I enjoy reading stories re-told from marginalized characters’ points of view (James, Fagin, Longbourne, etc) so I was looking forward to reading a prequel to Oz told from Auntie Em’s point of view. But I was sorely disappointed. There are very few surprises in this sentimental description of life on the Kansas prairie during the Great Depression, unless you’ve never heard of this era of American history before.

Any character “secrets” are revealed long in advance, and everything that happens feels quite predictable -- bright promising young Emily is worn down and hardened by prairie life during the Dust Bowl. The writing is cliched, full of too many adjectives (plus endless ruby-red and emerald-green objects!), and far too many heavy-handed metaphors (“a cyclone of emotion,” etc). Lots of one word sentences: “Dust. Dirt. Life. Death.”

The dialogue often seems pulled from a corny 1940s B-movie. And foreshadowing every detail of the Wizard of Oz by tying it to something in reality (Dorothy has a toy lion, tin man and scarecrow, a little hourglass, there is an aerial circus balloonist turned fraudulent rainmaker, etc) – was actually irritating to me, as it flattened the magic and strangeness of L. Frank Baum’s highly imaginative, inventive world, making it all “explainable.” (In the book the magic of Dorothy’s adventure in Oz is simply true, and not explained away as a ‘just a dream’).

I did like the addition of female aviator (who later “becomes” the good witch), and it was also somewhat interesting to read about what happened after the big tornado. (Note that two-thirds of the story happens AFTER Dorothy enters Emily’s life, though). I felt obliged to read my free advance copy, but otherwise, I honestly don’t think I would have finished this book.

Gurnah tells of lives of Karim, an aspiring, university-educated young man, Fauzia, a young woman dedicated to teaching but fearful of recurring "falling sickness" and Badar, a sensitive soul confined to the servant class, with the steady pace and compassionate tone of a wise storyteller. He describes contemporary Zanzibar (and Dar Es Salam, all part of Tanzania) in a way that makes it come to life. At first he jumps evenly among the lives of the three, who of course, ultimately come to be connected, but ultimately our hearts come to sympathize with some more than others.

I was struck how most of the pain in this novel is caused by angry, entitled men (although there is an entitled young British woman as well!), and systems of hierarchy and patriarchy, from Raya's husband, to Badar's father and Uncle, to finally Karim. We feel the effects of colonialism and tourism as well on the characters, but to me the angry men, even though most of them remain side characters, feel most destructive here. A truly compelling story, rooted the description of every day lives

I am a huge fan of Colum McCann’s fiction -- I've read almost every single one -- but this one left me feeling disappointed. The subject of African workers who repair the cables that lie on the deep ocean floor, carrying almost all of our internet messages, sounded fascinating. But the narrator, a middle-aged, alcoholic, failing Irish writer, divorced and with no relationship with his 16 year old son, instead becomes obsessed with the other Irishman on board, a ”mysterious” younger man, Conway, in charge of finding and repairing the cables.

The narrator, Fennel, seems to sense a younger version of himself in Conway. Fennel also becomes obsessed with Conway’s potentially broken relationship with a rising South African actress, performing in Waiting for Godot in England, and spends much of his time on board trying to learn about it over the internet. As he narrates, we are subjected to Fennel’s mediocre writing and often pretentious prose and endless literary allusions, too – how many times can he use the metaphors of “brokenness” and “repair” and “turbulence” without our wanting to shout “Enough! We get it!” I honestly was not compelled to care that much about either of these Irishmen.

I was most absorbed by the scene when, back on land, outside of Accra, Fennel’s maid, a scientist in her own right who has chosen to stay in her impoverished village, takes him to a dump where villagers are melting down the metals in the broken sea cable to resell, in hopes make a meager living. Those are the kinds of people and stories that Colum McCann is usually so wonderful at relating, with careful observation and great compassion. But here, we are stuck with two Irishmen who won’t do the hard work of really trying to solve their own personal issues with meaningful, long-lasting relationships – perhaps try a therapist?

Instead, Fennel returns to his obsession with Apocalypse Now. Heart of Darkness, Conrad, Conway, get it? Oy. The mysterious Conway and his puzzling actions remain cloaked in mystery, and the book ends with Fennel having a revelation that perhaps he can repair his broken relationship with his son by taking a selfie with the famous South African actress and sending it across the ocean in a cable.

