Theo of Golden

I'm a little conflicted about being an outlier on the bandwagon of praise for the feel-good book Theo of Golden by Allen Levi. Everyone has been raving about it, including so many people I respect, and the 5-star reviews are off the charts. I do know a couple of people, like me who had a lukewarm response to all the hype, and part of me wonders what's wrong with us. I wanted very badly to enjoy this story but can't deny that my overall impression is 'meh'. Mostly bored, I plowed through with dogged determination to get to the point of it all. Sadly, once I did, I was disappointed.

A look at the reviews on Goodreads points to a philosophical divide between the lovers and haters of the novel. Haters begrudged the preachy tone; lovers were almost Evangelical in their accolades. This podcast captures the heart of the matter. 

The Great Novel That Almost Wasn't

Before I dive into my own personal critique, here are a few quotes from one-star reviews that validated my thinking:

# 1—"a slog to get through" [SLOG being the operative word.]

# 2 —". . . I found it tedious and just kept pushing through the chapters, frequently skimming the flowery, extraneous sections of which there were many." [Refer to # 1 and just keep reading, slog away, there must be a giant pay-off.]

# 3—"did NOT add up to the hype" [There was a lot of HYPE.]

Speaking of the hype and given the current political climate in the U.S., I can't help being suspect of the forces involved in getting this initially self-published book into the hands of a publisher. I wasn't necessarily offended by the preachiness of the story as some readers admitted they were. I'm a good Catholic girl who believes in the tenets of Christianity, if not so much the trappings of organized religion, and authors are allowed to have a point of view, after all. We still have freedom of expression, I think, even in Trump's America. Equally, I celebrate the free will we all enjoy to avoid reading material we find unpleasant. My real complaint about Theo revolves more around the quality of the writing and the manner in which it was hallowed after publication for its epic Christian message. I can't really defend that statement without giving too much of the ending away, but I'm going to try to explain myself from a literary standpoint. This is very subjective, I know, but bear with me.

I found the writing style pompous and dripping with vibes of old-man self-importance. Not sure this originated from the title character or the author, but no matter, it didn't resonate with me. The clumsy organization would have benefited from a good editor (as does most writing in my opinion). This is why. The entire moral-compass-reckoning of the narrative doesn't arrive until page 368 of 387! And, it unfolds completely in the form of a very l.o.n.g, syrupy letter written by a character who I won't reveal because I have no desire to spoil the ending for fans of the book.

In addition, I found the story's climax to be quite jarring and overwrought. In keeping with the religious theme, dare I say, apocalyptic? It seemed very out of place when the heretofore lumbering plot suddenly took a nosedive into a hell-scape of mayhem and violence. For me, it was akin to sitting on a porch swing sipping lemonade for a very long period of time on a lazy summer afternoon when out of the blue a fiery piece of Elon Musk's space junk punctuates the sky like a thunderbolt of damnation, leaving me shellshocked, not in a good way. 

That's the best way I can describe my reaction to Theo of Golden.

Revolutionary Mothers

Someday, hopefully by the end of 2026 as I continue working to overcome my “mother wound,” I’ll finish reading Revolutionary Mothers: Women in the Struggle for America’s Independence by Carol Berkin. The book survived the purge-fest of my bookshelves in 2024 because of its historical subject matter — just like I survived my childhood struggle for freedom from the tyranny of my mother.  

The Book of Flaco

 

In June I went by myself to an author talk at the Sturgis Library. How had I never encountered any of David Gessner's work until now when his writing style is right up my alley? Gessner is a memoirist with a connection to Cape Cod who writes about nature and environmentalism. The workshop itself was short but very worthwhile. It was structured differently than others I had previously attended, and I feel like I learned a lot listening to the author. Titcomb's was there peddling their wares, so naturally, I couldn't leave without purchasing two books. I justified The Book of Flaco because I had it inscribed by the author to gift to my owl-loving friend Elaine, whose birthday is in July. The other book I couldn’t resist was Return of the Osprey: A Season of Flight and Wonder. Gessner began his presentation with beautiful close-up videography of ospreys hunting and nesting.

