June, by Miranda Beverly-Whittemore

Sometimes reading the back flap of a new novel is enough to suck you in, and such was the case with June.  Among other aspects, the summary promises such themes as old Hollywood, creepy mansions, murder, family secrets, and more.  In fact, if I were to find any fault within its pages, it would be with the ‘more’ category.  It sometimes felt as if there was TOO much going on.  That said it was still an enjoyable, if drawn out, read.

The title of the novel refers to two things – the month in which the activity takes place (both in 1955 and 2015), and the name of one of the main characters.  June’s story takes place during the former period, while her granddaughter, Cassie, is at the center of the latter.  Connecting the two generations is the once-regal home known as Two Oaks.  Cassie has returned to the family mansion, inheriting its crumbly masses from her deceased Grandma June.  While she’s holed up there, trying to hide away from daily life, there’s a knock on the door, which brings in a whole new set of characters. 

Tate Montgomery, the current Hollywood ‘it’ girl, shows up on the doorstep with her entourage, Hank and Nick, to inform Cassie that she has somehow inherited the estate of Tate’s father, Jack Montgomery, a former movie star himself.  But, how is that even possible?  Where is the link?  Had Grandma June been hiding a secret past?  It takes the author nearly 400 pages to explain everything to us.  Therein lies the problem.

There was too much of everything, and yet not enough of anything.  There were characters I could have done without (Nick serves absolutely no purpose other than to throw a sex scene in here and there), and characters who should have been developed more, and given more credit (do you see the name Lindie anywhere on the dust jacket?  Nope, neither did I. Yet, the story can’t really be told without her). 

While I enjoyed the writing style, and the back and forth between the past and present, I still think there is such a thing as too much drama, and in this case, the author is guilty as charged.  Themes such as racism and homosexuality deserve more than the random mention here and there that they were granted.  It’s as if Ms. Beverly-Whittemore threw in every idea that popped into her head, when she may have been better off keeping a few for her next book. Less can sometimes be more.

In the interest of full disclosure, I received a free Advanced Reading Copy of this title through Library Thing, in exchange for an honest review

Are you there God? It's me, Amy...

So...where to begin? 

Life has been...well, awful...for several months now.  No details.  Those of you who know me already know what the deal is. But, it's hard to get back to any semblance of normalcy when your world is flipped upside down and seems as if it will forever stay that way.

There's the conscious part of your brain - the intelligent part - which tells you that life must somehow go on.  Typically, we don't have too much of a say in that, I suppose. But that other pesky side - the one that controls our emotions, our heart, our soul - that's the real pushy one.  That's the one telling you to stay hidden away in your dark little corner, where life can't get at you anymore.  That dark little corner has been my best friend for several months now, but it's time to branch out to the sunnier side of the room.

When I force myself to look at things logically, there really is no other credible option. Life is going to continue rolling on, whether I'm on the train or not.  Kids on playgrounds will continue to giggle and play, even if I'm not walking by during recess. New couples start to fall in love each and every day, even though my continuing (blessed) journey down that path started over 22 years ago.  Most importantly, the sun is still going to rise tomorrow, whether or not I decide to get out of bed to witness it. Life is out there for each and every one of us.  It's filled with celebrations, graduations, jobs, homes, achievements, families, welcomes, and then, sadly, goodbyes.  When life crashes in on you, it's hard to remember how much the good outweighs the bad.

I'd give anything - everying, in fact - to change the events of the past 18 months.  The part of my life that I miss so much is never going to be back.  It doesn't matter how much I cry, how much I beg, how much I pray.  It just won't change things.  Instead, I have to be the one to find my happy again.  I have to remind myself - every single day - that even when it doesn't feel like it, I'm a very lucky girl. I have a nice home, some special friends, two cats who are more like babies, and most importantly, an amazing, loving husband and family who were right by my side as we faced our battles together.

It's hard to read that list and not feel fortunate.  Maybe you can read that list and point out that you don't have half of those things.  But, I bet you have something (or some things) on your list that are missing from mine, don't you?  We don't all have to be the same, or have the same experiences, to know that life occasionally throws a curve ball that can't be hit out of the park.  Whether it strikes you early in life, or you're fortunate enough to get to middle age unscathed, it sucks. It just plain sucks. But, we're still here, aren't we?

