Dead in the Family by Charlaine Harris

I love spring for all the obvious reasons. I love the flowers blooming (which happens early here in Louisiana); I love the birds twittering; I love the squirrels scampering across my yard.

I love the sound of werewolves howling in the distance.

No, just kidding.

-Dead in the Family

I'm finally caught up with the Sookie Stackhouse series. It's been a good ride, so I'm a little sad things are at an end (for now). Luckily, Dead in the Family is just as enjoyable as any of the previous books in the series.

I was a little overwhelmed at the start of the story, I'll admit, since it had been a few months since I finished the previous book (and I've been watching True Blood, so my time line is all mixed up). Suddenly I found myself inundated with names—particularly those of fairies—which it sometimes took me a minute to place. After a few short chapters that served as a refresher in Sookie-ology, though, the story ran smoothly.

So let's see, what's Our Sookie up to? Well, for one thing, she's still dealing with the aftermath of the Fae War, which left her injured and in mourning. Although the fairies supposedly left the human world at the close of battle, it seems that a few were left behind—and at least one of them has no love lost for Sookie. She's still getting used to the commitment she made—albeit unknowingly—to Eric. And since that's not enough to deal with, the Weres come back to the forefront in a big way. Hello, Alcide! Although his halo's been tarnished a bit, I still like having him around.

Speaking of Alcide, I do wonder where Charlaine Harris is going to go with Sookie's men/supernaturals. I like Eric, but I liked him better in small doses, in all honesty. He adds more spark when he's there for a couple of intense scenes than when he's lecturing Sookie on vampire politics. Bill is probably still my favorite, despite his past behavior. Even though he didn't get too much face time in Dead in the Family, he shared in a couple of the most powerful moments of the book. (I especially liked the subplot with the family bible). I'll be very curious to see what the next story brings.

Up next: Eat, Pray, Love, which I am enjoying way more than I expected.

The Wood Wife by Terri Windling

 

The room was now bathed in blue pre-dawn light filtered through the french doors and two small windows set deep in the adobe wall. Through the glass of the doors was a view of the Three Graces (as he had once named the three tall saguaro cactus in a letter to her) and a yard full of ground-hugging prickly pear, scrubby wildflowers and hard-packed earth. In the distance, beyond the long dirt drive, was the wash, a fugitive river that ran only after the heaviest rains. Its banks were edged by cottonwoods with the mountains looming behind them, black against the purple sky. It was a dramatic landscape, harsh and vivid. She did not find the desert beautiful.

-The Wood Wife

After being faced with a panoply of choices for my next book to read, I chose a favorite of my mom's, The Wood Wife. I always like to try people's favorites—just like I appreciate when other people try things I've recommended—although I go in with the understanding that I very well may have a different experience.*

I probably wouldn't have picked The Wood Wife out on my own, simply because I don't read much fantasy that isn't YA (or Sookie Stackhouse, which falls in is its own category to me). I'm also not particularly drawn to books set in the Southwest, but that turned out to be an asset in this case. Maggie Black isn't a desert girl either.  She comes to Tuscon after the death of her mentor, the poet Davis Cooper. Though she'd exchanged scores of letters with Cooper over the years, the two had never actually met; thus Maggie is surprised to find that she is the recipient of his home and its contents according to the terms of his will. Maggie is a writer herself—though she hasn't written poetry in many years—and she hopes this will be an opportunity to begin a biography of Cooper, as she's long hoped to do.

 As Maggie settles into Cooper's house, though, she begins to notice something unusual is going on. The objects that keep disappearing. The locked room. The cryptic letter Cooper wrote her the night of his mysterious death—did I mention he drowned in the desert? It slowly becomes clear that there's more happening out there than Maggie ever anticipated.

You have to take a bit of a leap with this one, I admit. Anytime you don't invest in the reality of the fantasy, as it were, it's going to come across as silly.  You can maintain some skepticism—Maggie does for quite awhile—but at a certain point you need to suspend your disbelief or you're not going to enjoy it. If the creatures Maggie encounters (spirits, fairies, or whatever you want to call them) had been all-knowing and benevolent, I might have scoffed, but their amorality kept things unpredictable and, consequently, more interesting. Although I thought the story got off to a bit of a slow start, I did find myself more invested as things continued, and I thought that the climactic implementation of the spiral path concept was pretty neat.  Some of the dialogue rang a little false to my ear, but Windling did a great job describing the desert (giving me, who's never been, a pretty clear mental picture). I think it might not be a bad idea to read more western-oriented books, particularly as I'm gearing up to move further west myself.

