Daughter of Sparta by Claire M. Andrews

I don’t read nearly as much YA as I used to, but this book – a reimagining of the myth of Daphne and Apollo – is right up my alley, and would have been a big hit with teenage me too. In Andrews’ story, Daphne is a warrior of Sparta, trapped by Artemis into retrieving certain items that have been stolen from Olympus and need to be returned, otherwise the gods’ powers will fade and disappear entirely. Apollo accompanies Daphne on her quest, of course, and I’m curious to see what parts of the original myth (where Daphne is turned into a tree in order to escape the amorous advances of Apollo) Andrews keeps and how she manipulates them. I’m only a few chapters in and I’m finding the writing a bit clunky so far, but it’s plenty exciting and has a great hook.

 

Nefertiti by Nick Drake

The premise of this historical mystery for adults is that the great queen of ancient Egypt, Nefertiti, has disappeared, and her husband, the pharaoh Akhenaten, has commanded a detective named Rahotep to find out what has happened to her. It’s based on what was once thought to be a real event: Nefertiti, queen of the pharaoh Akhenaten – credited as the first known monotheist in history – died or disappeared during the 12th year of her husband’s reign. Prior to 2012, Egyptologists were unable to find any reference to her after this time, leading them to conclude that something had happened to her. In 2012, however, after the publication of Drake’s book, an inscription referring to Nefertiti as present alongside her husband was found from the 16th year of Akhenaten’s reign, ruling out this idea. Still, it’s a good jumping-off point for a story, and I’m enjoying Drake’s historical details. This is a much more immersive ancient Egyptian historical fiction than Agatha Christie’s take, though the characters come across as a bit stiff, and so far I’m not fully invested in them as a result.

 

Girl, 11 by Amy Suiter Clarke

I read a ton of mysteries and thrillers, which can include some pretty gruesome plot points, but I’ve never gotten behind the true crime trend. I like my murders fictional, preferably with justice visited upon the perpetrator at the end. When the crimes are real, they stop being entertainment. So this novel is an interesting pick for me: a true crime podcaster who specializes in cold cases gets wrapped up in an active case, one where it seems like the current subject of her podcast – a serial killer whom most believe is dead, but was never caught – is the culprit. The mystery is compelling, though hard to read: the serial killer abducted young women and girls, poisoned them over days, physically abused them, then murdered them and left them to be found by the public.

Despite the well-written story and audio production (there are excerpts of the podcast, which include ringing phones, background noise during public meetings in restaurants, and so on), my main feeling as I read this book is of annoyance: I’m annoyed by the main character’s insistence that she be taken seriously as an investigator because of her podcast. Furthermore, I’m annoyed by her insistence that her podcast is a way to close cold cases instead of just stoke the lurid imaginations of thousands of internet strangers, particularly when it concerns a serial killer who murders children. If you like true crime, to each their own, but let’s be honest about why you’re creating or listening to this podcast: it’s entertainment, not a public service. The current fascination with real-life murders and serial killers is really distasteful to me, and the idea of a podcaster as an amateur sleuth rubs me the wrong way. I recognize this is a bias of mine and at least partially undeserved, but there it is.

In this last quarter of 2020, I’ve been starting a lot of books and making very slow progress with them. In addition to the two I’m still working on from my last post, I’ve started two more. I used to be the kind of reader who had half a dozen or more books going at once, and I’m finding that’s what I need to help pull me out this mild reading funk I’ve been in for the past couple of months. With four books in progress, I have a variety to choose from based on my mood, and it doesn’t feel as daunting as starting a book from the beginning.

