Fans of Fraser’s first novel, The Bookshop of Second Chances, will be delighted to read her new novel. This title may also bring the author new fans.
As the story opens, Jess has fallen on hard times and not for the first time. She is camping out in a cemetery as she has no home. Things look up when she happens on an empty house and uses her lock picking skills to get inside. Jess decides to squat in this home. She hopes that she will find a job, start a new life, and leave her most recent abusive relationship firmly in the past.
One day, Jess is wakened by someone in her (not really hers, of course), new digs. In a surprising twist, rather than being thrown out, Jess is allowed to stay. In return, she will help with the renovations (they are many) that are needed.
Gethin has his own history of a broken heart and, he, too, is vulnerable. What will happen to these two somewhat broken souls? Will they find their happily ever after? Readers will hope so as they wish for good things for these appealing protagonists.
Recommended to those who enjoy women’s fiction and romance.
Many thanks to Random House Publishing Group for this title. All opinions are my own.
Pub date: 28 September 2023
From the Publisher
The author’s first book is now $4.99 in its digital format
My Review:
The Bookshop of Second Chances is a light women’s fiction novel. The title tells readers a lot; yes, there is a bookshop (and one that I wish I could visit) and yes, there are second chances. So, if this appeals to you, take a look at this book. Readers learn early on that Thea has been dumped by her husband…and not just that, her (former) best friend is now living in her house. Luckily Thea has another good friend, Xanthe, who is there to help and to travel with Thea to Scotland. Why are they going there? Because Thea has inherited a relative’s house and, get this, it was left to her because her relative remembered her as a person who loved to read. Won’t that make book lovers hope for a surprise inheritance? So, Thea begins a new life in Scotland. She makes some friends and begins to work in Edward’s bookshop. He is a somewhat crusty individual but the two slowly become friends. Will they become something more? Read the book to find out. Many thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for this title. All opinions are my ow
I have been reading books by Jodi Picoult for many years and especially enjoyed Salem Falls and Plain Truth. When I read Leaving Time, I felt that the usual twist at the end was more of a trick. I also did not enjoy small great things, probably because it was so difficult to read about the Aryan supremacists. So…I wasn’t sure what I would find when NetGalley and the publisher so kindly gave me an ARC of this book.
Ok, the drought is over! I found a spark of light to be a well-crafted, character based story. As was true in Nineteen Minutes, Ms. Picoult helps the reader to empathize with those who represent all sides of a complex moral and societal issue. There are many in the story: an abortion clinic owner, a nurse, an artist, an elderly woman, a young girl seeking birth control, a person in need of an abortion, a doctor, protesters, infiltrators, a hostage negotiator and more. Each of their stories is told in a narrative going backward in time. Interconnections between characters become clearer as the reader turns the pages.
The primary setting is an abortion clinic that is under siege. It remains unclear who will live and who will not. There are some surprises at the end.
The book is heavily researched. The reader will learn a lot about restrictions, types of terminations, pregnancy counseling, etc. Some times these felt a bit heavy handed but then I imagined what it might be like if I were a young girl and this was the one place that I could find a lot of facts.
I highly recommend a spark of light. It will make you care and it will make you think.
I am delighted to be on the blog tour for this title. I was drawn to this book as soon as I saw the cover. Many thanks to everyone at HTP for the opportunity.
The book:
THE AMALFI CURSE : A Bewitching Tale of Sunken Treasure, Forbidden Love, and Ancient Magic on the Amalfi Coast
Author: Sarah Penner
Publication Date: April 29, 2025
ISBN: 9780778308003
Format: Hardcover
Publisher: Harlequin Trade Publishing / Park Row
Price $30.00
About the book:
Book Summary:
A nautical archaeologist searching for sunken treasure in Positano unearths a centuries-old curse, powerful witchcraft, and perilous love on the high seas in this spellbinding new novel from the New York Times bestselling author of The Lost Apothecary—perfect for fans of The Familiar and The Cloisters.
Haven Ambrose, a trailblazing nautical archaeologist, has come to the sun-soaked village of Positano to investigate the mysterious shipwrecks along the Amalfi Coast. But Haven is hoping to find more than old artifacts beneath the azure waters; she is secretly on a quest to locate a trove of priceless gemstones her late father spotted on his final dive. Upon Haven’s arrival, strange maelstroms and misfortunes start plaguing the town. Is it nature, or something more sinister at work?