Whether it's that new song just out for the summer, or making plans to see a friend in another state, life is STILL good, and there is still fun to be had.  It's just different. But, it's your own responsiblity to make it a GOOD different.

Michael Symon's 5 in 5 - or 1 in 5?

I want to preface this review by stating that I really, really like Michael Symon.  I like his recipes on The Chew, I love his silly personality.  In fact, I just like him.  And, I gladly would have gone out and bought his cookbook on my own, if I hadn't received a complimentary copy from Blogging for Books in exchange for an honest review.  That said I'm glad I saved those pennies.

When my package arrived with my shiny new cookbook, I sat right down to devour it.  I had my little notebook open next to me, to jot down ingredients for the grocery run I would make after.  The book had lots of pretty photography, which is sort of a must for me, but I didn't care for the general layout.  The recipes were divided by season, not by food or meal type.  Who's to say I can't make a soup in the spring, or a salad in the winter?  I prefer something that's easier to navigate - put the meat recipes with the meat recipes, and the desserts with the desserts.  But, maybe that's just personal preference.

Anyway, I went through the pages, and found one – ONE - recipe that I wanted to make.  Then I thought, maybe I'm just being too picky.  Admittedly, my palate would place me somewhere alongside a Kindergarten class.  So, I went back through the pages again, and came up with four or five possibilities.  Let me be clear here - possibilities were all they were.  Most of the flagged recipes were ones that I was *willing* to try, with a few changes thrown in.  There wasn’t a single recipe I was eagerly rubbing my grubby little hands together over.

My first official taste of this book came from his recipe for spicy beef tacos.  I figured that was a safe bet...a given.  We like spicy.  We like beef.  We like tacos.  What I found out through the creative process, however, is that it's much easier to buy the little packet sold in the stores for around a buck, mix it with ground beef and add a dash of cayenne.  Or, better yet, buy the packet that says 'spicy.'  The results of this were just...eh.  And, that's being kind.  We found this to be dry and, shockingly, somewhat bland.  I’ll take that little packet any day.  

After that debacle, I found it hard to justify making anything else from this book, and put it in that dusty corner on my bookshelves, where cookbooks go to die.  Remembering my promise for an honest review, I salvaged its lonely pages, and found even fewer recipes that were interesting.  My husband and I aren't adventurous eaters.  We like simple - meat, potatoes, pasta.  I don't like fruit mixed in with my salads.  Nor do I like to add ham - to everything.  That was a problem with this book.  Yuck.  So, finally, I relented and chose one more recipe to try.  This time, I'm happy to say, we had a winner.

One lazy weeknight, I made ‘Spaghetti with Quick Sausage Ragu.’  Not only was this good, but it’s a definite keeper.  It was quick, easy, and YUMMY.  (And, I love the fact that I can trick my hubby into enjoying TURKEY sausage, and he has no clue.)  If there’s a problem with the recipe, though, it’s that it’s not original in the least.  It’s a basic ragu recipe that anyone with half a cooking brain could probably come up with off the cuff.  (I’m not one of those lucky people, by the way.  But, I still think it’s an important point to make.)

I must admit that it was here that I accepted defeat.  Life is too short to make recipes that don’t even sound or look appealing.  This sucker will be mailed off to a friend with a more adventurous palate than mine, in the hopes that she may find more dishes to salvage.  I guess I’ll be sticking with Betty Crocker a little longer.

The Look of Love, by Sarah Jio

Sarah Jio seemingly came out of nowhere a few years ago, with best sellers such as Morning Glory and Goodnight June, both of which I've read.  I found The former to be somewhat predictable and sappy, while thoroughly enjoying the quirky follow-the-clues aspect of the latter.  I decided that maybe this title would be my tie-breaker.  I had a 20% off Barnes & Noble coupon burning a hole in my pocket, and since this title topped the 'must read' list of many of my bookish friends, I took a sharp, bright, new copy home with me.

The Look of Love centers around Jane, a woman possessing the special gift of being able to physically *see* love.  It's all around her.  See that beautiful, young couple prancing down the street, holding hands and swooning at one another?  They may look like a magazine ad for perfect happiness, but according to our heroine, they're not in love.  That crotchety old couple who are bickering over the wrinkles in his chinos?  Ding, ding, ding - love has entered the building.  The concept is silly, yes.  But, to be fair, isn't that what fiction is?  Unique, unrealistic lines of story intertwined for our enjoyment?  Certainly.  The only element missing for me here was the enjoyment.