 

Elantris by Brandon Sanderson

My husband is a big fan of Brandon Sanderson’s books, and I read the Mistborn trilogy when he recommended it to me. (Sidenote for those of you wanting to impress a reader: actually read the books they recommend to you. It is very attractive.) I was in the mood for a good standalone epic fantasy that didn’t require a huge investment of time, and since I enjoyed Mistborn, Elantris – Sanderson’s first published book – seemed like a good pick. I’m about a quarter of the way through and enjoying it a lot so far. Sanderson does a really good job in this book of establishing his three main characters’ voices and personalities right away (unlike Mistborn, where I felt that it took at least one full book before I really got to know Vin or Kelsier). The plot – about a city of godlike beings who have “fallen” due to a disease that rots their bodies and minds but will never kill them – feels like classic fantasy without being a retread of only old tropes.

 

A Life on Our Planet by Richard Attenborough

I watched the Netflix documentary that serves as a companion to this book a few months ago and was very moved by it. Only partially an autobiography, Attenborough calls this his “witness statement and a vision for the future.” He writes about the dramatic loss of biodiversity on our planet as observed over the course of his long life, and then looks to the future, to the points of no return and what our continued unwillingness to make big changes will mean for the future of humanity and the rest of life on Earth. It’s a devastating account, but it also presents solutions: a path forward. All is not yet lost. Attenborough narrates the audiobook, and I find his voice (particularly now when he’s in his 90s) very soothing, even when he’s talking about calamities.

This year has been hard for pretty much everyone, but for the first time in a long time, I feel like the end is in sight. We just have to hang on a little while longer. In the midst of this challenging and sad time, though, I found a bright spot – a supernova really – of happiness: my partner and I got married. The necessary restrictions were actually pretty great for us, since I’m not one to spend a lot of money on a single day, nor do I enjoy many of the trappings of a traditional wedding ceremony. So we got married by a judge in our home (masks included), and we zoomed the 30 second ceremony to our families. (The brevity also helped ensure the safety of the judge, who was in our home for probably less than 5 minutes.) Here’s a screenshot of us showing off the marriage license to our families:

 

I’ve been thinking a lot about something the writer Connie Schultz wrote recently: future joy often exceeds our imaginations. I feel fortunate to be a generally happy person with a lot of dreams fulfilled: a rewarding career, friends I love, a close family, a comfortable life that allows me to see the world. But then there are the dreams I didn’t think were possible until they happened. Sometimes, future joy exceeds our imaginations. Nothing has made that clearer to me than this man and the joyous life we share.

And now for the books!

In my third quarter roundup, I wrote a bit about how my reading had really taken a hit this year (as you can also see from my blogging, which I’ve only done intermittently the past few months). I’ve read even less since then, finishing about a book a month (if that). I like the idea of curling up with a good book more than the actual act lately; I usually end up watching the Great British Bake Off instead of opening the book I deliberately brought with me to the living room to read.

That said, I do have a couple that I’m working on.

The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined by Steven Pinker

This is a long book, particularly for someone like me whose reading diet has consisted mainly of children’s and teen books the past few years. It’s 800 pages with small type, and I’ve only made it about 50 pages so far. But those 50 pages have been fascinating. The basic premise of Pinker’s argument is that humans, on the whole, are remarkably less violent than we were millennia, centuries, and even decades ago, and that this trend will likely continue. In the first section of the book, he does a quick rundown of the history of human violence, beginning with what we know of prehistory, continuing through the eras of the Old and New Testaments, and well beyond, until at least the 1950s. The purpose is to show that despite the violence we are all aware of in our current world, it’s actually much less severe and widespread compared to human violence in the past, even the recent past. Knowing how violent humans still are, that makes the recitation of the violent acts – both individual and collective – in our past particularly hard to stomach at times, but interesting nonetheless.

 

Guardian of the Horizon by Elizabeth Peters

This is the 16th book in the Amelia Peabody series, and the first one that jumps back in time and tells a “missing” story from between two earlier books. I’m finally into the part of the series that I’ve never read before, either in print or on audio, and it’s been fun to see where the Emerson family went after I stopped reading years ago. This particular story takes the Emersons back to the desert oasis where they first found Nefret. It’s a fun adventure that deviates from the standard mysteries of most of the other installments, and I appreciated the change; it’s kept the series from feeling stale.