I am not a fan of post-apocalyptic books, but I was drawn to this one by the relationship between two intriguing-sounding women. And this "apocalypse" is just caused by rain, it is gentle, without violence, which made it more palatable. I had to really slow down to an almost meditative pace to enter the artist's slow journey to find connection back to her world, a city and its history gradually disappearing in endless rain and flooding, and back to her art work, which she does through caring for a prickly 130 year-old woman, also stranded in their 100 story apartment building.

I must confess it took a while to become involved; the introduction of a deadline and higher stakes about half way through helped move the story along. I was rewarded, though, through the detailed description of care for the elderly, and of the artist's creative process. There is beauty in this journey, as the artist comes to understand what is most important in life.

Much of this book is a detailed description of a poet's 10 day sojourn in the ICU, in the middle of the pandemic, as medical professionals try to figure out what has caused his aorta to tear. I inwardly groaned when I first opened the book to see lots of very long sentences and multi-page long paragraphs -- but I was amazed at how quickly I became absolutely enraptured by all the IV bags and needles and nurses coming and going and machines beeping, all of which grounds the wanderings of the poet's mind
amidst his pain.

Strangely beautiful lines of poetry come to him and he tries to explain why they are important to him, and we learn of his relationship with L, a Spanish poet and professor (they have learned each other's languages - -what an apt metaphor for love!), and the stable home they have tried to build, despite shoddy workmanship and tree and roof destroying derecho winds, and of his difficult childhood in Kentucky, in a home without love. All of these meanderings helping to bring him closer to what is most important in this painful, chaotic world we are all living in. I loved this book, and will certainly read it again at some point in my life.

I was enthralled by this story of a gay immigration attorney and his estrangement from his mother, who left her job in the ministry to found a feminist retreat in Vermont with her lesbian lover and long-time friend. The descriptions of the myriad incredible life and death stories immigration attorneys must contend with everyday, along with the detailed description of the work required to stay mindful so that the mother can help others at her retreat are riveting, as is the mystery of just why these two rarely speak to or talk to each other. One of my very favorite novels so far this year — the writer has been a finalist for the Pulitzer twice, and his sensitive, nuanced writing demonstrates why.

My first thought on reading this retelling of Huckleberry Finn from Jim's point of view was "Why has no one done this before? And why have none of the white people who have revered Huck's story ever thought to deeply consider the way Jim's character is portrayed?" Praise the Lord for Percival Everett then! His use of dark humor to describe the way slaves had to disguise themselves to escape the scorn and brutality of the white people around them -- and the deep intelligence and thoughtful curiosity, as well as the strength and profound resilience of slaves like James who were somehow able to survive their narrow, pinched world views, makes James easily the best book I read in 2024! (And if you haven't read The Trees, about two black detectives in Alabama working to solve a series of mysterious lynchings -- make that next on your list!

This beautifully written and masterfully crafted novel lets us in to the inner world of Mamush, a struggling international journalist who must leave his wife and ill toddler in Paris to return to DC for the holidays, only to learn that Samuel, the father figure of his life and a cab driver, has committed suicide. We learn of his irregular trip, which takes him first to Chicago where he was raised by his single mother and Samuel, both immigrants from Ethiopia.

While in Chicago for a day, Mamush, whom we learn was a quiet and accommodating child who could make himself seem invisible when needed, tries to fill in some of the many blank spaces in his childhood. He then is driven by a chain of cab drivers back across the country to DC, the last leg of the trip driven by Samuel. We jump back and forth between this journey and Mamush attending the Samuel's wake in his DC suburban home. We learn that Mamush has often had difficulty determining what is and isn't real, as we as readers try to understand what parts of the story may also not be real.

Like much of Mamush's communication with his parents, and even with his wife, a photographer whose photographs also appear in the book, the story is told "on the slant" and ends up working on several different levels. I found it all a very moving description of the disappointment so many immigrants must live with in this country, and the strange "in-between" world their children must inhabit.

The powerful, deeply compassionate story of a young Tamil woman in Sri Lanka, working to become a doctor and keep her humanity in the midst of a growing civil war between the unjustly and often brutally treated Tamil minority and the Sri Lankan government. I was woefully ignorant of this violent war waging for almost three decades of my life, and found the careful way this story was told deeply enlightening. The growth of Sashi's courage is truly inspiring, especially in these times when many of us are needing to find the courage to stand up against the destruction of our own democracy. I will recommend this beautifully written book to everyone I know!

The journey of Adina, sent to earth as a baby to report on human life on earth by beings on her planet looking for a new home, is one of the most imaginative, wondrous novels I have read in many years. Her childhood observations, faxed to her superiors, and their matter of fact replies, are full of poetic humor. I can't imagine that any human
who lives on earth would not love this book!