Redhead by the Side of the Road, by Anne Tyler.

            The only thing wrong with this book is its length:  it’s too short!  As always, Ms Tyler draws the reader effortlessly into her story of a very ordinary Baltimore man whom quite a number of us would regard as eccentric were it not for his innate decency, good humour and strength of character – which does not always come to the fore unless tested.

            Micah Mortimer lives, by his own choice, a fairly regimented life.  He jogs a certain route every morning starting at 7.15am;  he has different days and times for various chores in his apartment, and supports himself by fixing computer problems (He’s The Tech Hermit) and being the Go-To guy in his apartment building should anything need repairing.  In short, Micah fixes things but doesn’t create.  But that doesn’t matter – he’s happy enough with his life;  he has a ‘woman friend’ (he refuses to call Cass his girlfriend because she is a teacher in her late 30’s, hardly a girl);  they are very comfortable together and life is about as satisfying (and predictable) as one can expect.

            Until Cass could be evicted from her apartment, and expects Micah to invite her to move in with him, rather than face the alarming prospect of her and her cat (the cause of the eviction) being made homeless.  Micah does not react well, and before he can gather his wits and apologise for his insensitivity, his woman friend has opted out of his hum-drum little life.

            And that’s not all:  a rich-looking, preppy young man turns up on his doorstep, convinced that Micah is his birth-father.  The boy Brink (yes, that’s really his name) has fought with his parents and somehow connected dots – all the wrong ones – to arrive at the conclusion that he and Micah should bond and get to know each other.  The seas of Micah’s life, disturbed by hardly a ripple for years are suddenly at the mercy of a Force 10 gale, and he doesn’t know what to do – except try to fix it all.

            In prose beautiful and simple as breathing, Ms Tyler guides the reader through all attempts successful or otherwise that Micah makes to improve people’s situations – and his own.  Once again she has created characters unforgettable in their ordinariness, and once again we are charmed by her complete mastery of our emotions.  I didn’t want to let Micah go in just 178 pages:  give us more!  FIVE STARS.  (For being so short.)   

  

Bull Mountain,

Like Lions, by Mike Panowich.

         

            Hold onto your seats, folks, you’re in for a very bumpy ride as former FireFighter Brian Panowich flexes his literary muscles and launches our readers’ rollercoaster at the summit of Bull Mountain, his first novel of a family of Good Ole Boys gone bad in North Georgia. 

            The first book recounts the history of a dynasty of hillbilly drug-dealers started by Cooper Burroughs, who killed his brother Riley in front of Cooper’s 9 year-old son Gareth because Riley thought they should try to make money legitimately – then Cooper instructed Gareth to dig Riley’s grave.  Mountain Men are tough, and their sons better be damn tough as well.  The sooner they learn that the better! 

            Gareth grows up according to plan;  the sad thing is that he has three sons whom he expects to be as ruthless and brutal as he has trained them and they are, expanding his meth empire with the outside help of a biker gang into other states – except for youngest son Clayton:  durned if he hasn’t become the local Sheriff!  And as far from being a crooked lawman living in their pocket as it is possible to be, for Clayton loves his wife, loves where he lives, and wants to Protect and Serve.  ‘Bull Mountain’ deals with his struggle to reconcile his upbringing, his conscience and his homicidal family – just managing to survive after a bloody shoot-out with his brother, the consequences of which are covered in ‘Like Lions’.

            It’s not easy to produce a sequel that lives up to the excitement and suspense of the first book, but Mr Panowich has succeeded effortlessly, carrying on the unrelenting tension and brutal characterisation at a heart-stopping rate.  Clayton is still Sheriff, but has been terribly wounded in the gunfight with his brother;  he is now a father, with a baby son at home – and a wife he sees less of than he should, for his conscience won’t let him alone and he drinks to stop its nagging voice.  The family drug empire without his brother’s leadership is floundering and other crims are making aggressive moves.  What to do?  How can a crippled, alky headcase save his community – save anything?  Clayton is in a very dark place, and worse is yet to come.

