I love to read, recommend books and open the world of reading to others. I tutor to ensure that the next generation of readers will know the joys of a good book because their reading skills have improved. I am an avid reader, especially of mysteries and fiction. I believe that two of the world's greatest inventions were the public library and eyeglasses!
It is not easy to get to glorious Tuga. This fictional island is far from anywhere, takes a long sea (sick) journey to get to, and is often not accessible. It is a very distant (fictional) British outpost.
The islanders are descended from several families. Many have distinctive dimples. Some want to stay there, a few want to leave (and come back) and once in a while an incomer arrives.
In this story readers meet Charlotte Walker, a vet, who has traveled to Tuga where she plans to live for a year while studying a particular tortoise. She is escaping her London life and her demanding mother while hoping that, in Tuga, she may discover her father, advance her career and enjoy a new experience.
On the trip to Tuga, Charlotte meets Dan. He is a physician who has studied abroad and is returning to Tuga to take over his uncle’s practice. He and Charlotte spend a lot of time together on the trip out. Will they have a future?
These are only two of the many, many characters who populate this warm hearted story. It takes a bit to sort them all out but there is a helpful character list at the start of the novel. Get to know them, their stories, their interconnections, challenges and loves in these pages.
Many have already declared this to be a special book. I agree. I have read that it is the first in a trilogy.
It seems to me that one of the joys of being an author is that the writer can create an entire world, populate it how they want and decide the fates of their characters. Segal has done all of this in creating Tuga. I recommend enjoying a (virtual) visit there.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Ecco for this title. All opinions are my own.
What book lover could resist the cover of this title? A Love Letter to the Library is just delightful and an ode to a special place. Children will get a good look at all the joys that can be found here.
Both the text and vivid illustrations pay affectionate tribute to a special place. Get this one for any budding reader and enjoy it together.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Soucebooks Kids forthis title. All opinions are my own.
Robert Thorogood is the creator of the popular TV series Death in Paradise. Here is the third of his Marlow Murder Club mysteries. (They are also going to be coming to TV.) It will appeal to those who enjoy Richard Osman’s series.
Here too are a group of friends who play amateur detective (and busybody). Judith, Becks and Susie have distinct personalities and are only to eager to use them to advantage as they poke their noses in.
When the Mayor of Marlow is murdered by the Queen of Poisons (do you know what poison this is?) the stage is set. Follow along with the team as they solve this cozy village mystery. It is perfect for when you need to be pleasantly distracted.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Poisoned Pen Press for this title. All opinions are my own.
Pub date: 04 June 2024
From PBS-Masterpiece
About the Show
An all-new adaptation of Robert Thorogood’s novel The Marlow Murder Club is coming to MASTERPIECE on PBS on October 27,. 2024. The thrilling, four part series stars Samantha Bond who is joined by Jo Martin, Cara Horgan and Natalie Dew.
Samantha Bond (Downton Abbey, Home Fires) takes the lead as Judith Potts, alongside Jo Martin (Doctor Who, Back to Life) as Suzie Harris, Cara Horgan (The Sandman, Traitors) as Becks Starling and Natalie Dew (Sandylands, The Capture) as DS Tanika Malik. Steve Barron (The Durrells in Corfu,Mrs Sidhu Investigates) is set to direct.
Author and writer Robert Thorogood said: “After over a decade of working on Death in Paradise, I’m thrilled to be creating a brand-new murder mystery series for TV. I can’t wait for audiences to join Judith, Becks and Suzie on their adventures as they solve a series of fiendishly puzzling murders.”
Arm chair travelers, historians, those who love the British Isles-here is a quite interesting title for you. Travel (by many different modes) and learn more about the history, culture and lifestyle of those who live on Britain’s islands. You will be accompanied by an accomplished guide.
This is a fascinating read. I learned a lot and now wish to visit many of these places and people.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Troubador for this title. All opinions are my own.
Many thanks to those at HTP for this opportunity. This is going to be a summer with some great reads!
THE PARIS WIDOW
Author: Kimberly Belle
Publication Date: June 11, 2024
ISBN: 9780778307976
Format: Trade Paperback
Publisher: Harlequin Trade Publishing / Park Row Books
Price $18.99
About the book:
Book Summary:
From USA Today bestselling author Kimberly Belle comes a deliciously twisty new thriller following a married couple vacationing in Paris whose trip takes a dark turn when the husband goes missing, dredging up secrets from both of their pasts, perfect for fans of THE PARIS APARTMENT.
When Stella met Adam, she felt like she finally landed a nice, normal guy – a welcome change from her previous boyfriend and her precarious jetsetter lifestyle with him. She loves knowing she can always depend on Adam, which is why when he goes missing during a random explosion in Paris, she panics. Right after what is assumed to be a terrorist attack, she’s interviewed live on TV by reporters, begging anyone who knows anything about her husband’s whereabouts to come forward and is quickly dubbed “The Paris Widow.”
