Don’t know where, don’t know when.

Publisher: Doubleday (Random House)
Pages: 315
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-857-52194-1
First Published: 2014
Date Reviewed: 11th August 2015
Rating: 5/5

Hettie dances for a living. Giving up the job in Woolworths her mother was happy for, she has taken work dancing with men, only getting paid if chosen to partner. When she meets Ed, it seems things might finally be going her way. Evelyn works in pensions, assessing claims for veterans of the First World War and dealing with the lowered pay that the men will not accept. Her brother is always too happy, far happier than other men who served. Ada lost her son to the war but can’t quite believe it; she’s been in limbo for a few years now whilst her husband sits forgotten. In amongst these three tales is woven the homecoming of the Unknown Soldier and the situations of those who aid his journey.

Wake is stupendous. It’s full of character, emotion, the excellent results of research; this book is just wonderful.

In fact it’s the sort of book you wish would be adapted for film; the characters leap from the page – they are very real and the writing is such that you can picture it all well. There isn’t really much of your conventional plot, instead the novel is about the spiritual/psychological, post-war journey of the three characters, the way they deal with the after effects of the war.

The use of the three definitions of ‘wake’ speak of the book’s whole as you might expect. The characters are waking from a metaphorical slumber: Hettie from her situation at home, her strict mother and now silent brother; Evelyn from the drudgery of the everyday; Ada from her limbo. We witness the funeral and effects of the funeral, which could be termed the ‘wake’ of the Unknown Soldier. And we are seeing what’s happening as a consequence of the war, in the wake of the war. It is a rather powerful combination and the way it’s all done so that it takes studying to really see it, is rather stunning, too.

It’s this, the combination of the three definitions, that makes the book what it is. There is just so much to take in, to savour, despite the story taking place over only five days. Emotion is the be all here, and whilst the characters are each important, the culmination of the book, the homecoming of the unknown soldier is just as important if not more so in some ways. It’s the way Hope links the homecoming to the characters, the way she demonstrates to her readers, most likely people who did not witness the event and were not alive at the time, what an effect it could have; you will feel like you were there. It’s fair to say she shows the event from the point of view of those who organised it – what it was created to represent. The body could represent a person another had lost, the lost person who hadn’t been found. People could, likely often quite reasonably, believe it was the body of a loved one. It’s this symbolism that Hope delves into with such aplomb, and the emotion she stirs up… well, similarly to what I’ve said above, you can picture it in your mind, it’s as vivid as a film and as powerful as any visual could be. If you’ve ever wondered what this time was like, this book will show you, and as my repeated use of the word should intimate, it really is all about ‘show’ – there is no telling here even though there are details aplenty.

Back to the characters then; that well-known situation where you tend to prefer one character’s narrative to another? – Hope tackles that to good effect. You may still prefer one of the three but it has less of an impact because the author is constantly switching back and forth, never lingering too long; she’s spends time fairly. She also gives you reason to enjoy each narrative and to really get under the skin of Hettie, Evelyn, and Ada. She keeps them apart, narratively, so you can focus on them.

Hettie, who introduces us to old-fashioned dance halls and the PTSD from the viewpoint of the sister of the man; Evelyn who has been as involved as she could be in the war, lost a finger and rebelled against bad parents in a similar place as Hettie, the sister, but closer to her brother; Ada, parent, sometimes wife, who is seeing her dead son everywhere and can’t accept the loss without information. The thread of PTSD, as seen and experienced by the various characters, is rather valuable in its way. Of course not everyone will recover, but the author shows the glimmer of hope.

The writing? Gorgeous. Succinct but never lacking. Every word valuable whilst not important – it’s the whole that’s important but the pieces make it so.

It is difficult to do Wake justice; one just wants to say ‘read this book!’ but of course that would be an injustice. Suffice to say that if you want to learn about the aftermath of WWI, you should read this book. It may be fiction but the facts are everywhere. If you want to learn more about the time period in general, you should read this book. If you want to learn about women’s roles in society, the way they were reversed after a war which saw woman move from the home, you should read this book. If you want to read something powerful, vivid beyond your imagination, and unique in the way it deals with the subject, you should read this book.

Just read this book. There; I said it.

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Guns, outlaws, and women included.