            But!

            The writer saves the day in a way that doesn’t insult the reader’s intelligence;  he ties up all loose ends efficiently and as a bonus provides a most satisfying twist to the plot at the very end.  His larger-than-life characters (and their dialogue!) are unforgettable:  hard men, harsh prose, and hard country.  Brian Panowich, you’re a STAR.  SIX STARS.         

Saving Missy, by Beth Morrey.

           It was a lovely surprise to find that a book with such a misleading title (I thought it was about the rescue of a beloved pet!) can utterly belie its appearance.  Lockdown at its various levels means boredom reigned supreme, so readers need Excitement!  Thrills!  Humour!  Pathos!  You know:  all of those things.

BUT.

Ms Morrey’s debut novel contains all these prerequisites in generous quantities. How happy I am that I got past the cover, for main protagonist Missy is a force to be reckoned with, even though she never realises her power.

Millicent Carmichael is 79 years old.  She rattles around in a big suburban London house by herself;  her husband is gone and her son lives in Australia with her only grandchild.  Millicent has fought bitterly with her daughter, who wants her to sell up and get something much smaller in Cambridge so Melanie and her gay partner can ‘keep an eye on her’.  Oh, really?  Not bloody likely!  For Millicent has had a lifelong association with Cambridge;  she was a Classicist with a very good degree, but gave up her career to wed the love of her life, Leo Carmichael, soon to become an internationally famous historian.  Millicent and her children became acolytes to the Great Man, whether they wanted to or not, Worshippers of the Flame – but when the Flame goes out, what is left?

An aching and terrible loneliness, some of it her fault,(very hard to admit) – and the consolation of alcohol, which has always featured largely in her life, and is even more of a crutch now.

Until a chance meeting in the local park (what was left but to get out of the house and walk in the park?) with two very different women, Angela, a potty-mouthed Irish solo mum with a darling little son called Otis (the same age as Millicent’s beloved grandson) and Sylvie, a very resourceful, community-minded Interior Designer.  It doesn’t take very long before Millicent becomes Missy, her name of choice, and her world thanks to these women who make her feel so necessary, starts to expand – she even gets lumbered with a DOG!  Who’s not hers to keep, mind, only a loan while the owner goes through a rough patch – but when Missy starts dog-walking, she meets a whole new circle of friends.  Can life get any better?

No.  Tragedy strikes, as it always does, but thanks to her new-found loyal friends, Missy finds practical solutions to her previously insoluble problems.  Beth Morrey has triumphed:  all her characters are beautifully realised and utterly convincing, and she writes compellingly about problems that face us all at different times of our lives.  This is a gem of a book!  SIX STARS.   

Grown Ups, by Marian Keyes.

            Millions of Marian Keyes fans will heave a sigh of pleasure at the appearance of her latest book.   True to form, it follows the fortunes of yet another Irish family, the three Casey brothers, over the course of six months.  As we all know, a lot (good and bad) can happen in such a short time, and Keyes fans can settle back and prepare for the tragicomic read that Ms Keyes is so good at:  strong, credible characters;  lots of slap and tickle, and plenty of wonderful Irish craic.  What more could we ask for from the Queen of Chick Lit?  Except that this time, not all the boxes are ticked.

            It is Johnny Casey’s 49^th birthday party.  Wife Jessie has pulled out all the stops to prepare (catered) a five-star spread, inviting his brothers Ed and Liam and their families, and all appears to be proceeding satisfactorily – until Ed’s wife Cara, suffering from delayed concussion from an earlier ‘incident’, decides to reveal family secrets that will profit none of them to know.  ‘Loose Lips Sink Ships’ could not be more apt as the Casey Family Ship starts listing terribly under the weight of the revelations:  Johnny has a separate secret bank account that struggling businesswoman Jessie is unaware of – and it appears he has been having an affair with an ex-family-friend;  youngest brother Liam, (still forty, though!) recently married for the second time to considerably younger theatre set-designer Nell (whom all the family children adore) bonked a teenage friend of Jessie’s daughter on their Tuscan holiday;  Cara, a Bulimia sufferer who told everyone she was cured, was caught in the act of bingeing – by Nell and Ferdia, Jessie’s eldest son (but still nine years younger than Nell) who can’t keep their hands off each other.

