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FictionHistorical Fiction

The Caretaker

Review by Alice Cary

When Jacob Hampton returns home wounded from the Korean War, his parents couldn’t be happier. Before his conscription, they had disinherited him for marrying a poor, uneducated hotel maid who became pregnant soon after their elopement. Now that Jacob has come home, “They believed him ready at last to be their prodigal son,” writes Ron Rash in his stellar novel, The Caretaker. Jacob, however, quickly informs them, “I’m only here for my truck.”

A PEN/Faulkner finalist and three-time recipient of the O. Henry Prize, Rash writes about the North Carolina mountains and their inhabitants with exceptional beauty and grace. In The Caretaker, he has created a Shakespearian plot so riveting that it begs to be read in one sitting. An exceptional storyteller, Rash sets up an explosive standoff between Jacob and his parents from the start, then quickly sets into motion a jaw-dropping turn of events.

Rounding out the cast are Jacob’s wife, Naomi, who yearns for her husband’s return, dreams of their future, and is desperately trying to improve her third-grade reading skills as she writes to him. She is looked after by Jacob’s best friend, Blackburn Gant, who lives in a shack on the cemetery grounds, where he works as caretaker. He finds tending to the dead easier than dealing with the living, who are often repulsed by his limp and disfigured face, a remnant of polio.

Rash’s prose is spare, yet piercingly sharp, whether writing about a gathering of men at the Hampton family country store or Jacob’s life-and-death battle with a North Korean soldier. Like Richard Russo, he’s a narrative maestro who creates entire communities, giving brief but meaningful backstories to characters big and small, including the town doctor, the girl whom Jacob’s parents want him to marry, and the man in charge of receiving and delivering telegrams.

Readers will likely find themselves galloping toward the end of this novel, but should be sure to stop to appreciate its quieter moments, such as when Naomi reflects on the often-extraordinary beauty of an entirely ordinary day: “Maybe that was the saddest thing about life, that you couldn’t understand, not really, how good something was while living inside of it. How many such moments swept past, lost forever.” The Caretaker is an unforgettable novel of class, power, war, family, yearning and betrayal. Don’t miss it.

The Caretaker is an unforgettable novel of class, power, war, family, yearning and betrayal. Don’t miss it.
NonfictionHistoryAmerican History

The Cost of Free Land

Review by Deborah Mason

Over 20 years ago, journalist Rebecca Clarren made a life-changing faux pas. While interviewing an Oglala Lakota farmer on Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, Clarren mentioned that her family had once owned a ranch in South Dakota, in a place called Jew Flats. The farmer said nothing but smiled tightly, and Clarren realized that she had somehow offended him. It would take many years for her to understand fully why the presence of her family’s ranch on Jew Flats would be a source of profound skepticism, anger and sorrow to the Lakota nation.

Clarren’s ancestors escaped persecution in czarist Russia to establish that South Dakota ranch in Jew Flats. They braved drought, loneliness and disease, and transformed the ranch into the wellspring of their good fortune. But there is a dark flip side to this Horatio Alger story: The land, far from free, was paid for in the blood and grief of the Lakota Sioux, who had initially lived there.

In The Cost of Free Land: Jews, Lakota, and an American Inheritance Clarren interweaves the story of her family with the timeline of the U.S.policy of destroying the American Indian nations. She documents in harrowing detail not only the many ways the government lied to, battled against and outright stole from the Indigenous peoples, but also how her family, and many others like them, directly benefited from these depredations. The injustices committed by the government against Native peoples are so vast and comprehensive that their reverberations are still felt—and Clarren makes a strong case that all non-Indigenous U.S. residents benefit directly or indirectly from them to this day.

If telling this history were Clarren’s sole goal, it would be worthy and timely, but this book is far more ambitious. Drawing on Jewish traditions of reconciliation, Clarren seeks to find a path for meaningful reconciliation and reparation for the harm done to Native people. Learning our history is a crucial first step, and Clarren’s helpful research resources makes this task easier. But that is only the beginning of the process, and Clarren’s present-day family provides a remarkable model for compensation, repentance and transformation that can begin to heal the wounds from our past.

