Powers and Thrones: A New History of the Middle Ages by Dan Jones

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Pity the Middle Ages, so often derided as the dreary placeholder between the classical and modern eras. Or, worse, it’s a catchall for all things retrograde. Want to insult some people? Tell them that their ideas are from the Middle Ages or that their actions are medieval.

Dan Jones, author of Powers and Thrones: A New History of the Middle Ages, argues this thousand-year period of history deserves more respect. Not only does he indeed make the case, he does so by taking us through a full millennium in just under 600 pages. Such an endeavor could have been a slog to read, but he managed to produce the exact opposite, organizing a potentially unwieldy topic into sections that are both informative and enjoyable. In fact, Jones’ enthusiasm for this period of history, coupled with his strong narration, reignites the Middle Ages and shows how it’s foundational to understanding the modern world.

The Middle Ages had to follow a show-stealing act, of course: the mighty Roman Empire, with its many accomplishments. But Romanization came after the Legions marched through a land and subjugated any given population. Quoting Virgil, Jones notes that one such task of a conquering Roman was to “battle down the proud.” So when we read of the barbarians on the move toward the end of Roman rule, we know that the Roman world had its many cruelties as well.

As an example of waning Roman power in the fifth century, Jones tells of the plight of a far-flung Roman territory: Britain. Invading Saxons prompted native chieftains to write a pleading letter to a Roman general. “The barbarians drive us to the sea, the sea drives us to the barbarians. Between these two modes of death we are either killed or drowned.” How was the letter received? It was labeled the “Groan of the Britons.” The Brits were on their own.

Huns stampeded westward, possibly—as tree ring data suggests—to escape a “megadrought.” Their movement and eventual demise prompted other tribes to wander and conquer. There’s a lot to take in, and only occasionally do you come across an arid sentence such as, “Meanwhile, across the Alps a barbarian group known as the Lombards…” The fact that a lackluster sentence stands out is meant as a compliment, for, again, it demonstrates that most of Jones’ narrative has some verve.

Jones smartly forms his chapters so that they can be optioned into standalone readings. You can jump past, say, the chapter on Byzantium and delve into the reading on the Arabs. And each chapter helps clarify the historical significance. Take the Arabs. The modern political map of the Middle East is illuminated by briefly reading its Middle Age history. Plus, during a time when post-Roman rule was being sorted out, the Arabs did their part by establishing houses of learning: libraries.

When Charlemagne, king of the Franks and the first Holy Roman Emperor, died in the ninth century, he had unified most of central and western Europe. It didn’t last. But, as Jones points out, unification became the persistent dream of many, including Napoleon Bonaparte, “another irresistible warrior and accumulator.”

I’m sure some of you are thinking, “I already knew that.” And no doubt many of you already know that Vikings founded the Kievan Rus on territory that now includes parts of Russia and Ukraine. The Mongol invasions of the 13th century shifted some power from Kiev to Moscow, a power dynamic that we all know is very much alive today.

Regardless of your historical familiarity, Jones does capital work in establishing a continuity that moves the history along. You have monks, plagues, crusaders, the rise of the merchant class, and the establishment of universities. On land, we have gothic architecture. On the sea, we have navigators in the process of opening up the world.

And, of course, we have knights. If you were to ask someone to word-associate the Middle Ages, “knights” would probably be a frequent choice. They, and their order of chivalry, live on in our imagination. Even today, receiving a knighthood in the United Kingdom is considered a great honor. Jones mentions that this imaginative spark was in the Middle-Ages mind as well, as evidenced “with a heroic new literature that painted knights as lovers and questers whose ethical code perfumed the dubious reality of the deeds.” There’s “The Song of Roland” from 1098. In the late 14th century, Chaucer gave the first tale in “The Canterbury Tales” to the knight. Arthurian legend even found its way to Richard the Lionheart, for on his way to the Third Crusade he claimed to brandish Arthur’s Excalibur.

With the Renaissance and the Reformation, we see both the rise of humanism and the power of individual action. Jones contends that quite a few of the names we associate with the Renaissance (Leonardo da Vinci, for one) were products of the Middle Ages. Nonetheless, the medieval period was coming to an end.

Primarily this is a book of political history. A cultural reading into the lives of everyday individuals is not within its scope. (He does tell us that the average human existence “hovered somewhere just above terrible.”) But this does not mean the discussed individuals are presented as mere soulless entities in a thousand-year political disquisition.