Publisher: Shiloh Run Press (Barbour Publishing)
Pages: 309
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-630-58927-1
First Published: 1st July 2015
Date Reviewed: 3rd May 2015
Rating: 3/5

Schoolteacher Cassie loves sheriff Ben, but Ben still sees her as a child. When they are paired together, tasked with doing each other’s jobs, both are confidant they can rise to the challenge. Then there is new resident, baker Jenny, a widow with a past she’s not divulging, who is paired with another widow, stable owner Carl. Whoever does their temporary job best wins money for a certain sector or the town but it’s likely they’ll win each other, too.

The Cactus Creek Challenge is an inspirational (Christian) western romance that focuses on domestic and social relations.

The story is simple and mostly predictable but that’s no bad thing; it leaves Vetsch able to look at her other themes. There are two romances. The reader is likely to vastly prefer one to the other due to how much more natural it is. The slow burn of Carl and Jenny’s relationship is rather special and it’s written very well. The addition of Amanda, Jenny’s child, only adds to it. Yes, Amanda is included a lot and almost too talkative (in the way of info-dumping) but the relationship and development of the new family is rather lovely.

Cassie and Ben, on the other hand, is a relationship that’s more forced. There is a nice passage in which Ben realises Cassie has grown up but otherwise their relationship isn’t so believable. It’s hard to see why Cassie likes Ben, particularly when we’re told they are like siblings but never shown any true evidence of it or any friendship. The relationship rests on what we’re told, that Cassie loves Ben but she’s always moaning at him, that Ben now likes Cassie (that nice passage) but it doesn’t really blossom.

Carl and Jenny are the stand outs in this book; both work hard to do the other’s job and to understand life from that point of view. Carl’s efforts to bring Amanda out of her shell and his love for her are written brilliantly; he is a very endearing character. Jenny worries about her past but Vetsch keeps it from becoming frustrating – there is no constant pushing away as there can be in other books.

One of the problems with this book is that Cassie is a bit of a mismatch. Vetsch presents a woman who was a tomboy in her youth, a woman who loves the idea of being sheriff for a month, and who shows promise to the reader as such – and then has Cassie prettifying the jail in a way that makes no sense and bares no relation to the set-up. This second Cassie does not comprehend why Ben is angry she’s added curtains and crockery and cushions to the jail, does not understand why it’s inappropriate to have a tea party there with all the ladies of the town, whilst simultaneously wanting to be the sheriff.

In the main the story reads well, but there are a few issues. Foremost is the way two of the characters kill a kidnapper – they are worried about the child which is understandable, but there is no mention of any remorse or prayers to God, which in the context of the Christian background is difficult. The body is pulled back home and will be planted in the ground; no prayers, nothing. The man is shot and anything else is simply ignored by the text.

Otherwise religion is included well. There is one time wherein an entire hymn is included, which is a bit much and lessens the effect, but otherwise faith lingers in the background, naturally informing the character’s lives. The romantic scenes show well how a book can be perfectly steamy without the characters ever adjourning to the bedroom. Carl and Jenny’s scenes stand out as their scenes do in general, but there are some lovely moments between Cassie and Ben near the end.

Throughout the book you know there’s a fair chance of a particular event occurring – it’s something that is reported as a possibility in line with Jenny’s leaving her old home. It’s something that’s almost expected as an element. However when it comes down to it Vetsch decides to use the concept itself but place it in an entirely irrelevant context, an unimportant plot device sort of context, that could be considered frustrating due to how successful and meaningful the alternative would have been. It’s a case of close but no cigar – not bad, per se, but the alternative was so remarked upon that it does feel as though the story’s going down the wrong path.

There are continuity errors, for example a character says that a person should follow them outside and moments later the second character leaves by themselves with no mention of changing the plan. Chairs are pulled out, never to be referred to again. Part of the story is made up of accident after accident after accident. Lastly there is a great amount of info-dumping and the text is overwritten (excursions that are simply to introduce someone to the reader rather than having an actual raison d’etre).

The writing itself is strictly okay. Here again there is too much description (to paraphrase, there are lots of sentences akin to ‘he took the chair from the desk and sat on the seat’), factually inaccurate statements and anachronisms.

The Cactus Creek Challenge isn’t as refined as, say, A Bride’s Portrait Of Dodge City, Kansas, but it’s generally well set in its era and the twist of women doing the men’s work is as fulfilling as you might have hoped upon reading the blurb. It’s also a fair choice for those looking for faith in their fiction without it being a theme. It’s not going to ‘wow’ you, but you may find yourself lingering over it all the same.