Drawing on Jewish traditions of reconciliation, Rebecca Clarren seeks to find a path for meaningful reconciliation and reparation for the harm done to Native American people.
RomanceFantasy Romance

The Hurricane Wars

Review by Dolly R. Sickles

Thea Guanzon bursts onto the scene with a tale of political intrigue and ancient magic in The Hurricane Wars.

This fantasy romance opens in the middle of a war, one that’s been raging for 10 years between the Sardovian Allfold and the Night Empire. We’re introduced to orphaned soldier Talasyn, who as a Lightweaver, someone who can summon energy in the form of light, is the last hope for her people. But before she can reach a temple in a faraway land that will boost her power, she’s intercepted by Prince Alaric, heir to the Night Empire and a Shadowforge (the opposite of Talasyn’s abilities). Talasyn and Alaric should be diametrically opposed. But then, Alaric offers an uncharacteristic olive branch.

The Hurricane Wars is a beautifully written tale of freedom and oppression, of passion and apathy. Guanzon’s narrative is full of vibrant imagery—floating castles, falling boulders and streets paved with gold—and extensive world building exploring how enchanters imbue the elements with hues of emerald and sapphire. As she explains in her Author’s Note at the beginning of the book, the Filipina writer has essentially created an otherworldly version of her country, mirroring its centuries of foreign rule and volatile cyclones, volcanoes and earthquakes.

There’s a lot at stake in this enemies-to-lovers romance, and tensions run high from the first page to the last. Talysyn is the light to Alaric’s darkness, both literally and figuratively, and Guanzon leans into the elemental push and pull of their relationship. The book is lengthy and twisty to the extreme, and there are as many characters as settings to keep up with. Catching up with the action in chapter one feels like jumping onto a moving treadmill, because there are so many details to absorb before you feel up to speed.

An underdog rebel fighting against an imperial oppressor is a familiar tale. However, Guanzon’s intricately imagined world and spirited writing style mark her as an exciting new voice in the realm of fantasy romance. The Hurricane Wars is an entertaining start to a sure-to-be epic series.

The Hurricane Wars marks Thea Guanzon as an exciting new voice in the realm of fantasy romance.
FictionHistorical Fiction

The MANIAC

Review by Cat Acree

In his sublime 2021 novel, When We Cease to Understand the World, Chilean author Benjamin Labatut depicted the breakthroughs of real scientists and mathematicians as divine revelations and Greek tragedies. If When We Cease to Understand the World felt like the searing flash of a hydrogen bomb, The MANIAC is more of a measured descent into years of research and invention, with little sense of what’s to come beyond a pervasive, unnameable dread.

The novel is divided into three sections, the first of which is most similar to Labatut’s earlier work. “Paul, or The Discovery of the Irrational” tells the heartbreaking story of Jewish Austrian physicist Paul Ehrenfest’s succumbing to hopelessness amid the rise of Nazism, and his subsequent murder-suicide of himself and his son. The scene leading up to Ehrenfest’s final acts describes him moving like an automaton, a desperate machine that can do nothing but forfeit the game.

The second section is composed of a chorus of embittered, fearful and resigned voices, each sharing their impressions and memories of Hungarian genius Jancsi (Johnny) von Neumann, the inventor of game theory and a toxic proto-tech bro obsessed with finding “a mathematical basis for reality.” The final section recounts a contemporary John Henry-style battle against the machine, as Lee Sedol, a South Korean master of the game Go, faces down the artificial intelligence program AlphaGo. There is no dialogue in the novel, only quotations, and much of the narrative is told in summary—even the Go tournament is more analytical than propulsive.

Although The MANIAC is a sort of biographical fiction, its subject, artificial intelligence, is neither human nor much beyond its infancy. Labatut uses the language of parenting, birth, gods and creators, but this is no Frankenstein, and there’s no way to know what this baby will become. Von Neumann suggests that it could be our own new god, and indeed, as the lines of logic, gameplay and consciousness blur at the novel’s end, Sedol’s finale is nearly reverent.