In 1821, Mari DeLuca and the women of her village practice the legendary art of stregheria, a magical ability to harness the power of the ocean. As their leader, Mari protects Positano with her witchcraft, but she has been plotting to run away with her lover, Holmes – a sailor aboard a merchant ship owned by the nefarious Mazza brothers, known for their greed and brutality. When the Mazzas learn about the women of Positano, they devise a plan to kidnap several of Mari’s friends. With her fellow witches and her village in danger – and Holmes’s life threatened by his connection to the most feared woman in Positano – Mari is forced to choose between the safety of her people and the man she loves.
As Haven searches for her father’s sunken treasure, she begins to unearth a tale of perilous love and powerful sorcery. Can she unravel the Amalfi Curse before the region is destroyed forever? Against the dazzling backdrop of the Amalfi Coast, this bewitching novel shimmers with mystery, romance, and the untamed magic of the sea.
Start reading:
1
MARI
Wednesday, April 11, 1821
Along a dark seashore beneath the cliffside village of Positano, twelve women, aged six to forty-four, were seated in a circle. It was two o’clock in the morning, the waxing moon directly overhead.
One of the women stood, breaking the circle. Her hair was the color of vermilion, as it had been since birth. Fully clothed, she walked waist-high into the water. A belemnite fossil clutched between her fingers, she plunged her hands beneath the waves and began to move her lips, reciting the first part of the incantesimo di riflusso she’d learned as a child. Within moments, the undercurrent she’d conjured began to swirl at her ankles, tugging southward, away from her.
She shuffled her way out of the water and back onto the shore.
A second woman with lighter hair, the color of persimmon, stood from the circle. She, too, approached the ocean and plunged her hands beneath the surface. She recited her silent spell on the sea, satisfied as the undercurrent grew even stronger. She gazed out at the horizon, a steady black line where the sky met the sea, and smiled.
Like the other villagers along the coast tonight, these women knew what was coming: a fleet of pirate ships making their way northeast from Tunis. Winds were favorable, their sources said, and the flotilla was expected within the next day.
Their destination? Perhaps Capri, Sorrento, Majori. Some thought maybe even Positano—maybe, finally, Positano.
Given this, fishermen all along the Amalfi coastline had decided to remain at home with their families tomorrow and into the night. It wouldn’t be safe on the water. The destination of these pirates was unknown, and what they sought was a mystery, as well. Greedy pirates went for all kinds of loot. Hungry pirates went for nets full of fish. Lustful pirates went for the women.
On the seashore, a third and final woman stood from the circle. Her hair was the rich, deep hue of blood. Quickly, she undressed. She didn’t like the feeling of wet fabric against her skin, and these women had seen her naked a thousand times before.
Belemnite fossil in one hand, she held the end of a rope in her other, which was tied to a heavy anchor in the sand a short distance away. She would be the one to recite the final piece of this current-curse. Her recitation was the most important, the most potent, and after it was done, the ebbing undercurrent would be even more severe—hence the rope, which she would wrap tightly around herself before finishing the spell.
It was perilous, sinister work. Still, of the twelve women by the water tonight, twenty-year-old Mari DeLuca was the most befitting for this final task.
They were streghe del mare—sea witches—with unparalleled power over the ocean. They boasted a magic found nowhere else in the world, a result of their lineage, having descended from the sirens who once inhabited the tiny Li Galli islets nearby.
The women knew that tomorrow, wherever the pirates landed, it would not be Positano. The men would not seize their goods, their food, their daughters. No matter how the pirate ships rigged their sails, they would not find easy passageway against the undercurrent the women now drew upward from the bottom of the sea. They would turn east, or west. They would go elsewhere.
They always did.
While the lineage of the other eleven women was twisted and tangled, filled with sons or muddled by marriage, Mari DeLuca’s line of descent was perfectly intact: her mother had been a strega, and her mother’s mother, and so on and so on, tracing back thousands of years to the sirens themselves. Of the women on the seashore tonight, Mari was the only strega finisima.
This placed upon her shoulders many great responsibilities. She could instinctively read the water better than any of them. Her spells were the most effective, too; she alone could do what required two or three other streghe working in unison. As such, she was the sanctioned leader of the eleven other women. The forewoman, the teacher, the decision-maker.
