Edge-of-your-seat suspense in French’s The Likeness.

Throughout the years, my taste in reading material has vastly changed. I have always been a lover of suspense thrillers and murder mysteries, even subjecting myself to the often dry and monotonous prose of Agatha Christie just so I could cure my most recent case of the whodunits? However, recently, I have been reading books that are more diverse in their subject matter and that still result in me sitting biting my finger nails due to complicated love triangles rather than what the murder weapon was. It was not until I picked up Tana French’s The Likeness that I really got catapulted back into the realm of murder, suspense and intrigue and once more bit my nails down to the quick while waiting for the story to divulge its secrets to me.
As soon as I opened the cover and met the main character, Detective Cassie Maddox, I was hooked. Maddox started out her career on the Murder Squad as an undercover cop; training under a hardcore detective named Frank Mackey. Her first undercover assignment, Operation Vestal, went horribly wrong and she opted to transfer to DV or Domestic Violence. French gives her readers a little bit of information at a time regarding the botched case of Operation Vestal; just enough to keep them interested yet enable them to keep yearning for more.
One afternoon, Cassie gets a phone call from a Murder detective, Sam O’Neill. He tells her there has been a murder and asks her to come down to the crime scene immediately. Cassie hesitates, primarily because anything related to murder is no longer her responsibility. However, she can hear the urgency in his voice and decides to meet him and Mackey at the crime scene. When she arrives, she is prepared by both O’Neill and Mackey and she enters the room where the victim is laying. She gasps, not because scenes like this frazzle her anymore but because what she does find unnerving is the fact that the victim looks just like her. Cassie pulls out the victim’s identification and has to steady herself because not only is the victim a deadringer (no pun intended), but she is Lexie Madison, a fictitious person Mackey and Maddox erected to catch the perpetrators in Operation Vestal. French uses this information to her advantage and keeps her readers expecting more.
We, the readers think that French has thrown all there is to throw at us, but we are sadly mistaken. Frank Mackey, Cassie’s superior while an undercover, has what he considers a brilliant idea, contrary to Sam and Cassie’s belief. Mackey decides that due to the lack of evidence, a suspect and the obvious need to catch the culprit, there is a perfect opportunity for a carefully constructed plan for undercover. He approaches Cassie and Sam and pitches his idea to them. Frank schemes that the victim be believed to be in a coma rather than dead and that Cassie reprise her role as an undercover and become Lexie Madison once again in order to lure the killer to attack again; therefore providing a legitimate suspect. Both Cassie and Sam think this idea is ludicrous, but deep down inside, Cassie is unsatisfied with DV and she yearns to be back in the action. It could be argued that she says she will think about it just to assuage Sam’s fears of putting her in danger, but that she indeed wants to dive headfirst into what could be another chance to be successful.
Once Cassie agrees and everything is settled, Frank makes her endure a rigorous week of training; from making sure she knows all the information about Lexie’s roommates, the people she associates with down to her mannerisms and dress code. After everything has been thoroughly examined and Frank is satisfied with her knowledge, Cassie prepares herself to do her job and do it well. The day that Frank drives her “home” to Whitethorn House after recuperating in the hospital, the readers get a first glimpse of the five roommates. Daniel, a quiet and very smart young man, who inherited the house from his family, the Marches and who loves his friends even though at times it is hard for him to show it; Rafael, who goes by Rafe, attractive with a firecracker personality and a penchant to drink a lot and be promiscuous; Justin, an individual who despite his quick-to-surface anxiety, is full of compassion and love especially for his friends, and Abby, the glue that holds the group together, she is sensible which makes her a well-rounded character who balances all the others’ personalities. These five individuals are what make the story so rich in its plot and details. Each character has traits that the readers can identify with and this fact makes it hard to agree with Frank when he begins to entertain notions of them being viable suspects.
During the course of the novel, French slowly lets us into each person’s world and continues to feed us crucial information that could help us crack the mystery of who killed Lexie Madison. Perhaps, though, the true significance of this novel is the idea of belonging. The fact that even through the murder and mayhem that often ensues as a result of five very different people living together, the idea of feeling like one properly “fits” is very blatant within this book. This is evident by Cassie’s ability to so quickly fall into a life that is so unlike her own and one that welcomes her with open arms, ready to warmly embrace her. During a discussion between Cassie (as Lexie) and Daniel, Daniel describes for Cassie what it he felt like before meeting Abby, Justin and Rafe and it enables the readers to relate because the feeling of wanting to belong is universal. “…I had always felt that I was an observer, never a participant; that I was watching from behind a thick glass wall a people that went about the business of living – and did it with such ease, with a skill that they took for granted and that I had never known. Then Abby reached straight through the glass and caught my hand…I was smiling” (French 354).

