Book Review Rollout

And so here we are – 2020. It’s a long way off from 2012, when I first started this blog, and I’ve come into contact with some really fabulous people. Most of the time this site has been going I’ve done book reviews, and at one point I stopped, picking up again with other ideas and topics I wanted to talk about or delve into. To be honest, I still want to do this, but it’s kind of hard to stay away from the stories. This, of course, has happened before, and I periodically opened up to accept a few reviews. When I started contemplating things again this time, I decided to do shake it up a bit. Some aspects will stay the same, though, because the goal is to make it easier for all involved.

One of my current reads

As a child and teen I was enamored of The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, The Crystal Cave and anything by Lewis Carroll. These days I still read all that, plus memoir, ghost stories, historical fiction, various non-fiction, young adult, time travel and lots of indie books.

So here’s how I’m opening up the works ~

While I used to ask that authors shoot me an email to see if I’ll do a review, I decided to just do away with that. Since I have a lot more on my plate than I used to (at least it feels that way—it could be that some things were just replaced with others), I’ve given myself permission to respond with very brief emails or not at all. If you receive a brief email from me, please do not take it personally; it is sheer necessity. The “not at all” category used to be something like authors sending me e-copies of their books without asking if I would review them. 

To be honest, these authors were onto something, even though I’d always said, “Don’t email me your books; I’ll delete them.” But they had a good idea because lots of stories looked quite intriguing and I thought, “Actually, this could be pretty efficient.” So I sort of took this idea like a piece of clay, rolled it around a bit and created my own shape to it. Out of this and past experiences, I developed these guidelines:

  • If you are interested in a review, just go ahead and send me your book. Please note the following caveats:
    • I only accept hard copies. Extended electronic reading gives me a headache and I’m done with it, so paperback or hardback are fine. I will provide my address below.
    • I do not guarantee I will review your book once I read it. Unless I become inundated, I will start every book I receive. If I finish and decide to write a review, I will let you know, so please be sure to provide your email address.
  • I work really hard on my reviews and aim to make them quality pieces. Because these entries really are joint efforts—you write the book and I do the review—I have an expectation that we don’t fall into a one-sided association here. Indeed, you wrote the book, and so you should get the kudos and income from it, and my goodness I hope you make heaps of dough! (I don’t say that sarcastically; I know it’s fashionable to demonize success these days.) However, for the blog part, I’ll be posting my reviews to Amazon, Goodreads and linking on Twitter (possibly one or two more). So I’m bringing into the mix that part of the deal is that you help promote the review and link to it and the blog—and please, not just as a one-off. Doing this makes it a win-win situation and is a very small way to help a blogger to help authors, especially indie authors, whose marketing departments often need frequent infusions of caffeine. Seriously, though, the more viewers any given book blog gets, the more people are going to be seeing your book(s!) reviewed, and the better chance this level of exposure advances to a higher one.
  • I work full time and am currently engaged with a few of my own projects. I am carving out very specific time to spend on reading books for the blog, but I’m just one person with a family who takes priority. I don’t mind if someone sends an email with a What’s up? (so long as it does not become excessive), but please do not be rude to me. I’m not going to put up with it.
  • If you would like to do a giveaway, by all means please let me know; I’d love to host it. Authors outside the United States can, at least in my experience, order from Amazon.com (as opposed to Amazon UK, etc.) to send books Stateside, rather than having them ship overseas. 
  • Please check back here periodically, as there may be updates or additions to the guidelines. 
  • Update 2020-9-25: I actually meant to add this in re: emails: If you want to notify me you’ve sent a book, I’m not opposed to this. That makes having your email easier for both of us (and more assured for you that I do have it), plus I can keep my eyes peeled for your packet. My main objective in the email limitations is to keep people from sending me e-books. If you’re making an honest effort, no worries.

Be sure to have a peek at my sidebar periodically as it changes to reflect the rotation of reads. I also keep a widget full of blogs I follow – which needs a thorough dusting, to be honest – so check it out when you swing by to see if I’ve cleaned up or added more. For updates on this and other items, go ahead and click that button!  (Upper right on main page or tab at bottom right.) You’ll get a notification–just one, so you won’t be inundated–to let you know there’s something new for you to check out.

You can contact me at scully_dc AT yahoo DOT com; I can also be found at Goodreads.

And, as promised, my mailing address:

Before the Second Sleep Book Reviews
Attn: Lisl
1601 West Northern Lights Boulevard 90032
Anchorage, Alaska 99509
United States

Glad to have you here and I hope each one of you is finding something marvelous in this crazy, mixed-up world.

Click image to see 2016’s “Month of Mary Stewart”

Book Review: The Ghost Midwife: Murder at Rotten Row and The Midnight Midwife

The Ghost Midwife: Murder at Rotten Row and The Midnight Midwife
Books II and III in the Seventeenth Century Midwives series
by Annelisa Christensen

Straight out of the gate: Having read and loved Annelisa Christensen’s earlier novel, The Popish Midwife, I reviewed it, and was rather excited when I received word about two newer books in the Seventeenth Century Midwives series: The Ghost Midwife and The Midnight Midwife. When at last viewing the slim volumes in my hands, I was a little disappointed, because I am a greedy reader, and when I love something, I want lots of it! Fear not, dear reader, as there is much to admire packed into the pages of these two smaller books. And I would be remiss if I failed to mention the warm beauty of Christensen’s covers, with images framed by what could be a window, from which the reader gazes out upon scenes bathed in the yellowish light of the evening lanterns, all contrasted against the bright red, green and blue of a dress or cloak. The pictures are signature Midwives, and the moods they create absolutely match those of the stories within.

While writing and researching The Popish Midwife, the author happened upon “A New Ballad of the Midwives Ghost” and writes in her afterward: “Many ballads of the time were the equivalent of news stories made more enjoyable and memorable by putting them to music. The songs might have been sung in taverns or coffee houses, or learned and sung in the home or elsewhere.” This may strike modern audiences as a macabre practice, but then again, maybe not: Our own children still play “Ring Around the Rosy” and jump rope to a song about Lizzie Borden, while teens and adults alike engage in memery with topics lifted directly from the headlines. Christensen was no less moved, and her intellectual pursuit of the ballad’s origins resulted in The Midwife Ghost, a mix of history and imagination stemming from her knowledge of and admiration for the real midwives of the seventeenth century.

In 1679 London, young Mary enters service in a well-to-do house on Rotten Row, where she soon encounters the ghost of a midwife with some very specific instructions. Following a series of ghastly and frightening events that send alarm throughout the servant staff, all eyes fall on Mary, who discovers a dark and terrible secret that had been hiding in the home for fifteen years. It is up to her to work through the problem of her knowledge and what to do, while simultaneously the others begin to view her with suspicion.