For readers who come with curiosity and skepticism—the very mindset that has brought about our most disruptive evolutions in tech—Labatut’s book will provoke and inform, leaving us no more sure-footed in our nascent age of AI but certainly more aware.

If Benjamin Labatut’s When We Cease to Understand the World felt like the searing flash of a hydrogen bomb, The MANIAC is more of a measured descent, permeated by a pervasive, unnameable dread.
Children's & YAYA FictionYA

The Prince and the Coyote

Review by Tami Orendain

The crown prince Acolmiztli is determined to see his kingdom of Acolhuacan flourish with art, innovation, architecture and poetry. But the war between Acolhuacan and Mexico grows increasingly fierce. When a brutal attack leaves his father dead and his mother and siblings missing, Acolmiztli escapes into the wilderness and takes on a new name: Nezahualcoyotl, which means “fasting coyote.” Faced with cruel enemies, natural dangers and haunting memories, Acolmiztli must choose to either embrace a new life or find a way to reclaim his kingdom.

The Prince and the Coyote is an intense and moving epic based on the life of Nezahualcoyotl, an influential and artistic Mesoamerican leader. Weaving history and fiction together, David Bowles fashions a rich story of political intrigue, ferocious battles, beautiful landscapes and the enduring hope of humanity.

The novel dares to be detailed and unflinching in its descriptions of violence and grief, while also luxuriating in depictions of natural beauty, man-made wonders and cherished relationships. Fast-paced prose is interspersed with expressive songs written by Acolmiztli that paint vivid pictures of his emotions as he grows from an idealistic child into an experienced, wise leader. Bowles gives Acolmiztli a sharp, honest voice that’s sure to draw readers in—whether by narration or song.

Just as the Temple of Duality stands high above Acolmiztli’s hometown of Teztcoco as a symbol of the coexistence of ideas, this nuanced novel challenges binary thinking. Acolmiztli’s tutor, Izcalloh, is a xochihuah, a queer gender in Nahua culture. Acolmiztli himself comes from two hostile kingdoms: His Acolhua father and Mexica mother risked everything to be together.

As Acolmiztli undergoes different life experiences, his perspectives on leadership, faith, death, sexuality and lifestyle shift. The Prince and the Coyote asks readers to reevaluate their preconceived notions and ultimately put love and respect for all humankind first. The story of Nezahualcoyotl comes to life in this breathtaking retelling that feels both legendary and human.

Weaving history and fiction together, David Bowles fashions a rich story of political intrigue, ferocious battles, beautiful landscapes and the enduring hope of humanity.
Children's & YAMiddle GradeChildren's

The Puppets of Spelhorst

Review by Alice Cary

A new book from Kate DiCamillo always gives reason to celebrate, and her latest fairy tale is no exception. The Puppets of Spelhorst is the first of a trio of novellas called the Norendy Tales. Linked together by a common atmosphere and setting, each book is to be illustrated in black and white by a different artist. (DiCamillo first ventured into the atmosphere of this series with a bonus fairy tale called “The Tapestry at Norendy” included in the 20th anniversary edition of The Tale of Despereaux.)

The Puppets of Spelhorst salutes the power of storytelling through a tale of five puppets—a king, a wolf, an owl, a boy and a girl—who are passed from person to person, before finally coming to life in a play through the hands of two young girls and a maid. The book opens with a lonely old sea captain named Spelhorst buying a box of puppets because the girl puppet reminds him of his long-lost love, Annalise. As the puppets wait “to be part of a story,” their distinct personalities and desires emerge, accompanied by DiCamillo’s trademark dashes of humor. For instance, the wolf puppet is obsessed with his sharp teeth, while the owl puppet says wise things and dreams of flying. But as the girl puppet tells everyone, “We are all here in the dark together. How will it help us to fight with one another?”

