The Things We Never Say

The Things We Never Say by Elizabeth Strout fell flat for me. The folksy writing style moved the plot along—I read the book in ten days—but the story didn’t go deep enough. Everything felt surface-level, like the author was throwing out a dusting of flour without ever getting into the hard work of kneading the dough. I wanted to understand and empathize with the main character, Artie Dam, but I was baffled by his choice to remain surrounded by the other characters in his life who resembled cardboard cutouts. Even the not-so-subtle references to the Trump presidency are weak. The cardboard characters don’t have much of substance to say about the state of American politics other than just murmurings of displeasure.

It brings to mind the Henry David Thoreau quote about “most men leading lives of quiet desperation.” I love that quote but that doesn’t mean I want to read books about those men. Also, Thoreau’s words cut right to the quick, whereas this is the meandering way Strout executes what I think is a similar concept.

“So blind we humans are—so blind. To each other and to ourselves, moving through life as though through shadows, putting out a hand in the dark and thinking we have touched someone. And maybe we have, as Artie did with Rhonda Lazarre that day. But mostly we travel through life unsighted, grasping only the smallest details of one another’s selves, including our own. Thinking all the while that we can see.”

I’ve tried to describe my feelings about Strout’s work before, and this time I think I finally got the message: Don't read any more of her novels, no matter how much acclaim they receive. I’ll end with one more example of what exasperates me about her writing style and why it's not for me. This next excerpt is essentially a giant run-on sentence that ultimately says very little.

“She had asked Evie once if she could come over, and Evie had said yes, and then Anne showed up regularly, just sitting quietly with Artie, and she and Artie began to talk with each other.”

It leaves me feeling hollow when I want to be deeply touched.

The Penelopiad

Years ago, I tried to read Circe by Madeline Miller and just couldn’t get into it. Too many characters…with weird names I couldn't pronounce in my head. I’m not a huge fan of mythology anyways, but as a teacher I tried to be more knowledgeable about the subject. This year with the three-hour blockbuster Hollywood movie The Odyssey making waves, interest in all things Greek mythology is heating up. Before I commit to watching the film, I wanted to brush up on the story. My classroom copy of the graphic novel version I bought to entice reluctant readers, has been missing in action since I retired, so I downloaded The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood.

In ten days, I completed this short tongue-in-cheek account from the perspective of Penelope, wife of Odysseus. It did the trick and immersed me into the mercilessness of the olden days, especially for women who had less free will while still being held to high standards for virtuous behavior. Where Circe is thick and dense, this book is light and frothy. A flank steak versus a cappuccino. It reintroduced me to the major plot points of The Odyssey in a fast-moving and amusing way. I like Atwood's sly sense of humor, although I never did read The Handmaid's Tale or stream the television series. I can't remember Blind Assassin, but a few years ago I really enjoyed reading Atwood's trilogy of science fiction books, even though that's not usually my go-to genre. 

A couple of highlights from The Penelopiad for me are Penelope's descriptions of her relationships with her husband and her son, Telemachus. Regarding Odysseus, she says, "The two of us were—by our own admission—proficient and shameless liars of long standing. It's a wonder either of us believed a word the other said. But we did. Or so we told each other." This is what she has to say about her son, having been left a single mother during her husband's years-long absence. "But I did not appreciate the barrage of surly monosyllables and resentful glances I was getting from my own son." And then later to drive the point home. "Boys with their first beards can be a thorough pain in the neck." 

The chapters of the book alternate between those filled with Penelope's observations and those consisting of lyrical poems describing the escapades of the ill-fated maids at her service. Here's a bit of an explanation from the author.

"The Chorus of Maids is a tribute to the use of such choruses in Greek drama. The convention of burlesquing the main action was present in the satyr plays performed before serious dramas." 

I just love a book that is entertaining and educational!

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.  