One thing I love best about Christensen’s writing is its aura, the words she chooses that fit her stories, characters and the time so well. Moreover, the individual nuance makes itself known: Mary’s pleas to hear her story out before any judgment is passed, while wise with the understanding that hers is indeed a fantastic tale, could not be the words of Catholic Elizabeth Cellier, or even midwife Abigale, who in The Midnight Midwife also finds herself trapped within circumstance. Each woman has her own distinct voice, while simultaneously revealing themselves as persons of their time. Thus is the author’s skillful balance between depicting members of a society and people operating within the infancy of individualism.

As a ghost story, Mary’s yarn is probably best at the length it is, despite my own ravenous appetite for more. With this, Christensen’s judgement on length is validated, and the divisions between segments of the tale sit in perfect points. Through events as well as the way the characters speak, readers also get a solid idea of how seventeenth-century folk perceived their world, what frightened them, what was important. But these are not merely a gaggle of grownups on a more childlike level, or simple people in “a simpler time.” We may fancy ourselves more shrewd today, but Mary knows the world she inhabits: she knows, for example, to press the stubs of candles together to earn a few pennies, and doesn’t cringe when pulling an unseen cobweb from a dark recess.

I fortified myself with another deep breath. I could not leave it this way. A man never did find a misplaced thing, even if it was waved before his face. If I had imagined it all, it did seem as if it were real, and I would not believe it was nothing until I had searched in that hole myself.

Christensen brings us face to face with the awareness that our ability to be unafraid was preceded by those who first faced those ghosts. So too does she show us that our ancestors tackled the mysteries and vagaries of humanity, on levels corporeal and spiritual. Such is the challenge of the above-mentioned midwife, Abigale, who adopts a baby, also called Mary, an act that ushers in with it the holding of a secret that later threatens to destroy their lives utterly.

By the time this threat makes itself known, Mary is a 21-year-old sister to two other adopted girls and talented helper to her mother in the various birthing rooms Abigale serves in. However, Mary’s grown-up self is not the same as the baby she once was, and Abigale comes to understand that she has a choice to make, one that may serve to destroy her family or keep it whole.

Once more Christensen brings us into the mindset of seventeenth-century people faced with a fearful circumstance, again maintaining a balance, here between the depiction of their social and individual selves. The circumstances are both familiar and not to our modern world, as are the demands, sympathies and cruelties of human nature. Perhaps less familiar today, at least to some, is the comfort and guidance found in spiritual works, such as Saint Augustine’s City of God, from which comes the understanding that an omniscient God sees the whole that explains the diversity and similarity of parts, which individually contribute to providing an overall balance.

As a philosophy, it is often neglected in our modern world, particularly on a secular level and within varying contexts, and Christensen’s story takes her characters, and us, through a labyrinth of experience wherein they, often like us, seek the balance to which they belong and, therefore, the beauty of the whole. If this sounds a bit like dense reading , here is where you exhale, because the author does not need to engage deep and difficult texts in order to convey all this. Her character interaction is smooth and realistic, authentic in the differences they face as well as create, and the dialogue is superb in so many ways: there is a true seventeenth-century feel to it, even while we recognize much of what people say and how they behave.

Also based on a seventeenth-century ballad, The Midnight Midwife brings us into the joys and sorrows of one family headed by a single-parent midwife – the neglect of which, as a subject of study, Christensen here contributes to eliminating. In examining the fierce love of a mother and how far she will go – or stand back – to protect her child, she explores varied facets of seventeenth-century society and private life, the history of which are the beginnings of our own understanding.

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Author Annalisa Christensen provided the blogger with copies of The Ghost Midwife and The Midnight Midwife in order to facilitate an honest review.

Annelisa Christensen is also the author of A-Z Monsters (Not) for Bed.

She can be found at Twitter and Facebook.

Book Review: The Price

The Price by Martha Kennedy
Winner of the B.R.A.G Medallion

It’s been awhile since I’ve read anything from Martha Kennedy, and it didn’t take very long, once I opened up The Price, for me to settle into her simultaneously dramatic and rhythmic  style of writing. Old worldish yet familiar, the story takes us once more through a portion of the author’s own family history as the stage is set for the characters’ eventual migration to the New World. Some readers may feel a bonding of sorts with those who people The Price, familiar as they are with parts one and two of Kennedy’s trilogy of the Swiss Schneebeli, though who also could not relate to a lifetime of longing?—especially when, as we see, it relates to liberty.

Like so many others before and after them, multitudes of Anabaptists from Switzerland who arrived on American shores did so to escape religious persecution. Their belief in separation of church and state was a forerunner to our own religious protections, but before this the Swiss Anabaptists suffered the indignities of arrest and imprisonment, torture, even the removal of their children. When Hans Kaspar Schneebeli reads the words of William Penn and the freedom and opportunities they promise, he yearns to escape the oppressive environment, dictated from Zürich, for a breakthrough life wide open with possibilities.

While at its foundation Kennedy’s tale seems to match so many others we’ve heard, she brings to it the individual nature of a world that directly plays a role in establishing our own, resulting in a recognizable link peopled by those whose joys and anguish we see almost personally as their fortunes waver throughout the years. Hans Kaspar is one such, and the author’s honest portrayal of him as a flawed man, whose own behavior leads to some of his own adversity, allows us to empathize in a more genuine fashion. Certainly we feel for him, even when he is hardheaded or irresponsible. Again, however, Kennedy’s skillful narrative—without ever once presuming to tell us how we should think—gently allows us to consider our own fallibility and offer a little forgiveness, or at least view him as a whole person as opposed to the sum of his sins.

My favorite vignette shows Hans Kaspar confronted by his own conscience, introduced by one of Kennedy’s carefully chosen chapter headings ~

And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me—Matthew 25:40

 “My heart is torn[,]” he tells the pastor, at whose home he seeks refuge from his internal battle between his greatest desire and those affected by whatever he chooses to do: venture to America, leaving behind a vulnerable old man as well his own innocent, motherless baby; or stay to care for them, despite having finally, finally earned enough to pay the exorbitant tribute fees. In the end we are left to make our own decisions regarding Schneebeli’s choices, his selfish attitude and brooding nature, but Kennedy’s portrayal also leaves room to consider his humanity. This evenhandedness is much more real for its refusal to plant the man squarely, or even majorly, in one camp, good or bad, and her theme of faith pairs with that of family, with references to ancestry and the series’ previous two works, Savior and The Brothers Path, weaving their aura throughout this installment and even the people themselves. They value their ancestors and mourn the reality that if they leave, they go forever, as “it is a crime to emigrate,” punishable upon return.