The Puppets of Spelhorst’s short chapters of simple yet often profound prose beg to be read aloud. This exciting, fast-paced story contains several pointed touches of female empowerment as well as a glorious surprise ending that is revealed in a full-page spread. Julie Morstad’s illustrations do an excellent job of setting an old-fashioned, fairy-tale mood while achieving a delicate feat: making these puppets look both inanimate yet lively. Morstad’s art contributes to both this tale’s momentum and meaning—such as when the wolf puppet is carried away by a fox, or when Spelhorst gazes regretfully at the girl puppet.

As the girl puppet concludes, “Stories without end—watching them unfold, being a part of their unfolding—what a blessing that would be.” Such a sentiment might be applied to the experience of reading DiCamillo’s books. With all the makings of a classic fairy tale, The Puppets of Spelhorst skillfully addresses many of DiCamillo’s favorite themes: the power of love and togetherness; the many unexpected wonders of the world; the importance of following one’s dreams; and the majesty of stories and storytelling.

With all the makings of a classic fairy tale, The Puppets of Spelhorst skillfully salutes the power of storytelling through a tale of five puppets.
NonfictionMemoirGraphic Memoirs

The Talk

Review by Emily Koch

Like many little boys, Darrin Bell wanted a water gun when he was 6 years old. Unlike the white boys in his neighborhood with slick black water guns, he received a bright green one, accompanied by “The Talk” from his mom. She explained that “the world is… different for you and your brother. White people won’t see you or treat you the way they do little white boys.” It’s The Talk that parents of Black children are all too familiar with in America.

Bell is a Pulitzer Prize winner known for his editorial cartoons and for being the first Black cartoonist to have his comic strips, Candorville and Ruby Park, nationally syndicated. The Talk, Bell’s striking debut graphic memoir, utilizes wit and emotional openness to chronicle the ways in which racism has shaped his life, from a police officer terrorizing a young Bell over his green water gun to protests in 2020 over the murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor.

Most of the book is illustrated in shades of blue, with flashbacks that come on suddenly and disjointedly—like real memories do—in yellows reminiscent of sepia photographs. Flashes of red are often used during intense moments, and one particularly philosophical page uses a purple that only appears again during the climax. Hyperrealistic pop culture items placed throughout both unsettle the illustrations and ground the reader within the timeline of Bell’s life, from the early 1980s until present day. At the end, Bell even includes some of his most iconic editorial cartoons.

This book is heavy, both emotionally and physically. The size allows Bell to use graphic conventions unlike those he’s usually confined to in a four-panel newspaper comic strip, frequently doing full-page illustrations or removing the panels all together. But during several important conversations, including The Talk between Darrin and his mother, as well as The Talk he has with his own son, Bell returns to an even grid of panels that hearken back to his old format and emphasize how important each moment is.

The deeply honest conversation Bell is able to have with his son is especially compelling when presented in contrast with a much more limited conversation about racism he had with his father, shown through a flashback. Witnessing their generational growth filled me both with empathy for Bell’s father and with hope for what Bell’s radical truth-telling can bring.

Darrin Bell’s striking debut graphic memoir utilizes wit and emotional openness to chronicle the ways in which racism has shaped his life, from a police officer terrorizing a young Bell over a green water gun to protests in 2020 over the murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor.
FictionFamily Saga

The Unsettled

Review by Destiny O. Birdsong

Ayana Mathis’ outstanding sophomore novel, The Unsettled, separately follows a mother and daughter, Dutchess and Ava Carson, in the mid-1980s as they fight to build lives with a sense of stability, family and home.

Dutchess, a former nightclub performer who found a husband and a hearth in Bonaparte, Alabama, is struggling to save her adopted historically Black town. Racist violence has already claimed her husband, Caro, who was murdered by local whites decades earlier. Now, gentrification and a mysterious new visitor threaten to rob Dutchess of what she believes is her lone legacy: the land on which she has lived for 40 years.