Jones, for example, shares the ending of Gelimer, a vanquished sixth-century Vandal king. He and a couple thousand other Vandal prisoners were marched into Constantinople’s Hippodrome. A full crowd was in attendance as he was made to surrender his royal robes and to lie prone at the feet of Emperor Justinian. The Byzantine emperor was in his lofty perch, and Gelimer was no longer a royal ruler over anyone or anything. The fleeting nature of prestige and political power was apparently at the forefront of Gelimer’s mind, for he calmly, and repeatedly, quoted from Ecclesiastes: “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.”

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The Day He Left by Frederick Weisel

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Paul Behrens had found his calling teaching literature to middle school students. He loved being a teacher. Married with a son and daughter, he was in good health and they lived in a nice home. So why did he leave one morning and not come back?

Did life get be too much to handle? Is he running from something or to someone? Eddie Maher and his team tackle the mystery of Paul’s disappearance in Frederick Weisel’s novel, The Day He Left.

Maher heads the VCI (Violent Crime Investigations) team in the Santa Rosa Police Department. The members of the team are Daniel Rivas, close to retirement he is the memory for the team; Steve Frames is a former Marine with weapons training; Eden Somers was an FBI analyst good at research with an uncanny ability to find the obscure links in an investigation; and Martin Coyle is the computer guy.

The team handles all manner of crime and never has a shortage of cases so when Annie Behrens walks in to report her husband missing it wouldn’t seem to be a priority – he is an adult male gone less than 24 hours. But he left without his phone and briefcase. Also his son saw him that morning early, dressed up instead of wearing his usual polo and khakis, and Paul was crying. Did Paul leave with the intention of never coming back?

Mahler wants to give it 24 hours and the team begins to dismantle Paul’s life. What they find is more questions than answers. Paul’s marriage was far from ideal. He and Annie had grown apart. She is drinking heavily and involved with a doctor at the hospital where she works evenings. His son is dealing drugs at the high school and Claire, his daughter, is being bullied.

In the briefcase he left behind is a friendship bracelet in a sealed bag. What if any significance does it have to the case? On his laptop is a letter of resignation and searches for Child Protective Services, sexual assault and molestation. He withdrew $1200.00 from the bank the night before he left. Plus who is the man caught on video breaking into his classroom the morning of his disappearance?

When they find Paul’s dead body the team’s focus turns from a missing person to homicide. To find the killer they must discover Paul’s motive for leaving – was he a victim or a predator?

As Mahler leads the search he has Frames only part time as he is on loan to Narcotics for a sting operation and Eden has been called into the FBI office about the case of the Highway 60 serial killer. Eden researched the case for years and it led to her resignation from the FBI so she wants no part of the case. The suspect has been arrested again but he may be set free and he has Eden’s name and address.

Weisel has penned an excellent police procedural but it is also a character study. Each team member is a person with thoughts, feelings, and flaws. These are not the typical hard-nosed sceptics depicted in a lot of crime novels. Eddie and the team know that those they deal with have varying motivations and experiences that influence actions and the information they provide.

This is the second book of the Violent Crime Investigations Team mysteries. The first, Silenced Women, came out last year but you don’t have to read the first one to enjoy this one. However, if you do read Silenced Women first you’ll see how the characters are evolving.

This is not the perfect crime novel but it is an interesting cast of characters. You can be entertained reading about the process of finding whodunit along with a detective’s reflections on people and life.

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56 Days By Catherine Ryan Howard

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When the pandemic started, many people – including myself – thought that no one would want to read fiction set during this time. On top of the fact that this is a disaster we are all living through, everyone was stuck in their homes learning to make their own bread and hoping they had enough toilet paper. Who would want to read about that?

You can imagine my surprise when covid-centered books began to trickle in.

Not to mention the surprise I am feeling now, recommending one of these books to you.

56 DAYS by CATHERINE RYAN HOWARD is set in Ireland at the very beginning of the pandemic. Two people, Oliver and Ciara, went on a date 56 days ago after meeting in a supermarket queue; 35 days ago – when Ireland’s lockdown began – they were both facing two weeks alone in their apartments and decided to quarantine together. Today, a team of detectives arrived at Oliver’s apartment, where they found a decomposing body in his bathroom.

As they sift through the evidence, we jump back to moments from the past eight weeks. Seeing the story play out from both Oliver’s and Ciara’s perspective.

Oliver is new in town, working at an architecture firm run by one of his brother’s friends. He is staying in a lavish, company-owned apartment. Ciara works customer service at a cloud computing company and lives in a tiny studio apartment nearby.