Love & Other Monsters

It took me a long time (two weeks) to get into Love & Other Monsters by Emily Franklin, but once I did I was spellbound. My experience was similar with The Lioness of Boston, another book written by Franklin whose unique writing style reflects the old-fashioned flourish of the time periods about which she writes. It takes a while for me to warm up to the language and manners of these bygone eras, even when the subject matter is so captivating. Lioness chronicles the fascinating and unconventional life of Isabella Stewart Gardner, known for assembling a vast collection of art at a museum she founded in Boston. Franklin's novel thrusts the reader into the larger-than-life world of old money, arts patrons, and high society.

Likewise in this book, Franklin plunges us into a maelstrom of dark Victorian culture where the intimate trappings of polite society intersect with new advances in medicine and Gothic horror. I had no idea what a complete dumpster fire Mary Shelley’s life was when my obsession with Frankenstein began. I learned that much has been documented about the complicated lives of Mary and her contemporaries.

Love & Other Monsters examines the complex dynamics in play in 1816 when Frankenstein was conceived in Geneva, Switzerland during what became known as The Year Without Summer. The story is told from the perspective of Mary’s half-sister Claire Clairmont who is oft-forgotten and eliminated from the narrative completely, despite the fact that she herself left behind copious letters and journals of her long life.

On the famous occasion in 1816, Mary Shelley, her fiancé Percy Shelley, their young son William, and Claire were summering next-door to celebrity poet Lord Byron and his personal physician, John Polidori. Shenanigans ensued between and amongst these strong personalities in the rented mansion Villa Diodati. 

It was here that Byron sought refuge from the relentless press seeking gossip about his romantic pursuits. Claire, who had initiated an affair with Byron, actually arranged for her and the Shelleys to be present. Polidori was secretly providing details of the comings and goings of the group, while Claire’s relationships with Mary and Percy and Polidori were unorthodox, to say the least. Co-dependence, competition, and controversy defined all of the connections that fateful summer. Vast research and analysis of historical documents are the hallmarks of Franklin's work in historical fiction. Using material from primary sources such as letters, calendars, journals, and manuscripts, she weaves together the interactions between this illustrious cast of characters, spotlighting the inner thoughts of Claire as she navigates the heartbreak and drama of the times. 

Forthcoming and introspective, Claire described herself as “silly and serious, insistent and hungry.” These traits are on display in this observation she makes about her dalliance with Byron. “All of this made me wish I had stayed home—far safer to be there with the fantasy of the man rather than in close proximity to the real one, smelling poorly.” Here she describes more flatteringly her infatuation with the poet, who was ten years her senior.

"That he was handsome was not opinion, only fact. Documented time and again from his youth to present, twenty-eight years of age and still youthful of face. He was a slippery sort of beauty, and that very transient quality only urged his appeal."

Tragically, the love affair between Claire and Byron, though short and unhappy, produced a daughter who died at the age of five. Byron's own life was cut short at age 36 from complications of his participation in the Greek War for Independence. Claire was the only one present that summer to live to old-age. She died at 80 years old in Florence, Italy, having led a quiet but reflective life of travel, working as a governess and housekeeper. 

In the Epilogue of Love & Other Monsters, Claire ponders her relationship with her famous sister. 

"What is my story and what is Mary's ? Impossible to know whom I would have been without her. And she can never know whom she might've been without me, without the ghosts that clung to her from birth. Is my lack of singularity my great tragedy or great Fortune? Does a woman have to be extraordinary to be remembered?"

Here are some of my thoughts after being immersed in the tangled web of alliances in Love & Other Monsters. Certainly the fame Mary Shelley enjoyed for the success of Frankenstein could not have been worth the heartache, scandal, grief, and controversy she experienced in life! Can the human quest for fame and recognition be a dangerous thing? Or were other factors at play in the lives of these people?

On this last point, I wholeheartedly agree with Claire on the power of the written expression. 

"I write the truth down, and then it does not have power over me. I am free."

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 breath-taking 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. In real time while I was still teaching, I shared Flaco's story with my students. For sure, his tale doesn’t have a happy ending, but Gessner’s perspective 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, bashing right-wing dumbfuckery. 