A haunting love tale in Alan Drew’s Gardens of Water.

For those of us who yearn for the epic love story, yet find Shakespeare’s twisted plots and complex language too much to handle and few rom coms satisfying, we tend to fabricate puzzles of love in our minds so that we can control the outcome. However, in Alan Drew’s Gardens of Water, a hauntingly beautiful novel about first love amid other sub-plots that richly add to the storyline, we find what we have been looking for: a story that while eliciting tears from even the toughest critic, makes the quest for true love a little less difficult to bear.
We are introduced to the Basioglu family; Sinan and his wife Nilufer and their two children, Irem and Ismail. As Drew carefully and articulately unfolds the exposition to his readers, we see that life in this family is not easy for the oldest child, Irem. Ismail could be considered the golden child by his father and he can rarely do wrong in his father’s eyes. Irem is desperately searching for approval from both parents. It is interesting to witness the change in both parent’s personalities as the novel continues. In the beginning, Sinan is harsh with Irem and Nilufer scolds him and warns him that his abrasive behavior toward his only daughter will cost him her affection. However, as the novel goes on, we begin to see the shift in Nilufer’s attitude, specifically after the major earthquake, She fears she has lost her son and nothing Irem does is soothing to her mother. “Nilufer was going crazy and Irem couldn’t calm her” (Drew 33). As they grapple with losing everything they have in addition to assuming refugee status within their own country, Nilufer’s disdain for her daughter becomes discernibly more palpable.
Irem’s attraction to her neighbor, Dylan is briefly conveyed to the audience in the beginning of Drew’s jouney. Dylan is an American boy who lives with his parents in Turkey. The two of them fall in love quickly when Irem and her family move into the camp that American relief workers have set up for them. Their love soon turns into a battle as a result of the community’s strong opposition.
In addition to Irem fighting for her budding relationship with Dylan, she is also searching for acceptance from her family. As her bond with Dylan is revealed, she is yanked further and further out of her comfort zone and out of her family; in one encounter on the beach, her father, Sinan threatens to disown her if she continues to see Dylan even though his heart is breaking at the thought of it.
In Drew’s Gardens of Water, there is definitely more than one protagonist. Irem is the obvious protagonist; a young girl fighting for what she wants despite what her family believes and what her culture dictates. Yet, her father, Sinan is also a character who within himself harbors feelings of altruism; his gratitude toward the American whose wife sacrificed her life to save his son’s. The relationship between the audience and Sinan can very well be classified as a love to hate bond, Alan Drew confirms this by stating, “It sounds strange to say, but, despite the horrible things he contemplates doing, I love Sinan…His conflicted nature and his complexity are what I love most because I think we’re all like that” (Drew 349 A Reader’s Guide). Sinan is definitely a conflicted character yet some could say that the strain between his head and his heart make him human.
Throughout the novel, there is an underlying theme of faith and the importance it plays in each character’s lives, specifically for Sinan. One day while looking for food for his family, their hunger becoming more and more ravenous as a result of the earthquake, Sinan encounters a shepherd and he is allowed to take the sheep as food. While Sinan guts the sheep, he has a revelation. He sees the shepherd as a sign from God telling him that to become too attached to his time on Earth is futile because it is not until one is with God in eternity that one is really existing. He realizes that despite status, no one truly knows what it means to be with God until he or she is dead. For the people whose time had not come yet, they were haunted, therefore never really having complete lives (Drew 72).
“…because to be with your Father is the greatest-the only real existence...No matter who you were, no matter how weak and helpless, once you were dead you knew what it meant to be with God and the living did not know and the not knowing haunted the living and the haunting was the doubt that God existed at all” (Drew 72-73). This brief revelation eases Sinan’s conflictions and is perhaps the most moving part in the book; that God can bring solace and peace even in thought.