My wily plan for Flaco was to “gently read” it before gifting it, the problem being, I’m a slow reader and only got about halfway (Chapter 6) before my friend’s birthday. Another problem surfaced when I remembered I can’t even think about Flaco without getting emotional. For sure, his story doesn’t have a happy ending, but Gessner’s perspective on the tale managed to fill me with inspiration.

When I started my “careful reading” on June 10, the sobbing began immediately. Working hard to ensure the tears avoided the text, I picked it up again the next day and managed to plow ahead, gaining marginal control over the weeping. Then, the book sat, waiting for an appropriate moment for me to immerse myself in more blubbering. Meantime, two other books by Gessner and one by his wife expired from my digital Kindle shelf. I managed to read to page 60 of 363 in A Traveler’s Guide to the End of the World.

This summer there is a documentary about Flaco playing at the Cape Cinema. Wild Inside follows the owl’s hero’s journey as he escapes from his enclosure at the Central Park Zoo through his winning the hearts of birders and others during his year-long period of freedom. I can’t even watch the movie trailer without dissolving into ugly-crying!

I don’t know if I’ll ever return to The Book of Flaco — I know how it ends after all — but I am grateful to have made it as far as I did into Gessner’s exploration Flaco's  connection with humankind. I will always hold a place in my heart for his story. One New Yorker who documented Flaco’s brief adventures, Ruben Giron, sums it up best.

“I believe Flaco enjoyed his freedom, and he lived it in the way that an owl will enjoy living. He used his intelligence to find places to hide, places to hunt, and he did that, and he’s a hero to me. I mean, it’s what we’re all trying to do. We’re all living our life, trying to find that place of joy in life. Some of us are in cages. Absolutely the biggest cage is our own mind, but certainly being under the precepts of society and culture, there is an entrapment that occurs. We believe that we’re supposed to be a particular way, but Flaco, he could only be Flaco, and he was enjoying that freedom.”

There’s just something about birds and freedom that never fails to tug at my heartstrings.  

The Correspondent

I waited a very long time to read The Correspondent by Virginia Evans. It has received so many rave reviews this year, and I must admit I absolutely love the idea of telling a story through letters. So much so, in fact, that I’ve often thought about doing it myself. The decades-long email trail between me and my college roommate certainly stitches together a crazy quilt of ridiculous stories — similar to how the protagonist in this novel likens her correspondence to “the links of a long chain” documenting her life experiences. 

Many of the one-star reviews for The Correspondent called it boring and forgettable, but I suspect those readers didn’t try hard enough to connect with the characters. I love a character-driven plot with strong personalities bouncing off of each other. While Sybil isn’t my favorite fictional heroine, I didn’t mind spending a short time with her as she tackles the nonsense this strange world throws at her during her twilight years. We have a lot in common, of course, and despite her abrasiveness, I also grew to appreciate some of her pithy observations. Here are a couple of examples:

“Most people tell you they want to hear the truth, but they do not, and if you tell the truth it will come back to bite you like a snake finding its own tail to swallow.”

 Isn't that the truth!

“When I was young, by writing letters I found a framework that made living easier, and that has never changed.”

That’s exactly how I feel about the writing I’ve been doing my whole life. 

This exchange between Sybil and her daughter really hit home with me, too.

“You said that you hadn’t told me about it because you don’t know how to confide in me, that I am very distant. My response to you was that you have never seemed to need me, and you said that I taught you not to need me.”

As a mother, I too struggle with the idea of wanting my children to need me while at the same time encouraging their independence.

I heard The Correspondent is being made into  a movie starring Jane Fonda, and while she wouldn’t have been my first choice to play Sybil, I’ll probably watch it. And even with Jane Fonda playing the lead, I'm sure the themes about motherhood, old age, and the written word will probably still resonate with me.

Yesteryear

It’s been a long time since I stayed up late to finish a book, but that’s what happened last night with Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke. I read it in one week which is also remarkably fast for me. Additionally, it's the first time in a long while I’ve read a hardcover book rather than a copy on my Kindle.

It all started when I downloaded a digital sample last Friday night, having had the book on hold forever. Once I finished the sample, I couldn’t wait to keep reading. This is the kind of compelling reading material I was recently talking about—a book I couldn't put down until I knew how it ended. Unfortunately, I was ultimately disappointed by the direction of the plot. 