 I Hip News

Second, guess I should have read the reviews on the back of the book jacket before I jumped on the critique wagon. 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 :)

Liberty's Martyr

Someday I’ll read this book, Liberty’s Martyr by Janet Uhlar, a writer from the Cape. Copies were gifted to me and my teacher friend Elaine by the author who we met at a Massachusetts Historical Society summer workshop. See the note below for an explanation of why I'm thinking about this book now.

Liberty’s Martyr is about Elaine’s favorite historical ‘crush’, Dr. Joseph Warren who famously died at the Battle of Bunker Hill. My copy of the book has survived the famous purge during the Dumpster Summer of 2024 and currently resides in my living room bookshelf. I'll have to ask Elaine if she ever read it.

Teaching social studies and attending history workshops and exhibits are what I miss most about being retired from teaching. Of course, I still visit museums and speaking engagements, but the element of integrating the material into my professional life is what’s missing. That, and the camaraderie of learning and synthesizing information with colleagues. It was fun while it lasted, before the education system fried my nervous system.

Note: It was just about a year ago on June 24, 2025 when I dragged Elaine—on her last day of the school year—to Tales of Cape Cod because Janet Uhlar was speaking. To say the author was hyper would be an understatement. It was the longest, strangest event I have ever attended at Tales. Elaine was exhausted, and I was my usual jumble of chaos. Here’s an excerpt from my journal.

Last night I met Elaine in Barnstable for a quick bite at the (awful) Tuscan Cuisine Restaurant and a spirited talk at Tales of  Cape Cod—the author was ranting about contemporary biographers ‘flying fast and loose’ with the facts about her subject, Joseph Warren. The adventure culminated with me somehow locking my purse with keys IN the car and having to call Michele and AAA to rescue me. I should just stay in my house. 

Frankenstein

Last November, I downloaded Frankenstein by Mary Shelley for free from Barnes & Noble. Appropriately for Halloween, my friend Lisa had been reading it, and I was intrigued. Having never read the book, I chose the version deemed "unabridged and updated for modern readers." 

Little did I know how my fascination would grow. I was about to take a deep dive, head first, down a Frankenstein rabbit hole.

The story was not at all what I expected when I finally began reading it this spring. The writing style is challenging as it is full of over the top Victorian sentiment, florid descriptions, and meandering sentences. I gave it a five-star review, with the following write-up on Goodreads, because of its formidable reputation. 

A classic piece of rambling, melodramatic, Gothic literature, so far removed from the Halloween-esque version of Frankenstein we’ve come to know. A ghost story indeed, about humanity's doomed attempts to play God.

I was very close to finishing the book when I went to visit Meredith and Andrew in Maine on Memorial Day weekend this year. It turned out to be rainy and cold, perfect for streaming two Frankenstein movies on Netflix. Our creature-double-feature began with Guillermo del Toro’s spectacular 2025 interpretation starring the new teen heartthrob Jacob Elordi as the monster. I loved it. 

[Later I was able to stream Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, the 1994 film featuring Robert DeNiro, Kenneth Branagh, Helena Bonham Carter, and Tom Hulce, and I was not enamored by it at all, despite its obvious star power. Also, I still can't believe I've yet to view the Mel Brook's comedy Young Frankenstein, a spoof that brilliantly combines the Gothic horror and "monster mash" elements of the story.]

"I was working in the lab late one night

When my eyes beheld an eerie sight

For my monster, from his slab, began to rise

And suddenly, to my surprise . . ."

There are so many interpretations of this legendary tale, it makes my head spin. As I probed further, my desire to dissect all things Frankenstein started bordering on obsessive :) I had conversations with my son-in-law who had studied the book extensively in literature classes in college. Andrew recalled examining the themes of free will, grief, isolation, and hubris. Somehow I was never interested in stories about monsters and super heroes in school so I completely missed out learning about the rich literary and cultural significance of these genres. 

