the book.

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

Kate Hamer’s piercingly sad, engrossing novel is a modern fairy tale.

It’s a familiar premise: An orphan finds out that the perfectly dreadful people who raised her aren’t her biological parents and so embarks on a search to find her real ones. Per usual in such a tale, the questing orphan has something special about her. In the latest novel from the author of The Girl in the Red Coat, the orphan is a British girl named Ruby with a port wine stain on her face and a talent that truly sets her apart—she sees dead people.

Ruby finds a surrogate family in the woods: three teenage siblings, not orphaned but abandoned by their hippie parents in a great pile of a house. There’s Tom, who loves her at first sight, flame-haired Elizabeth and tetchy Crispin. One of the kids has a secret, the nature of which is such that when it’s revealed, readers may go back to the earlier chapters to look for clues. While Ruby lives with her new family, they make do, milking goats and shooting wild rabbits for supper. And bit by bit, she learns the sad tale of her Mum and Dad, who were too young when she came along and not ready for her.

In The Doll Funeral, the relations of parents and children are not only difficult but impossible. There isn’t a single parent/child relationship that works. Ruby’s horrid adoptive parents were no more ready for her than her biological parents, who had lost a child too soon before they brought her into their lives. The siblings’ parents eventually stop sending money. Even Ruby’s ghostly companion, Shadow, was once a boy abandoned and left to die. Yet despite the grief all of this entails, Hamer’s novel reminds the reader that family does not necessarily mean blood, and love and connection are possible. For a girl like Ruby, they transcend death itself.