Family is no less important in America, though the journey has exacted a price, and Kennedy’s most internal theme begins to more strongly emerge with implied and actual questions pertaining to that which humans value most in life. Can one truly make a home away from their ancestral location? Is the price reflected in the novel’s title a worthy one to pay? Can we be as strong here, or perhaps better, than we were before? These and other questions are not always explicitly presented, making for a stronger narrative as further descendants arrive, in turns musing over family heirlooms we’d connected to much earlier in the tale. Not unlike the small thrill—or aching recognition—we feel with reference to the series’ other characters (such as the Swiss setting near the estate of those presented in the earlier books), the history of these items are ones we long to reach out and tell these people about: I know how much this meant to your mother or She crafted this with her own hands might blurt from our lips as Kennedy’s strength in historical storytelling has preserved for us too the lamentations, longings and lives of people, the very essence of whom lives on in items whose creation we were also party to. Material possessions they may be, they nevertheless provide a meaningful vehicle for the carriage of sacred memories and significance from one generation to the next, and the portrayal of that to readers. Kennedy performs this task with sensitivity and skill, and it is no wonder it is so easy to fall in love with her family and see them through the centuries, even when it is not.

If you have not yet been introduced to Martha Kennedy’s Savior or The Brothers Path, I encourage you to explore these remarkable reads—for the author’s wonderful storytelling, the depth of plot and meaning of the characters’ lives, to themselves and others, including us.

About the Author

Martha Kennedy was born in Denver, Colorado and earned her undergraduate degree in American Literature from University of Colorado, Boulder, and her graduate degree in American Literature from the University of Denver. She has taught college and university writing at all levels, business communication, literature and English as a Second Language. She has traveled intensively in Switzerland, journeys that have at once inspired and informed her writing. She has also published many short stories and articles in a variety of publications from the Denver Post to the Business Communications Quarterly.

For much more about the author and her books, see her blog, I’m a Writer, Yes I Am! and website, here. You can also follow Martha Kennedy at  Facebook, Amazon, Goodreads, Twitter and Indie B.R.A.G. author page.

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The blogger was furnished with a free copy of
The Path to facilitate an honest review.

Book Review: The Year 1070 – Survival

The Harrying of the North Series: The Year 1070 – Survival
by Rod Flint

51UFE3CwlIL._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_I came across Rod Flint’sThe Year 1070 – Survival quite by accident, but once I’d found it, was rather excited to read, given that my previous 1066 and Harrying of the North material has mostly been non-fiction. I was intrigued to see how Flint would handle the storyline, how many historical details he would add and in which direction he would take the tale of Hravn and Ealdgith, young cousins suddenly displaced by the Normans’ vicious assault on their and others’ villages following the post-Conquest uprising in the year within the title’s name.

Flint wastes no time getting the harrying started and, as there must be in any group of harassed peoples, the boy and girl cousins emerge as two with the wily abilities to find an escape and proceed forward in pursuit of a safe haven. This isn’t to say the pair do not encounter doubt or setbacks; they certainly do, and both they and their creator put them to good use as perilous learning experiences. One such is when the fugitives stumble upon bandits who, amongst other threats, gleefully hint at what they plan to do with Ealdgith before killing her. It is a horrific fate that, in most people’s minds, tends to spring to the forefront of possibilities. The author’s use of the word rapeseems to reflect how it is regarded and feared by the vast majority: its presence as a potential is so glaring it hardly needs to be mentioned to know that everyone is thinking about it, whether victim, witness or perpetrator, and for the first few times anyone comments, it is only in reference. Still, Flint does not dance around the word, and the characters’ utterances of it accompanies a bold stand of defiance against any who dare try bringing it to life.

At the risk of beating too much into this angle, it is worth mentioning how well this comes off for Flint, a male author putting words into the mouth of a female character. This is a corner I do not often choose to play because, while I do think effectively portraying a female character is more challenging for a male author (and vice versa), it can be achieved, and here it is done competently. This author has the added burden of portraying characters who lived nearly 1,000 years ago, people so different to us we often forget how similar they also are. Still, they are realistic, their speech and mannerisms sincere, fears and strengths unaffected.

As the novel progressed, I found myself immersed in the characters’ lives on the run and where they would end up. Hravn and Edie – a gender non-specific name Ealdgith adopts, as a protective measure, to match her shorn locks – could have been given a bit more dimension, although it would not be accurate or fair to say they have absolutely no development, and they begin to come into their own as readers witness some of their growth, though portions of this are by reference. That said, this young adult novel will most certainly reach out to its target audience of people in a phase of life developing their own identities, with a definitive relatability, even given the differences in rank, circumstance, abilities, native historical era and so on.

The author is also well-skilled with descriptions of his settings, as if he had been there at the time the harrying was taking place. Naturally, these areas would have experienced immense change in the passage of time but, as mentioned in the author’s historical note, he utilizes tax and other records to map out harrying activities as well as Hravn’s and Edie’s chosen routes. Readers can also access these via Flint’s list of place names and the appearance of most on a map presented in the book’s beginning pages. The author is so thorough in his descriptions that one can follow the map as the tale progresses to watch the directions taken by the pair. I found this very satisfying because, apart from my regular love of maps, it also gave me a visual to keep track of where events were taking place, which can make a big difference in following many stories.

While a marvelous tale, the novel did suffer a bit from its great need of a really thorough edit, particularly in regard to punctuation. A few times I had to re-read sentences, but all in all it was not difficult to determine intent, and it definitely did not put me off the book. However, the story and the people it portrays deserve better, so I hope changes will occur in future editions.

As an introduction to the topic of the Norman Conquest, which Flint discusses quite objectively in his notes, The Year 1070 – Survival is a fantastic choice, especially for its prime target demographic, but also for adults who enjoy YA (as I do). For those more well-versed too, it provides a story of humanity in the midst of violent upheaval and a glimpse into how average people, who so often are my own heroes, might have coped and sought to claim back their own future. The series continues with The Year 1071 – Resistance and Revenge, available now, and concludes with the soon-to-be-published The Year 1072 – Retribution. I’ll be looking for both.

About the Author

Rod Flint is a Cumbrian born in exile in the south of England. A career as an officer in the British Army was interspersed with time in the financial and legal services, and as a safari guide in Cyprus.