I was struck by how throughout the story, despite his zealous attempts at "reanimation," Victor Frankenstein ultimately refers to his creature by a variety of vile terms — dæmon, wretch, villain, devil, fiend — leaving the reader to ponder: "Who is the real monster in the tragic narrative?" The scientist's abandonment of his responsibility to nurture and educate his creation sets in motion the tragic trajectory of the plot. Caution, compassion, and care are integral components for humankind when asserting its dominance over the environment. A lesson just as important today as it was historically.

In addition, there is so much to unpack surrounding Mary Shelley’s life, the backstory of how and where the idea for Frankenstein was conceived, and the book's publishing history. First published anonymously in 1918 when the author was only 20 years old, it was speculated at the time that it was actually written by her fiancé, the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley. After his untimely death in 1822 at the age of 29, Mary republished a version she had revised. This reworking, published in 1831, addressed some of the criticism the original had received. In an introduction to the second edition, Mary challenged questions of authorship head-on. “It is not singular that, as the daughter of two persons of distinguished literary celebrity, I should very early in life have thought of writing…” 

Raised by parents who believed in free love and other scandalous ideas for the times, Mary and her half-siblings endured tumultuous upbringings. Her mother, the famous feminist writer Mary Wollstonecraft, died only 11 days after giving birth to her daughter. Her father, William Godwin, a political philosopher and novelist known for his anarchist viewpoints, remarried when she was four years old. Mary's youth was not only marred by her own mother's early death but by a troubled relationship with her stepmother. Her romance with Percy Shelley, who was already married, was also a complicated affair. His first wife eventually committed suicide leaving behind two of the poet's children and being pregnant with a third. Subsequently, only one of Mary and Percy Shelley's four children lived to adulthood, and Mary lost her own life to a brain tumor at age 53 in 1851. Grief and conflict seemed to follow her everywhere. 

Famously, it was in 1816 in Geneva, Switzerland that the concept of Frankenstein came to life. Mary and Percy Shelley, along with their infant son William, and Mary's stepsister Claire Clairmont were neighboring next-door to Villa Diodati, a mansion rented by renowned poet and man-about-town, Lord Byron and his personal physician, John Polidori. Trapped indoors during what came to be known later as The Year Without Summer, the group of five adults (Claire is often completely left out of the assemblage) socialized together extensively. One pastime included reading aloud volumes of German ghost stories, and their spirited discussions centered on current events including medical advancements like reanimation. At one point, Byron challenged each guest to write their own ghost story. In her own words, Mary described her insecurity about being in the company of the esteemed male writers, and how one night a vivid waking dream led to her crafting the plot of her famous tale.

“I busied myself to think of a story—a story to rival those which had excited us to this task. One which would speak to the mysterious fears of our nature, and awaken thrilling horror—one to make the reader dread to look round, to curdle the blood, and quicken the beatings of the heart.“

Damn, I think she succeeded! Neither of the accomplished male poets produced anything of significance, but unbelievably, Polidori who was ruthlessly chastised by Byron and Shelley for his youth and literary inexperience, wrote The Vampyre (1819) and is credited with inventing the vampire genre. His life ended tragically two years later at age 25 (some say by suicide).

A favorite pleasant surprise during my journey into the bowels of Frankenstein has been the second movie screened during the Memorial Day weekend mini-film-festival in Maine—Maggie Gyllenhaal’s 2026, The Bride! starring Jessie Buckley (of Hamnet) and Christian Bale. 

What a wild ride it is with so many references to earlier renditions of the story as well as a nod to the 1930’s gangster culture of Bonnie & Clyde. I’ll end with this line that I love from a monologue by a disturbed and agitated Mary Shelley as the movie begins. She’s describing her compulsion to tell another story, perhaps about a bride…for her monstrous creation.

“Darlings, something is cracking. The words are beginning to come. Is it a ghost story? A horror story? Or most frightening of all, a love story?” 

Stay tuned for my next excursion into the world of Frankenstein...         

