I know I haven’t posted a book review in a bit, but that does not mean I haven’t been reading: quite the contrary in fact. Here are my thoughts on several fiction books I have read recently.
Girls on Fire by Robin Wasserman
1991 small town Pennsylvania: the town of Battle Creek is reeling from the recent suicide of its star high school basketball player. As residents wonder why, readers meet the bright but dorky high schooler Hannah Dexter, and the rebellious, plaid wearing, Nirvana listening Lacey Champlain. Hannah is desperate to belong someplace among her peers, when Lacey swoops in, renames her new friend Dex, and remakes the girl in her own image. Soon the two are raising hell, breaking rules, Dex feeling confidence she never knew. Told in alternating perspectives from both Dex and Lacey, the character development in this work is utterly superb, the best I have read in a while. Hannah’s transformation from an unremarkable girl into the cocky Dex is believable, while Lacey merits a novel of her own. Sexy, dark, mysterious, a force of nature, picture the character Nancy from the 1996 cult classic The Craft, wearing grungy plaid, and you got her.
The novel doesn’t shy from portraying the duo experimenting with drugs, sex, violence, and death: of the last three there is plenty. By the novel’s end, the denouement is somewhat cliché and expected, but for how real the characters feel, and all the early 90s cultural references, the work stands tall. For a dark, twisted tale of female friendship gone horrendously wrong, Girls on Fire is for you.
Girls on Fire by Robin Wasserman, Harper Collins, 2016, 357 pages.
Frida by Bárbara Mujica
A fictionalized biography about the famed Mexican artista, Frida is narrated in first person by Frida’s younger sister, Cristina Kahlo. Cristina starts from the very beginning, from how Frida overcame polio in childhood, and later, a tragic accident that would leave her permanently disabled. She recounts how Frida’s bright, rebellious personality both fascinates and repels her: Frida breaking gender barriers by crossdressing, bragging of her conquests with women, and pursuing the famed muralist Diego Rivera, whom she would marry. Cristina tries to align with the norm of a pious Mexican woman—homemaker, mother—but life proves otherwise, after a failed marriage, and an affair with none other than Frida’s own husband. Set against an intense tapestry of the Mexican Revolution, el mexicanismo movement, communism, Trotsky—and the soap opera relationship between Frida and Diego—Cristina witnesses Frida become a star in her own lifetime. But as stars rise, so they must fall, and Cristina witness her free spirited sister, talented artist and ardent communist, decline into debilitating alcohol and drug abuse. Told in language both lyrical and crass, humorous and heartbreaking, always colorful, Cristina’s awe, shock, anger, and ultimately, love for her extraordinary sister is evident: she makes Frida come alive. Just as Frida painted auto-retratos (self-portraits), Mujica’s Cristina paints a portrait of the famed artist through prose. A thoroughly enjoying novel to read.
Frida by Bárbara Mujica, Plume, 2001, 366 pages.
Finding Hattie by Sally Warner
Inspired by, and featuring several actual journal entries by the author’s great grandmother, Warner takes readers back into the late Victorian era. Fourteen year old Hattie Knowlton is all alone, a true orphan after losing her little brother. Going to live with her wealthy aunt and uncle, she feels very much out of place. Her beautiful, spoiled cousin Sophie tries to take the lonely girl under her wing while attending Miss Bulkley’s Seminary for Young Ladies, but it’s when Hattie meets Fannie Macintosh, from the Wild West, that Hattie finds true friendship. A warm, engaging tale, Warner succeeds in conveying the rampant prudery and classism of the era. Fannie Macintosh is a character who deserves her own novel: her gumption and wit are a refreshing contrast against the staid upper class girls. While Warner includes several excerpts from Hattie’s diary, I sincerely wish she had included more material. The relationship between Hattie and Fannie could be introduced sooner, as the ending is rather abrupt: I was so invested in the characters that I was sad when the novel ended. Best suited for middle-grade readers, Finding Hattie provides an extraordinary insight into the Victorian era, and of the quiet resilience of a young girl trying to find her place in the world.
Finding Hattie by Sally Warner, Harper Collins, 2001, 227 pages.
The Uninvited by Cat Winters
I absolutely loved Winters’ debut novel In the Shadow of Blackbirds, a gothic historical fiction/ paranormal novel, and Winters returns to these themes in this novel. Set in 1918 small town Illinois, the world is coming apart: the Great War rages as the Spanish Flu kills without mercy. Twenty-five year old Ivy Rowan, recently recovered from the flu, abruptly leaves home when she learns her father and brother have murdered a local German resident. Ivy, still reeling from her older brother’s death in the war, has the frightening gift—or curse—of seeing the “uninvited,” spirits of loved ones, whose appearances always mark impending death. Grief stricken, Ivy takes residence downtown, where she experiences firsthand the combined effects of the flu and prevalent xenophobia that drove the murder to occur: along with a slew of sightings of the dead. This novel is extremely fast-paced, almost too much so, but it helps to convey both the physical and psychological chaos of both wartime and simultaneous epidemic. Desperate to make amends, Ivy ends up falling for the younger brother of the slain German—an act which brings about consequences that will echo to the grave. While the work doesn’t have quite the same emotional impact or shockers as Blackbirds, fans of paranormal historical fiction won’t want to miss this one.