As the French police investigate, it’s revealed that Adam was on their radar as a dealer in the black market for priceless antiquities, making deals with very high-profile and dangerous clients. Reeling from this news and growing suspicions about her husband, Stella can’t shake the feeling that she’s being followed. And with Adam assumed dead, she realizes that whoever was responsible for the bombing will come after her next. Everything – and everyone — that Stella has tried to keep in her duplicitous past might be her only means of survival and finding out what really happened to Adam.
An irresistible and fast-paced read set in some of Europe’s most inviting locales, THE PARIS WIDOW explores how sinister secrets of the past stay with us – no matter how far we travel.
Start reading (you will want to keep going)
Prologue
Nice, France
What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise.
—Oscar Wilde
At Nice’s Côte d’Azur Airport, the pretty woman coming down the jetway looked like every other bleary-eyed traveler. Rumpled T-shirt over jeans with an indeterminate stain on the right thigh, hair shoved into a messy ponytail mussed from the headrest. A backpack was slung over her right shoulder, weighed down with items that weren’t technically hers but looked like they could be. She’d sorted through them on the seven-hour flight, just long enough to make the contents feel familiar.
“Don’t lose it,” the Turkish man said when he hung it on her arm, and she hadn’t.
The jetway dumped her into the terminal, and she trailed behind a family of five, past gates stretched out like spider legs, along the wall of windows offering a blinding view of the sparkling Mediterranean, a turquoise so bright it burned her eyes. The backpack bounced against her shoulder bone, and her heart gave a quiet, little jingle.
She made it through passport control without issue, thanks to her careful selection of the agent behind the glass. A man, first and foremost. Not too old or too young, not too handsome. A five to her solid eight—or so she’d been told by more than one man. This one must have agreed because he stamped her passport with an appreciative nod. French men were like that. One smile from a woman out of their league, and they melted like a cream-filled bonbon.
She thanked him and slid her passport into her pocket.
In it were stamps to every country in Europe and the Americas, from her crisscrosses over every continent including Antarctica, from her detours to bask on the famous beaches of Asia, Australia, the South Seas. More than once, she’d had to renew the booklet long before it expired because she’d run out of empty spots for customs agents to stamp. She was particularly proud of that, and of how she could look any way you wanted her to look, be anyone you needed her to be. Today she was playing the role of American Tourist On A Budget.
At baggage claim, she slid the backpack down an aching shoulder and checked the time on her cell. Just under six hours for this little errand, plenty of time assuming she didn’t hit any unexpected roadblocks. If she didn’t get held up at customs, if the taxi line wasn’t too long, if traffic on the A8 wasn’t too awful, which it would be because getting in and out of Monte Carlo was always a nightmare at this time of year. If if if. If she missed the flight to London, she was screwed.
A buzzer sounded, and the baggage carousel rumbled to a slow spin.
At least she didn’t look any more miserable than the people milling around her, their faces long with jet lag. She caught snippets of conversation in foreign tongues, German, Italian, Arabic, French, and she didn’t need a translator to know they were bitching about the wait. The French were never in a hurry, and they were always striking about something. She wondered what it could be this time.
Thirty-eight eternal minutes later, the carousel spit out her suitcase. She hauled it from the band with a grunt, plopped the heavy backpack on top and followed the stream of tourists to the exit.
Walk with purpose. Look the customs agent in the eye. Smile, the fleeting kind with your lips closed, not too big or too cocky. Act breezy like you’ve got nothing to prove or to hide. By now she knew all the tricks.
The customs agent she was paired with was much too young for her liking, his limbs still lanky with the leftovers of puberty, which meant he had something to prove to the cluster of more senior agents lingering behind him. She ignored their watchful gazes, taking in his shiny forehead, the way it was dotted with pimples, and dammit, he was going to be a problem.
He held up a hand, the universal sign for halt. “Avez-vous quelque chose à déclarer?”
Her fingers curled around the suitcase handle, clamping down. She gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, but I don’t speak French.”
That part was the truth, at least. She didn’t speak it, at least not well and not unless she absolutely had to. And her rudimentary French wasn’t necessary just yet.
But she understood him well enough, and she definitely knew that last word. He was asking if she had something to declare.
The agent gestured to her suitcase. “Please, may I take a look in your luggage?” His English was heavy with accent, his lips slick with spit, but at least he was polite about it.
She gave a pointed look at the exit a few feet away. On the other side of the motion-activated doors, a line of people leaned against a glass-and-steel railing, fists full of balloons and colorful bouquets. With her free hand, she wriggled her fingers in a wave, even though she didn’t know a single one of them.