Lack of Balance in Lavender's Obedience

Individuals who decide to mark a post-secondary education as the next step in their educational career are host to many emotions. Said individuals are anxious, sad, nostalgic, excited and anticipate the very best that college life has to offer. These youth, the future generation, are eager to make their stamp on the world; zealous pupils ready to absorb whatever knowledge and experience they are given.
In Will Lavender’s Obedience, Professor Williams’ Reasoning and Logic 204 class is in for a roller coaster of a semester. They are given the hypothetical situation of Polly. She is missing and if she is not found within six weeks or the end of the semester, she will be murdered. If half of my classes in college were this interesting, I’d be on the Dean’s List. The main female protagonist, Mary Butler is immediately intrigued, more by Williams’ persona than the actual case itself. As the class gets underway, Mary and the rest of her class dive headfirst into solving the case and “rescuing” Polly.
The readers gasp as Mary opens an email with a picture of her roommate sent from her professor. We experience a tingling sensation down our spine when Mary encounters Troy Harding for the first time in the professor’s office. We question Williams’ motives in getting his class this involved in something that has become quite unnecessarily convoluted. Lavender enables his audience to sit on the edge of their seats. We become nervous yet want to turn the page for more because we, like Williams’ Reasoning and Logic 204 class have become pawns in Lavender’s thought-provoking narrative.
Through interesting twists and turns, clues and behavioral patterns that have you questioning the value of ethics, Lavender keeps you guessing the entire novel, only, unfortunately to let you down considerably with a mediocre conclusion. After experiencing the nerve wracking trip into Bell City and Cale and hoping for a “happy ending,” the reader is left unsatisfied with the ending; yearning for more and knowing that his/her reaction of “that’s it?” was slightly inevitable. All in all, Lavender knows how to draw his readers in while keeping their attention focused on all the subtle clues, yet when it comes to delivering the anticipated ending to a 287 page mystery, he exhibits characteristics that are similar to the ending itself; weak and void of suspense and intrigue.

First Book Review - Dream When You're Feeling Blue

Usually when an individual is upset and focusing on all the negative aspects of his or her life, the last thing we, as thoughtful and concerned relatives, friends, significant others, propose to them is to look at the dark side. We mention great memories to reflect upon, the ever annoying euphemism of the proverbial boat and the great opportunities that are sure to come. We never dare to suggest to dwell on the what-if’s, it won’t’s or I can’ts. We tell them to smile because life could invariably be worse and to dream; Dream When You’re Feeling Blue.
Elizabeth Berg’s Dream When You’re Feeling Blue is a novel that is fictitious in its characters, and literal plot, yet feels more real than the most non-fiction piece I have ever read. Berg’s ability to weave an intricate storyline while discovering and revealing in-depth characters is pure talent. The story primarily centers on Kitty Heaney. Kitty is what could be described as a firecracker; a dynamic personality with a sharp wit. Her interactions with her sisters, Louise and Tish, allows the reader to be transported to the kitchen where the sisters spend endless evenings writing letters to the troops serving in WWII; Kitty writing to her boyfriend, Julian, Louise to her boyfriend Michael and Tish to an assortment of young men serving their country whom she meets at the USO dances. The kitchen scene is where we see the priceless exchanges and intimate connections the sisters share along with the overall family dynamic.
Throughout the book, Kitty develops into a mature young woman with a different mentality and viewpoints while still managing to hold on to her identity as someone who cares for the troops serving her country and who wants to find true love one day. Kitty enables herself to change by quitting her job at Munson’s Jewelers and going to work at Douglas Aircraft; putting new parts on planes that are used in the war. She knows this is not respectable work for a woman and yet she has an insatiable urge to make herself part of the war effort. Kitty is setting an example for her family and it is this simple act that really defines her as an evolving young woman, enabling her to be perceived by the reader as a round character.
There are many characters within the book that demand significant attention; fickle Tish with her many interests whom she provides comfort to with her letters, serene and wise Louise, who devotes her life and heart to Michael, assuring him that he will return home to marry her. Margaret Heaney, from whom Kitty inherits her firecracker personality and sharp wit, who rules her roost with an iron fist, yet finds time to share tender loving care with her family who keeps her going, Tommy, the most demure member of the Heaney family, whose inner obligation to help the war effort perhaps rivals the most active citizen’s sense of duty. The family is comprised of many unique characters, yet the one specific person that made an indelible impression with me was Frank Heaney. His love for his family is not ostentatious, yet palpable and the reader can really get a sense of his protective love for his wife and his children. If it is sneaking a piece of Margaret’s cake, or eventually approving of his daughter’s change in employment, Frank Heaney is the epitome of a family man and he is perhaps my favorite character.
While peppered with laughs and quick-witted responses shared with us from the many characters Berg thoroughly develops, the reader must not forget the poignant undertone the novel possesses that is representative of the crucial fact that there is war taking place and lives will be lost. It is especially poignant for this author as there is a war now and lives are lost now. While feeling just a little bit guilty at benefiting from life’s creature comforts and respecting those that are fighting a war so that those comforts can continue, I take solace in my favorite character, Frank Heaney’s words, “We live but a short time, at the longest. How do we make our lives mean something? If we die in glory, with our minds and our hearts fixed on achieving a great goal, we have lived a life that mattered” (Berg 214).