When lockdown began, they were really hitting it off – texting constantly and feeling like they could not go two weeks without seeing each other. With few friends in the city and Oliver in possession of a second bedroom to Ciara’s zero, it seemed like the perfect time to try living together. But they were both keeping secrets, and soon one of them would be dead.

When Oliver first sees Ciara, he suspects she is a journalist. He has been harassed by the press before, and decides to play along with her for a bit to see if he can figure out who she works for. But as he gets to know her better, his suspicions ease.

Ciara has barely any social media presence, and a quick call to the cloud computing firm she works for verifies that she really does work there. So Oliver lets his guard down, and begins to feel like the two of them really could be happy together.

What the reader doesn’t know yet is that Oliver is a convicted murderer. When he was a child, he and a friend were responsible for the death of a younger boy.

When the lockdown comes he sees it as a chance to let Ciara get to know him before she finds out what he did – to get to know the person that he is now, without the context of who he used to be.

For her part, Ciara is mostly alone in the world. Her mother is ill, and she and her sister barely talk. After a slightly awkward first meeting, she and Oliver seem to be really clicking, and she is eager to get to know him better. Everything else we know about Ciara is a lie.

56 Days is designed to keep you on your toes. As we see more of their lives, and discover more of their secrets, everything we know about Oliver and Ciara changes – recontextualizing every moment of their short history.

The most jarring example of this change is the moment they met, 56 days ago. The scene in the supermarket queue is repeated multiple times throughout the book.

First we hear Ciara’s perspective – surprise when Oliver addresses her, her first impression that he is someone who moves through life easily, and her choice to shut down their conversation or let him into her life.

Later in the book we hear Oliver’s – suspicion that he’s seen Ciara five times this week, even though he’s gone to lunch at a slightly different time every day, and interest in the bag she’s carrying.

When we hear their first meeting for the final time, the implications have come into focus. We know who they both are, we know what they have both done, and we know why Ciara has followed Oliver into this market five days in a row.

But, just when you think you know everything, 56 DAYS still has another secret up its sleeve.

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Meet Me in Paradise by Libby Hubscher

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Marin Cole is not a risk taker.  When she was seventeen the death of her mother caused her to alter her lifelong dream of becoming a globetrotting journalist, like her mother had been, to instead become a responsible caregiver to her twelve year old sister Sadie.  

Years later, Marin has grown into a homebody who has never seen the ocean or climbed a mountain, much less traveled to an island paradise. But all of that is about to change.  

Sadie, her younger, thrill-seeking photographer sister returns home from a trip to China looking worse for wear and manages to convince Marin they need a trip together.  They are soon booked for a girls trip to the beautiful, remote island of Saba.  Marin thinks it will be the perfect opportunity to convince her free spirited sister to settle down and start working at the same advertising agency that Marin works for in Tennessee. Little does Marin know that Sadie has other plans.  

The big day arrives and Marin is headed to Saba, only Sadie is nowhere to be found.  Thanks to turbulence, Marin ends up in the lap of a handsome stranger, mixes up her luggage with another passenger, and loses her passport; all before arriving in Saba.  Once arrived she does her best to book it right back home, but without a passport that is difficult.  She has little choice but to accept the generosity of the handsome stranger from the plane and try some new experiences.

At first glance this book seems like your typical fun, breezy romance.  Clueless uptight girl, handsome mystery man, island getaway; all the usual elements set to combine into a perfect beach read to soak up the rays with, but there is more to this book than meets the eye.

Divulging Sadie’s plan and motives would spoil the book, but thanks to it Marin is able to take the trip of a lifetime and in the process learns so much about herself.  Hubscher has crafted a funny, clever, and at times, gut wrenching tale.  Readers are in for a special experience as they travel alongside Marin.

The Latinist by Mark Prins

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Some books are easier to lean into than others. I know, context is key here. Yet, despite the subjective sentiments attached to that statement, most readers can relate to the idea of finding “that perfect fit,” in terms of one’s literary preferences. As situated individuals, ideological conviction and lived experience often form the basis by which we assess the value of literature. That said, contextually speaking, Mark Prins’ debut novel, The Latinist, is easy for me to like.