She looked back at the agent with another smile. “Is that really necessary? My flight was delayed, and I’m kind of in a hurry. My friends out there have been waiting for hours.”
Calm. Reasonable. Not breaking the slightest sweat.
The skin of his forehead creased in a frown. “This means you have nothing to declare?”
“Only that a saleslady lied to my face about a dress I bought being wrinkle resistant.”
She laughed, but the agent’s face remained as stony as ever.
He beckoned her toward an area behind him, a short hallway lined with metal tables. “S’il vous plait. The second table.”
Still, she didn’t move. The doors slid open, and she flung another glance at the people lined up outside. So close yet so far.
As if he could read her mind, the agent took a calculated step to his left, standing between her and the exit. He swept an insistent arm through the air, giving her little choice. The cluster of agents were paying more attention now.
She huffed a sigh. Straightened her shoulders and gave her bag a hard tug. “Okay, but fair warning. I’m on the tail end of a three-week vacation here, which means everything in my suitcase is basically a giant pile of dirty laundry.”
Again, the truth. Miami to Atlanta to LA to Tokyo to Dubai to Nice, a blur of endless hours with crummy movies and soggy airplane food, of loud, smelly men who drank vodka for breakfast, of kids marching up and down the aisles while everybody else was trying to sleep. What she was wearing was the cleanest thing she had left, and she was still thousands of miles from home.
She let go of the handle, and the suitcase spun and wobbled, whacking the metal leg of the table with a hard clang. Let him lug the heavy thing onto the inspection table himself.
She stood with crossed arms and watched him spread her suitcase open on the table. She wasn’t lying about the laundry or that stupid dress, which currently looked like a crumpled paper bag. He picked through her dirty jeans and rumpled T-shirts, rifled through blouses and skirts. When he got to the wad of dirty underwear, he clapped the suitcase shut.
“See?” she said. “Just a bunch of dirty clothes.”
“And your other bag?”
The backpack dangling from her shoulder, an ugly Tumi knockoff. Her stomach dropped, but she made sure to hold his gaze.
“Nothing in here, either. No meat, no cheese, no forgotten fruit. I promise.”
She’d done that once, let an old apple sink to the bottom of her bag for a hyped-up beagle to sniff out, and she paid for it with a forty-five minute wait at a scorching Chilean airport. It was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.
“Madame, please. Do not make me ask you again.”
The little shit really said it. He really called her madame. This kid who was barely out of high school was making her feel old and decrepit, while in the same breath speaking to her like she was a child. His words were as infuriating as they were alarming. She hooked a thumb under the backpack’s strap, but she didn’t let it go.
And yet what choice did she have? She couldn’t run, not with those senior agents watching. Not with this pubescent kid and his long, grasshopper limbs. He’d catch her in a hot second.
She told herself there was nothing to find. That’s what the Turkish man had promised her with a wink and a smile, that nobody would ever know. He swore she’d cruise right on through customs. And she had, many, many times.
As she slid the backpack from her arm with another dramatic sigh, she hoped like hell he wasn’t lying. “Please hurry.”
The agent took the bag from her fingers and emptied it out on the table. He took out the paperback and crinkled magazines, the half-eaten bag of nuts with the Japanese label, the wallet and the zippered pouch stuffed with well-used cosmetics that had never once touched her face. He lined the items up, one after the other, until the contents formed a long, neat row on the shiny metal surface. The backpack hung in his hand, deflated and empty.
She lifted a brow: See?
But then he did something she wasn’t expecting. He turned the backpack upside down, just…upended the thing in the air. Crumbs rained onto the table. A faded receipt fluttered to the ground.
And there it was, a dull but discernible scraping sound, a sudden weight tugging at the muscles in his arm, like something inside the backpack shifted.
But nothing else fell out. There were no internal pockets.
“What was that?”
“What was what?” With a clanging heart, she pointed to the stuff on the table. “Can I put that back now? I really have to go.”
The agent stared at her through a long, weighted silence, like a held breath.
Hers.
He slapped the backpack to the table, and she cringed when he shoved a hand in deep, all the way up to his elbow. He felt around the sides and the bottom, sweeping his fingers around the cheap polyester lining. She saw when he made contact with the source of the noise by the way his face changed.
The muscles in her stomach tightened. “Excuse me, this is ridiculous. Give it back.”
The agent didn’t let go of the backpack. He reached in his other hand, and now there was another terrifying sound—of fabric, being ripped apart at the seams.
“Hey,” she said, lunging for the backpack.
He twisted, blocking her with his body.
A few breathless seconds later he pulled it out, a small, flat object that had been sewn into the backpack lining. Small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Almost like he’d been looking for it.