            What a party!  What a Rage!  What a mess.

            Ms Keyes works hard to bring us all up to speed with the plot details and how all these lamentable situations developed, but halfway through this mighty tome (upwards of 640 pages) the action slows to a pace that snails would breeze past – which is a great shame, for at her best Marian Keyes is a hugely entertaining writer who can combine with great empathy the highs and lows of our frenetic modern existence:  in this story she has thrown too many balls in the air without being able to catch them all.  FOUR STARS.  (Because she’s Marian Keyes).    

Nothing to See Here, by Kevin Wilson. 

           Lilian Breaker has not made a success of her life to date, after being expelled as a formerly promising Scholarship teenager from a prestigious Tennessee prep school for taking the fall for her very rich room-mate.  Lilian’s mother’s silence was bought with a big pile of money – not that Lilian saw any of it, but strangely enough, she is still in contact many years later with rich room-mate Madison, who is now married to Jasper Roberts, fabulously rich Senator for Tennessee, and aspirant for the soon-to-be-vacant position of secretary of state.  Madison’s future is golden but, being kind as well as breathtakingly beautiful (Lilian is not), she thinks of Lilian often and to that end, has a position at the Roberts estate that might interest her:  would she like to be Governess (‘like a Nanny?’ says Lilian, but no, a Governess is much more high-end, she is informed), to twin children, a 10 year-old boy and  girl  from Senator Robert’s first marriage.  Their mother is dead and there is no one currently to care for them –Stepmother Madison can’t;  her life is much too busy, especially as she has produced son Timothy – who goes to day-care and has an unusual obsession with stuffed toys. 

‘Come and meet Bessie and Roland, Lil, see what you think’.

            Okay, then.

            Lilian has never been able to resist the siren call of her best and only friend and reluctantly embarks on the weirdest adventure of her life so far, as she discovers that Bessie and Roland are Madison and Jasper’s shameful secret, a secret that would destroy Jasper’s political aspirations permanently if it were revealed. 

For Bessie and Roland ignite.

            Yes, they internally combust.  If they get upset, angry or frightened they start to burn, real flames that don’t harm them, but play havoc with the furniture, not to mention creating unnecessary attention from the fire department:  they must be kept the absolute opposite of upset, and Lilian is just the person for the job. 

Really?

            Kevin Wilson has produced a fantasy for the bizarre times in which we live.  All his characters, especially the heroic Lilian, are larger than life, as they must be to convince the reader to believe.  His story is hugely funny but the humour leavens the difficulty of trying to keep a family together these days – especially a new one.

            Yep, nothing to see here guys, unless you turn the pages.  This is a great book.  SIX STARS.  

American Dirt, by Jeanine Cummins.

            Lydia owns a bookshop in Acapulco, a city in Mexico that was formerly a tourist paradise, until the cartels started moving in;  now people are frightened of what their city has become, especially after bodiless heads starting appearing in random suburbs, their mouths stuffed with notes saying ‘They talked’.

            Still, life goes on and Lydia’s family has come together to celebrate her niece’s 15^th birthday, her quinceañera;  it’s a bright and happy day and Lydia and her son Luca are in the bathroom when the shooting starts:  when it has stopped, all sixteen of her family members have been massacred and the cartel gunmen are looking through the house for survivors – they are expressly looking for her and her son.  For Lydia’s husband Sebastián is a reporter who is fearlessly outspoken about the cartels and the evil with which they are polluting society, and he has just written a damning article about the local cartel boss Javier ‘La Lechuza’ (The Owl) – who is also a devotee of Lydia’s bookstore:  today is pay-back time for the bad press.