I'm currently reading Love & Other Monsters by Emily Franklin, a novel that explores the complex dynamics in Geneva during The Year Without Summer, including relationships between Mary Shelley and her sister Claire Clairmont, Percy Shelley and Lord Byron, as well as between Claire, Byron, and Polidori!

Beachcombing at Miramar

Beachcombing at Miramar: The Quest for an Authentic Life by Thomas Bode was mentioned by my therapist from years ago in her book, Little Dipper. Marlene Denessen was a beacon of hope for me during my early thirties when as a young mother, I was seeking clarity in my life. Her book suggestions provided a lifeline for me. I can easily get overwhelmed in the self-help sections of bookstores and libraries so I rely on the recommendations of people I respect. Marlene’s were always right on target.

Discovering in my sixties that Marlene herself had actually written three books that I could purchase online was a revelation for me. She credits this book with helping her through a time of introspection and change, so I knew I had to read it. It only took me five days to devour this tiny, cosmic literary treat.

The subtitle says it all. I have been on this quest my entire life and finally feel ready to enjoy the fruits of my efforts. The author put into words so many of the demons I have wrestled to overcome, especially embracing the somewhat elusive human experience of following one’s own bliss. This book offered me a deeply touching depiction of man’s connection to the environment and his own inner wisdom. The author beautifully mirrors my own beliefs about violence vs beauty and peace vs war.

This passage pretty much sums up my current mood as well as my belief in the healing powers of the beach.

“Throughout my adult life I, too, have been trying to break through an invisible iron wall. I have come closer to achieving that goal here on the sands of Miramar than anyplace I have ever dwelled before. The journey has not been easy; I still have a distance to travel before I fully arrive. But I am on my way toward the center of myself, doing my best to strip away layers of sham and pretense as I go along.”

Somedays I wake up feeling this way too. “As I walk the beach, I feel as if a great weight has been lifted from me, and I’m ready to reach out beyond the boundaries of myself.”

However, I wouldn’t describe my beauty experiences as “the light caress of a woman in the wind.” To me it feels more like an empowering burst of budding confidence strengthened by the intoxicating salt air and penetrating heat of the sun’s rays. Add to that the sound of small rocks flittering against the sand, and my perfect beach day has just been manifested.

The book concludes with the author acknowledging the significance of his role as the Beachcomber. He describes one of his cherished collections—portraits capturing the essence of everyday people. I wholeheartedly agree with his sentiment, especially today.

“Whenever I look at them, I become convinced that the hope of the world lies not with churchmen, statesmen, or politicians, but with men and women like these who have banished pretense from their lives.”

This Instagram post also speaks the truth:

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DZQcuc5imb4/

Owl Magic: Your Guide Through Challenging Times

Owl Magic by Mary Petiet is a quick but valuable read. I like its focus on providing a sort of blueprint for surviving during difficult times. 

Those times are NOW! 

I keep having to remind myself that all times in the history of the world have had their share of challenges, but somehow I always return to the idea that humanity should know better by now. We shouldn’t have to continue replaying these conflicts between good and evil, right and wrong. We should have learned our lessons about being kind and humble and following the Golden Rule. These times should be different, and it’s up to humankind to make them better. I am of the belief this will only happen through a spiritual reckoning that isn’t specific to one religion but embraces the unifying tenants of all of them.                                       

Inclusivity is key to the evolution of humanity, and this book captures the spirit of that realization. There’s no place for exclusion, bigotry, and hatred. Universal human rights are nonnegotiable. People who are not on board with that idea must not be tolerated or allowed into positions of leadership. Yet somehow today, here we are. This simple concept has been warped and ravaged throughout history, and the time has come for a post-Covid renaissance. As the author notes, “Such times of plague have historically led to times of change.”

Each chapter of this book begins with a grounding poem and ends with a yoga pose, meditation, and list of writing prompts for reflection. The whole idea is to provide strategies for quieting the inner and outer noise that makes introspection and the process of self-actualization difficult. Taming the "monkey mind".