My first issue with the story is the number of characters.  There were so many subplots going on that I found it difficult to keep them straight.  Let's see...how many characters can I name off the top of my head?  Flynn, Mel, Katie, Josh, Lo, Vivian, Celeste, Mary, Eli, Elaine, Matthew, Collette, Luca, Grant, Cam, Charles...shall I go on?  No, really.  I could.  And I'm not even Rain Man.

Among this massive cast of characters are some of the most shallow, self-loathing pieces of trash I've ever had the misfortune to read about.  There are SO many extra-marital affairs going on, at some point I have to question how this equates to a book supposedly about love. 

On another note, I remember taking a writing course in college, where my professor was adamant that you could ruin a great story by finishing it with that perfect big red bow.  His words didn't make sense to me.  Alas, I was just a young'un.  Now my old ass gets it.  Predictability is not entertaining.  While Ms. Jio certainly has a gift for storytelling, she falls into that 'happily ever after' trap.  Each and every storyline wraps up precisely how you'd expect it to...not a single surprise in the bunch.  I must say, though, that my personal favorite is Katie and Josh - you'll have to read that one yourself to believe it.  Think Days of Our Lives...on steroids. 

Right or wrong, predictable or not, I'll probably continue to read Sarah Jio books as they come out.  After all, it's what the cool kids are reading these days.  And I'm nothing if not cool. 

Catching Air, by Sarah Pekkanen

This was the second Pekkanen book I've read to date, and I'm sure it won't be my last.  That said, however, I'm glad this wasn't the first one I cracked open, or I might not have moved any further.  There were so many different elements to this story, but I don't think they successfully meshed together for a cohesive novel.

In the very first chapter, we're introduced to Dawn, an orphaned adult with low self-esteem who gets herself mixed up with a Romeo who turns out to be a crook.  Our next introduction is to Kira and Peter - what some might call a typical married couple - getting by, but not yet grasping that brass ring. Finally, there's Peter's brother, Rand, and his wife, Alyssa.  They're the hippie bunch in the group - the free-spirited type who pick up and move whenever the mood strikes them.

Rand, who isn't exactly on the greatest terms with his brother, calls Peter with the bright idea of becoming partners in a run-down Bed & Breakfast in Vermont.  Yeah, because a young professional couple in Florida with no hotel/inn experience would *jump* at that opportunity.  Whatever...

Now, remember the girl we met at the beginning...Dawn?  Well, she shows up again and somehow finds her way to this newly opened and operating B & B (surprise, surprise!).  Can you see my point?  There's no logic here - none of these pieces really fit together.

Of course, drama abounds - should Peter and Kira have kids?  Can Rand and Alyssa HAVE kids?  And Dawn is running from her bad boy Casanova.  Sounds like a soap opera, doesn't it?  A silly, 1970's afternoon soap opera.  Granted, those things have their place.  However, my reading time is too precious to be wasted on it.

In very general terms, Catching Air is about starting over, second chances, life renewal, yada, yada, yada (anyone watch Seinfeld?).  That premise may sound promising.  Sadly, though, it fails to deliver.  What I found instead was a bunch of unsympathetic, downright unlikable characters who I tired of very quickly.  I'll say one thing for this book,  though....it certainly has an appropriate title.  One thing it's full of...is air.

The Girl You Left Behind, by Jojo Moyes

Well, I'm a bit rusty at this, to say the least.  Hopefully, I'll still be able to string together a sentence or two.  Time will tell...

I was beginning to wonder if I would ever find my way back here, writing about what I love - books.  I found a few that were inspiring, almost getting me back to the keyboard (Delicious, by Ruth Reichl comes to mind).  But it was a book by the uber-talented Jojo Moyes that finally succeeded, and sucked me back in.  I first discovered Ms. Moyes when I picked up Me Before You, a book that somehow fell into the romance category (a genre I don't particularly care for). I suppose some would categorize The Girl You Left Behind as the same.  A small disclaimer, however.  It is my firm belief that 'romance' novels need to be segregated into two categories:

- cheesy Fabio-laced sex romps;
- beautifully written tales with a love story deeply embedded within.

Guess which one this book falls into?