First Book Review - Dream When You're Feeling Blue

Excerpt from O Italy

O Italy. The glorious, unadulterated, mind-numbing smells of Italy. The rich creamy mozzarella, the smooth flirtatious taste of the wine as it cascades down one’s throat, the jaw-dropping landscapes that tricks one into thinking that it’s not real life they stumbled into but a Thomas Kinkaid painting; their surroundings so beautiful, it seems unreal; a fantasy painted in pastel pinks and greens. O the culture, the music, the people of Italy; o the wonder of it all, the magic of Italia. It has been a year since my voyage to this wonderful and too-good-to-be-true location, with its olive trees and Mediterranean landscapes. It was, by far, my favorite trip anywhere, ever. It is only fitting then, to write a tribute to a year anniversary of the best adventure of my life.
My mother’s side of the family was not close-knit; not as close-knit as people who entertain common stereotypes would think it to be. We hardly got together except at the occasional wake (which I rarely attended), where raucous laughter and joviality were frowned upon. My mother also regaled my father and I with stories of growing up in a house that is now over one hundred years old; her grandmother sitting on the porch in the middle of summer in the heaviest sweater she owned. She helped me imagine being seated at the table while the family enjoyed Sunday “macaroni” dinners with “gravy” and salad that true Italians eat before their main course. Fond memories of Uncle Louie and Uncle Tony in the garden in which they took such pride, often surfaced, ones that I could contribute to as well, as I was a young child who woke up excited each Saturday morning ready to “help” my uncles garden.
My grandmother was born here but her parents emigrated to America and ventured, bravely, through the haunted halls of Ellis Island, being humiliated while their identity was altered and culture was diminished. They made a life for themselves and found a way to implement their history and lives into their newfound lives here during a time that couldn’t have been more difficult yet easy at the same time. Those generations dealt with acclimating themselves to an entirely new way of life, yet raised children when doors did not have to be locked or trusting a neighbor when he/she said he/she was bringing little Joey home.
My mom knew her neighbors, she knew when her curfew was and obeyed it and she knew ice cream stores and delicatessens that are no longer in existence as well as the man who was known for his sausages that were created in his garage! Imagine that, a time when food could be cooked where an automobile rested its weary heart and not result in being written up for violating a health code! The times were different and the neighborhood itself was different. People with last names not only ending in vowels but hosting them throughout existed all over, Sunday “macaroni” dinners and no other dinner for Christmas Eve except Baccala. Stories and nostalgic reveries would be unappreciated by me for a long time until one week in what could be argued the most magical and romantic place on Earth, would change it all.
I grew up never really being able to connect to my maternal side of the family. This was ironic considering I had more of a chance of seeing them than my paternal side. We lived in abutting towns and had more than ample chances to see each other; we just never did. Adjectives such as “dysfunctional” and “immature” circled my family like angry, hungry vultures, ready to attack the nearest form of nourishment, which in this case was gossip. My mom’s happy memories were often shaded by dark nuances of her past and made me resent the male species and the male Italian species even more. I was and am grateful for her stories; they provide me with a chance to listen and learn and glean glimpses of what my mother perhaps was like before she became a grown-up with responsibilities. However, despite the story-telling and a recipe for my grandmother’s meatballs and sauce that would make the hardest food critic’s mouth water, I still felt no real connection to my Italian heritage and what was worse, I did not feel the yearning to attain it. All that would change the first week of March, 2008.
On the way to class one morning in the Communication Department, I spotted an ad for a travel study trip to Italy with Marianne Dainton’s class, Non-verbal communication. I had always wanted Marianne as a professor and here was an added bonus, a week in one of the most romantic, beautiful places in the world! The first thought that crept its way into my mind that morning was “I am going to be on that plane.” And then reality set in. Despite the advice I had always been given about aspiring to attain one’s goals, I knew, realistically, finances were going to come into play. I had a lot of planning to do in order to guarantee my behind in that narrow, smelly coach seat.
After many discussions with my parents about various financial options, I was well on my way to Italy, except for one little problem: fitting the class into my schedule for the spring semester; as badly as I wanted to travel to Italy, I also wanted to graduate on time. Three visits to my advisor and several emails later, I was enrolled in Marianne Dainton’s Non-verbal Communication class that would be traveling to Italy in the spring.
The class got underway and as we got to know each other, I realized that not only would my individual experience in this great country be awesome, but as a group, we would be able to really garner different aspects of the culture. We were a melting pot of funny, serious, smart, stylish, sarcastic, shy, eager students that were ready to venture off into unknown territory unafraid for we had each other. The trip was quickly approaching and I was excited and nervous about how I would be perceived in a land that bore my ancestors and had so much to teach me about not only my heritage but about myself.
February, 28th, 2008 was a day that I will always remember. I left my townhouse that morning, all packed and ready to go to a faraway land where chocolate was food of choice and where beautiful men said beautiful things… I attended my morning classes and then headed to the cafeteria to eat. Due to a sensitive stomach, I knew that to inhale eggs and bacon would not be the smartest idea, but I needed to have a substantial meal for I had a long trip ahead of me. We were due to board the bus at 12:30 pm and while eating my hashbrowns, I kept glancing at the minute hand that was taking forever to get to its destination. I finished my breakfast and made my way over to another table with a few of my fellow journeymen and women. We made small talk, and laughed; I just think we were all so nervous and excited that we didn’t have the mental capacity to have detailed conversations. I looked once more at the clock and saw with extreme happiness that it was time to head down to the bus.
I was the first one there, (no shocker) there and was trying not to smile smugly as one of my classmates had to throw some extra clothes in her car because her suitcase was over the limit. Everyone arrived shortly and we were off to Italy. First stop, Sorrento.