The second quarter of 2020 ended yesterday. I read a total of 23 books in the past three months, bringing my total for the year to 41 (I accidentally left two titles off my First Quarter list – oops). I set a goal to read 100 books every year, and while my reading has picked up slightly due to the pandemic, it hasn’t really taken off like I thought it might.

A big portion of my reading this quarter has been occupied with a third re-read of the Amelia Peabody mystery series by Elizabeth Peters (which I have always read on audio, never in print). It’s been five years since I last read it, and I’m experiencing it pretty differently this time. Aside from this favorite series, my reading this quarter consisted of a few YA mysteries, a few adult thrillers, a few graphic novels, and one popular science book.

 

The Sun Down Motel by Simone St. James

I went through a period early in the quarter when I wanted to read some recent popular adult fiction, preferably mysteries, and this was available on audio from the library. It’s about a young woman who goes to the town where her aunt disappeared decades ago in order to solve the mystery of her disappearance. It’s a solid mystery, though there are some supernatural elements, which is not usually my cup of tea for a mystery. I tend to prefer mysteries that rely only on what’s real for all the answers.

 

Big Lies in a Small Town by Diane Chamberlain

This is not my normal fare at all, but I enjoyed it a lot. I had actually been searching for another mystery, similar to The Sun Down Motel, and came across this one marked as such. While there is a mystery to it, I wouldn’t categorize it as a traditional whodunnit. It’s more like what is traditionally called literary “women’s fiction,” and it uses the split time period trope that I often encounter in that type of story.

Half of the story is told from the point of view of Morgan in the present day, a talented artist who has been granted early release from prison (for a crime she maintains she did not commit) in order to restore an old mural painted in 1940 for a post office in North Carolina. The other half is told from the point of view of the artist, Anna Dale, in 1940. The central plot revolves around what happened to Anna, who disappeared without quite finishing the mural. As Morgan restores the painting, she grows closer to uncovering the town’s secrets. I enjoyed reading about North Carolina in both time periods; it’s where I went to college and it’s fun to recognize some of the landmarks and the culture. Chamberlain is also just a talented writer who breathes life into both of her protagonists, and she surrounds these sympathetic characters with an interesting, well-paced story.

 

I Killed Zoe Spanos by Kit Frick

This is a modern take on Rebecca, which I’ve actually never read. I enjoyed it nonetheless, though I do feel I would have gotten more out of it had I been able to compare it to the inspiration. Still, it’s a solid YA mystery with a creepy setting, a smart protagonist, and several surprises.

 

The Vanishing Deep by Astrid Scholte

I enjoyed this YA fantasy about a flooded world and the island that has the ability to bring loved ones back to life – but only for 24 hours – despite its completely ludicrous plot. Read my full review here.

 

The Silent Sister by Diane Chamberlain

I enjoyed Big Lies in a Small Town so much that I sought out others by Chamberlain. This one is about a woman named Riley who, after her father dies, begins to investigate what really happened when her sister Lisa died by suicide 20 years ago. It’s less of a mystery than Big Lies in a Small Town, though it has its share of surprises. Chamberlain excels at creating living, breathing characters who make bad (but believable) choices, and I appreciate that her endings – at least of the books I’ve read so far – provide closure and catharsis.

 

What I Want You to See by Catherine Linka

Linka’s book is a sort-of mystery, sort-of coming of age story about Sabine, a freshman at the prestigious CALINVA art school in California. On full merit-based scholarship after being homeless for a time (her mother’s employer kicked Sabine out of her home where they had been living after her mother died), Sabine is terrified that she’ll be kicked out if she doesn’t do enough to impress Colin Krell, the tyrannical teacher who seems to have it out for her. His one bit of good advice is to study a master’s painting by “translating” (i.e. copying) it. When the opportunity arises for Sabine to translate Krell’s current masterpiece – without him knowing, of course – she takes it. But everything is not as it seems. While the mystery concerning Krell’s painting and Sabine’s translation of it is less than surprising, Sabine’s journey is engaging, and the lack of a perfectly happy ending almost made my heart break for her. Read my full review here.