Oh, but what a shame she hated the sea as much as she did.
Stepping toward the water, Mari unraveled her long plait of hair. It was her most striking feature—such blood-colored hair was almost unheard of in Italy, much less in the tiny fishing village of Positano—but then, much of what Mari had inherited was unusual. She tensed as the cold waves rushed over her feet. My mother should be the one doing this, she thought bitterly. It was a resentment she’d never released, not in twelve years, since the night when eight-year-old Mari had watched the sea claim her mother, Imelda, as its own.
On that terrible night, newly motherless and reeling, Mari knew the sea was no longer her friend. But worse than this, she worried for her younger sister, Sofia. How would Mari break this news to her? How could she possibly look after spirited Sofia with as much patience and warmth as their mamma had once done?
She’d hardly had time to grieve. The next day, the other streghe had swiftly appointed young Mari as the new strega finisima. Her mother had taught her well, after all, and she was, by birthright, capable of more than any of them. No one seemed to care that young Mari was so tender and heartbroken or that she now despised the very thing she had such control over.
But most children lose their mothers at some point, don’t they? And sprightly Sofia had been reason enough to forge on—a salve to Mari’s aching heart. Sofia had kept her steady, disciplined. Even cheerful, much of the time. So long as Sofia was beside her, Mari would shoulder the responsibilities that had been placed upon her, willingly or not.
Now, toes in the water, a pang of anguish struck Mari, as it often did at times like this.
Neither Mamma nor Sofia was beside her tonight. Mari let out a slow exhale. This moment was an important one, worth remembering. It was the end of two years’ worth of agonizing indecision. No one else on the seashore knew it, but this spell, this incantation she was about to recite, would be her very last. She was leaving in only a few weeks’ time, breaking free. And the place she was going was mercifully far from the sea.
Eyes down, Mari slipped her naked body beneath the water, cursing the sting of it as it seeped into a small rash on her ankle. At once, the water around her turned from dark blue to a thick inky black, like vinegar. Mari had dealt with this all her life: the sea mirrored her mood, her temperament.
As a child, she’d found it marvelous, the way the ocean read her hidden thoughts so well. Countless times, her friends had expressed envy of the phenomenon. But now, the black water shuddering around her legs only betrayed the secrets Mari meant to keep, and she was glad for the darkness, so better to hide her feelings from those on the shore.
Halfway into the water, already she could feel the changes in the sea: the two women before her had done very well with their spells. This was encouraging, at least. A few sharp rocks, churned by the undercurrent, scraped across the top of her feet like thorns, and it took great focus to remain in place against the undertow pulling her out. She used her arms to keep herself balanced, as a tired bird might flap its wings on an unsteady branch.
She wrapped the rope twice around her forearm. Once it was secure, she began to recite the spell. With each word, tira and obbedisci—pull and obey—the rope tightened against her skin. The undercurrent was intensifying quickly, and with even more potency than she expected. She winced when the rope broke her skin, the fresh wound exposed instantly to the bite of the salt water. She began to stumble, losing her balance, and she finished the incantation as quickly as possible, lest the rope leave her arm mangled.
She wouldn’t miss nights like this, not at all.
When she was done, Mari waved, signaling to the other women that it was time to pull her in. Instantly she felt a tug on the other end of the rope. A few seconds later, she was in shallow, gentle water. On her hands and knees, she crawled the rest of the way. Safely on shore, she lay down to rest, sand and grit sticking uncomfortably to her wet skin. She would need to wash well later.
Terribly time-consuming, all of this.
A sudden shout caught her attention, and Mari sat up, peering around in the darkness. Her closest friend, Ami, was now knee-deep in the water, struggling to keep her balance.
“Lia!” Ami shouted hysterically. “Lia, where are you?”
Lia was Ami’s six-year-old daughter, a strega-in-training, her hair a delicate, rosy red. Not moments ago, she’d been situated among the circle of women, her spindly legs tucked up against her chest, watching the spells unfold.
Mari threw herself upward, tripping as she lunged toward the ocean.
“No, please, no,” she cried out. If Lia was indeed in the water, it would be impossible for the young girl to make her way back to shore. She was smaller than other girls her age, her bones fragile as seashells, and though she could swim, she’d have nothing against the power of these tides. The very purpose of the incantation had been to drive the currents toward the deep, dark sea, with enough strength to stave off a pirate ship.