The Uninvited by Cat Winters, William Morrow Press, 2015, 356 pages.
The Queen’s Mistake: In the Court of Henry VIII by Diane Haeger
Many readers already know the story of Catherine Howard, fifth (doomed) wife of King Henry VIII: a teenaged girl plucked from an impoverished titled family, made queen, only to be charged with adultery and sent to death 18 months later. With such a dark demise, Catherine has been portrayed as either a giggling wench, innocent victim, a doomed romantic. Haeger portrays Catherine as a kind girl, neglected by her own family, shut away in a dreary country estate. To counter boredom, Catherine becomes promiscuous: no different from her fellow female peers. Unfortunately for her, her last name and beauty soon catch the attention of the old, ill tempered king, and Catherine’s family are all too glad to offer up the girl. Torn between her true love, courtier Thomas Culpeper, and fealty to her family and the glory of being Queen of England, Catherine tries to inhabit both roles—at the expense of her life. Haeger’s novel is not the most revelatory or eye opening fiction regarding Henry VIII’s fifth wife, but it certainly portrays Catherine in a sympathetic light, a refreshing take from Catherine as a conniving and malicious cuckhold of previous works. The novel can read a little clunky or redundant in its language, but if you love anything Tudor, pick up this book.
The Queen’s Mistake: In the Court of Henry VIII by Diane Haeger, New American Library, 2009, 407 pages.
Anne Boleyn: A King’s Obsession by Alison Weir
After reading royal biographer and historian Alison Weir’s Innocent Traitor, a novel about the doomed Lady Jane Grey, I eagerly anticipated more historical fiction from her. This novel, second installment of the Six Tudor Queens series, does not disappoint. Readers meet Anne Boleyn, King Henry VIII’s second wife, and follow her incredible ascent from a humble nobleman’s daughter to eventually Queen of England. Weir’s Anne is a smart, passionate woman, introduced to and enlightened by proto-feminist characters and works, respectively Archduchess Margaret of Austria, and the writings of Christine de Pizan: a very refreshing point, something I have not seen in other fictional works about Anne. Armed with such progressive ideas for her times, Anne exercises self agency, trying her best to not sacrifice her freedom, nor her honor, to any man. Not any easy task to be had, as her own sister is assaulted multiple times—by multiple kings—Anne is angry at the hypocrisy of “courtly love” and the reality of court life.
Initially avoiding King Henry’s attentions, the allure of securing power, wealth, and an heir for family and kingdom prove to be too much. Weir’s steady build up on Anne’s gradual ascent to power may seem long, even tedious, but one must remember Anne kept Henry interested for six whole years, the king going so far as to break away from the Pope to secure his eventual marriage to her.
What I do find interesting is the novel is somewhat vague on the events, and overall impact, of the English Reformation, the repercussions of which are still felt today. Once queen, Anne transforms into an overly ambitious and sometimes outright cruel sovereign, the consequences of which echo all too quickly. As long as her ascent to power was, her subsequent fall is brutally swift, the novel moving at sudden rapid pace. Weir succeeds in bringing Anne’s suppressed fears to grim reality, as King and countrymen turn against and seek to rid her. Falsely accused of adultery, witchcraft, and incest, Anne boldly defends herself but it is not enough. Anne’s fears are palpable, and Weir does not shy in portraying her protagonist’s brutal final moments on the scaffold: the ending had my heart racing. For Tudor-philes and lovers of historical fiction, A King’s Obsession is a royal winner.
Anne Boleyn: A King’s Obsession: A Novel by Alison Weir, Ballantine Books, 2018, 574 pages.
Pollyana by Eleanor H. Porter
I’ve read abridged editions of this 1913 classic, and love the 1960 film of the same name, so I decided it was time to read the original work. Porter’s Pollyana turns out to be as cheerful, obsessively glad as can be, almost to the point of cloying. The storyline itself isn’t new at all: orphaned girl with good heart is sent to live with dreary, dull relative(s). With time, the girl changes everyone’s lives for the better. Pollyana at first glance seems one dimensional, playing her “Glad Game” of always looking on the bright side; the novel lacks any further true character development.
But Pollyana’s message is surprisingly strong, simple, and often overlooked: Be happy. Live life. Written just over a century ago, the novel carries strong overtones of the all Victorian “can do” and “duty” attitudes: themes that are still easily relevant, and arguably much needed today. In this age of instant information and social media, of curating an image, “Generation Me,” Pollyana is genuine. She is happiness and makes happiness: happy not for the sake of herself, but for the happiness of others. She turns Aunt Polly from an aloof individual to someone who can, and is, able to fall in love again. Pollyana helps mentor the orphan Jimmy, and eventually helps him find a forever home. And in her own hour of trial, Pollyana is human in that she doubts her own perspective…but with the “gladness” she has given others, hope and happiness is returned back to her tenfold. Pollyana is selfless. And it comes to save her at her darkest hour.
As simple (and overburdened by tropes) the novel may be, the theme of Pollyana is gold. And yes: I can honestly say I am glad that I read this classic, a positive book of a bright girl with an even brighter message.
Pollyana by Eleanor H. Porter, Aladdin Paperbacks, 2002, 292 pages.