Up next: The most recent Sookie Stackhouse novel, Dead in the Family. Woo!

*The one downside of recommending things is that it's a bummer if someone doesn't enjoy something you loved. A little disheartening, isn't it? 

The Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan

Each spring for a period of weeks the imperial gardens were filled with prize tulips (Turkish, Dutch, Iranian), all of them shown to their best advantage. Tulips whose petals had flexed too wide were held shut with fine threads hand-tied. Most of the bulbs had been grown in place, but these were supplemented by thousands of cut stems held in glass bottles; the scale of the display was further compounded by mirrors placed strategically around the garden. Each variety was marked with a label made from silver filigree. In place of every fourth flower a candle, its wick trimmed to tulip height, was set into the ground. Songbirds in gilded cages supplied the music, and hundreds of giant tortoises carrying candles on their backs lumbered through the gardens, further illuminating the display. [...] The whole scene was repeated every night for as long as the tulips were in bloom, for as long as Sultan Ahmed managed to cling to his throne.

-The Botany of Desire 

A pretty scene, isn't it? (Well, I'm not sure if the giant tortoises would agree.) There's something so magical about a beauty that transcends time, something boiled down to the essentials of color, shape, and light. The beauty of a tulip bathed in the radiance of candles as opposed to that of, say, some shiny new high-tech device, however nice its contours or its color. Of course, I'm a former art history student, so I tend to get a bit excited over color and light.

I also get excited about books about food. The Botany of Desire is a little different than other food books I've read, because it mostly focuses on the development of plants; specifically, how they have evolved to fulfill certain human desires. Pollan looks at apples (sweetness), tulips (beauty), marijuana (intoxication), and potatoes (control). Each plant/desire leads him in a different direction, some of which I found more interesting than others.

 We begin with the apple. How can you not? Adam and Eve, Johnny Appleseed—the apple is so woven into our mythology. Even so, I found this to be the driest section, although I did appreciate the look into the importance of biodiversity of the species (also addressed in the potato section).

Pollan then moves on to the tulip, with a look at the tulipomania that struck the Netherlands in the 17th century. Again, I didn't find this particularly compelling—but luckily things pick up once Pollan starts in on marijuana. He shares his own pot-growing high jinks, but also considers why/if the plant encourages intoxication.Throughout, Pollan speculates on plants developing in ways that would encourage people to grow them. With the discussion of marijuana, I thought this became more interesting, possibly because the idea of intoxication itself merits a lot of attention—thus scientists continuing to look into how marijuana works on the brain.

And then we came to the potato.

The toxin, which is produced by a bacterium that occurs naturally in the soil, is generally thought to be safe for humans, yet the Bt [Bacillus thuringiensis] in genetically modified crops is behaving a little differently from the ordinary Bt that farmers have been spraying on their crops for years. Instead of quickly breaking down in nature, as it usually does, genetically modified Bt toxin seems to be building up in the soil. This may be insignificant; we don't know. (We don't really know what Bt is doing in soil in the first place.) We also don't know what effect all this new Bt in the environment may have on the insects we don't want to kill, though there are reasons to be concerned. In laboratory experiments scientists have found that the pollen from Bt corn is lethal to monarch butterflies. Monarchs don't eat corn pollen, but they do eat, exclusively, the leaves of milkweed (Asclepias syriaca), a weed that is common in American cornfields. When monarch caterpillars eat milkweed leaves dusted with Bt corn pollen, they sicken and die. Will this happen in the field? And how serious will the problem be if it does? We don't know.

I can't lie, the potato was my favorite chapter. Pollan looks into the development of potatoes that are resistant to the potato bugs—not because of anything sprayed upon them, but because of their genetic makeup, as designed by chemical giant Monsanto. It's a fascinating, troubling look at the difficulties facing farmers today. Some of the issues addressed came up during the tail end of Food, Inc., when the topic turned to the burgeoning field of patents on particular varieties of corn—once again, designed by Monsanto. I certainly imagine you can't help but look at the potato differently after reading this chapter—I know I'll be thinking hard about where the next potato I buy comes from and what might be in it.

Overall, I didn't enjoy this one as much as In Defense of Food, but I still found it to be a worthwhile read. I'd also be interested in checking out the television documentary of the same name (currently streaming on Netflix!).

Up next: Good question! There must be something lying around....