What a shame such a relevant and engrossing premise for a story was executed in such a narrow, mean-spirited way. Transported back to the wilderness of Idaho in 1855, a trad-wife influencer is forced to endure the very chores and hardships she so glibly demonstrates on camera for her modern audience. Waking one morning after a stressful, real-life incident at her state-of-the-art Yesteryear Ranch/recording studio, Natalie Heller Mills finds herself in a situation she describes as "a bruised and beaten version of my life." The house, children, and farm are not-quite-right-right-but-similar versions of her own. It's COLD and her ragged nightclothes are irritating her skin! Her husband, Caleb, is a gruff, older clone of himself. 

I was looking forward to reading about the actual realistic trials and tribulations of domestic life in nineteenth century America. Instead Natalie's experience morphed into a hellish, overwrought drama reflective of her own narcissistic sensibilities and selfishness. 

There’s a lot of evangelical Christian-nationalist bashing happening in this book, which I'm not necessarily opposed to given today's politics. For me, it just crossed the line into a trite, oversimplified portrayal when I would have appreciated a more nuanced approach to describing the olden days. The author drives home the message about the second-class-citizen role women play in this homespun culture with the repetition of expressions like this one. "A man may work from sun to sun, but a woman's work is never done, never done, never done." While there may be a bit of truth to this, I believe contemporary women have made strides against inequality, and this privileged influencer had certainly reaped those benefits.

I've been listening to the wonderful I've Had It podcast for several months now, so I've gained a wealth of insight about the horrendous, prejudicial behavior exhibited by many white evangelical Christians living in rural America. The podcasters are two women—"blue dots" from the "red state" of Oklahoma—who do not mince words when it comes to defending the universal rights of all people including ethnic minorities, immigrants, and LGBTQ individuals. I applaud them for that. Yesteryear incorporates many of the hostile biases into the thoughts and actions of Natalie and her family members. The following diatribe ensues when Natalie's mother confronts her with the knowledge that vegetables being grown on their farm are not organic, even though Natalie insists they are to her online followers.

"My mother stared meaningfully behind me, and I turned around to see a pesticide barrel by the barn. A flare of anger whistled through me, so hot and painful I nearly gasped. Those dumb fucking immigrants . Idiot Mexicans. They never cleaned up after themselves, no matter how many times I asked."

Of course, Natalie doesn't own up to the fact that not only does her husband have help working the farm, but she employs producers and nannies to assist with her domestic projects like cooking, baking, mending, and childrearing. As the chapters alternate between real Natalie's current world and the time traveling Natalie's unpleasant circumstances, things begin to wildly unravel for our unlikeable main character.

By Chapter 33 when the Lord starts speaking to 1850's Nattie through one of her daughters, I started getting really confused and wondered how on Earth, or in what crazy crescendo of science fiction, this story would actually resolve itself.

"A shiver runs through me. Hello, Father... I feel him on this porch. I see Him in her, speaking to me."

The book's ending was an act of redemption but it left me feeling empty, like I had just eaten a gallon of ice cream and knew I would pay the consequences in the morning. All I wanted was for Natalie to get her comeuppance and develop into a self-actualized, humble version of herself. Instead, the novel broke off on a wicked path of legal, religious, sexual, and familial hellfire.

Overall, I like the author's writing style, and the story moved along at a good, if somewhat reckless, pace. I just wanted more—something deeper and more philosophical than this main character was able to provide—but it was a good reading experience that left me with a renewed conviction to check out more actual books from the library in the future.

Edited to add:

First, here’s a little taste of my new favorite podcaster, Jennifer Welch.  I Hip News

Second, guess I should have read the reviews on the back of the book jacket before I critiqued this. Here's a sampling:

From Kate Tuttle, The Boston Globe—"One of the year's most relentlessly fast-paced and satisfying novels, a sharp and witty social satire that also works as a taut thriller."

From Maddie Oatman, Mother Jones—"Bracing.... Juicy, vindictive, and loads of fun."

From Michelle Ruiz, The New York Times Book Review—"Natalie is an electric antiheroine.... Revelatory."

From Aiden Arata, Los Angeles Times—"Bitingly funny and occasionally heartbreaking.... More than a giddy, gory tale of a tradwife's comeuppance."  

   I came for historical fiction but got satire instead :)