“Everyone In My Family Has Killed Someone”

 

Australia. A family reunion at a mountain ski resort. What could possibly go wrong?

If you were an author who wrote “How to Write Mystery Books” - wouldn’t you think they would have actually written a book or two? And what if every member of said author’s family had murdered someone…couldn’t that become the basis for a great who-done-it?

The novel’s point of view is an interesting one. I felt I was sitting in a coffee shop with a friend, and they were retelling the events of their family reunion. Each flawed character had a story to tell. Each story became more twisted and tied into the other stories. You almost need a scorecard to keep everything straight.  In their end, with almost Holmes-like precision, we have our killer, or killers as it were.

I don’t want to be a spoiler, so I will leave it there. There are two more books in this series which are now part of my extensive TBR pile.

“Caravans”

As I am not a worldly person, this book intrigued me. What I knew about Afghanistan could fit in a thimble. Now, perhaps, I have two thimbles of knowledge.

1946. Afghanistan became a volleyball to be batted back and forth between the United States and Russia. The fallout from this Cold War game resulted in people torn apart. The caravans of nomads, much like our own Native Americans, roamed freely over the continent. Borders were nonexistent. The cities seemed to be groaning under the weight of modernization. How to move forward without losing the past? Will the struggle for power wipe out what was? The cultural balance was starting to slip.

Such a barren, hostile landscape. Yet, it seems there was much to be gained by possessing these ancient lands. The characters, in the book, were in some ways like Afghanistan itself. Looking for different life paths than what was available to them. Caught between wanting to cling to the “old” life while embracing future “improvements.” In the end, the game continued…

Letter from a Witch

To whom it may concern,

I have found myself reflecting on what it is about Halloween that I like so much. The costumes? Celebrating the dead? Or perhaps, embracing the notion of the paranormal? Not sure. But I do know that I love all that is Halloween. Okay, to be honest not everything. My devotion to this holiday is kinda odd at this point in my life…we live in an adult community. We have no trick-or-treaters. This holiday is all about me.

If I had to describe my Halloween style, I guess you would call it quirky with a hint of darkness. I’m not into all the blood and guts. Nor am I into a cartoon version of Halloween. It’s safe to say that, just like me, my decorations are moody. My collection of ephemera for Halloween, while somewhat vast, is not large by any means. I don’t own a 12 foot skeleton (nowhere to store it). I always keep an eye out for the odd decoration when I’m out thrifting, keeping in mind that with limited storage, I have to have a place for it to live in the off-season.  

I revel in the minutia of the holiday. The little things that turn my normally cozy home into a cozy home for a dead, costumed, dark, quirky, slightly eccentric, witch. I don’t put out all my decorations. No way. I brainstorm a theme and then, full on, decorate my library room. You’ll find the theme repeated throughout the house (mainly in the public rooms). I’m pretty sure that if I ever find myself living alone, the decorations may creep…into other areas of the house. My husband does not share my obsession. However, he has learned to tolerate the occasional spider web or low flying bat for the month of October.

I have no idea where or when my love for this holiday manifested itself. I do know that creating costumes for my boys and crafting an environment to celebrate the holiday has always brought me joy. Give me a reason to decorate AND wear a costume…I’m there. (this actually spilled into my teaching - they called it  living history - we all know better than that).

Whatever the reason, as I said, all this brings me joy. I take pride in the small haunted world I create each year. I suppose you can take the witch out of the girl…or can you?

Yours in Halloween creepiness,

Lori

“Our Past Cannot Be Erased”

 

Friendship is a precarious thing these days. We connect with people. See their posts on social media, and think we are getting a glimpse of their real lives. But what we fail to see is the “B” side. The tedious little moments that don’t make it as a post, photo, or video.

Anyone who has ever created something faces a challenge when that piece of themselves is put in the spotlight. Whether through the written word, art, or something else. It takes an enormous amount of courage to bare one’s soul. To show who you are at that given moment. To give an “audience” a glimpse behind the curtain, the “B” side. Yet, all it takes is for someone to connect. To see value in what you created to know it was worth the risk. 

So, I will continue to scroll through my friends' pics, reminding myself that there is so much more that I don’t see. That they are so much more. 

Thank you Judy for showing us that side of you we didn’t see on social media. Thank you for taking that step outside your comfort zone. I hope others will read your book and find some comfort in knowing we all have a “B” side. To connect. 

“The Vibrant Years”

 

Generational. Strong women. Tough women. Women who want to be seen for who they truly are. Women who don’t want the past to dictate their future. Women who know with hard work they can do anything. Be anything. Be themselves.

Strong cultural ties. Restrictive. Stereotypical responses. Expectations. Struggles. Acceptance. Hurt. Awakening. Breaking free. Secrets buried in the past. Finding strength in those around you. 

Letting those you love see all of you, knowing that they will accept who you are. Without judgment. Without strings attached. Finding happiness. Learning from your past…finding your way into the future. Peace.

Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers”

 

Sometimes you find a family where you least expect it, but, when you most need it.

We’ve all thought to ourselves that we could solve a murder, right? You watch enough true crime dramas, you pick up a thing or two. You’ve watched NCIS enough to understand how forensics works. How hard could it be? Round up the suspects. Pester them to death (no pun intended). Solve the crime.

But what happens when part way into your investigation, you find that you care for your suspects more than you thought? What if they have come to see you as the grandma they need in their lives? How do your emotions NOT cloud your judgment? 

In your quest to be useful, valued, you stumble into relationships that far outweigh your means to an end. You find value in those you’ve gathered near you. Their web of relationships is a tangled mess.  Yet, somehow you solve the crime and all that adrenaline leaves your body. Now what?

Sometimes you find a family where you least expect it, but when you most need it.

“Buddha in the Attic”

 

”This novel was inspired by the life stories of Japanese immigrants who came to America in the early 1900s.” (129)

I was hoping to find a historical fiction that showed how Japanese immigrants shaped the agricultural environment in California at the turn of the century. What I found was a story shaped by many stories. Mail order brides. Migrant farm workers. Shop keepers. Multiple points of view, blended together to create a cohesive story. Yet, at times, I was confused. I struggled to find the timeline. The individual storylines zigzagged through time. Some were lost to me. Others jumped out. I knew where this was going…yet the end came too abruptly. I found myself wanting the next installment, or chapter - tell us about the internment camps - tell us about what happened after the war? Where are all those stories?

Well, I found the answer: “Buddha in the Attic” is the prequel to Otsuka’s “When the Emperor was Divine.” Hmmmm…add it to my TBR pile!