The Devil's Star by Jo Nesbø

She half turned without seeing him and wrinkled her nose as if there was a potent smell coming from somewhere, which was a possibility Harry could not completely exclude. She asked the checkout girl for a pack of 20 Prince Mild cigarettes.

'Thought you were trying to give them up.'

Vibeke turned round in surprise, scrutinised him and gave him three different smiles. The first one, fleeting, automatic. Then one of recognition. Then, after she had paid, one of curiosity.

'And you're going to have a party, I see.'

She put her purchases into a plastic bag.

'Something like that,' Harry mumbled, reciprocating her smile.

-The Devil's Star

Harry Hole is in a bad way. As we saw in The Redbreast and Nemesis, Harry's struggle with his demons is unending. By the beginning of The Devil's Star, Harry has given up the fight.

We don't know why at first, but the result couldn't be clearer: we meet Harry in the midst of an epic bender. His supervisor kindly put him on leave four weeks earlier, when Harry just stopped showing up for work. But a police officer can't be on leave indefinitely, and he's finally called in to a crime scene. A woman has been murdered; her index finger ritualistically severed. Harry's partnered up with Tom Waaler, whom he loathes. It comes as no surprise that things get off to a rocky start.

'One of the officers at the crime scene threatened to write a report on you. He says you were visibly intoxicated when you arrived [...] Were you intoxicated, Harry?'

'Of course I wasn't, boss.'

'Are you absolutely positive you're telling me the truth right now, Harry?'

'Are you absolutely positive that you want to know?'

Harry heard Møller's groan at the other end.

Soon enough, a woman has disappeared, and it isn't long before the two cases are connected. As usual, Nesbø has engineered a remarkably clever mystery that requires a serious amount of effort to untangle. The Devil's Star is complex without becoming overly convoluted; Nesbø seems to have become somewhat more judicious with his twists. (I did have a bit of trouble picturing some of the logistics of the gruesome climax. Perhaps that was just a self-preservation instinct.) Overall, I consider it the strongest of Nesbø's novels to date.

Aside from his crackerjack plots, Nesbø's greatest strength as an author is the shape he gives to the damaged, driven Harry*. There is no romanticizing of Harry's problems here—Nesbø never shies away from showing exactly how low Harry can fall. I was wincing at points, because at his core Harry is wonderful—smart, resourceful, caring, funny—and as a reader I can't help but hope for better for him. Harry's behavior, in this book more than any other, has realistic and potentially far-reaching consequences. I am very interested to see where things lie at the start of the next book, The Redeemer. I'm not sure when it will be out in the US, but I see that it's already available in paperback from amazon.co.uk. Oh, so tempting....

Up next: I'm picking up The Botany of Desire again. Good so far, but I can't exactly call it a page-turner.

*And all of his characters, really. I'm consistently impressed to how much depth he gives to characters who might only be around for a few pages.

I Want To Read: Deadwood

Summer is in full swing, and I think we all know the effect that has on good television: for the most part, it's gone. I unashamedly love TV*, but I appreciate getting a breather from watching a series on a weekly basis. Instead, summer is the time to...turn off the idiot box? Nah. Summer is the time to catch up on DVDs!

And I have had more time than usual to catch up this summer, given that I've been laid up with my broken leg rather than run ragged at summer camp. The best discovery I've made, by far, is Deadwood.

I've almost finished the second season of the HBO series, which ran from 2004 until its abrupt end in 2006. I was immediately enthralled with the Wild West in a way I'd never been before, drawn in by vivid, complicated, yet sympathetic characters** and by the day-to-day realities of a world I was wholly unfamiliar with. It's maybe hard to say, given that I haven't finished watching yet, but right now I'd call Deadwood my second favorite show ever. (It's hard to beat The Wire.)

I'm already looking toward the end of the series and realizing that it's not going to last long enough to suit me. I was excited to find that Pete Dexter's novel Deadwood covers the same period of the town's history. A little research informs me that despite having many of the same characters, there are a fair amount of dissimilarities between the book and the show. All the same, I know I'm going to want to spend a little more time in the town of Deadwood once I'm done watching. Although I have many, many books on my to-read list, I'm hoping I can get a hold of a copy of Deadwood sharpish. Until then, I'm happily devouring Jo Nesbø's The Devil's Star. Bookstore gift cards are the best, no?

*Though I do love books more, naturally.