He has lived in North Yorkshire, with his wife Judith, for twenty years and enjoys the challenge of exploring the remoter fells and dales. Unravelling the mysteries of local and family history is a hobby that has carried across into writing historical fiction woven around his own, one-thousand-year-long family connection to the north. Rod Flint is also a member of the Alliance of Independent Authors.

Find author Rod Flint on Facebook and at his website, Hindrelag Books, and the Harrying of the North series at Amazon and Amazon UK.

Book Review: The Retreat to Avalon (Book I in The Arthurian Age)

Having grown up with a large portion of my attention almost continuously tuned to the era within which The Retreat to Avalon is set, the title naturally piqued my interest. I adored all the same figures millions of others did and could never get enough. It also happens that I am a great lover of “regular people,” often craving glimpses into the lives of those who lived in an amazing time but who were, perhaps, not unlike many of us. Author Sean Poage opens his projected trilogy, The Arthurian Age, with a chronicle giving us the best of both, bestowing upon us, especially those of us with a thirst for the ordinary, a glimpse of the Gawain we’d always longed for but never quite attained.

avalonThis author guides us away from lofty tales of virtue and beheadings, steering readers toward the more gritty world of crumbling Roman holdings and those willing to fight for its survival. Rome sees Poage’s Arthur as their last, best hope, and as the High King makes his way to war in Gaul, so too does Gawain, who until then had been living in the shadow of warriors, seeking a path for himself in a time of peace. A fairly sizable chunk of the novel’s first portion sketches out Gawain and his existence at home, depicting his struggles, small victories, relationships and dreams as we learn the who’s who of Gawain’s world and how it operates. Readers really get to know the ways of this era, not because Poage tells us, but through a narrative that truly sets us within, amongst the characters.

The Retreat to Avalon’s prologue sets up the story—and brilliantly so. Rather than a small bit of informative detail, the author allows characters to draw the curtain, but not merely with expository dialogue, though this is not a bad technique when done well, which Poage does. We recognize decades of history in the exchange between a pair of officials, who do sneak some backstory into their conversation, though they also reveal fears, dreams, and that which devastates one but is a symbol of future prosperity to the other. I did wonder about the extensive knowledge and economic projections Sidonius passes to Anthemius, specifically why the latter lacks such understanding. As a poet and diplomat, the Gallic Sidonius may have been better placed to draw such conclusions, than the at-times mistrusted Greek, whose military career tended toward the administrative. This speaks well of Poage’s research and which historical figures he chooses to fill certain roles.

This dexterity is brought to bear on the novel as a whole, and as the story progresses, we see a Gawain influenced both by the pre-Galfridian and Vulgate cycle of Arthurian legends. While there could be said to flow an element of the spiritual through the novel, Poage does not use it to paint Gawain as unworthy of any given “quest” he undertakes. He is human; he experiences errors in judgement and could have done differently at times. Still, he is brave, courteous, loyal to his oaths—just as we remember him—and devoted to his wife, Rhian. His parentage gives a nod to the Welsh tradition, as does the name of his brother, though his sibling is reminiscent of the character from either telling.

So too do we find elements that match our memories of these characters as the author moves us away from the realm of the magical to tell a story as it might have historically occurred. Even Merlin—who appears rarely—hints at the ordinary nature of his gifts. Jokes play the role one might expect them to in wartime, and when coming across them, I found myself actually chuckling aloud in the appreciation of a break from the hostilities. Some comedy is more sophisticated than at other points, but they all fit right into their passages, contextually as well as materially. Plus, they do their job.

            “A letter!” Gareth, looking obnoxiously awestruck, took back the jug and had a long pull. “You need to stop spending so much time with your letters, and your books and your lords and your…” He trailed off for a moment, struggling to continue the thought. “And whatever, and spend time with the lads. The goodwill you earned for the wine back at Cadubrega won’t last forever. In fact,” Gareth’s voice lowered conspiratorially, “I’ve been hearing many people call you the southern end of a northbound horse.” He nodded seriously, wobbling slightly. 

            “Who said that?” Gawain was more puzzled than angry.

            “Well, just me,” Gareth shrugged. “But I say it a lot, so it seems like many people.”

It is in moments such as this that one feels closer to the characters, and in the laughter comes a feeling of pleasure that we got to know them. Gawain’s story has been laid out and now we follow its trail, with rich passages of detail unburdened by excessive description. It is more as if we are within the scene, taking it all in ourselves; it is not merely a case of the narrator feeding us individual or stilted descriptions of what surrounds us—and there is a lot. This may account for the rather lengthy chapters, which ordinarily can wear me down a bit, though in this case I felt almost buoyed as I experienced each chapter, the scenes of which transition from one to the next so smoothly it can be difficult to stop reading. This includes the battle scenes, which, like the others, are written in a reader-friendly style that treats its audience as intelligent participants without overburdening them with less-than-commonly-known period or linguistic detail. The battle scenes, it should be stated, are some of the best in the book.

The only quibble I have with this author’s writing style is his wont to use action beats and speech tags interchangeably (e.g. “No, stay mounted,” Gawain waved), which can be slightly jarring for the expectation of words that aren’t there. However, he just about makes up for that with his pleasantly even use of “said” and other tags, such as “quipped,” “interrupted” or “groaned.” I’ve seen a lot of advice in recent years about sticking to mostly “he said/she said,” therefore many authors do. Poage, however, takes the matter into his own hands and succeeds by sprinkling all types around.

I would definitely be remiss if I left out one of the best parts of reading anticipation, something many people frown upon, but almost all people do: judge the cover. At a little over 400 pages, the heft is just the right amount to cheer one at the thought of sitting down with it, and its attractive images, inside and out, lend themselves to a perusal, a flipping through and contemplation of what we are soon to encounter as we take up the book. Each chapter head is illustrated with a simple, though not simplistic, drawing, the style of which reaches out to the ends of the page in actual scale but also breadth of imagination. I found myself, with each, wanting to continue scanning with my eyes, for the image to continue along far after it actually does.

This is not so different to how I feel about the book as a whole—it ends when it should, but I’m very pleased to know The Retreat to Avalon is just the first in a trilogy, and there is more to come. Anyone who knows even the basic layout of the Arthurian legends will find this version gripping for a number of reasons, amongst them the ordinary and extraordinary people whose lives contributed to this age as they filled and fought within it on their terms. Sean Poage brings to life for us the stories of people we so often want to read about, but whose voices, for various reasons, are in the margins, like the rest of the pictures we so long to see.