What if everyone could be convinced of the importance of this practice? Would we all be led to the same well of humanity, connecting us to all the goodness and abundance life has to offer?

My favorite chapter “Apocalypse” invites us to acknowledge our fears utilizing the wisdom of the Universal Law of Courage. This deeply resonates with me. The ultimate fear of death may be the foundation for all our individual fears.

“What if we accept death as something as natural as birth, making it a natural experience instead of a scary one. From darkness comes light, and from death comes new life and innovation.”

What if, indeed? Owl Magic provides a map for humanity to follow as it evolves, once we are finally able to reject the greed and hate that currently envelops our world.

My secret wish is that all religions and countries—fictional divisions created by mankind—will accept the power of the Universal Laws: Connection, Love, Courage, and Potential. Finally, the Universal Law of Least Effort compels us to “accept things as they are” even as we endeavor to bring about the huge, positive social changes that are necessary. 

This Must Be the Place

I think it’s time for me to stop reading books that just help me fall asleep at night. This Must Be the Place by Maggie O’Farrell, who also wrote Hamnet, falls into that category. It’s a soothing practice I developed while I was still working, but now I’m ready to make a shift to compelling reading material—books that I can’t put down until I know how they end. 

For me, this story has been a leisurely drift down a lazy river in an inner tube. There’s nothing wrong with that actually, but I’m such a slow reader, my 21 day library rental doesn’t allow enough time for a jaunt at this pace. At 33% complete with other patrons waiting, I was unable to renew the book so I switched my Kindle to airplane mode. 

I’ve never been a fan of book chapters jumping around between the perspectives of different characters. IMHO the technique is overused, and the story always suffers when it isn’t skillfully executed. I really didn’t connect with any of the characters as they flitted from chapter to chapter taking turns sharing the spotlight. I wasn’t intrigued by the aging, reclusive actress, her arrogant, filmmaker first husband, or her precocious French-speaking children with her second husband. 

Daniel, the protagonist seemed to have a personality that shapeshifted from beginning, middle to the end of the story. Initially portrayed as a quirky but down to earth divorced father of two children, he became self-absorbed and annoying in flashbacks to his college days where he interacted with equally off-putting, newly introduced characters.

By the time I arrived at the chapter about Maeve adopting a child in China (about 65%), I no longer cared who she was or why her backstory was interrupting the flow of Daniel’s life. Oddly, I liked Daniel best in one chapter toward the end of the book that felt like a lone island adrift and completely disconnected from the vast ocean  of the rest of the story. Here he finds himself randomly on a no-frills  tour to the Salar de Uyuni salt desert in Bolivia with his oldest son Niall. The narrator of the chapter is a recently divorced, older British woman named Rosalind who hasn’t made an appearance before or after this section of the book. I found myself wanting to follow her life path as the chapter ended, not Daniel’s.

By the time I finished the book, I didn’t know if I was routing for Daniel to find happiness or just content to have his story come to a conclusion, one way or another.

The Healing Power of Storytelling

I borrowed The Healing Power of Storytelling by Annie Brewster, MD with Rachel Zimmerman from by polymath friend and soon-to-be coauthor of Saving Humanity Through Education, Sue C. Because it’s not my book, I had to annotate on post-it notes.

At first this was uncomfortable for me, but I pushed through. Now I have a gazillion little notes to make sense of and transcribe. This book validated everything I already believe about the importance of storytelling. The added component of people with medical conditions being empowered to document their personal struggles brought a sense of purpose to the process. I guess when it comes down to it, sharing our stories in order to connect with and help others is what it’s all about.

And for me, the ability to internalize, communicate, and celebrate our stories is the most important of all human aspirations. 

My Friends

Here’s my experience with Fredrik Backman, the prolific, beloved Swedish author. Meredith recommended him, and I loved A Man Called Ove and My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry. I tried to read but gave up on Anxious People and Beartown. I wanted so badly to love My Friends, but I really didn’t. I didn’t abandon it though. I plodded my way to the bitter end even though every step of the way I found it overblown and overwhelming. 