 

Necessary Lies by Diane Chamberlain

While I enjoyed this book the least of Chamberlain’s books, it’s the one that I’ve thought the most about since finishing it. This one is fully historical, with the entirety of the book’s events (except for small bits at the beginning and end) taking place in rural Grace County, North Carolina in the 1960s. It splits points of view between Jane, a young social worker, and Ivy, the teenager whose family is assigned to Jane. The main focus of the story is on North Carolina’s eugenics program, which was broader (operating outside of institutions) and longer-lasting (well into the 60s) than any other state’s program. Jane is a naive, inexperienced social worker fresh out of college (where there really isn’t a program for women in social work at this time), and when her supervisor is injured, she’s given a full caseload, which includes Ivy’s poverty-stricken family. Jane finds herself pressured by the other social workers to sterilize Ivy, whose older sister has already been sterilized. Lying about the procedure – telling the patient they’re merely getting their appendix removed, for example, as Ivy’s sister was told – is normal. Fourteen year old Ivy, meanwhile, whose parents are both dead and whose family is employed by a landowner to work his farm, tries to care for her sister (who is mentally disabled), her sister’s baby, and her grandmother. The resources provided by the social workers are essential to their lives.

What I found most riveting were the details about the eugenics program itself, of which I knew very little (mainly just that the United States had them). Reasons for sterilization included mental disability, mental illness, and epilepsy, though in reality generational poverty was often the real reason. Characters often tell Jane that such people deserve to be sterilized, even without their knowledge, because they’re drains on the public. Sometimes sterilization was welcomed, though, as is the case with a supporting character who did not have the ability to keep herself from becoming pregnant but did not want any more children. The program was fascinating – and horrible – to read about. The story, unfortunately, was predictable, so I found it often frustrating to read (why can’t the characters see where this is going like I can?). You, too, could likely sketch out what happens to Ivy and what Jane eventually does about it. Still, it was a worthwhile read and one I’ve recommended to others.

 

The End of October by Lawrence Wright

I found Wright’s novel about a flu pandemic – which eerily mimics much of what we’re experiencing now – riveting, and I talked about it endlessly with friends and family, but I can’t say it was actually a good book. Read my full review here.

 

The Phantom Twin by Lisa Brown

The graphic novels I’ve read this year haven’t really wowed me. This YA one was cute enough, about a conjoined twin whose sister convinces her to have experimental surgery to separate them and dies. From then on, the surviving twin sees her sister as a ghost. The setting is a turn of the century sideshow, where Isabel and her sister Jane were employed. Now that Jane is dead, Isabel must find a new kind of life. I enjoyed the story, but didn’t find it that special.

 

The Pathfinders Society: The Mystery of the Moon Tower by Francesco Sedita, Prescott Seraydarian, and Steve Hamaker

This is another cute graphic novel – for middle grade readers this time – about a group of kids who join the Pathfinders Society and set out to find a treasure. It’s almost too fast-paced, with not much time given to character development or even development of the clues, but kids who enjoy treasure hunts will likely enjoy this.

 

Gotham High by Melissa de la Cruz and Thomas Pitilli

Bruce Wayne, 16, is kicked out of boarding school and returns to Gotham City. There he finds himself caught up in a kidnapping, and future friends/nemeses Selina Kyle and Jack Napier are involved. The plot was a bit more convoluted than I expected and at times hard to follow, but mostly I just didn’t care enough about the characters. Perhaps this is better for more die-hard Batman fans than me.

 

The Kinder Poison by Natalie Mae

I enjoyed this exciting high fantasy, full of magic, competition, betrayal, and some unique world-building, but took issue with its central premise of kindness as king. Read my full review here.