**I've amused myself by trying to order my top 5 Deadwood characters. It's tough. As of this moment I'd go: 1. Doc Cochran (Brad Dourif) 2. Calamity Jane (Robin Weigart) 3. Sol Star (John Hawkes) 4. Al Swearengen (Ian McShane) 5. Seth Bullock (Timothy Olyphant). But then what about Charlie Utter (Dayton Callie) and Joanie Stubbs (Kim Dickens)? Or the characters I love to hate, like the slimy E.B. Farnum (William Sanderson) and the sociopathic yet dapper Francis Wolcott (Garret Dillahunt)?

A Touch of Dead by Charlaine Harris

"Have you ever seen It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown?"

I stopped in my tracks. "Sure," I said. "Have you?'

"Oh, yes," Pam said calmly. "Many times." She gave me a minute to absorb that. "Eric is like that on Dracula Night."

-A Touch of Dead

A Touch of Dead is a small collection of short stories by Charlaine Harris, all centered around her most famous heroine, Sookie Stackhouse. These stories fill in gaps in Harris's novels, providing us with background information and some important plot detail, along with a fair amount of fluff.

There are only five stories, which makes this quite a quick read. In "Fairy Dust," we learn more about the fairy siblings Claude and Claudine as Sookie is brought in to investigate their triplet Claudette's death. "Dracula Night," which I quoted from above, describes Fangtasia's annual celebration of Dracula's birth. The third story of the collection, "One Word Answer," was the most interesting one in terms of its impact on Sookie. In my review of Definitely Dead, I wondered if there was a story that dealt with Sookie learning of the death of her cousin, Hadley, as well as her introduction to Queen Sophie-Ann Leclerq. "One Word Answer" is that story.

"Lucky" gives Sookie a chance to team up with her witchy roommate Amelia to solve a mystery, and "Gift Wrap" details an interesting Christmastime adventure for Sookie. Both stories are amusing, and the latter provides more insight into the supernatural world—for us, though interestingly not for Sookie.

In general, the stories are diverting, and worth reading for a Sookie Stackhouse fan—particularly "One Word Answer." I think it would probably be best to read them in between the novels in the order they were written —Harris indicates the proper sequence in her introduction—but I assume most readers, like me, will read these stories after finishing the rest of the series (save one, in my case). In any case, they're enjoyable, but I didn't get quite the satisfaction I've gotten from the novels, probably because there simply isn't so much space for dramatic arcs or character development in this format. Still, it was a pleasant way to spend an hour or so.

Up next: I think The Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan, but that could change.

Kraken by China Miéville

"Now, Mr. Harrow," Baron said. He shook his head, friendly. "I told you. All those whys is not a helpful way of looking at things. And blimey, there's plenty of stuff you've not even seen yet. How could you possibly understand what's going on? If you even wanted to. Which, as I say, dot dot dot.

"So. Rather than trying to get to grips with things you can't possibly, I'd just say wait. Wait and see. Because you will see. There's more to come. Good-bye now."

-Kraken

A few months ago I went to the Museum of Natural History in New York, which is home to Milstein Hall of Ocean Life. One of the most dramatic dioramas in the hall portrays a struggle between a giant squid and a sperm whale. That so little is known about the giant squid certainly makes it more compelling, and I would guess that this diorama has captured the imagination of many an impressionable visitor.

In Kraken, China Miéville takes the mystery of the giant squid a step further: what if it were worshiped as a god? What if a giant squid, something holy to its worshipers, were pickled and put on display at a natural history museum? And what if one day it just...disappeared?

Such is the mystery faced by Billy Harrow, a curator at London's Natural History Museum. Billy is the man who worked most closely on the preservation of the squid, and he is the one who finds it missing. It's not as if a giant squid in a tank can up and vanish, leaving behind not a shred of evidence—except that's exactly what this one did.

Billy is soon embroiled in events that involve a number of players from a magical side of London hitherto unknown to him. There's the krakenists, of course, those devout worshipers of Architeuthis dux. The FSRC, a police force dedicated to crimes that are out of the ordinary. The Londonmancers, able to tap into the magic of London and—more interestingly to some—to predict the future. The Tattoo, who is as dangerous as he sounds; Goss and Subby, who are far, far worse.

