The Somnambulist — Review by Chris

The Somnambulist sounded like an interesting story: a magician who helped the London police solve crimes was drawn into a weird crime that became of great importance. I purchased the book with great anticipation.

I am sorry I purchased it and I'm sorry I read it.

I have never felt so out of the loop in a story I was reading. Jonathan Barnes worked hard to make his mystery mysterious — and to keep it that way.

I knew very early into the book that I might be in trouble. First, the narrator was trying too hard to be mysterious. He began with great familiarity with the reader, as though the reader should know who he was, but gave no real clue as to who he might be. Finally, the narrator inserted himself into the story time and again in ways that suggested readers should know why — and yet I didn't. Was he of historical significance? Literary significance? Biblical? (It will not spoil the book to tell readers the narrator is none of the above. His significance is wholly within the realm of the world Barnes created — a world to which we have not yet been introduced.)

Many of the clues were heavy-handed and, at the same time, obscure. A character, prop or situation would scream, "CLUE!" but it remained unclear as to why. Should one know how a lesser-known Bible scripture reads? Should one know what poison is being used because of a single indistinguishable symptom? How would the reader know why a particular interaction between father and son is suspicious, and exactly what did the father and son really do?

Characters were introduced in ways that suggested the reader was supposed to be familiar with them. The problem is, this is a debut novel and the characters were not of literary or historical significance. The author was creating a world unto himself — which is fabulous, only we need to be introduced to the world and its inhabitants before we can be familiar, even intimate, with them.

I did not enjoy the novel and I would not recommend it. If you liked it, please tell me why.

A Good and Happy Child — Review by Chris

Do you believe in demons? Demonic possession? What would you need for irrefutable evidence of such a thing? And exactly what would you do with the information when you got it?

Some perfectly good books let readers off the hook, let them set down the book and shake it off because "it's only a novel." By the end of A Good and Happy Child, readers who are brave enough will ask themselves what they could permit themselves to believe — and admit only to themselves at the end of the day as they shut off the light on the nightstand.

The book begins when George is 30 years old and has a son whom he cannot touch or even approach. Being in the same room with the infant frightens him, and he literally cannot be alone with his own child. After six months, George agrees to see a therapist. In their first encounter, George eludes to a childhood experience that might have affected his current situation, which the therapist asks him to record in notebooks.

The novel is a tapestry that weaves the notebook content with George's current life experiences. Author Justin Evans moves deftly between the two times. While I'm with the adult, I can't wait to get back to his childhood. When I am reading about the child, I'm compelled to wish myself forward to see how it all winds up.

The writing is fresh and vivid. I am able to picture the situation, the location, his home, his friends, his family. I am there, and I am captivated. There are many moments that require reflection, and these are a pleasure to contemplate. Even now, long after the last page has been turned, I still think about a scene, or a conversation, and what it ultimately meant to the characters in the novel.

The novel begins at a comfortable pace and accelerates as the story progresses. When I got to the part where the police began searching the nearby woods, I read with my mouth agape, fearing that my prediction was correct. I can understand why the ending made the author's wife wake up screaming in the middle of the night after she read it. (Of course, she read multiple iterations, so I can only imagine what previous drafts might have contained.) However, for me, it was the material that immediately proceeded that gave me my nightmares. As the tension built, I suspected the worst, and that's what I got. It was creepier and more moving than I expected, but it was perfect, sheer genius and blood-curdling.

Frankly, this reads more like a rich memoir than a novel — which is fabulous for the reader but makes me worry deeply for the writer. When we ask how much the writer delved into his own psyche for material, I pray he did not. I pray that his long conversations with Jesuit priests in the dark quiet of the office after hours, the obscure materials he might have dredged up on Lexis-Nexus, his own quirky perspective of stories he read as a child, maybe even stories told around the campfire in his native Virginia, are what make this story so compelling.

Ta-Da!

Chris and I have been hard at work coming up with the right look and feel for our bookish blog. Blogspot has been a great place to house our blog, but their templates left us feeling a bit constricted. There was too much reversed type against dark backgrounds for our tastes, so our new look reflects our wish for a lighter, more inviting, distinctive look.

Our wonderful designer friend, Joe Butera of Solefire Design, came up with our fabulous new look. After months of playing around with the possibilities, we've decided we are ready to launch.

We would love to hear what you think of the new look!