About the Author

SeanPoageHistorical fiction author Sean Poage has had an exciting and varied life as a laborer, soldier, police officer, investigator, computer geek and author. Travelling the world to see history up close is his passion. These days he works in the tech world, writes when he can and spends the rest of the time with his family, which usually means chores and home improvement projects, with occasional time for a motorcycle ride, scuba dive, or a hike in the beautiful Maine outdoors.

About the illustrations, the author adds: “The chapter illustrations were done by Luka Cakic, a very talented artist in Montenegro. When most people imagine King Arthur, they picture the later medieval romance versions, with plate armor and stone castles. It can be difficult to visualize an era we know little about, so I wanted to provide some pictures that might help anchor the reader in the time, and give a mental image to moments from the chapters. Luka worked with me through the process and did a fantastic job merging his style with my goals.” Check out our author’s interview with his illustrator here.

Have a gander through the rest of Sean Poage’s website, seanpoage.com. This June will be the one-year anniversary of The Retreat to Avalon‘s release, so there will be a giveaway contest! Visitors who comment on any of his blog posts will be in on the chance to win a signed copy of the book.

Look for The Strife of Camlann, Book II in The Arthurian Age series – coming soon! The Retreat to Avalon is available at Amazon and Amazon UK. You can also find the author at Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads and BookBub.

About the Reviewer

Lisl has loved Mary Stewart’s Merlin Trilogy since childhood and has lost count of how many times she’s read the books. She also adores poetry and, once she overcomes the fear of baring her soul, will be ready to publish her own first collection. She is a contributor to Naming the Goddess and her poetry has appeared in Bewildering Stories and Alaska Women Speak. She is currently working on a book of short stories, a tale set in 1066 and several essays, and it is her dream to write a ghost story on par with the best of the spooky Victorian writers.

Book Review: The Tree: Tales From a Revolution — New-Hampshire

The Tree: Tales From a Revolution — New-Hampshire
by Lars D. H. Hedbor

Having previously read almost every Hedbor book written, it was a delight to see this author’s latest, The Tree: Tales From a Revolution — New-Hampshire, recently peeping from my postbox. That right there should give readers an immediate heads up that opening a new tab for book buying is in order. I enjoy Hedbor’s characters, the diversity of which is impressive indeed—diversity not being used for its own sake. It speaks to his research capabilities and creative skills that the author could come up with the individuals and backgrounds he has, and realistically reflects our history and why those who populated it perceived events as they did. A Spanish sailor, breakaway loyalists, Quaker congregation, freed slave, grownups and youth, male and female—the list goes on, but one thing they all have in common is their ordinariness. Through Hedbor’s storytelling charms, we see not only victors, nor just the elite: we see us.

Trees are symbolic of much in our histories and spiritual intellect, not least of which is the ideal of life and liberty, both growing entities requiring nourishment. Abe’s father, a lumber cutter, realizes both ideals as he embarks upon a career providing lumber for London housebuilding, though the king’s mast laws regulate which pines he may use, despite them standing on Sawyer’s own property. Not unlike medieval forest laws, violations are punishable by jail or, preferable to the government, fines, which are little more than veiled taxes. Unrest is growing over this oppression, and when Abe is suddenly orphaned, he must take over the management duties against this backdrop as he navigates his auntie’s negative personality and a strange new friendship with Betty and her ever-present raven companion.

As always, Hedbor’s people occupy a skillfully managed narrative in which historical remoteness dissolves and we witness their daily lives amidst this growing upheaval. One we are unsure is trustworthy, another a milquetoast with dreams of a thieving bird in service to the king, and still another an outsider with a mysterious past. The author does, however, leave plenty of space for the development and distribution of secrets and intrigue, and the tension builds as each person’s character arc, to varying degrees, flowers in the pursuit of the liberty to be. This occurs in various forms, most notably the acquisition of a skill that nourishes liberty, a circumstance that in turn reflects the reality of life paired with death and the ongoing sacrifices required for it to flourish. It is a sober set of thoughts for people whose lives will soon be lived amidst the fire of war as they uproot and are uprooted while they simultaneously plant the tree of liberty still referenced by Americans today.

One thing I like best about these tales is the inclusion of food, and Hedbor has a knack for fitting it into the narrative without ruffling the fabric of the story. Abe’s spinster Aunt Rosanna, for example, makes her way partly by selling eggs, even through the bitter months:

She pointed to a barrel in the corner of the kitchen. “Since we’re coming into the winter season, the chickens won’t lay as much until spring. Some have already slowed down, because of their molt. We need to put eggs away for the winter, and they go in that barrel. Once there are enough to make a layer, we’ll cover them with the slaked lime I’ll keep in the pitcher beside it. Preserves them all through the winter, so it’s worth the expense.”

 Also utilizing his linguistics background, Hedbor portrays a woman whose no-nonsense perspective is reflected in the words she omits as much as those she chooses. Economic sentences, often harshly delivered, stand opposite those of Abe’s earnest and unsophisticated nature. Like the raven, who seems to show up around every corner these days, however, he is observant, and asks himself questions even if he doesn’t always verbalize them. This facilitates his friendship with Betty, as Hedbor seamlessly weaves together these and other elements of a story that provides both a broad understanding of how and why the New Hampshire colonists took one step closer to revolution, and a closer view of the individuals of that colony, who, without these Tales From a Revolution, would remain hidden within the shadows of history.

One of the most gripping of all Hedbor’s Tales, I was unable to put this book down and read it in one sitting. As readers proceed through events in the novel, especially knowing many are drawn from the documented history of New Hampshire’s 1772 Pine Tree Riot, we grow a better understanding of the colonists’ grievances and why they acted as they did. Once again Hedbor restores humanity to figures who were real, living people as opposed to those who existed in a distant and vague era. We grow to care about them both as characters as well as the ancestors of ours that they are. Thought-provoking to say the least, this is a rewarding read that will remain with readers long after the last page is turned.

To see information on each book, click here.

Really fun interview with Lars Hedbor here.

You may also wish to have a peek at my previous reviews for
Tales From a Revolution—

The Freedman (Tales From a Revolution: North-Carolina)

The Break (Tales From a Revolution: Nova-Scotia) 

The Path (Tales From a Revolution: Rhode-Island)

The Darkness (Tales From a Revolution: Maine)

The Wind (Tales From a Revolution: West-Florida)

The Smoke (Tales From a Revolution: New York)

The Light (Tales From a Revolution: New-Jersey)

The Prize (Tales From a Revolution: Vermont)

Get your free e-copy of The Declaration!

About the author ….

What made the American Colonists turn their back on their King, and fight for independence? How were they different from us–and how were their hopes and fears familiar to our own hearts?