Meanwhile, her daughter Ava embarks on a different quest: In the wake of Caro’s death and Dutchess’ near self-destruction, Ava wanders to Philadelphia, where, after a failed marriage and a stay in a squalid women’s shelter, she finds herself once again in the arms—and under the influence—of Cassius Wright, a charismatic former Black Panther and the father of her son, Toussaint. Along with a handful of other acolytes, Ava and Cass create Ark, a haven for Black people in search of economic and political freedom. But Ark soon becomes a house of horrors as Cass becomes increasingly tyrannical.

For both Dutchess and Ava, the stakes of making and keeping a home are high, and their willingness to go great lengths to achieve their dreams often causes unspeakable pain for the people who love them most. Their greatest hopes for redemption might lie in Toussaint, who is his mother’s secret and could ultimately be his grandmother’s salvation.

For readers who loved Mathis’ blockbuster debut The Twelve Tribes of Hattie, The Unsettled is another tale of a dynamic family and the aftereffects of intergenerational racist violence, but these new characters have voices and stories all their own. In short but perfectly paced chapters, Toussaint, Ava and Dutchess tell of not only their disappointment and despair but also their dreams, crafting a heartbreaking tale about Reagan’s America that deftly weaves the past and present into the possibility of a bright, if still-unfolding, future.

Read our interview with Ayana Mathis on The Unsettled.

In The Unsettled’s short but perfectly paced chapters, Toussaint, Ava and Dutchess tell of not only their disappointment and despair but also their dreams, crafting a heartbreaking tale about Reagan’s America that deftly weaves the past and present into the possibility of a bright, if still-unfolding, future.
Children's & YAPicture BookChildren's

The Voice in the Hollow

Review by Jill Lorenzini

Devoted reader Hubert never imagined his trip to the library would lead to a real-life adventure. But when his reading time is cut short by a snowstorm, Hubert has no choice but to head out alone into the cold. After Hubert meets a kind friend, he’s not alone anymore . . . but there may be more than one voice in this hollow.

The Voice in the Hollow is both charming, mysterious and a tiny bit chilling—perfect for reading while a snowstorm blows outside. Seasoned author-illustrator Will Hillenbrand sets the tone with a pencil-drawn gatefold map of Hubert’s path, invoking other famous literary maps such as A.A. Milne’s comfortable, homey world or Tolkien’s fraught lands. It’s worth putting your nose a few inches from the page: The details—shipwrecks and lake monsters—are anachronistically delightful.

Hillenbrand keeps his narration concise and unembellished, telling us everything we need to know while letting his evocative and expansive art expound upon the rest. Hubert is instantly endearing; his love of books and sweet face is all we need to be pulled into his tale. And readers will want to pause a moment to appreciate the charm and humor of the “branch library,” with its books twirling enticingly from the tree’s limbs.

Once we get beyond the safety of the library, Hillenbrand’s art explodes. Blustery, blowing snow fills the pages with so much movement that readers will get the shivers watching little Hubert set off, head bent into the wind and clutching his book. The scenery is vast with rolling hills and towering trees. It would be easy for tiny Hubert’s imagination to get the best of him as he travels. Indeed, outlines of creatures appear in the landscape; some asleep, some mildly observant, others less benign. As picture books traditionally go, we know this will end well, but it’s an enjoyable, slightly anxious run to the finish.

While it’s easy to get swept away in the immense landscape and storm, take time to notice the captivating details on every page, such as Hubert’s tiny footprints in the snow or a streetlamp glowing warmly through the flurries. Hillenbrand’s illustration elevates this bedtime story into a work of art for all ages. Adults will also appreciate the moments of wry humor in the narration.

The Voice in the Hollow rings true with its depiction of being stranded during a snowstorm: feelings of uncertainty, peril . . . followed by the warmth and safety of finally returning home with a good story to share.