Set in the ivory towers of Oxford, this is the story of Tessa Templeton, a PhD candidate and graduate assistant to world renown classicist, Christopher Eccles. The basic premise is rather simple. Tessa is in her final semester at Oxford. She’s finishing up her dissertation while patiently waiting for a callback from any of the myriad of institutions she’s applied to teach at. In the midst of this waiting, Tessa’s long term boyfriend, Ben, concedes to the demands of dating a doctoral candidate and abruptly ends their relationship. Shortly after the breakup, Tessa receives an anonymous email that reads, “You might want to reconsider asking Christopher Eccles for a recommendation letter in the future.” Just beneath this ominous text, Tessa sees a thumbnail of a rendering of Chris’ recommendation letter. Phrases like, “Tessa has made strides from a rocky beginning to her doctorate,” and “[w]e met more regularly in her first year than is normal with the students I supervise,” and “sometimes she is hindered by the tendency to be argumentative” are scattered throughout the document. This incident sets the stage for what turns out to be a thrilling, page-turning tale of suspense, lust, and the power of a determined soul.

Well, that last bit was a little dramatic, right? Still, this book is quite the read, especially for a debut novel.

A major plot thread woven throughout this narrative involves Tessa and Chris’ relationship. At the heart of Chris’ less than flattering recommendation letter is his desire to keep Tessa close. In short, he doesn’t want to share Tessa, thus his willingness to resort to sabotage. Having just ended a long-term relationship himself, Chris has developed feelings for his most prized graduate assistant. All throughout the book one finds references to Tessa’s superiority over her classmates. Chris has groomed her to be the top of the class, and to make huge waves in their discipline. In the midst of all that grooming, romantic feelings have blossomed. The problem is, the romantic feelings are one sided, thus leading the reader to one of finer aspects of Prins’ storytelling: Chris and Tessa’s relationship dynamics serve as a meta-narrative of Tessa’s academic pursuits.

To be more exact, Chris and Tessa’s story is a reimagining of her dissertation topic, which centers on Ovid’s classic take on the Apollo/Daphne myth, as outlined in his work Metamorphoses. That is, Tessa is studying an ancient story about a god whose unrequited love forced a nymph to drastic measures (i.e., turn herself into a laurel tree). Does that sound familiar? It should. This is Chris’ and Tessa’s story, minus gods, nymphs, and laurel trees. The groundwork for this story is laid out in part one of the book. From that point on, Tessa’s drastic measures begin to unfold, and they do so in a rather epic manner.

This story is captivating, to say the least. Prins’ writing style suits my tastes–sharp, witty, and intellectually stimulating. His pacing and prose are interesting. He takes his time in developing the points he wishes to make, and he does so in a somewhat untraditional way. He moves back and forth between both perspectives (Chris’ and Tessa’s), and doesn’t stick to a chronological telling of most stories. Again, it takes a while to get to where he’s going. That said, when he gets there, it seems worth the cost of admission more times than not.

Going back to where we started, I resonate with this story. Anyone who has experienced the rigors of grad school–especially in more competitive disciplines (e.g., humanities) –may be able to resonate. Additionally, I’m a sucker for myth. Thus even without the stellar writing, this book would have great appeal. This is a solid story that takes a simple premise and adds layers of complexity by incorporating rich and meaningful expressions of storytelling and well developed, empathetic characters. So, if any of that sounds appealing to you, this might be your next great read. You can pick it up in the New Adult Fiction section of the library.

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The Great Gatsby: A Graphic Novel Adaptation by K. Woodman-Maynard, based on the novel by F. Scott Fitzgerald

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Just so you know where I’m coming from, I’m not a fan of F. Scott Fitzgerald.  Being introduced by way of forced dissection of a lesser known novel in literature class did not help.  I’m amazed that I kept reading American literature after that, I was so turned off by the experience.  I shudder recalling it.

This is a redemption story, however.  Thanks to author and illustrator K. Woodman-Maynard’s illustrated adaptation of The Great Gatsby, I’ve remembered the importance of second chances and have been reminded that looking at things from someone else’s perspective can open the door to understanding.

Instead of presenting a literal, paragraph-by-paragraph depiction of Fitzgerald’s work, Woodman-Maynard blends a dreamy, evocative art style with passages of text to capture the mood of the novel.  Using a combination of watercolor and digital media, she brings the story to life concisely, accessible to a 21st-century audience without sacrificing its tone or message. 

Her art is ethereal–a wash of watercolor, usually one or two colors each spread save for the party scenes, flowing across the page and shaped by light inkwork.  I felt as if I were part of the privileged dreamscape inhabited by Gatsby & Company, following the crowd from one mansion to another in search of the bigger picture.  