It's a scary, complicated world out there, and Billy has a steep learning curve. With all of those factions and their various, often inscrutable, motivations, it can be difficult to keep up. Miéville, as I learned when reading his novel Un Lun Dun, is fantastically creative. Kraken, if anything, is packed with too many characters and ideas. Good characters and ideas, all of them, but there are just so many that the story became slightly overstuffed. I have to flat-out admit that I'm not sure I understand everything that happened. I do appreciate a story in which not everything is laid out for you, but it can be a fine line. On the plus side, I do look forward to discussing Kraken...once I've found someone else who's read it. I'm also planning on delving further in Miéville's back catalog, as he is certainly one of the most interesting authors I've become familiar with in the last few years.

Up next: A Touch of Dead, the collection of Sookie Stackhouse stories, which I imagine I'll race through pretty quickly.

Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane

"Since the schoolyard," Naehring said, "I would bet neither of you has ever walked away from physical conflict. That's not to suggest you enjoyed it, only that retreat wasn't something you considered an option. Yes?"

Teddy looked over at Chuck. Chuck gave him a small smile, slightly abashed.

Chuck said, "Wasn't raised to run, Doc."

"Ah, yes—raised. And who did raise you?"

"Bears," Teddy said.

-Shutter Island

I saw the film adaptation of Shutter Island back in February. I was reeled in by the moody, atmospheric ads that promised a satisfying level of creepiness. I read some mixed reviews, most of which took the trouble to note a plot twist. No particulars, just that there was one.

I love plot twists. I think they're dandy. I just don't like knowing about plot twists. I think it spoils half the fun. If you go into a movie, or a book, knowing there will be a twist, it's only natural to speculate on what it could be—and in many cases you'll uncover it. No fun.*

So I walked into the movie with a fair idea of where it was going to go, which I thought made it a weaker film than it could have been, but I mostly enjoyed it all the same. And obviously I then began reading the book with a fairly thorough grounding in the plot, though I'd forgotten some of the particulars in the intervening months. I was hoping that in reading the book, I'd clarify some of the more ambiguous points in the film and gain a better understanding of the characters' motivations. On both points, the book was very helpful. It's also a pretty absorbing read.

The plot, you say? Oh yes, there's plenty of that. Teddy Daniels and his new partner, Chuck Aule, are federal marshals assigned to an unusual case on Shutter Island, a psychiatric institution for the criminally insane. A woman named Rachel Solando has disappeared without a trace, which is quite a feat in a place crawling with guards and orderlies. As the marshals investigate the case, they run into more and more peculiarities, all the while battling the effects of a developing hurricane that has cut them off from the outside world.

Poor Teddy. I probably thought that a thousand times while reading. Chuck doesn't have a great time of it either, but Teddy is different. Not only is he our protagonist, Teddy is also a man with a Past. The kind of past that you wouldn't wish on anyone. The kind of past you just can't get past, as it were. He's enormously sympathetic, even though his own behavior is not beyond reproach—far from it. You just want things to start going right for him. That's not really how this kind of book works, though. Poor Teddy.

Poor Teddy, indeed.

In the film, Teddy was played by Leonardo DiCaprio, whom I couldn't help but picture while reading the book. His acting in Shutter Island is among his best work, and I think he was the best part of the film as well. His Teddy was both devastated and utterly devastating, which made the end of the film (quite true to the book) hit even harder. Shout-out to Mark Ruffalo as well for his flawless portrayal of Chuck, whom I also pictured quite clearly when I read. On the whole, it was a visually striking film, so perhaps I shouldn't be surprised that I relied on Scorcese's vision of the island while reading.

All in all, fairly entertaining, and if you've seen (and enjoyed) the film I'd definitely recommend it, just to help you tie up any loose ends.

Up next: Kraken by China Miéville, which I'm very excited about!

*In fact, I certainly wouldn't mention the twist in Shutter Island unless I were sure that it was already a pretty widely known idea among people who keep up with that sort of thing. (A Google search of "Shutter Island" and "twist" returns almost 300,000 results.)

A Reliable Wife by Robert Goolrick

Catherine groped blindly. The reins whipped in the wind, but she found them, took them in her hands. The carriage rocked in the pitted field, but she held on. Her foolish cloak was streaming in the wind, choking her, and she ripped it from her neck and it flew out behind, a momentary ghost in the swirling snow.

She knew enough to let the horses run. She knew enough to hope in their natural instincts. Her strength was no match for the terror she felt pulsing from the horses' black rumps. She held on. She did the only thing she could.

The horses raced on in a frenzy. They galloped down a small bank, skimmed onto the frozen river, the carriage arcing dangerously, so that the horses were spun in a circle, leaving crazy black trails on the powdered ice, really frightened now, aware, suddenly, of how far they were from safety. One of the horses slipped, lost its footing and collapsed onto the ice, which cracked and shimmered but held. Catherine sat mute with fear, with the idea of death in the frigid water, drowning, tangled in dying horses.