The Voice in the Hollow is both charming, mysterious and a tiny bit chilling—perfect for reading while a snowstorm blows outside.
NonfictionMemoirHumor

The Witching Year

Review by Susannah Felts

At a pivotal time in her life—the COVID-19 skies are clearing, her writing career is taking off and her longtime partner is making noise about moving back to his beloved Pacific Northwest—Diana Helmuth embarks on a year spent learning to craft spells, perform rituals, celebrate neo-pagan sabbats and commune with ancestors and goddesses. “I’m a skeptic at heart,” she confesses in The Witching Year: A Memoir of Earnest Fumbling Through Modern Witchcraft. “I’m sure I’d be a great atheist, if I didn’t find atheism about as comforting as a blanket of upturned tacks.” But the thing is, she writes, “I am also really tired of God being dead.”

In that, Helmuth is likely in good company with other millennials who have watched the rug get pulled out from under them too many times and would like to feel safe, secure and empowered, thank you very much. Her account is funny, sympathetic and seemingly right on time. As she points out, many of us are seeking spiritual guidance in a time of climate change, social unrest and general uncertainty. A sturdy belief system might seem like a very liberating thing.

Her story is buttressed by rigorous inquiry; she consults all the literature she can find on Wicca, brujeria and pretty much anything that will give her a handle on the fascinating, if tangled, history behind modern witchcraft. While it doesn’t take long at all for Helmuth to have intense spiritual experiences and find herself on a path to greater self-knowledge, she remains ready with questions, always interrogating what she’s told and observed alongside what she thinks and feels. Along the way, she never stops making us laugh. If you’re witchcraft-curious in the least, do not miss this delightful, thoughtful book.

Diana Helmuth brings both skepticism and curiosity to her 12-month exploration of witchcraft in this rigorous, deeply entertaining book.
FictionFamily Drama

The Wren, the Wren

Review by Michael Magras

Birds are a lot like life: glorious to behold but gone far too quickly. But unlike the act of bird watching, the glorious aspects of life are counterbalanced by complications—paramount among them, the challenges of relationships. That’s the dynamic Anne Enright explores in her achingly beautiful new novel.

The Wren, the Wren is set in Ireland, and its key relationships are between a mother, her daughter and the daughter’s absent grandfather. Under other circumstances, Phil McDaragh might be a grandfather worth bragging about. He’s justly celebrated for his love poems, which Enright includes throughout the novel. But Nell never knew him because he walked out on his family when his wife—Nell’s grandmother—developed breast cancer.

Enright toggles between the perspectives of Nell and her mother, Carmel. At 22, Nell is just out of college and is “poking my snout and whiskers into the fresh adult air.” She gets a job writing content for an agency and begins a relationship with Felim, whose “party trick is to pick people up by the head,” a habit less distressing than Nell’s suspicion he’s still seeing a previous girlfriend.

For Carmel, the specter of Phil’s departure lingers both in her nurturing side and in a cautiousness toward men. In one of the novel’s many marvelous character depictions, Carmel remembers Phil wearing tweed jackets with pockets “dragged out of shape by little books and cigarette packs” and how the “chewed plastic of his glasses stuck out over one ear.” He was the type of man who would break a chair in frustration when he couldn’t find his watch. When Nell was born, Carmel “did not give [her] to any man…. Because this was her baby, and hers alone.”

In lesser hands, The Wren, the Wren might have been unbearably downbeat. But Enright’s exquisite prose and sympathy toward her characters make it a rewarding experience. Late in the book, a character says, “You think you can walk away, but you really can’t walk away, because, guess what? There isn’t anywhere else to go.” That’s another distinction between humans and birds, as Enright elegantly points out: Both species have their challenges, but when times get tough, it’s easier for birds to rise above it all.

Anne Enright’s exquisite prose and sympathy toward her characters make The Wren, the Wren a rewarding exploration of how the glories of life are counterbalanced by complications.
NonfictionSelf-Help

Think Faster, Talk Smarter

Review by Becky Libourel Diamond

Red face. Sweaty palms. Shaky voice. We’ve all likely experienced at least one of these symptoms when having to give a spur-of-the-moment answer or speech. Luckily, Matt Abrahams (Stanford lecturer, coach and host of the popular “Think Fast, Talk Smart The Podcast”), has a six-step method to help us become “more comfortable and confident in the moment” regardless of “how affable, sociable, and facile with words we perceive ourselves to be.” In Think Faster, Talk Smarter: How to Speak Successfully When You’re Put on the Spot, he provides suggestions, exercises and techniques on how to become a better speaker.