The Girl You Left Behind tells the story of Sophie Lefevre, struggling to get through her day-to-day life in France while World War I rages.  Her artist husband, Edouard, is off fighting the good fight, when German officers infiltrate the family hotel, leaving Sophie no other choice than to serve them dinner each night.  Soon enough, the Kommandant decides he'd like a little more than the grub being served in bowls, and Sophie faces some difficult decisions.  Just when all seems utterly hopeless, you turn the page (literally), and, nearly a century later, we meet Liv Halston, a young woman left a widow much too soon, by her dearly departed, David. 

Liv is just learning how to live without David, meeting men and friends (not necessarily in that order).  One friend in particular, Mo, is a memorable character that you'll likely either love or hate.  If you're an oddball like me, however, you'll probably feel a little of both.  Regardless, I wanted more.  In fact, if I were forced to find fault with Liv's story, it would be that it didn't include enough Mo, a woman who refers to a bad date as that 'Worst variety of species...the Divorced Toxic Bachelor.'  During one pseudo therapy session, she instructs Liv on the healing powers of sticking toothpicks into the bellies of clay voodoo dolls.  I love this girl.  But, I digress...

Moyes masterfully links the lives of Sophie and Liv when we discover that the portrait of a young girl, which hangs on the wall in the Halston's uber-modern home, is none other than the young Frenchwoman herself.  When a court battle over the painting's rightful ownership breaks out, the facts surrounding Sophie, and her difficult choices, are slowly revealed.

This was a beautifully written tale of love, life, and survival.  My only complaint is one that seems to hold true for any story that falls into the 'R' category, and that is predictability.  You'll be able to see some of this stuff coming a hundred pages in advance.  But, in this case, force yourself not to skip ahead.  As the saying goes, it's not the destination that counts.  It's the journey.  And Ms. Moyes takes us on a lovely, memorable one.

The Bookstore, by Deborah Meyler

As an avid reader, whenever I see a book title encompassing one of those magical literary terms, such as novel, manuscript, journal, or bookstore, it automatically scores an initial star in my rating.  It wouldn't matter if the pages within those covers were about thermoplastic polyurethane or indigenous Pygmy groups in the Congo - my inner geek is still doing a little dance of joy.  Couple that with a cover photo of a stack of fat, juicy books, and SQUEEE...this little piggy is going to market.  Such is the story with The Bookstore, by Deborah Meyler.

True to my previous statement, I knew I wanted to read this book before I even had an inkling what it was about.  If it has a bookstore in it, it's for me!  Well, it turns out that the bookstore in question here is The Owl, a fictional imitation of those cramped, yet invaluable, little pieces of real estate that make New York City what it is.  It's here that we meet owner George, employees Luke and Bruce, and a colorful cast of extras, including the homeless, the famous, and the just plain nuts.  (a la the real NYC!). The central character, however, is prim and proper Esme, a British import visiting the United States to study art history at Columbia University.    
Somehow or other, Esme finds herself romantically involved with (externally) handsome Mitchell van Leuven.  With a name like Van Looooooooo-ven, I'm sure you can already guess that he hails from a hoity-toity moneyed family, complete with a home in the Hamptons and judgmental airs.  (To put it in highfalutin literary terminology...yucky snooty-snoots.)  While still scratching my head over how the author could present such a mismatched couple, I read on to discover that Esme is pregnant.  And, just as she's about to share the news with Mr. Wonderful, he dumps her.  So begins her journey toward independence and self-sufficiency, resulting in her job at the aforementioned Owl bookstore.  Or that's the way it SHOULD have gone.

Ms. Meyler had a golden opportunity to present her readers with a wicked strong heroine you could root for.  Instead, however, she went down that all-too-common road of wimpy females who will put up with anything to keep a man (the aforementioned moronic Mitchell).  I lost any sympathy I may have previously held for poor little Esme, as she traded in her morals, beliefs, and self respect for that loser over and over, and over again.  It was immensely frustrating.  For God's sake, my 9 year old niece would know enough to cut her losses and walk away already.

I enjoyed some of the quirky peripheral characters, and the moments spent in The Owl were charming.  But, ultimately, I got more frustration than enjoyment from this one.  This was a middle of the road effort, at best.  After all, a book title can only compensate for so much.  I may have to temper my expectations before tackling A Novel Bookstore, by Laurence Cosse.