Lia wasn’t wearing a cimaruta, either, which gave the women great strength and vigor in moments of distress. She was too young: streghe didn’t get their talisman necklaces until they were fifteen, when their witchcraft had matured and they were deemed proficient in the art.
At once, every woman on the shore was at the ocean’s edge, peering at the water’s choppy surface. The women might have been powerful, yes, but they were not immortal: as Mari knew all too well, they could succumb to drowning just like anyone else.
Mari spun in a circle, scanning the shore. Suddenly her belly tightened, and she bent forward, her vision going dark and bile rising in the back of her throat.
This was too familiar—her spinning in circles, scanning the horizon in search of someone.
Seeing nothing.
Then seeing the worst.
Like her younger sister’s copper-colored hair, splayed out around the shoulders of her limp body as she lay facedown in the rolling swells of the sea.
Mari had been helpless, unable to protect fourteen-year-old Sofia from whatever she’d encountered beneath the waves that day, only two years ago. Mari had spent years trying to protect her sister as their mother could not, yet in the end, she had failed. She’d failed Sofia.
That day, the sea had once again proved itself not only greedy but villainous—something to be loathed.
Something, Mari eventually decided, from which to escape.
Now, Mari fell to her knees, too dizzy to stand. It was as though her body had been hauled back in time to that ill-fated morning. She bent forward, body heaving, about to be sick—
Suddenly, she heard a giggle, high-pitched and playful. It sounded just like Sofia, and for a moment, Mari thought she’d slipped into a dream.
“I am here, Mamma,” came Lia’s voice from a short distance away. “I am digging in the sand for baby gran—” She cut off. “I forget the word.”
Ami let out a cry, relief and irritation both. She ran toward her child, clutched her to her breast. “Granchio,” she said. “And don’t you ever scare me like that again.”
Mari sat up, overwhelmed by relief. She didn’t have children, was not even married, but Lia sometimes felt like her own.
She steadied her breath. Lia is fine, she said silently to herself. She is perfectly well, on land, right here in front of all of us. Yet even as her breath slowed, she could not resist glancing once more behind her, scanning the wave tops.
The women who’d performed the spell changed into dry clothes.
Lia pulled away from Ami’s embrace, sneaking toward Mari, who welcomed her with a warm, strong hug. Mari bent over to kiss the girl’s head, breathing in her fragrance of oranges, sugar, and sweat.
Lia turned her narrow face to Mari, her lips in a frown. “The spell will protect us from the pirates forever?”
Mari smiled. If only it worked that way. She thought of the pirate ship approaching the peninsula tonight. If it did indeed make for Positano, she imagined the captain cursing under his breath. Damn these currents, he might say. I’ve had my eye on Positano. What is it with that village? He would turn to his first mate and order him to alter the rigging, set an eastward course. Anywhere but this slice of troublesome water, he’d hiss at his crew.
“No,” Mari said now. “Our magia does not work that way.”
She paused, considering what more to tell the girl. Nearly every spell the women recited dissipated in a matter of days, but there was a single spell, the vortice centuriaria, which endured for one hundred years. It could only be recited if a strega removed her protective cimaruta necklace. And the cost of performing such magic was substantial: she had to sacrifice her own life in order for the spell to be effective. As far as Mari knew, no one had performed the spell in hundreds, maybe even thousands, of years.
Such a grim topic wasn’t appropriate now, not with young Lia, so she kept her explanation simple. “Our spells last several days, at the most. No different than what a storm does to the ocean: churns it up, tosses it about. Eventually, though, the sea returns to normal. The sea always prevails.”
How much she hated to admit this. Even the vortice centuriaria, long-lasting as it was, faded eventually. The women could do powerful things with the sea, yes, but they were not masters of it.
“This is why we keep very close to our informants,” Mari went on. “There are people who tell us when pirates, or strange ships, have been spotted offshore. Knowing our spells will only last a few days, we must be diligent. We cannot curse the water too soon nor too late. Our fishermen need good, smooth water for their hauls, so we must only curse the water when we are sure there is a threat.” She smiled, feeling a tad smug. “We are very good at it, Lia.”
Lia traced her finger in the sand, making a big oval. “Mamma tells me I can do anything with the sea when I am older. Anything at all.”