Shapes flow around the panels much as the watercolor does.  Draperies and table linens and fashionable clothing swirl and dip and twirl in a perpetual breeze.  A scene in the first chapter describes two women lounging in a solarium on a spring day, “buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon.  It was as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house.”  Woodman-Maynard takes them on that flight, the women and the draperies on enormous French doors air swimming in circles until the ladies float gently to rest on a massive couch.  Swirls and waves and circles appear throughout–as clouds, ocean surf, tree branches, champagne bubbles, garlands of paper lanterns.  Text floats, too, in clouds and on the surf, and is found hanging in trees, wrapped around furniture, plastered on buildings, and looming in the shadows.

Colors are muted, thin in places, with even the bolder shades feeling somehow languorous.  Yellow pops up in party scenes and times of gaiety or when the characters remember happy times or try to forget their current emptiness.  Yellow pairs with blue when possibilities appear, when there is promise and hope.  Red and pink and blue and purple populate the bulk of the panels, shifting in depth and tone along with the narrative.  Blue and green bookend the story on the cover, the title page, and the last panel.  Grey and brown permeate scenes with characters outside the privileged social circle.

The Great Gatsby: A Graphic Novel Adaptation blew me away with its aching beauty.  It made me want to try the original novel–something I never thought I would do.  I almost didn’t pick up Woodman-Maynard’s adaptation because of my negative experience with the original.  I’m very glad that I did, and I’m glad to experience the novel from a different perspective.

Graphic novel adaptations (including manga, Japanese-style comics) of literary works have the ability to engage readers without completely divorcing them from the text or veering drastically off-course with the story.  They can enrich literature for students and everyone else by making it easier to visualize the plot, characters’ inner thoughts and motivations, and a variety of other story elements.  Readers can discover new ways of interacting with the text which, in turn, can enhance understanding of setting, tone, symbolism, and more.

Woodman-Maynard’s take on The Great Gatsby is a valuable tool for high school and college students, and it offers an accessible entry point for adults to enjoy graphic novels or literary works.  I read it using the Libby app which provides easy enjoyment of the text with full-screen, two-page spreads in an uncluttered viewing area.  There’s no intruding dashboard or progress marker blocking the art; those appear at the reader’s convenience.  The Library has a growing collection of illustrated literary works in both electronic and paper formats.  Whether it’s through Libby and Hoopla or on the shelves, there are titles for adults, kids, and teens to explore.  Happy reading!

The Midwest Survival Guide: How we Talk, Love, Work, Drink, and Eat…Everything with Ranch by Charlie Berens

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Oh, howdy. If you’re reading this, then you likely live in the American Midwest (or was forwarded this review by someone who does). Perhaps you recognize “Oh, howdy” as one of the myriad of ways we Midwesterners say hello. According to comedian and author Charlie Berens in his book The Midwest Survival Guide: How we Talk, Love, Work, Drink, and Eat…Everything with Ranch, other informal greetings include “Mornin’,” Yallo,” “Beautiful day,” “How are ya,” and, one of my favorites, “Oh, hey there.” Uniquely Midwestern language is but one topic covered in Berens’ guidebook.

Before getting too far afield on the prairie, however, it’s worth noting which states are considered the American Midwest: Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Nebraska, North Dakota, Ohio, South Dakota, and Wisconsin. This is not to say that a Minnesotan “Oh, howdy” will sound like a Missouri “Yallo,” or that anyone living outside of a particular region of Ohio will know what the heck a tree lawn is, but those 12 states make up what’s commonly known as the American Midwest (and what the United State Census Bureau refers to as Region Two).
Berens starts us off with a twelve-question “How Well Do You Know the Midwest?” test before getting into the basics. You needn’t worry about your results, though, as each score leads to “this is the right book for you”–you can’t go wrong! After the basics and language, we mosey along to the people, driving, setting, goings-on, college life, being there, food & drink, and junk drawer sections of the book. Also included you’ll find an intermission – that is, a Midwest Gallery – and exercises, bucket lists, recipes, sidenotes, how-tos, and more.

Need to know what to do when you hit a deer? See page 87. Curious about the difference between Deviled eggs and the Devil? See page 211. Pages 202-04 introduce us to over a dozen different types of “weenies” and their distinguishing features. Plan your monthly yardwork calendar with the help of pages 103-06. Learn all about “Midwest nice,” history, values, sports, drinking games, and, yup, you guessed it, more (than perhaps you’d ever thought you’d like to know, but you’d like to) about all-things Midwestern.