 

And It Was Good and It’s a Miracle! by H. Claire Taylor

These are books 2 and 3 of a self-published humor series by an author who lives here in Austin. The premise is that in small-town present-day Texas, God begets a daughter named Jessica. The series follows her from a small child into adulthood, and books 2 and 3 focus on her life as a teenager in high school (though the whole series is geared toward adults, not kids or teens). The books are very funny: God will often pop into Jessica’s head with a funny revelation (“Don’t tell anyone, but I wasn’t really paying attention when I created Australia”), or to clarify a translation error in the Bible (“It was supposed to be Powerful and all that, not All-Powerful), and when he wants to use strong language, he says “Oh Me!” In book 2, Jessica is tasked with finding her own special miracle that she can perform, and it turns out to be as football Kicker (naturally). Taylor also skewers Southern/Texan evangelicalism pretty handily; for those of us who grew up with or around evangelical Christian Texans, much of the observations ring very, very true. The first book is by far the funniest (so far), but there are 6 in the series and I look forward to reading them all.

 

Bad Science by Ben Goldacre

Ben Goldacre is a British physician and science writer who wrote a column called Bad Science in The Guardian from 2003-2011. Published in 2008, his book Bad Science covers many of the topics he wrote about for the paper, all focusing on bad medical science in some fashion. He discusses homeopathy, skewers modern “nutritionists,” teaches readers how to determine if a study is a good one or a bad one, and covers the anti-vaccination scare as it occurred in the UK (lucky us, the discredited former doctor who started it all now lives in Austin). He also delves deeply into the placebo effect, which was the most fascinating chapter for me and which I regaled my friends with at a recent picnic for many minutes. (Did you know that the placebo effect works better with two pills than one, and even better with an injection than a pill?) This is exactly the kind of nonfiction I love reading.

 

The Amelia Peabody mystery series, Books 1-8

I first listened to these (and I’ve always read them that way, as audiobooks) as a kid, when my family would check out kid-friendly audiobooks (both for kids and for adults) for our long road trips during the summer. I was fascinated by the concept of Egyptology as a kid, and I loved Amelia’s sassy narration, the love between her and her husband Emerson, and especially the intrigue of their teenage children and wards (we started listening in the middle, when Ramses was 16).

I listened to them properly, this time from the beginning, in grad school, and then again five years ago. I began to pick up on more of Amelia’s faults during these re-reads (she’s wrong quite frequently!). Of course, these faults are apparent and part of the fun for mature adult readers, but they went completely over my head as a kid. But it’s only this third reading where I’ve really noticed the glaring faults in the books themselves. While Amelia values and respects the Egyptians as a people, including their culture and religion (she is cognizant of the fact that the British don’t treat their women any better, for example), imperialist ways of thinking – British superiority, in general – always seeps through. Amelia is not as open or fair-minded as she thinks, though she certainly outpaces many of her peers. In fact, the whole concept of the books is a problem (British colonizers digging up Egyptians’ ancestors and regulating what Egyptians can and cannot do with their own country and possessions), and this fact goes completely unrecognized and unmentioned.

Aside from these glaring issues, I also noticed the rather alarming amount of fatphobia that Amelia spews. It’s lessened somewhat in later volumes, but for the most part, fat characters are portrayed as ridiculous, stupid, lazy, and sometimes villainous. Emerson, too, is not as charming as he once was to me, with all of his shouting and half-insults, then maintaining he is a calm, reserved person (and again, the disconnect between what he thinks about himself and what he is is part of the humor, but it’s just not as funny this time around). I’ve even noticed some flaws in the narration, performed wonderfully by Barbara Rosenblat, whose English accent was flawless to me as a child but whose American roots are apparent to me now.

I’m still enjoying the books quite a lot, and I intend to finish the series (I’ve always stopped somewhere in the middle before this for one reason or another), but my nostalgic love for them has been tempered by these realizations.