“What is this?” he said, holding it in the air between them.
“That’s a book.” It was the only thing she could think of to say, and it wasn’t just any book. It was a gold-illuminated manuscript by a revered fourteenth-century Persian poet, one of the earliest copies from the estate of an Islamic art collector who died in Germany last year. Like most of the items in his collection, this one did not technically belong to him.
“I can see it’s a book. Where did you get it?”
Her face went hot, and she had to steady herself on the metal table—the same one he was settling the book gently on top of. He turned the gold-leafed paper with careful fingers, and her mind whirled. Should she plead jet lag? Cry or pretend to faint?
“I’ve never seen it before in my life.”
This, finally, was the truth. Today was the first time she’d seen the book with her own eyes.
The agent looked up from the Arabic symbols on the page, and she didn’t miss the gotcha gleam in his eyes. The way his shiny forehead had gone even shinier now, a million new pinpricks of satisfied sweat. His gaze flitted over her shoulder, and she understood the gesture perfectly.
He was summoning backup.
She was wondering about French prison conditions.
His smile was like ice water on her skin. “Madame, I must insist you come with me.”
Kimberly Belle worked in marketing and nonprofit fundraising before turning to writing fiction. A graduate of Agnes Scott College, Kimberly lived for over a decade in the Netherlands and currently divides her time between Atlanta and Amsterdam. She is the bestselling author of The Marriage Lie, Three Days Missing, Dear Wife, as well as The Last Breath, The Ones We Trust,Stranger in the Lake, My Darling Husband, and The Personal Assistant.
My thoughts:
The Paris Widow has everything that I look for in an escapist read. There are the setting, characters, storyline, suspense along with the inherent desire to just keep turning the pages until there are no more.
You won’t forget Stella and Adam. Suspend disbelief and dive right in.
Wahala tells the story of three Anglo-Nigerian women and what happens when a fourth comes into their space. The three women were friends from childhood and they have moved into adulthood with the usual sorts of issues. Still, they very much enjoy getting together.
The three are Ronke, Simi and Boo, along with their partners. Ronke is a dentist. She is dating someone but her friends are not sure that he should be “the one.” Boo is married with a young daughter; at times she feels quite stifled and wants to be back in the world of work. Simi works in fashion and seemingly has a good relationship.
One day, two of these friends plan to have lunch together. Unexpectedly for one of them, Isobel is at the table. She insinuates herself into the lives of the other three. Read the novel to find out why and what happens. It becomes a bit tangled.
This book is very aptly named. I looked up the definition of Wahala and it means bother or trouble. There was certainly lots of that in this novel. It is (melo) dramatic but a fun read. One small critique, I am not sure why but I often found myself having to remind myself which character had which backstory. Possibly, that was unique to me. Still, I was find with keeping on reading.
Many thanks to William Morrow-Custom House and NetGalley for this title. All opinions are my own.
Pub date: 11 January 2022
This book currently costs 4.99 for the e book version.
Truly not sure how I missed this one but it is still worth a look. There are so many good titles in here across fiction and non-fiction categories. See how many you may have read and how many you still may want to read. This is a great resource.
Many thanks to Publisher’s Lunch and NetGalley for this title. All opinions are my own.
I very much enjoyed Valerie Perrin’s novel Fresh Water for Flowers. It was a complex, character driven story. I was therefore excited to learn that Ms. Perrin has a new book out in translation now.
This is the story of two women; one of them has much life ahead while the other is elderly. Each comes with history and even tragedy.
Justine helps to care for Helene who is a resident of the facility where she is employed. As they get to know one another, many confidences are shared. They also face some difficulties over the course of the novel. Someone is making crank calls to the home. Find out what they are saying and how this evolves.
Those looking for a lovely and compassionate read will want to spend time in these pages.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Europa for this title. All opinions are my own.
Pub date: 04 June 2024
Fresh Water for Flowers
My additional thoughts
Fresh Water for Flowers is the first book by Valerie Perrin to be published in English. The writer’s native language is French. Fresh Water is a beautiful book that is told in a unique voice. Protagonist, Violette, was abandoned by her mother and grew up in care. She was a loner until she becomes involved with Phillipe Toussaint. Together they have a child but Phillipe eventually disappears.
Phillipe and Violette worked at a railroad crossing although Violette did most of the work; they later go on to become cemetery keepers. Violette remains there after Phillipe leaves.
The story is told from Violette’s point of view. She tells it all, her hard times, her hopes, the things that she learned and taught herself, the people she sees and cares for and those with whom she works. All this within the background of the cemetery and many sayings from gravestones.
This novel is filled with humanity. I recommend it.
Joyce's mystery and fiction book reviews with some non-fiction too! 