It was an enticing sentiment, this idea that they had complete control over the ocean, but it was false. Their spells were really quite simple and few—there were only seven of them—and they abided by the laws of nature.
“I would like to see one of those big white bears,” Lia went on, “so I will bring an iceberg here, all the way from the Arctic.”
“Sadly,” Mari said, “I fear that is too far. We can push the pirates away because they are not all that far from us. But the Arctic? Well, there are many land masses separating us from your beloved polar bears…”
“I will go to live with other sea witches when I’m older, then,” Lia said. “Witches who live closer to the Arctic.”
“It is only us, dear. There are no other sea witches.” At Lia’s perturbed look, she explained, “We descended from the sirens, who lived on those islands—” she pointed to the horizon, where the Li Galli islets rose out of the water “—and we are the only women in the world who inherited power over the ocean.”
Lia slumped forward, let out a sigh.
“You will still be able to do many things,” Mari encouraged. “Just not everything.”
Like saving the people you love, she mused. Even to this day, the loss of little Sofia felt so senseless, so unneeded. The sisters had been in only a few feet of water, doing somersaults and handstands, diving for sea glass. They had passed the afternoon this way a thousand times before. Later, Mari would wonder if Sofia had knocked her head against the ground, or maybe she’d accidentally inhaled a mouthful of water. Whatever happened, Sofia had noiselessly slipped beneath the rippling tide.
She’s playing a trick, Mari thought as the minutes passed. She’s holding her breath and will come up any moment. The girls did this often, making games of guessing where the other might emerge. But Sofia didn’t emerge, not this time. And just a few months shy of fifteen, she hadn’t been wearing a cimaruta.
Lia began to add small lines to the edge of her circle. She was drawing an eye with lashes. “Mamma says you can do more than she can,” she chirped. “That it takes two or three of the streghe to do what you can do by yourself.”
“Yes,” Mari said. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Because of your mamma who died?”
Mari flinched at this, then quickly moved on. “Yes. And my nonna, and her mamma, and so on. All the way back many thousands of years. There is something different in our blood.”
“But not mine.”
“You are special in plenty of ways. Think of the baby needlefish, for instance. You’re always spotting them, even though they’re nearly invisible and they move terribly fast.” \
“They’re easy to spot,” Lia disputed, brows furrowed.
“Not for me. You understand? We are each skilled in our own way.”
Suddenly, Lia turned her face up to Mari. “Still, I hope you do not die, since you have the different, special blood and no one else does.”
Mari recoiled, taken aback by Lia’s comment. It was almost as though the young girl sensed Mari’s covert plans. “Go find your mamma,” she told Lia, who stood at once, ruining her sand art.
After she’d gone, Mari gazed at the hillside rising up behind them. This beach was not their normal place for practicing magic: Mari typically led the women to one of countless nearby caves or grottoes, protected from view, via a pair of small gozzi, seating six to a boat. But tonight had been different—one of the gozzi had come loose from its mooring, and it had drifted out into the open ocean. This had left the women with only one boat, and it wasn’t big enough to hold them all.
“Let’s gather on the beach instead,” she’d urged. “We’ll be out but a few minutes.” Besides, it was the middle of the night, and the moon had been mostly hidden behind clouds, so it was very dark.
While a few of the women looked at her warily, everyone had agreed in the end.
Mari stood and squeezed the water from her hair. It was nearly three o’clock, and all of the women were yawning.
She shoved the wet rope into her bag and dressed quickly, pulling her shift over her protective cimaruta necklace. Hers bore tiny amulets from the sea and coastline: a moon shell, an ammonite fossil, a kernel of gray volcanic pumice. Recently, Mari had found a tiny coral fragment in the perfect shape of a mountain, which she especially liked. Mountains made her think of inland places, which made her think of freedom.
As the women began to make their way up the hillside, Mari felt fingertips brush her arm. “Psst,” Ami whispered. In her hand was a small envelope, folded tightly in half.
Mari’s heart surged. “A letter.”
Ami winked. “It arrived yesterday.”
It had been two weeks since the last one, and as tempted as Mari was to tear open the envelope and read it in the moonlight, she tucked it against her bosom. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Suddenly, Mari caught movement in the corner of her eye, something on the dock a short distance away. At first, she thought she’d imagined it—clouds skirted across the sky, and the night was full of shadows—but then she gasped as a dark form quickly made its way off the dock, around a small building, and out of sight.