These are the sorts of questions that I think are important to ask in examining the American Revolution, and in the pages of my novels, I suggest some possible answers.

My first novel, The Prize, was published in 2011, followed by The Light in 2013, and The Smoke, The Declaration, and The Break in 2014; The Wind was published in 2015, and The Darkness in 2016.

I’ve also written extensively about this era for the Journal of the American Revolution, and have appeared as a featured guest on an Emmy-nominated Discovery Network program, The American Revolution, which premiered nationally on the American Heroes Channel in late 2014. I am also a series expert on America: Fact vs. Fiction for Discovery Networks, and was a panelist at the Historical Novel Society’s 2017 North American Conference.

I am an amateur historian, linguist, brewer, fiddler, astronomer and baker. Professionally, I am a technologist, marketer, writer and father. My love of history drives me to share the excitement of understanding the events of long ago, and how those events touch us still today.

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You can follow and learn more about Lars D.H. Hedbor and his books at his website and blog, Twitter and Facebook. The Tree may be purchased at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iTunes and Kobo.

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Author photo courtesy Lars D.H. Hedbor

Free copy of The Tree provided by author, with no expectation of a full review. 

Book Review: Brewer’s Revenge

Brewer’s Revenge: A Sea Novel by James Keffer

It starts straight away: the fog surrounding the Mary Elizabeth speaks of pirates known to litter the Caribbean and gives shape to passenger fears, further rattled by the ship’s clanging bell as terrors come to life and their captain is amongst the casualties. Some months later, Commander William Brewer takes charge of the HMS Revenge, formerly the El Dorado, a pirate sloop hard won in battle and refitted for use in His Majesty’s Navy. Brewer regrets not being given permanent command of the Defiant, owing to his junior officer status, and chooses to set his sights on payback against the pirates who attacked his ship. Very early on, then, does author James Keffer bring us to meet the dual representation of his novel’s title.

But Brewer’s Revenge brings us much more than this: apart from the new captain’s mission in ferreting out the pirates ravaging Caribbean trade routes, he must help his best friend—and ship’s doctor—conquer his drinking habit and the demons that incite it; sort a purser who engages in creative mathematics; and deal with a spoiled midshipman unused to working or taking orders, and who is there only to distance him from a scandal at home.

Fast moving and addictive, Brewer’s Revenge introduces us to the other side of rank—that is to say, we see Admiral Lord Horatio Hornblower as Brewer reports to him, having served under him on St. Helena during Napoleon’s exile there. Keffer also addresses the coming steam power, providing a curious perspective with plenty of food for thought to our modern experience:

“I am not at all convinced that in this case progress is a good thing. It frightens me to think that soon captains will be at the mercy of an exhaustible fuel supply.”

 Much of the narrative consists of Brewer learning his job, and events erupt one as a direct result of another or as apparently isolated incidents that Keffer weaves together skillfully, moving the focus away as appropriate and making it difficult to accurately predict what may come to be. The author also has a few surprises up his sleeve as he mixes them in with episodes of the daily variety, as well as the more thrilling for the crew. Skilled at communicating characters’ sense of pressure, he lays out the decisions they must make without spoon feeding, and we feel the tension in races against time or circumstance—sometimes both—as we are privileged to see the individual and not just the character. For Brewer this means being witness to his growth as he struggles to prove his worth in an organization dependent upon responsibility but often run by money.

Most sailors yearn for action, and Brewer’s subordinates are no different. However, Keffer chooses to draw them into the story in preparation, as they get things going and we watch them, oftentimes ourselves learning how it all works. The author plaits these together with such dramas as rivalries or threatening situations to spice it up a bit, and it works marvelously, largely owing to its realistic presentation, but with the touch of human interest. We don’t just see a bar brawl, for example, part of so many seafaring adventures. Keffer takes us beyond them and we get to know the characters in a deeper, richer manner.

The author brings historical figures onto the stage, even if only in reference, such as when Marshal Ney, a French military commander, enters the conversation. And a meeting with Simon Bolivar ups the ante as we come face to face with the real possibilities of our—and the crew’s—imagination. Sharply written naval battle scenes, murder, treachery and fear of being the next one up keeps us all on our toes.

Fluidly written to carry us along on a wave of story absorption, the novel points us toward more tale to come as we set our sights on the fate of the Mary Elizabeth passengers, significance of at least a couple of Keffer’s surprises and the romance developing between Brewer and Elizabeth Danforth, daughter of a governor. Intriguing, daring, human, Brewer’s Revenge will hit the re-read lists many times as we reach out for the next installment.

 

Book Review: Triumph of a Tsar

Triumph of a Tsar by Tamar Anolic

While alternative historical fiction is not an entirely new genre for me, it is true I don’t have a ton of experience with it. Elements such as pacing or character development can be tricky, but going into Tamar Anolic’s Triumph of a Tsar lent an anticipatory rather than nervous sensation as to how her treatment might affect history, so to speak. This is largely thanks to the cover, the title itself and Anolic’s chosen historical figures. The last Russian tsar and his family, after all, have been the object of great curiosity and scrutiny in the century since the Russian Revolution that ended the monarchy and murdered the entire Romanov family, and asking the great what ifs likely shall continue for as long as humans are alive to present them.

Parsing out details of the Romanovs’ lives offers prospects, chances that nevertheless peter out when we are forced to accept that none of history happened the way we wanted it to have: if Alexandra had been more popular, if the Bolsheviks hadn’t gained the upper hand, if Nicholas II was a stronger leader—and much more. Anolic’s title, however, offers great possibility, as does the inset image of Nicholas and the tsarevich surrounded by palatial majesty, particularly the rising columns above them. While royal opulence can easily alienate people, here there is a soaring sort of potential that beckons us in.

Triumph and mass slaughter do not match, at least not in this context, so we know going in there is to be no Ekaterinburg. The question of which tsar bears the title’s triumph is answered early with the (more natural) death of Nicholas, and it makes utter sense for Anolic to choose the sixteen-year-old heir, Alexei: an unknown quantity to us, he also represents the future, a better match to the new post-Great War world history is passing into. The author tends to utilize expository speech fairly often, which in this story works quite well as it functions simultaneously to provide alternate details and accustom us to characters we know to have been frozen in history, never making it to the ages at which they are now being portrayed. She also remains faithful to major personality traits family members were each reported as possessing, embedding these characteristics in their older selves.