The first part of the book covers the six initial steps and the second part explains how to talk smarter in specific situations. Throughout, there are prompts to Try It (attempt specific techniques), Drill It (practice key techniques in more depth) and Use It (integrate these techniques into our daily lives). Along the way, Abrahams gives many examples of spontaneous real-life scenarios, such as when a moderator asks to add 15 minutes of informal question and answer after a formal presentation. He also offers tangible advice and coping tools such as creating an Anxiety Management Plan (AMP) and suggestions on how and when to use it. Tips and tricks for a variety of situations such as “daring to be dull” by “giving ourselves permission to do what needs to be done” are also highlighted. And a user-friendly chart summarizing various techniques to help manage impromptu speaking anxiety makes these methods easy to incorporate into one’s life.

Commentary from authorities such as researchers, psychologists, professors and improvisation experts gives perspective and credence to Abrahams’ methodology. And he isn’t afraid to relay his own experiences and problem-solving techniques, highlighting the benefits of learning from mistakes or what he calls “missed takes,” which can serve to focus efforts and empower us. Think Faster, Talk Smarter provides affirmation that there is no right or wrong way to communicate, instead focusing on the importance of practice and preparation, stressing that “all of us can become strong speakers in the moment if we put in the time.”

Professor and “Think Fast, Talk Smart” podcast host Matt Abrahams provides suggestions, exercises and techniques on how to become a better speaker.
NonfictionGraphic MemoirsFamily & Relationships

This Country

Review by Nicole Brinkley

In 2016, New Yorker cartoonist Navied Mahdavian and his wife needed a change, so they packed up their lives and fled—with their dog—from San Francisco to a cabin in rural Idaho. Despite not knowing what wood best keeps houses warm in frigid winters or how to stop a car from freezing during snowstorms, Mahdavian couldn’t help but want his version of the millennial American dream: living off the land in a house you own while building a career as an artist.

Most of Mahdavian’s debut graphic memoir This Country: Searching for Home in (Very) Rural America takes place on the six acres around his family’s cabin. There, Mahdavian wanders with his dog, tends to the garden and learns the history of the land—both the stories maintained by his white neighbors and the deeper Indigenous history. Mahdavian’s minimalist illustrations convey how large and rural Idaho can be, and they make it hard not to fall in love with that sort of hopeful landscape. Swaths of blank pages are populated by only the horizon and the plants and animals Mahdavian loves. If Idaho were simply gooseberries and black-billed magpies, it would be impossible to leave.

As Mahdavian settles into his cabin and tries to revel in the slow day to day of his life, he begins to fall in love with the natural world around him, even as his gun-toting neighbors remind him that people like Mahdavian—who is Iranian American—are considered outsiders. Beneath the big blue sky, Mahdavian struggles with their small-minded thinking and wonders if this place he loves can become home–and what choosing to make this place home really means.

It’s the surrounding people that leave Mahdavian feeling disconnected from the land whose history he seeks to understand. Mahdavian’s candid anecdotes showcase neighbors who welcome him and help during crises—even while slinging racial slurs and perpetuating stereotypes. Despite the serious and occasionally threatening nature of these exchanges, Mahdavian’s humor and thoughtfulness honors the kindness contained in these strange relationships while refusing to gloss over the harm that such insular thinking can cause.

Both poetic and personal, This Country meditates beautifully on what it means to create a home in the pockets of America where not everybody is wanted, due to their race or other aspects of identity. This Country is a must for fans of graphic memoirs like Kate Beaton’s Ducks: Two Years in the Oil Sands, and it’s not one to miss for anybody interested in insightful explorations of America’s heartland.

Both poetic and personal, This Country meditates beautifully on what it means to create a home in the pockets of America where not everybody is wanted, due to their race or other aspects of identity.

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