This one-star review on Goodreads says it best. Something similar to when you over-highlight parts of a text. When everything is highlighted, it’s impossible to discern what has significance. This book tries so hard to be deep and ends up feeling shallow.

I actually polished off the resolution of My Friends on the plane to Puerto Rico for Sue and Bonnie’s excellent adventure to Vieques Island. The book redeemed itself briefly at the end and turned out to be a great entry point for my “Medicare-year-birthday-celebration" with my dear high school friend. Vintage1961. 

Strange Pictures

Strange Pictures by Uketsu is strange indeed. Even more mysterious is the author’s bio: “UKETSU only ever appears online, wearing a mask and speaking through a voice changer… His innovative ‘sketch mysteries’ challenge readers to discover the hidden clues in a series of sinister drawings… They have sold nearly 3 million copies in Japan since 2021. Uketsu‘s true name and identity remain unknown.”

In my opinion, the author’s premise and marketing strategy are brilliant, but the execution of the plot, not so much. That said, I had to rate it 4 stars because I—slow reader extraordinaire—devoured the book, making quick work of it in 11 days. In places where it became graphically descriptive, I choked a little on the details. Over all it went down smoothly, but undoubtedly will leave me with a bit of heartburn.

The story’s strong start devolved into a jumbled mess of “tell” not “show”, and the pictures lost their relevance by the end. Truthfully, the pictures alone would never have led me to solve the mystery. Luckily, I didn’t need to since it was so intricately spelled out by the author in the second half of the story. Could be that something was Lost in Translation here. In any event, while I find Japanese philosophy fascinating, their literature sure is deranged.

Final score: A+ for originality. C- for implementation. 

The Book of Fire

The Book of Fire by Christy Lefteri held my attention for about a month but clearly didn’t compel me to quickly zip through it to the end. It was kind of a slow burn for me, a leisurely and worthy bedtime companion during the month of January. Maybe it helped me assimilate into the post-holiday bleakness of the coldest winter I've encountered in years.

People magazine aptly describes the book, “A tender depiction of loss and healing that raises questions about guilt and blame in the age of climate change.”

I really liked the authenticity of the characters in this book, especially the sweet wife and mother, Irini Diamandis, who narrates the story. When a devastating fire rips through their village in present-day Greece, Irini is introspective about the many hardships they face as she is called to hold her family together.

The disaster has brought changes to their way of life and Irini ponders the complexities of human response to tragedy. “Was it Aristotle who said that man is a political animal? Not that we are all born to take an active interest in party politics, but it is in our nature to live in a polis, a community.” Deriving assurance from a reliance on social connections, is one of humanity’s greatest gifts.

Before the fire, Irini reflects on the highs and lows of life and the history of her ancestors. “Over the decades and centuries, there were many joys and many losses that could be peeled back like the fine translucent layers of an onion.” After the fire, she works to remain positive in the midst of so much devastation. “Yes, maybe, life will get better. I will focus only on the things still living; I will ignore the darkness and the deadness that surround them.” Most importantly, she uses all of her resources to mend and strengthen her relationships with her husband, Tasso, and daughter, Charo.

When I finished the book, I needed to reread the beginning. It turns out the plot device of shifting from past to present throughout was a bit confusing for me. I did gain better understanding of the events after reading the first few chapters a second time.

Reviewing the portions I highlighted on Goodreads reminded me how much I appreciated the themes of survival and rebirth. There is something deep within this novel about human connections, us-versus-them mentality, and rising above it all to embrace our own strengths and tolerate the differences of others. There is also a genuine respect for the environment, humanity, and cultural and familial bonds. These threads combine to create a pleasant experience inhabiting the inner thoughts of the main character, Irini, whose sincerity and integrity are endearing.

Lefteri also wrote The Beekeeper of Aleppo which is more well known. Maybe next winter I’ll find refuge in this story, immersing myself into the lives of a Syrian beekeeper and his blind wife.