Make Christmas Eve extra sweet with these feel-good tales!
We love jólabókaflóð — Iceland’s exquisitely snuggly December ritual — around here. And given the horrors in the headlines these days, we suspect you could use a little “Yule Book Flood” magic right about now, too. In the spirit of bringing a bit more comfort and joy to your Christmas Eve this Sunday (whether Santa stops by or not), we suggest tucking into one of these soothing reads.
Mr. Breakfast: A Novel by Jonathan Carroll (Melville House). Reviewed by Chris Rutledge. “Throughout the narrative, Graham meets other life-leapers, people who share his mystical tattoo. These characters represent, for him, further opportunities to grow. Can our protagonist learn from their mistakes and proceed more ably through his own life? Could we? Too often, fantasy novels elevate the hocus-pocus at the expense of character development. But this is a superior fantasy novel. Here, you truly feel for Graham and even for the characters who appear to want to do him harm. The humanity of the entire cast shines through.”
Syntax of the River: The Pattern Which Connects by Barry Lopez and Julia Martin (Trinity University Press). Reviewed by Christopher Lancette. “When a sensational writer delivers another outstanding work, it is a gift to all of us. When he manages to do so from beyond the grave, it’s another thing entirely. Something ethereal. That’s exactly what Barry Lopez gives us with Syntax of the River. On its surface, the book is simply the transcript of a 2010 conversation between writer-professor Julia Martin and Lopez, an outdoorsman — he told Martin he wasn’t a “naturalist” — and master of multiple genres of writing. Yet it brings to life mental images of something most of us have never seen: Oregon’s McKinzie River, Lopez’s sacred place.”
Künstlers in Paradise: A Novel by Cathleen Schine (Henry Holt & Co.). Reviewed by Kristin H. Macomber. “Remember how disconcerting it was, just a few years ago, to watch a program or movie that depicted people blithely crowding into elevators, blowing out candles, shaking hands — all without even a whiff of concern regarding face-masking or hand-sanitizing or social-distancing? Upon delving into Cathleen Schine’s latest novel, Künstlers in Paradise, readers may find themselves in a curious state of reverse nostalgia — as in, thank God those early covid days are over! And yet, those vaccine-less months, when family members were unexpectedly bunking together for unforeseen stretches, turned out to be a cross-generational-storytelling gold mine.”
All of Us Together in the End by Matthew Vollmer (Hub City Press). Reviewed by John P. Loonam. “Throughout the book, Vollmer seems to have anticipated my skepticism — or perhaps he’s just struggling fully with his own. He never tells us what to believe but explores what belief might mean for his father’s happiness. Religious doctrine is set aside as he focuses instead on his mother’s wish — that he simply be with his family. All of Us Together in the End endorses neither Seventh-day Adventism nor New Age spirituality. Rather, it’s a call that we have faith in each other.”
Hestia Strikes a Match: A Novel by Christine Grillo (Farrar, Straus and Giroux). Reviewed by Anne Eliot Feldman. “Hestia Strikes a Match, Christine Grillo’s fresh debut, follows the romantic and ideological ruminations of a fortysomething writer living in a truly divided America that has just endured its second civil war. Juxtaposing intellect, wit, and positivity, this pithy satire sheds an imaginative light on two things that invariably bring people together or divide them forever: love and politics.”
Ghost Girl, Banana: A Novel by Wiz Wharton (HarperVia). Reviewed by Bob Duffy. “And yet, this onrush of conventional writerly doodads doesn’t distract. Ingeniously slipped into the current, these commonplaces drove this reader’s interest ever onward, buttressed by bits of wondrously observed social comedy, as in the moment at Maya’s birthday gathering when Lily encounters “a weasel-faced toff in blazer and loafers who had clearly forgotten the purpose of socks.” These flashes of wit abound, especially early in the book, and then fade as the author seems to hunker down for more serious plot-building. That’s too bad. Though literary commonplaces do stud this novel like raisins a Victorian fruitcake — and, yes, one suspects Wharton is dressing her plot for success in the marketplace — this is a stirring, ultimately heartening tale, honest and true to how things are. A-plus.”
Washington’s Gay General: The Legends and Loves of Baron von Steuben by Josh Trujillo and Levi Hastings (Abrams ComicArts – Surely). Reviewed by Nick Havey. “Von Steuben’s story is astonishing unto itself. Not only did he — a gay man living relatively openly as such in the 18th century — transcend a modest childhood to become inspector general of the Continental Army, he also wrote a seminal book on military strategy that remains influential to this day. Yet he’s hardly a household name, which is partly why this book is so important. Queer historical figures have made profound contributions in the United States and around the world. So why do we know so much about, say, Alexander Hamilton, a Founding Father, and almost nothing about Baron von Steuben, a founding daddy?”
Starter Villain by John Scalzi (Tor Books). Reviewed by Andrea M. Pawley. “The vulgar cetaceans’ penchant for creative insults yields not only ‘Bourgeois fistula! Bourgeois fistula!’ but also another of the book’s many hilarious scenes. When Charlie discovers what else he controls that his uncle’s underworld nemeses desire, his life gets even more complicated. Friends are hard to identify. Soon, he’s only sure he can trust his cats and — possibly — those foulmouthed dolphins, who at least are honest in their dealings. Nobody ever said becoming a big-time bad guy would be easy. But reading about it in Starter Villain is a whole lot of fun.”
The Comfort of Crows: A Backyard Year by Margaret Renkl (Spiegel & Grau). Reviewed by Julie Dunlap. “Knowing her own days are also waning, she devotes her time to noticing the iridescence of crow feathers and all the colors in piles of fallen leaves. Even in her most troubled moments, she insists, ‘The night sky is full of stars best seen from a dark place.’ Renkl’s writing is often aptly compared with Annie Dillard’s. As in Dillard’s classic works, The Comfort of Crows unites the personal and the natural, the mundane and the holy, in an exuberant meditation on loving life in a time of transformation. Most important, these essays guide us through life and loss on our fragile, flailing planet. How do we love a diminishing world? Look closer.”
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