Something—someone—had most definitely been over there. A man. A late-night rendezvous, perhaps? Or had he been alone and spying on the women?
Mari turned to tell Ami, but her friend had already gone ahead, a hand protectively on Lia’s back.
As they stepped onto the dirt pathway scattered with carts and closed-up vendor stands, Mari turned around once more to glance at the dock. But there was nothing, no one. The dock lay in darkness.
Just a trick of the moonlight, she told herself.
Besides, she had a very important letter nestled against her chest—one she intended to tear open the moment she got home.
The author:
Sarah Penner is the New York Times and internationally bestselling author of The London Seance Society and The Lost Apothecary, which will be translated into forty languages worldwide and is set to be turned into a drama series by Fox. Sarah spent thirteen years in corporate finance and now writes full-time. She and her husband live in Florida. To learn more, visit SarahPenner.com.
Magic. Location (Amalfi). Treasure. A terrific protagonist. High stakes. Suspense. What more could a reader want? This was a fun read and one that it is easy to recommend.
Many thanks to NetGalley and HTP for this title. All opinons are my own.
Recently I have read a number of books about books, bookstores and readers. This may become one of my favorite sub genres. This novel, The Door-to-Door Bookstore, is a a love song to those who care about books, reading and friendship.
Carl, who is in his early seventies, has worked in a bookshop for many years. In addition to his daily job, Carl delivers beautifully wrapped books to a number of customers. He knows what kind of book each of these customers craves. Carl also thinks of each as a fictional character and book lovers will very much enjoy this aspect of the novel. For example, one is Mr. Darcy.
Carl has led a somewhat solitary life. Watch what happens when a precocious nine year old, inserts herself in his life.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Harlequin Trade Publishing for this title. All opinions are my own. This book really felt special to me and I highly recommend it.
Phaedra Patrick has become one of my favorite authors. I very much enjoyed both The Messy Lives of Book People and The Secrets of Love Story Bridge, so was very excited to read this forthcoming book.
Patrick’s talent for creating wonderful settings and people with whom readers will enjoy spending time are very present here. Much of the story takes place at a small, Italian, old fashioned hotel. This spot contrasts with a much more modern hotel that is nearby. Readers can decide where they might rather be as they read the story.
Protagonist Ginny has, for many years, had a radio show in which she offered help to others as a kind of agony aunt. To her surprise, Ginny learns that there are issues in her own life when her husband says that he wants to separate. This occurs just as Ginny had been planning a romantic getaway for them.
Needless to say, Ginny is distraught. When she finds that she cannot get a refund, the plot leads her to invite some of her listeners on her trip to Italy. They then stay at the hotel mentioned above.
The travelers include an elderly widow grieving her special needs daughter, a teacher whose mother is unwell, a man who has lost his best friend (a dog), and a property developer. Readers also get to know the hotel owner and his daughter.
One of the plot threads has to do with what happens when Ginny, posing as Jenny, and Aidan (her husband) start to communicate without Aidan knowing that he already intimately knows “Jenny.” Will they want to try again? What will happen to the other characters, all of whom become quite close to one another as they visit museums, hike, quilt, eat and do other activities together? Readers will enjoy finding out.
This book is recommended to those who enjoy women’s fiction. Those who know the author will be delighted to read another one of her books. Those new to Patrick are in for a treat.
Many thanks to NetGalley and HTP for this title. All opinions are my own.
This is the first in, what appear to be, at least three Cornwall set mysteries featuring two characters with complex pasts. They are Ally and Jayden. Ally was widowed and misses her police officer husband deeply. Her daughter would like Ally to leave Cornwall to be with her in Australia; Ally is very ambivalent. Ally is an artist who creates works from the detritus that she finds on the beach. (She makes a relevant find there).
Jayden worked as a police officer who left the force after a tragedy. He is biracial and not sure if he fits into his wife’s community. Both of these characters are trying to keep their lives moving forward. Will solving a case help them to achieve their goals?
Ally’s husband Bill was haunted by one person’s death. When he arrested this man’s son, Bill offered to help him in the future. When this young man comes knocking on Ally’s door, she (regretfully) turns him away.
Events move forward and this young man is now in the hospital, gravely wounded. His grandmother and only support was not there for him when he got out of prison. Lewis Pascoe has an interaction with the couple that built a new home where his grandmother had been. These events set the scene for the novel.