It is entirely in character, for example, for Alexandra to insist upon acting as regent for her son, and fitting for him to refuse. Said to have been intelligent and compassionate, the real Alexei might very well have enacted many of the changes Anolic’s Alexei does. The passage in which mother and son debate the heir’s ascendancy reveals a great deal about individuals—historical and alternate—and concludes with the new tsar’s victory without him having to demean his mother, whose habit of indulging her youngest child leads to her submission in the face of his pushback.

While this is not an historical moment, Anolic is nevertheless on target: Alexei, largely as a result of the hemophilia he inherited from his mother (which could be traced back to his great-grandmother, Queen Victoria), was quite spoiled, though also aware he might not live to adulthood. Anolic reflects his doubts, and the great care with which he conducts his physical movements, with an authentic sensitivity while avoiding any sort of outward show.

For an individual whose mobility is fraught with peril, Alexei gets around quite well, having developed his own technique for doing, and we see him move through the years holding his own physically, emotionally and politically. There are a few spots in which relationships—between Alexei and a foreign leader, Alexandra and Marie Feodorovna are two—come off as a bit too bright, and even an awareness of required diplomacy doesn’t entirely explain the feel of the passages. Also, I questioned whether a nation of people equipped with a train that could carry its monarch across a continent to England yet is underfunded in its railroads is entirely reflective of the adoration Alexei is granted in the book.

Still, these are small portions within a story of strong and developed dialogue, and it has to be stated that in these same passages and others, Alexei also displays solid intuition—“It’s much easier to be isolationist when you have two oceans separating you from everyone else”—and ability to turn lesser positions into strength, such as his view to his nation’s status as underdeveloped. He is also unafraid to state his case as he aims to bring his homeland into the new world that arose following the Industrial Revolution and Great War.

Once the review was over, Alexei took a microphone from his new police chief, Feodor Mikhailovich Ivanov. “Gentlemen,” he began, and his voice soared. “I am proud of you and each of the Russian soldiers who will be marching out to defend our country. But I did not make the decision to declare war lightly. It was only because of the threat to Russia, and to each of us personally, that Nazi Germany and Adolph Hitler represent. We mean to live our lives as free Russians, worshipping God in the Orthodox tradition. They mean to dominate us and incorporate us into a German empire where God does not exist.”

The only true beef I have with the book is its listing of characters. Personally speaking, it would have been better positioned at the start rather than end, and Anolic’s presentation of the family might have been organized more efficiently, with added notes for patronymics and nicknames. While I know Alix of Hesse (Alexandra) and her family fairly confidently, I have to focus a bit harder for the Russian side. An early conversation including Pavel and Elizabeth proved confusing until I finally figured out the pair were brother and sister, and not husband and wife.

At 267 pages, Triumph of a Tsar doesn’t overburden its audience with mass. Yet the experience of reading it leaves one with the rich sensation of having traveled a great distance through the lives of many other people whose stories themselves are filled with much captivating detail, amazing as well as ordinary (the latter of which can be just as gratifying to read about in the lives of historical figures). Indeed, it really is Alexei’s story, so the focus remains with him, yet still we are privy to paths that weave through the histories of other European relatives and houses, often with the joy of recognizing the real-life counterparts of people or events.

There is a bit of sadness there as well, for we know what happened to many of these people in real life. But Anolic has a great ability to steer us away from that without having to rely on unrealistic cheer. Happiness does exist in the novel, of course, along with fear, anxiety, excitement, anticipation—in short, her narrative reflects the many varied paths Alexei, his mother, sisters, relatives and others take, focusing on who they were and possibly might have been, and not centering their entire identities on their victim status. It is the first book on the Romanovs I recall ever  reading without having to brace myself for heartbreak at the end.

In this way the novel might be said to have a revenge fantasy element, though I’m not inclined to label it as such. While certain historical figures make their appearances, vengeance isn’t exactly how interaction plays out, and that might be what Anolic gifts us: a scenario in which the Romanovs move forward to a greater day without having to mimic the barbarism of their enemies. We see them closer to who they wanted to be, a gift to them, and to us.

Signature of Alexei Nikolaevich from Wikimedia Commons

About the author…

Tamar Anolic is a writer and lawyer who practices in the Washington, D.C. area. Her other passion is traveling. She has been to such far-flung places as Antarctica, Russia, Romania and Bulgaria, and some of these places have been the settings for her writing. She has a long history of being published in various magazines and newspapers, and now has several books to her credit. Follow her website or see her at September’s end at the Fredericksburg (Virginia) Independent Book Festival.

Triumph of a Tsar may be purchased at Amazon.

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The author provided a free copy of Triumph of a Tsar

in order to facilitate an honest review.

Book Review: Midshipman Graham and the Battle of Abukir

Midshipman Graham and the Battle of Abukir
by James Boschert

James Boschert possesses a genius for utilizing great yarns to draw readers into historical and other events and circumstances we previously knew little to nothing about. In this most recent Boschert read, Midshipman Graham and the Battle of Abukir, the author sets his titular character’s adventures within and shortly following the 1799 battle between Revolutionary France and the Ottoman Empire, along with their British allies.

Napoleon has designs on Egypt that stretch all the way to Constantinople and India, even after his catastrophic loss at the Siege of Acre not long before. Commodore Sir Sidney Smith lands his ships at Abukir, on Egypt’s northern coast, with the goal of further demoralizing and defeating French troops, though he underestimates their resolve as well as the Turkish commander’s leadership style, and the battle is every bit as dramatic and horrific as the novel’s cover image hints.

Midshipman Duncan Graham himself, though introduced early on, takes on a greater role only later in the story when the Scot finds himself trapped behind enemy lines. Having reflected on the events that led him not only to this moment, but also this era in his life and lack of money to buy his way to advancement, his path forward is tested sorely as he and a British spy attempt to make their way back to the sea and their squadron.

The point at which Graham finds himself in dire straits marks a turning, whereby Boschert transitions us from backstory and development to the meat of the tale. It takes on a somewhat lighter tone, which is brilliant given the battle we’d just witnessed, one with a grim outcome and lasting visual reminders. He balances Graham’s fears and abilities deftly, and does something similar with his circumstances, which are certainly frightful, but also at times comical.

Boschert has previously established his dexterity with word choice, and in Midshipman Grahamhe utilizes it to forge the continuity of the balance he addresses. For instance, his omnipotent storyteller doesn’t choose sides, commenting frankly on the skills and shortcomings of French, British and Turks alike. Moving into greater nuance, the author also pairs deadly settings with simply lovely descriptive passages, at times signaling the necessity but also fruitlessness of war. We happen upon a “velvety silence” within a city in which the rats are so bold that they take the time to “amble,” rather than, say, scurry, even in the presence of man and canine.