            Miraculously, mother and son are undiscovered in the bathroom, but are forced to listen to the assassins help themselves to the barbecue her beloved husband was cooking when he died;  it seems an eternity before they can emerge and call police who, as everyone knows are entirely ineffectual:  Lydia knows there will be no justice;  she also knows that she is ‘unfinished business’ for Javier and his sicarios;  they won’t stop until she and Luca are both dead.  The Owl’s vengeance and reach are terrifying.

            Unless she starts running.  Running to El Norte, the USA – surely his influence doesn’t reach that far – yet?  Lydia cannot stop to reflect for any length of time on the rightness of her decision to flee:  she has no choice, and there begins a nightmare journey where death pursues them every step of the way.  Lydia is forced to make snap decisions, trust people she has never met before, but regard everyone new as a potential enemy, including a cocky teenage gang member who has a knack of eventually appearing wherever she goes.  This reader, too, travelled every step of the way with her:  I covered my eyes when she and Luca leapt off a bridge to board ‘La Bestia’ The Beast, the freight train that all migrants fleeing homeland brutality must board to take them further North;  I shuddered at the cruelty inflicted upon them because of their vulnerability, and marvelled at the spontaneous kindness and care that desperate people can still show each other.

            Ms Cummins has produced a tour de force, a masterwork of contemporary American fiction that reads like a thriller, yet explores every human emotion.  ‘She sticks her hand through the fence and wiggles her fingers on the other side.  Her fingers are in El Norte.  She spits through the fence.  Only to leave a piece of herself there on American dirt.’  SIX STARS.

Peace, by Garry Disher.

            ‘All a cop wants at Christmas, thinks Constable Paul Hirschhausen (Hirsch, please) is not Heavenly Peace, just a general absence of mayhem’.  And fair enough, too.  Hirsch was a detective in a former life – and a previous book, which naturally I haven’t read.  (Where have I been all my life?)  He exposed crookedness and graft in the South Australian Police force, but is regarded as a nark by his colleagues, and instead of being rewarded for his honesty, has been demoted to country constable, patrolling tiny towns and remote farms.  It’s not what he was trained for, but he’ll do his best regardless, and after a year based in Tiverton, Christmas has rolled around again - he hasn’t exactly hit his stride, but he is being seen as less of an outsider and more of a fixture – he hopes.

            Criminal acts are pretty minor by big city standards;  the usual domestics, drunks and thefts – until several of the miniature show ponies of one of the locals are carved up and left to die in their paddock.  As if cruelty to animals weren’t horrific enough, a woman visiting the weekly Doctor’s clinic left her little daughter in her car in stifling summer heat:  it was touch-and-go for a time as Hirsch fought to free the child from the car, only to have the subsequent battle with the mum uploaded to YouTube – publicity he doesn’t need, being already in bad odour with his superiors.  He just can’t catch a break and, true to form, when you’re sure that things can’t get worse, they invariably do.

            The neglectful mother is found murdered, along with her teenage son (‘No, no, constable, I only have one child!’);  her little daughter has disappeared, along with an older daughter that no-one knew about, necessitating an influx of the top brass from Adelaide – and Sydney, even, and it goes without saying that these luminaries treat constable Hirschhausen as the yokel he deserves to be – but he was a good detective, and the demotion hasn’t deprived him of his skills.  He can still mix it with the big boys, and does so with aplomb.

            Mr Disher is SUCH an entertainer!  He paints great word-portraits of small-town Australian life;  the huge, empty, dried-out landscape, and the hardiness and humour of the classic Aussie battler.  In prose stark, shocking and familiar to us all on this side of the Tasman, he introduces us to characters that we could recognise anywhere in Oz or EnZed:  we are cuzzies, after all.  And happy to be so.  FIVE STARS.