I enjoyed the main characters in this book and was also interested to meet the people around them. There are many community members in the story so there is no lack of suspects. For example, there is the coffee shop worker and a recently divorced man who is trying to write a novel.
In addition to the mystery and the characters, Cornwall is also a strong presence in the book. Readers will be able to smell the sea, see the cliffs and walk along the shore.
All in all, this was a most enjoyable read. I recommend it to anyone who likes cozy mysteries.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Amazon Publishing UK. All opinions are my own.
No Strangers Here is the first entry in a new series by Carlene O’Connor. It is the start of some titles by this author that move away from the cozy genre.
Dimpna is a vet who left Dingle (where she grew up) a number of years ago. During the time she was away, Dimpna raised a son from whom she has kept a very big secret, married but found that scandal surrounded her husband, and was left struggling. She decided to return to Dingle, where a man had been murdered, her parents were suspects, it wasn’t clear if an old friend could be trusted, and more.
The body is found with a message. Does it mean what Dimpna thinks it might? How deeply will she be drawn into events and what will it be like to see an old friend with police connections as well as interact with the detective on the case? As can be guessed by this description a lot goes on in these pages.
I enjoyed this book. I will look forward to the next in the series.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Kensington Books for this title. All opinions are my own.
Pub date: 25 October 2022
From the Publisher
Editorial Reviews
Review
Praise for No Strangers Here
“This solid series launch from O’Connor takes a more somber approach to crime solving than her Irish Village mysteries…O’Connor adds plot twists that many won’t anticipate. Judicious use of Irishisms (“I swear to ye”) adds color. Readers will eagerly await what happens next in County Kerry.” —Publishers Weekly
“Exciting, convoluted, and rich with compelling characters, this is the best of O’Connor’s Irish mysteries to date.” —Kirkus Reviews STARRED REVIEW
“Known for her cozies, O’Connor moves into darker territory here. For fans of Louise Penny.” —Library Journal
The Maid has garnered so much praise both before and after publication. It is a book that is definitely worth reading. Those who enjoy The Thursday Murder Club and Ruth Galloway mysteries are certain to love this novel with it quirky, idiosyncratic and (morally) good protagonist.
Molly sees the world in her own way. She appears to be “on the spectrum,” though I hate to use that term and do not want to make Molly anything other than the unique woman that she is. Molly has trouble reading social cues and people’s facial expressions. This can lead to her being naively trusting. Molly speaks with a beautifully old fashioned syntax and sometimes makes rhymes as, for example, “a tissue for your issue.”
Molly lives with her grandmother who works as a domestic. Molly is herself a maid, working at the Grand Hotel. It is a job that suits her orderly personality and Molly takes great pride in her work. (She will hopefully leave readers with more respect for those who toil in hotels for the benefit of the guests).
Molly becomes involved in a series of events that leave her in over her head. There were times when I wanted to yell “stop” to Molly when she trusted some of the hotel staff and guests but, of course, could not do so. The fact that I wanted to is a tribute to the author’s ability to create characters for whom readers will care.
Who will protect Molly? Will she get out of this mess? Will she or the hotel ever be the same? Read this charming, heartfelt novel to find out. To use one of Molly’s favorite words, it is “delightful.”
I sincerely hope that the author’s next book is published soon. I give this first novel of hers five stars.
Many thanks to NetGalley and the publisher. All opinions are my own.
After her hospitalization, June is invited to recuperate at Ali’s ranch and accepts this offer. The ranch was the home of well-known author Carson Wells.
Ali and June share an important relationship as readers learn early on. What is their relationship to the deceased Carson and to each other? How do things go between these two and the other characters? Read this one to find out. Also, learn more about the title of the novel.
I very much enjoyed this newest book by Ms. Thayne. I liked the characters, relationships and settings. Anyone who enjoys women’s fiction may want to give this one a look.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Harlequin Trade Publishing for this title. All opinions are my own.
Alison may be the worst intern at Juniper Connolly’s company. In fact, Juniper was in the process of firing Ali when she (June) suffered a cardiac arrest, despite being fit and young. Amazingly, it was Ali who saved Juniper’s life. For reasons that the reader learns, Ali knew CPR.
Joyce's mystery and fiction book reviews with some non-fiction too! 