Six hours and an infinite delay later, we were on our way to Sorrento…by bus. We were supposed to hop on a plane to take us to Naples from the Rome airport, but you can always count on Europeans to disregard time. But it was ok, I was prepared; we had studied this in class. We are a fast-past culture and while that is ok because it works for us, while in another country, we must appreciate and respect their way of life. In this case, it was respecting the lack of punctuality. We were tired, hungry and cramped on a bus, but while my classmates were complaining, I was digging for my camera cursing myself for not having it at the ready as the mountainous regions and palm trees were passing me by. I finally retrieved it from the depths of my carry-on and tried to get the best pictures I could despite my aisle seat. Off we went on to Sorrento, the land of mozzarella cheese and cobblestone streets with a very exuberant tour guide named Anarita.
I managed to stay awake for the duration of the trip and as the bus climbed the perilously high mountain roads, my classmates roused themselves out of their slumber and were quickly awakened and awe-struck as visions of crystal blue water lapped calmly at the shore a million feet below us and the brilliant gold sun dominated the blue sky. The whole bus was awake now and flashes were going off all around me. I remember thinking that a thousand pictures would never capture the true beauty of this moment.
Arriving at the Michelangelo hotel a half hour later, resulted in lovely cries from the passengers. Our hotel was regal. We unloaded our bus and made our way to the lobby. After managing to abate growing chaos during check-in, Marianne told us to get settled but not to dilly-dally; we had a great dinner awaiting us at a cute little Italian restaurant in town. Marianne had been to this wonderful country many times so we definitely trusted her judgment.
Finding our rooms was like being in Leapin’ Lizards all over again. We were school children in a playground; running from one end of the corridor to the other trying to find where each other was staying. I wanted my privacy, yet I didn’t want to be totally isolated. I was in close proximity to my friends, I was satisfied with my bathroom and I was in Italy! Life was good. My roommate and I met in the bar with Marianne and our other chaperone, Tonya and we waited for the rest of the group to convene.
I had always prided myself on traveling; on seeing different parts of the world due to having parents who believed travel was very important. I often joked with my friends that I had seen more of foreign destinations than I had my own country. Here I was in my element and for the first time, despite my frequent conquests, I felt comfortable, I felt at ease; dare I say at home? Nah, it was just the novelty of being somewhere other than 1900 West Olney Avenue. I was sure it would wear off…

Excerpt from O Italy