I received this book for review from the publisher.

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Modelling trains, modelling parents.

Publisher: Carina Press (Harlequin)
Pages: 185
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-426-89877-8
First Published: 29th July 2014
Date Reviewed: 20th April 2015
Rating: 2.5/5

Max, the basement-dwelling potential serial killer, wants a wife. In order to find one he’s going to need to integrate himself into the community. Freelancer and waitress Tori doesn’t want a boyfriend – her parents’ awful relationship has seen to that – but she’ll play matchmaker and help Max prepare himself for the world of dating.

The final book in the Kowalski series, Falling For Max is the second non-Kowalski and a bit of a dismal end.

The main issue is Tori’s attitude to Max and the writing of him. Tori treats Max like a child. She’s patronising, dons kid gloves, and how she falls in love in this mode of mothering is hard to understand. She makes overblown assumptions about Max such as that he would be bored talking to a girl about her interests – were that so, that’s surely a sign Max shouldn’t date the girl again rather than a sign he’s no good at dating. Now it seemed to me as though Max could have Asperger’s but as it’s never said, has never seemed that way in previous books, and people call him an ‘odd duck’ which he doesn’t like and is rather offensive especially if he did have AS, I’m assuming Stacey wasn’t writing him as such.

Tori is obsessed with Max’s logical reasoning and literal understanding. It’s written as childlike, continued too long. When he’s not with Tori, Max comes across as competent, just lacking in experience; with Tori you’d think he needed to go back to school.

This begs a question: why does Max like Tori? In real life he wouldn’t. He would tell her to find another project or simply stick to being friends. There is no chemistry between them and even the sex scenes lack any spark.

There are various other smaller issues such as Rose’s demands – real life Max would’ve left when she reached offensive levels – and Hannibal Lector masks being appropriate at a child-friendly party when Black Widow is not. There is the obsession with ‘decaf’ – it can never simply be ‘coffee’ and it always must be noted that Max won’t drink it after five (this is a narration issue).

But something that does really, really really, work in this book is Stacey’s handling of Tori’s parents’ divorce. Tori, already an adult by the time the hideously ill-matched pair separate, is very much affected by it. Stacey shows how the parents’ constant slagging matches, the way they’ve wished each other dead, has had a major impact on Tori’s own life, on her relationships. The way each parent moans to Tori about the other and effectively asks her to choose a side is handled with care – as is the conclusion, the way Tori takes back control, finally in a situation where she doesn’t want their relationship blackening her own. She changes from allowing her phone to reach voicemail to taking a firm stand and whilst this may seem trivial to some and, of course, short in regards to time (as it must be due to the book’s word count) it is done with aplomb. Stacey’s careful handling could well inspire others.

Falling For Max shows that it is indeed time to finish with the Kowalskis and it does end the series on a dull note but there is much to like about Stacey’s thoughtfulness. The romance cannot be recommended but the domestic issues can.

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When banks do not store money.

Publisher: Salt
Pages: 233
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-784-63024-9
First Published: 1st March 2015
Date Reviewed: 7th April 2015
Rating: 4/5

Alex, Rada, and D are ‘loss adjusters’ – they deal with lives that have ended, reporting on the worth. Alex gets up later than D and Rada. He wanted to be with Rada but she chose Gary. D is sick of Rada’s detailing and just completely sick of Alex, and hopes for better. Rada is in the bank when it’s robbed, can’t get the old man to lay on the floor and her following suspension leaves her aloof in the world. And then there are the demoted police who want to give something unlawful a try.

The Fat Of Fed Beasts is a somewhat confusing novel that looks at work, the worth of a life, society, and individual reactions to situations. Honing in on one particular situation, it deals with its subjects swiftly, mostly devoid of extraneous detail.

‘Mostly’ is the the keyword here because there is an aspect of The Fat Of Fed Beasts that is best noted prior to reading – the book is told from various viewpoints (it takes time to work out who is who) and one of these viewpoints is going to make you want to throw the book across the room. It takes a chapter of this viewpoint to realise what is going on and that chapter is a long, tiresome, one. The character provides every minute detail. They are frustrating, repetitive, and take forever to get to the point. It’s important to mention all this because for a time you may well wonder where the editor was: this is a style Ware makes use of for this (one) character. Odds are, Ware found them as tedious to write as the reader will to read; Ware has ensured his characters are different. In sum, you’re going to want to give up early on but bare with it. The author’s on your side, as are the other characters.

