Barn Door, 2013
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The summer when I was thirteen years old changed everything for me. Looking back on it now, I can fill in the gaps with what I learned later, but at the time it seemed like a story unto itself, and that is the way I want to tell it. When I got back to school in September, I thought to myself, "I've been through hell this past month, and not one of you knows a godamn thing about it." I'd picked up swearing that summer, but it wasn't the worst thing I had picked up, and it wasn't the most lasting. What I like to remember best are the mornings in Uncle Kurt's room when he would regale me with tales of the war. But what I remember most vividly is a bright patch of flames surrounding something so horrible I couldn't bear to look at it. That comes at the end. I will take my time getting there.—Shorecliff by Ursula DeYoung (Hachette Book Group / Little, Brown, 2013, p. 1)
Orphaned after the death of her mother, eighteen-year-old Esther Chambers heads west in search of her only living relative. In the lawless town of Century, Oregon, she’s met by her distant cousin—a cattle rancher named Ferris Pickett. There, she begins a new life as a homesteader, in the hope that her land will one day join Pick’s impressive spread.Although the summary makes Little Century sound like a historical romance, the novel is really about life on the Oregon high desert during the waning days of the old frontier. Two aspects of Keesey's writing stood out sharply for me: her characters and her ability to capture the environment.
But Century is in the midst of an escalating and violent war over water and rangeland. As incidents between the sheep and cattle ranchers turn to bloodshed, Esther’s sympathies are divided between her cousin and a sheepherder named Ben Cruff, sworn enemy of the cattlemen. Torn between her growing passion for Ben and her love of the austere land, she begins to realize that she can’t be loyal to both.
Every story begins with a tremble of anticipation. At the start we may have an idea of our point of arrival, but what lies before us and makes us shudder is the journey, for that is all discovery. This strange and curious story begins for me at the sea. Its sound and scent are my punctuation. Its movements are my verbs. As I write this, angry waves break upon the rocks, and when the water recedes, the rocks seem to be weeping.—Seduction by M. J. Rose (Simon & Schuster / Atria Books, 2013, p. 1)
It is fin-de-siècle Vienna and Minna Bernays, an overeducated lady’s companion with a sharp, wry wit, is abruptly fired, yet again, from her position. She finds herself out on the street and out of options. In 1895, the city may be aswirl with avant-garde artists and revolutionary ideas, yet a woman’s only hope for security is still marriage. But Minna is unwilling to settle. Out of desperation, she turns to her sister, Martha, for help. Martha has her own problems—six young children and an absent, disinterested husband who happens to be Sigmund Freud. At this time, Freud is a struggling professor, all but shunned by his peers and under attack for his theories, most of which center around sexual impulses. And while Martha is shocked and repulsed by her husband’s “pornographic” work, Minna is fascinated. Minna is everything Martha is not—intellectually curious, engaging, and passionate. She and Freud embark on what is at first simply an intellectual courtship, yet something deeper is brewing beneath the surface, something Minna cannot escape.Mack and Kaufman focus on the first couple of years after Minna moved in with the Freuds, when her relationship with Sigmund changed from companionable to something more. Without forgetting that Freud's work was important to the lives of the principal players, the authors do an excellent job shifting our attention to the less-well-known domestic side of the famous psychoanalyst and his family.
In this sweeping tale of love, loyalty, and betrayal—between a husband and a wife, between sisters—fact and fiction seamlessly blend together, creating a compelling portrait of an unforgettable woman and her struggle to reconcile her love for her sister with her obsessive desire for her sister’s husband, the mythic father of psychoanalysis.
Willa Ames-Rowan never thought she would die. She firmly believed white should be worn before Labor Day, champagne was best enjoyed on an empty stomach, and sleep was for the weak. If it weren't for the inky black water tugging at her limbs, clawing its way into her mouth, she might have welcomed the dark solitude of Hawthorne Lake. She might have floated on her back, counting stars, dreaming about what it would be like to wake up next to her future husband. What it might be like to marry James Gregory.—This Is W.A.R. by Lisa Roecker and Laura Roecher (Soho Press / Soho Teen, 2013, p. 1)
Can a song change a nation? In 1964, Marvin Gaye, record producer William “Mickey” Stevenson, and Motown songwriter Ivy Jo Hunter wrote “Dancing in the Street.” The song was recorded at Motown’s Hitsville USA Studio by Martha and the Vandellas, with lead singer Martha Reeves arranging her own vocals. Released on July 31, the song was supposed to be an upbeat dance recording—a precursor to disco, and a song about the joyousness of dance. But events overtook it, and the song became one of the icons of American pop culture. The Beatles had landed in the U.S. in early 1964. By the summer, the sixties were in full swing. The summer of 1964 was the Mississippi Freedom Summer, the Berkeley Free Speech Movement, the beginning of the Vietnam War, the passage of the Civil Rights Act, and the lead-up to a dramatic election. As the country grew more radicalized in those few months, “Dancing in the Street” gained currency as an activist anthem. The song took on new meanings, multiple meanings, for many different groups that were all changing as the country changed. Told by the writer who is legendary for finding the big story in unlikely places, Ready for a Brand New Beat chronicles that extraordinary summer of 1964 and showcases the momentous role that a simple song about dancing played in history.First, a personal note. Being a baby boomer who grew up just across the state line from Michigan, about an hour from Detroit, means I have a soft spot in my heart for Motown. After all, I spent the formative years of my life falling asleep with a transistor radio (my generation's iPod) under my pillow. The station? CKLW, "Home of the Motown Sound." For years after I left Ohio, being in reception distance of CKLW, meant being close to home. In the early 1970s, on Christmas break from college, my brother, friends, and I even took a road trip across the Ambassador Bridge into Canada to visit the station. We were serious fans.
By the end of the summer of 1964, the entire tone of the 1960s had changed: America was almost a different country, and "Dancing in the Street," born on the cusp, one of the few Motown songs that was not about love and heartache, was going to make the transition to the new and much more harsh America. (p. 156; uncorrected proofs)Kurlansky covers quite a bit of material, but I was particularly interested in Martha Reeves's take on the song that made her famous. Protected in what was known as the Motown Bubble, Reeves was apolitical. She wanted to sing and entertain. She was less concerned about the activist civil rights movement than she was in bringing people together through her music. For her, "Dancing in the Streets" was a reminder of her childhood, it was call to neighborhood kids to get together on hot (pre-air-conditioning) nights to listen to music, dance, and have fun.
The cats had followed Hamish from the bathroom. One began to affectionately sharpen its claws on his trouser leg and he resisted an impulse to knock it across the kitchen. Angela was very fond of her cats and Hamish was fond of Angela.—Death of a Dentist by M. C. Beaton (Hachette Book Group / Grand Central Publishing, 1998, p. 19 [originally published 1997])