Throughout his book, Berens shares family memories with us – fishing trips, Grandpa Bob, Midwestern holidays, his first car, etc. – that are wonderful anecdotes to what seems a truly Midwestern upbringing and lifestyle. But he didn’t set out to be a comedic spokesperson for the United States’ middle child. Prior to pursuing comedy, he worked in journalism, and he’s also a musician and podcaster. It was on a comedy tour in LA that he realized his Midwestern shtick resonated with audiences from across the country. He posits that among the reasons why the Midwest resonates is “because the Midwest has largely been underrepresented, or falsely represented in pop culture” and that we’ve “been flown over culturally,” and, welp, I agree.

When I first plucked this book off of the library’s shelves, I didn’t know what to expect or whether I would, in fact, read it. Within minutes, I was sharing it with others. A colleague immediately put it on hold. I read a few pages to my (very Midwestern mother, who lives in Ohio) over the phone and we laughed so hard we cried, especially at “The 12 Steps to Saying Goodbye.” As it turns out, my 13-year-old stepson follows Berens’ Midwestern shenanigans on Youtube, which I learned only after he absconded with the book as soon as I brought it home. All of this to say that this is a hilarious read and, indeed, it resonates, seemingly regardless of age.

Having lived in the Midwest all of my adult life (and nearly all of my life, full stop), I realize that it’s too easy to take our uniqueness for granted. Greetings, sayings, long goodbyes, and the like that we Midwesterners hear on a daily basis, such as, “Ope, sorry,” “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity,” and “It’s not the cold, it’s the wind,” are, uniquely, us. Sure, I’m reminded of that any time that I step outside of my Midwestern comfort zone, but it’s nice to be reminded of home while at home.

Aside from making us laugh, Berens also gives us a sort of survey of Midwestern culture – books, fairs (county and state), films, food, museums, politics, and sites to see. Not to mention the entertaining cartoons, charts, illustrations, lexicon, and photographs. Check it out! And, as always, happy reading.

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Watercress by Andrea Wang & Jason Chin

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Happy book awards season!

Every January, the American Library Association announces award winners and honorees in a whole host of categories. The most well-known awards include the Newbery Medal, the Caldecott Medal and the Coretta Scott King Award, though there are over 30 awards for young adult and children’s books.

The Caldecott Medal is awarded to the artist of the most distinguished American picture book for children. It makes sense, then, that “WATERCRESS,” illustrated by JASON CHIN and written by ANDREA WANG, bears the shiny medal on its cover. Wang tells a story based on her experience growing up as the child of Chinese immigrants in Ohio in the shadow of Mao Zedong’s Cultural Revolution. The young girl at the center of the novel resents her parents for being different, for making her different. When they pull over to the side of the road on a drive, they make the whole family climb out to pick watercress. For her parents, the “snail-covered plant” is a delicacy, reminiscent of their lives in China, when any food was good food and free food was even better. For the protagonist, it’s another glaring difference between herself and her classmates. When her typically private mother tells the girl and her brother about their uncle, a child taken by the famine, she gets a glimpse into the importance of the plant and, more than that, a glimpse into her parents’ past and how it affects their present.

With “Watercress,” Caldecott honoree Chin proves that he is as effective at painting minute details — those of a home in the 1970s, of the shame on a young girl’s face — as he is at painting landscapes. His watercolor art beautifully captures the cornfields of Ohio, and I especially appreciate the spread a few pages where the cornfields seamlessly fade into the bamboo in the background of a hillside above a Chinese village.

Another favorite page depicts the girl’s family sitting around a metal-legged, Formica-top table eating a meal that includes the foraged watercress. The girl sits with her arms crossed, a scowl on her face. As explained in his endnotes, Chin sought to reflect Chinese and American heritage, as well as the 1970s aesthetic. The scene, from the details of the table to their clothes to their dishes, feels reminiscent of that time period.

The free verse structure of “Watercress” makes it an excellent choice for a read aloud in a group setting. Wang’s words read like a poem, evoking emotion and vivid scenes on each page, a perfect example of the English teacher’s mantra: “Show, don’t tell.” Chin’s illustrations only serve to amplify the story rather than overshadow.

In the book’s endnotes, the author discusses her own experience as the daughter of Chinese immigrants as well as the importance of memories and their ability “to inform, to inspire, and to heal.” Wang’s encouragement to talk about the hard things, to tell your story and to take pride in your heritage is crucial, and she sends those messages seamlessly throughout. “Watercress” is well deserving of the Caldecott Medal.