The minute detailing takes us to the next point: this is largely a book about personal responses to situations; the bank robbery. Characters worry about their jobs, about the person called Likker who no one seems to know, about society in general. The frustrating character allows us to look at customs and etiquette, British mannerisms, all in a relaxed but nevertheless slightly satirical way. The character who swears a lot shows the way a younger person can strive to keep up to be listened to (not that the swearing is due to age). Another character shows varying levels of anxiety, angst, and a certain sort of empathy that to name would spoil part of the story. It could be said that Ware’s little use of first names, especially at the start, shows that whilst these are individuals, their issues could be anyone’s.

So it’s about people, crime, features a bit of comedy and a smattering of mystery. The writing style, almost to suit this smorgasbord, is part literary, part general. It’s hard to say it’s literary fiction but at the same time that’s sort of what is it.

To be sure The Fat Of Fed Beasts isn’t for everyone, though even those who aren’t overly keen are likely to take something from it. It’s short, almost necessarily so; the length is pretty perfect actually. The ambiguity is something to savour; it let’s you focus on what’s most important.

Give this one a chance; there’s a chance you’ll like it.

I received this book for review from the publisher.

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He knows when you are sleeping; he knows when you’re awake.

Publisher: Picador (Pan Macmillan)
Pages: 424
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-447-25089-0
First Published: 3rd July 2014
Date Reviewed: 16th March 2015
Rating: 2.5/5

It’s 1686 and Nella moves to the home of her new husband in Amsterdam. She expects happiness but instead receives a frosty reception – she’s not particularly wanted, her sister-in-law is clearly mistress of the house, the servants seem too big for their boots, and her husband makes no move to consummate the marriage. Instead of the life she thought she would have, Nella finds herself living in a mystery and this only increases further when her husband buys her a miniature of their house and the creator she assigns to complete it appears to know an uncanny amount about the family.

The Miniaturist is a book that could have been amazing but is sadly held back by a lack of focus, poor writing, and a decisive gap between the characters and the readers.

Burton seems to have chosen the 1600s to gain the attention of history lovers. The book could have been set at some other time at no cost, and the characters do not at all conform to the time period. By this I do not mean the way they defy convention – indeed servants on a par with their masters is not unbelievable – more it’s the way Burton wields power that is an issue. As an example, Nella has a fit over something most of her era would naturally have a fit about, before doing an about turn and completely changing her opinion within hours, emulating views of the present day.

Is Nella confident or nervous? Burton cannot decide. One moment her character is close to being obnoxious, the next she’s a delicate flower who will not speak a word. She leaves the house without question one day, then stays in her room and lets people make all the decisions for her the next. It is clear that Nella is a device – this is a plot-driven novel – but there is nothing to hang on to, so to speak. Burton hasn’t made up her mind and wants both worlds.

The characters never come into their own. You’re never given a reason to care about them; they are distant from the first page to the last. A lot of this is down to the way the author chose to write her story – the particular way she uses the present tense, third person narration, does not allow the reader to feel they are at all close to what’s happening. Instead there’s the sense Burton realised, at some point, that she should have been writing in the first person but didn’t want to rewrite what she already had. Nella does lots of thinking and imagining when dialogue would work better. Everything is too detailed, info-dump is common.

Much of the issue is that The Miniaturist is full of drama. Full of drama to a melodramatic, unnecessary degree. As the book progresses it reads ever more like a prose version of a theatrical production, the problem being that theatre has to be expressive to reach the audience at the back of the room but a book by its very nature has no requirement for it. Disaster follows disaster to a silly level and social issues are packed in like sardines.

As said, this book is not very well written. Whilst modern language is natural – a book in old English would be difficult to read – very modern slang and colloquialisms pull you out of the story. Burton moves between ‘oldy-worldy’ English grammar, modern English grammar, and American grammar, making for dialogue that doesn’t ring true. (The characters may be from Amsterdam, but they would not have peppered their language with Spanish grammar, for example.)

Lastly, it must be said questions are not answered. The question of the miniaturist is never answered. There is a half answer that spells out who they are in terms of background, but you never learn the mystery nor do you ever really meet the miniaturist. The question of what will happen to these characters now they are in a bad position is completely forgotten.

The Miniaturist is strictly okay. Read it if you will, but don’t pass up the chance to read another book for this one.

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