At other moments the natural surroundings personified even act as his enemy, such as when Graham continually blunders into “low bushes, which tried to trip him up or raked his face with their spiteful thorns.” The tall ruins of a cityscape “jutted up over the other buildings looking like rotten teeth.” Boschert has demonstrated the prowess of his word choice before, and we see these are more than merely pleasant-sounding or clever word combinations: they perform a function within his story that do more than set the stage as Graham walks amongst what they represent, how they grow him and the trajectory in which history moves.

To that end Boschert engages in a bit of historical foreshadowing as well, at least in terms familiar to us. A literal bloodbath, following the Battle of Abukir, prompts a British major to cry, “The water is like a sea of poppies all around; I have never seen the like!” When the same officer continues to express his dismay as he sips on wine, Boschert illustrates to us the dual capacity of forgetfulness as well as mental self-preservation.

While this particular battle is unfamiliar to many, especially those not especially schooled in the Napoleonic wars, Boschert remains true to his standard by skillfully engaging us in a narrative, and even when we think we know the outcome, the lead to that moment is the story. Moreover, with him creating a fictional character, rather than simply re-telling the story from a historical figure’s point of view, apart from escaping the multitude of such narrations, sets up the ability to embed commentary on Georgian society and the mores of the time, including character representation of countries within the British union and the changes each were undergoing.

We would add that the novel requires an additional proofreading to benefit its presentation, though as a tale it still is able to convey a marvelous sense of adventure, growth, compassion, daring and drive. Boschert writes that, “We may not be done with this young scamp as yet,” and given Duncan’s affability, enterprise and eagerness to cultivate who and what he is, we certainly hope we aren’t done, as we part ways with his character in a manner that speaks perhaps the most to the potential of what he has before him and the empire of which he is a part.

Bataille d’Aboukir, 25 Juillet 1799, by Louis-François Lejeune (1775-1848) (Collections du Château de Versailles) via Wikimedia Commons

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The author supplied a free copy of

Midshipman Graham and the Battle of Abukir

to facilitate an honest review. 

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Book Review: Blue Gemini

Blue Gemini
by Mike Jenne

Set during the height of the Cold War raging between its superpower players, the United States and the Soviet Union, Blue Gemini is a techno-thriller that takes readers through the early space age and behind the scenes in the rivalry many know today as the Space Race. Seen by both nations as key to national security, the quest for space dominance got its start with the Soviet Sputnik I, the first artificial satellite set into orbit, and continued with Yuri Gagarin’s journey in 1961, making the Russian cosmonaut the first human in outer space.

The road to 1969, when the Americans landed the first man on the moon, however, is paved with intrigue and action of the real-life variety, within which author Mike Jenne sets the tale of Lieutenant Scott Ourecky, a fictional USAF officer who dreams of flight school. He repeatedly falls short, but we do witness the beginnings of Ourecky’s romance with Bea, as a secret Air Force program simultaneously woos him into their mission of destroying suspect Soviet satellites. Recruited only as a fill-in, Ourecky attempts to keep his professional and private lives separate, until greater involvement and danger begins to merge his two worlds, and perhaps Bea’s as well.

One of the great draws to Blue Gemini is not only that many facets of the story are true, but also that the author reveals absolutely no classified information to achieve it. Jenne’s very striking author’s note stresses the “necessity and difficulties of keeping secrets that are larger than ourselves,” a challenge Ourecky faces as we, watching his saga unfold, can sense as we peer through time and space to witness a world we’ve only read about in school. Many readers will have personal recall of this time, still very much in living memory, and the mystique may very well have an even larger impact, given how much closer they were to it all.

Wherever readers are on the time continuum, Jenne’s style touches them as he shifts within several different perspectives, individual and group, American and Soviet, the latter achieved in a manner laid out in the narrative quite cleverly. As the novel progresses, Jenne slowly reveals layers of detail with an eye that misses nothing as it points out to us the unimaginable efforts it took to even conceive of such a program, let alone keep it up and running. While there are some technical bits here and there, it is gorgeously accessible with passages descriptive and intelligent, and ranging from “The room smelled of pine oil cleaner, cigarettes, and chalk dust” to

Henson enjoyed the sounds of nature awakening: swaying trees rustling in the wind, tree frogs chirping in the swamps, and birds rehearsing the opening notes of their morning songs[,]

and much in between and beyond. Jenne is also skilled at merging the institutional with a humanity that continuously illustrates the individuals behind the programs, while at the same time acknowledging their own very small role in the world they inhabit, a nod to the greatness of the space they are attempting to own.

The two men strolled out of the hangar as the C-130’s engines coughed to life. They walked along the grassy strip adjacent to a taxiway. By now, the sun had all but retired from the sky; the buildings and trees were bathed in the red-hued light of near dusk.

 His repertoire, however, is much larger than that, while also being notable for its almost humorous straightforward nature. “[D]o I have to remind you[,” an official asks one of the flight crew, who has just equated a romantic decision to living dangerously,] “that you’re travelling over seventeen thousand miles per hour in a flimsy metal can built by the lowest bidder?”

That, dear readers, is what we call a dose of reality, and we feel it in the indrawn breaths that accompany the uneasy chuckle. This is one of the many ways Jenne brings us closer to characters and the real-life figures some of them were inspired by.

Readers also meet up with other key players Ourecky comes into contact with, which hints at the nature of the novel as it becomes apparent it is a series story, a wise choice on Jenne’s part, as trimming away enough to contain it to one volume would lose too many events. As it turns out, the author doesn’t tie up all the loose ends in this installment, and readers will find themselves wanting to know more about the mysterious Matt Henson, for example. Resourceful, intelligent, down-to-earth, practical, funny and friendly, Henson is a character we don’t get enough of, though the novel packs so much story into itself we look forward to moving onto the sequel.

At times self-aware, Blue Gemini is part our history, part airman’s journey, blended with intense research and fascinating imagination that leaves readers pulling for Ourecky while also wondering where exactly the lines are blurred and eager to progress beyond just before the moon landing, where the book ends. Tantalizingly detailed without the weight of bogging down readers unfamiliar with space stories, this is a techno-thriller that grew this reader as did the tale itself.

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Spacefest is the event for space enthusiasts of any stripe, and author Mike Jenne will be there, signing books and appearing on a panel on space stations. Spacefest IX happens this week (July 5-8) in Tuscon, Arizona, and tickets are available at the door after midnight on July 2 (that’s tomorrow!). Click here for schedule and above links for more information about the event and what it entails.

The author provided a copy of Blue Gemini
in order to facilitate an honest review

Click here to see a series of amazing technical drawings!