The river held.

-A Reliable Wife

In the interview with author Robert Goolrick included in my edition of A Reliable Wife, he states, "These characters are not good people. They have lived mistaken and cruel lives, done despicable things."

He's speaking of Ralph Truitt, for one, a wealthy man of industry living in rural Wisconsin just after the turn of the century. As a young man, Ralph reveled in luxury, first in the city and later abroad, spending his father's money on the finest of everything: wines, wares, and women. His first marriage ended tragically, and he's spent twenty years in sober, gut-wrenching loneliness. He places a discreet ad in the newspaper, in search of the titular reliable wife.

The ad brings Catherine Land to him. Catherine has known her fair share of debauchery as well, but she's left that life behind her. She tells Ralph that she is a missionary's daughter. It's not remotely the truth, but it's the part she's chosen to play. Catherine has a plan, you see, a plan that hinges on an absolute semblance of propriety. That, and a tiny blue bottle of arsenic.

Goolrick slowly reveals what drives these characters: the man haunted by his past and terrified by the prospect of his eternal damnation; the woman who has gotten more that she could have ever imagined, and yet is not quite done. They do things that it's incredibly difficult, if not impossible, to sympathize with. Yet they remain vulnerable and, despite their behavior, Goolrick keeps the reader from turning on his flawed, struggling characters. I've certainly read stories with characters to whom I could relate far better, but I never ended up disliking Ralph or Catherine, even when I stopped understanding them.

In the same interview I mentioned above, Goolrick mentions his interest in following the characters' chances of redemption. I certainly can understand his interest, but I find it somewhat hard to reconcile with the melodramatic denouement. Still, the book was interesting enough that I couldn't help but mentally cast a potential movie while I was reading. I never came up with a definitive cast, but the complicated characters and the cinematic nature of the book seem to ensure a film adaptation (indeed, Sony already has the rights). I'll be very intrigued to see how it comes out.

Next up: I'm thinking Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane.

Commencement by J. Courtney Sullivan

The train rolled past Thirty-fourth Street, where tourist families with fanny packs and matching smiles piled into the car. Their blond children held on to the poles, swaying this way and that, thrilled by every jolt and bump of the train. Celia thought for a moment how strange it felt to simply live—to work, and go to the gym, and buy groceries, and wait for trains—in a place where so many people were visiting and in awe of their surroundings.

-Commencement

Commencement, as its name suggests, is a novel about beginnings. One beginning is the first day at Smith College for four young women: headstrong Celia, radical April, sheltered Bree, and seemingly flawless Sally. They form the kind of friendships it seems you can only form when you're young, when you can devote all your spare time to getting to know people. They go to wild parties and get their hearts broken and sing into their hairbrushes. They become each other's family.

Much of the action of Commencement takes place four years after their graduation. Graduation, of course, is an end and beginning unto itself, but that entire post-college period is marked by the possibility of many beginnings. (I should know, I'm still in the thick of it.) It's a time of finding your footing in the world, and the women of Commencement choose different paths. Celia lives in Brooklyn and dreams of being a writer. April is ready to embark on a dangerous endeavor to bring awareness to women in need. Bree is wrestling with the end of a long-term relationship. And Sally's getting married, which provides the perfect excuse to get the four of them back together—although they soon discover that picking up where they left off isn't as easy as they would like.

I didn't particularly identify with any one character in Commencement, but I think J. Courtney Sullivan created four realistic young women. It seems clear that Sullivan, a Smith alumna herself, has drawn on her own experience in writing. It's certainly interesting to take a peek behind the curtain of a women's college, a place which seems subject to so much speculation and stereotyping. Although the college experience of the women of Commencement was fairly dissimilar from my own, I couldn't help but feel a touch nostalgic.

I also keenly understood the transitional period that the women were in, four years after graduation. Commencement really came at a great time for me, since I am navigating my own transition right now, one that is far more complicated than anticipated. It certainly helped me to understand what the characters were going through, even though their individual circumstances were different from my own. I also appreciated that, although Commencement dealt with very serious issues, Sullivan wrote with a deftly light touch that prevented the book from getting too dense or preachy. It would be a fantastic beach or traveling read.

Up next: I have many choices at my disposal right now, but I think I'm going to go with A Reliable Wife by Robert Goolrick.