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Harlem Shuffle by Colson Whitehead

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Heist tales lend themselves well to a cinematic telling. The visuals are all there, from the hushed planning to the eye-darting execution. Sometimes you think the crew might just make it out with the goods. Other times you just know they are doomed from the start. But what of a heist novel? I didn’t think I had ever read one. This past summer, however, I knew this was about to change; for Colson Whitehead was set to publish Harlem Shuffle, a heist novel.
Whitehead is literary gold. He’s won the National Book Award and—count them—two Pulitzer’s. In The Underground Railroad, grim reality paired with magical realism to describe two slaves escaping a brutal Georgia plantation aboard an underground railroad system that’s literally an underground railroad, an antebellum allegory of fleeing slavery. Devastation continued in The Nickel Boys, which detailed the abuse in a Jim Crow-era reform school. Heavy reading, both.
Harlem Shuffle is a welcomed exhale. But it’s still a Colson Whitehead novel, so you would be safe in supposing that it’s both good and hard edged. It just has to be. And you would be right on both accounts.
We follow Ray Carney, the proprietor of a Harlem furniture store. It’s 1959 and Carney struggles to make the rent for his family. It doesn’t help that his in-laws treat him as though he’s beneath their daughter. Every interaction feels as though they are waiting for her to “wake up to the poverty of her choices.” Never mind that his mother died when he was young, thus leaving him to the whims of a neglectful father. His father was indeed a crook, but Ray learns one unintended lesson from him: “living taught you that you didn’t have to live the way you’d been taught to live.” And never mind that, despite all this, he earned a college degree. To them, he’s just a “rug peddler.”
Carney so badly wants to move his family out of their cramped, noisy apartment and onto a more respectable block that he often embarks on long walks just so he can gaze at coveted apartment buildings and dream. But, to be sure, he needs money for this to manifest. It helps that his cousin Freddie will occasionally show up at the furniture store with random stolen goods that Carney unloads for a cut. These are small risks with small payouts.
Freddie changes this risk/reward ratio by partnering with a hardened group of criminals. Their plan is to rob the Hotel Theresa, a Harlem icon. And it’s more than just about making a high-dollar score. Black Harlem residents like Carney’s in-laws live in a neighborhood called Strivers’ Row. This Harlem echelon, along with Theresa’s past reputation of Harlem sophistication, wore on some Harlem residents because they knew none of it was for them. Carney knows part of the reason his in-laws disapprove of him stems from the color of his skin. Even they think he’s too dark. This job would bring bourgeois “black Harlem down a notch.”
Not that Carney initially wants anything to do with it. He’s a furniture salesman, not a crook. It’s because of Freddie’s big mouth that these other criminals even know of Carney, that they think he’s the one to move the stolen Theresa jewelry via his merchant connections.
Carney has a choice to make, telling Freddie that he will sleep on it before he decides. “A night of Carney staring at the ceiling was enough to close the deal, the cracks up there like a sketch of the cracks in his self-control.” He grew up not wanting to be a crook, but he also can’t deny that he grew up surrounded by criminals and their lifestyles. Moving stolen goods provides a small thrill to an otherwise mundane life, “a zap-charge in his blood.” The heist goes down, and the rewards and repercussions are meted out according to streetwise maneuverings.
Years go by and we find a more prosperous Carney. The furniture store is doing well and he’s being courted by the elite Dumas Club, which restricts membership to Harlem’s professional class only. (Carney’s father-in-law is a member.) Yet even then, if Carney wants to get in, it’s going to be a decorous dance.
Carney also takes a second job: plotting and exacting revenge. This second job has him “keeping crooked hours,” going to sleep a little earlier and then waking up for the night work. “Midnight, rise and shine.” It’s an hour “when the con polishes the bait and the embezzler cooks the books.” And we have the pleasure of reading all about what he’s up to.
We end in 1964, with Harlem changing. All of New York City is changing. Whitehead takes us through the riot that happens that year, with Carney not only trying to protect his store but to keep order both with the choices he’s made and with the unpredictable actions of his various associations. Throughout the novel, this city is alive, its own character. We already know that some streets and establishments in the city are not for the faint of heart. It’s one thing to call them dangerous and potentially wild, but it’s much better to read how Whitehead writes them, as with this one bar: “The atmosphere in Nightbirds was ever five minutes after a big argument and no one telling you what happened.”
A lot goes on in Carney’s life, so it’s easy to miss that no one really knows him. His family is his one constant (aside from his store). Yet even when he’s with his wife and kids, he seems distant (partly because he keeps his criminal life secret). It’s not until the moments when he’s in imminent physical danger does he seem to yearn for them. During one instance when someone is pointing a pistol at him he thinks of “his sleeping wife and daughter on their safe bed. That little lifeboat aloft on the dark and churning Harlem sea.”
Carney doesn’t fit in with the crooks nor the Harlem elites. That’s unfortunate, because those are the only two groups of people he knows. Still, he’s a survivor in the engine known as New York City. Early in the novel, during one of his apartment dream-walks at night, he imagines himself and his family in an apartment building on Riverside Drive, on a floor high enough where he can see the Hudson River. “With his hands on the sill, he’d look out at the river on nights like this, the city behind him as if it didn’t exist. That rustling, keening thing of people and concrete. Or the city did exist but he stood with it heaving against him, Carney holding it all back by sheer force of character. He could take it.” Whitehead wrote an entertaining heist novel, yes, but it’s also so much more.

