 The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey
I love fairy tales. Even though my memory of my childhood is patchy and poor, I do remember vividly one particular book that was a collection of Grimms’ fairy tales. I even remember where I slept (or didn’t as I was hooked), the pale green fabric binding of the library book itself, the nightstand where I set it before falling to sleep. The Snow Child brought back that experience. The images were so delightful—so delicate—so delicious—I wanted to pace myself so not to devour it too quickly. I wanted to extend the experience, to not let go. You know those books you don’t want to end? This was one for me. There is nothing quite like reading a book that has you so involved you are with the people (notice I didn’t say characters!), in the setting, feeling their feelings, along on their journey. What is real? And what is fairy tale? Does that even matter? You’ll not regret this beauty.
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 The Women would make an excellent book club selection. There is so much to discuss. There are the obvious topics such as the US invasion of Vietnam and the atrocities committed there. Public opinion on the war and the peace movement. The disrespect veterans coming home suffered. PTSD. Sexual mores of the 70s and the revolution it spurred. It astonished me how—not so ago—women were not taken seriously, treated more like pets than functioning humans, and had so few options.
Frankie, the main character, struggles to find herself after returning from two tours as a combat nurse in Vietnam. At every turn she is told there were no women in Vietnam—her service is ignored and denied. Her PTSD dismissed. Kristin Hannah takes us on Frankie’s journey from her pampered (stifling) upbringing through the horrors of war where Frankie finds purpose. But when Frankie returns home she no longer fits society’s (or her parents’) expectations, and she spirals in a battle to find meaning again. Buckle up, it’s a rocky road!
 Kate DiCamillo is genius when it comes to creating characters with a subtle stroke. She is particularly good with animals. No exception in The Beatryce Prophecy. It’s hard not to love the grumpy goat, Answelica, who has a penchant for sending humans airborne, but lends a soft ear to comfort Beatryce. DiCamillo writes with a wonderful medieval fairy-tale voice here—and of course her signature strong female protagonist who takes us on a journey that uncovers the meaning of loyalty, love, devotion, and the power that reading and storytelling offers.
 I have to admit I almost put this down. The opening just didn’t grab me right away. Am I glad I didn’t! How often do you call a book haunting? I mean really haunting. I dreamt about this book, found myself thinking about it at odd moments, and still feel the veil of its spell confounding my worldview. One of the reasons I love to read is that I get to step into someone’s shoes and experience the world through a character very different from myself. Shusterman didn’t put me inside his character right off the bat…it took a few pages…it took a few scenes…but oh, boy, once he got me inside Caden’s head it was an experience I won’t forget. The journey takes you from sanity, gradually sinking into insanity where nothing is trustworthy, to drugged insanity where “dulled” takes on new meaning, to gradual clarity—it’s no happily ever after. The possibility of losing that tentative grasp onto the real world is ever present. But the ending is not without hope, if you can find your way out of the abyss once, you can do it again. Sometimes you have to hang on to that. For anyone who wants to have empathy for a battle fought against inner demons—this is it. Stick with it, your efforts will be repaid a bazillion-fold.
 Salt to the Sea takes place in the winter of 1945 when the Soviets are advancing on the Germans in East Prussia. Millions of refugees are forced to flee their homeland, leaving everything behind. Ruta Sepetys tells the story of the evacuation through the eyes of four characters—a Lithuanian girl, a Polish girl, an East Prussian boy, and a young Nazi sailor—each burdened by their own painful secrets. Their journey is wrought with challenges as their ragged little group makes its way to the coast, and the ship they believe will bring them to safety. The scenes are vivid and disturbing—and yet Sepetys keeps us from despair through deftly placed acts of humanity that can’t fail to touch the reader.
Sepetys’ work of historical fiction is inspired by the true story of the Soviet torpedoing and sinking of the German ship, the Wilhelm Gustloff, carrying ten thousand refugees—half of them children. It was the greatest naval disaster in history. One of the things I like most about reading is when a writer is good enough to transport you into the soul of another person—when the world around you disappears and you enter a brilliantly crafted landscape, and experience a life you never would otherwise. Today millions of refugees are seeking safety around the globe. Salt to the Sea gave me a glimpse into their anguish, and I hope will make me a more compassionate person because of that privilege. |
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