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Pump: A Natural History of the Heart by Bill Schutt

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Everyone has a heart. Some are described as cold or big, some soft or hard. A few people have one of gold and others one of stone. If we are fortunate, it works just fine but for many their ticker is faulty. Whether using it to describe character or taking about how it functions, Bill Schutt covers it all in Pump: A Natural History of the Heart.

Schutt divides his exploration into 3 sections: Wild at Heart, What We Knew and What We Thought We Knew, and From Bad to Better. Just looking at some of the chapter titles lets you know this is not a dry scholarly text – Blue Blood and Bad Sushi, The Barber’s Bite and the Strangled Heart, and What’s Snakes Got to Do, Got to Do with It?

Before we get to the meat or heart of the book, the author tells us about nine blue whales who perished in the Cabot Strait in 2014. The tragic event made it possible for researchers to harvest the heart of one of the smaller whales (only 76 feet long). The harvesting and preservation of the 386-pound heart is a fascinating start.

Wild at Heart is a look at the circulatory systems of different species and how hearts function, the anatomy of the organ and how it evolved. To start the author goes from the massive heart of the whale to organisms so small they don’t have a heart. The horseshoe crab and its blue blood and open circulatory system are covered as are insects and their circulatory systems that don’t have a heart or carry oxygen.

This section is full of interesting facts and asides, such as the tiny masked shrew whose heart beats at a rate of 1320 beats per minute. How cold affects the heart and Ice fish and their antifreeze protein are covered as is the North America Wood Frog which can freeze (body fluids turn to ice) and then revive.

The second section, What We Knew and What We Thought We Knew, discusses the history and advancement of medical knowledge concerning the cardiovascular system. It is here that Schutt talks about the belief that the heart contained the soul of a person.

The Egyptians believed it contained all the good and bad deeds done by the deceased. They preserved it so the person could be judged in the afterlife. Aristotle also believed that the heart was the seat of intelligence, emotions and the soul. This cardiocentric view would remain for centuries to come and gave rise expressions such as cold-hearted, soft -hearted, and blue bloods.

The pioneers of medical knowledge covered included Hippocrates, Galen, Ibn al-Nafis, William Harvey, and Vesalius. Bloodletting and the use of leeches is well-covered as the practice lasted into the early twentieth century. George Washington’s treatment for a throat infection included bloodletting.

Charles Darwin’s health problems and the discovery of Chagas disease are also covered in this section before moving on to From Bad to Better. This final section covers the advances made in modern cardiology.

Schutt begins with tuberculosis (consumption) and the development of the stethoscope. To diagnose a patient a physician needed to listen to the lungs. This was done by a method called auscultation. One could tap the chest and listen to the sound resonated back or listen directly by placing your ear on the patient’s chest. After an embarrassing situation involving a plump female patient Dr. Rene Laennec saw two children playing with a piece of wood and a pin. One held the wood to his ear and could hear the other child scratching the opposite end with a pin. A tightly rolled piece of paper placed against the patient’s chest was Dr. Laennec first attempt and led to the instrument that is probably the first thing people think of when you say doctor or medicine.

Werner Forssmann’s development of heart catherization is unique in that he was his own guinea pig so to speak. After a brief sidetrack to holistic medicine, the switch from cardiocentric to craniocentric thinking, and varicose veins, Schutt discusses the phenomena of broken-heartedness.

The Burmese Python makes an appearance in this section because after feeding their hearts grow in size by 40%. As does Zebrafish and their ability to repair their damaged hearts. Research is being done on both of these processes to help those with faulty tickers. Schutt ends with the research being done with transplanting pig hearts into humans, cardiac regeneration, and using plant-based solutions to further the research.

This is an informative entertaining read with Schutt talking to us and letting his sense of humor shine through. It is peppered with black and white drawings by Patricia Wynne that illustrate what they author is saying. I highly recommend this if you want to know more about the heart and a whole lot of other fun facts.

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