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!
The weird sisters are named Hildegurp, Yuckmina and Glubbifer. Their pet cat is named Graymalkin. Just this sentence, along with the book’s title, will help young readers to decide if this illustrated chapter book is for them. If it is, and they have the right sense of humor, they are sure to enjoy this title.
The sisters purchase a rather rackety house where they plan to live and open a pet store. Their first customer is Jennifer. She sets them off on an adventure and a case. At the same time, some people in town are suspicious of the sisters. Will they be accepted? Have a child read this first in a series to find out.
Get your broomsticks out and have some fun. This should keep wee ghouls turning the pages.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Owlkids Books for this title. All opinions are my own.
Today I am blogging on a new title by popular author RaeAnne Thayne. Her books are just right for when you want to sink into a good story. Many thanks to Justine Sha and the publisher for the opportunity to share this book with you. I can’t wait to read it!
New York Times bestselling author RaeAnne Thayne finds inspiration in the beautiful norhtern Utah mountains where she lives with her family. Her stories have been described as “poignant and sweet” with “beautiful honest storytelling that goes straight to the heart.” She loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at http://www.raeannethayne.com.
Book Summary:
Summer at the Cape is the fourth original hardcover from New York Times, USA TODAY, and Publisher’s Weekly bestselling author RaeAnne Thayne. With the emotional pull of Debbie Macomber, Barbara Delinsky, and Susan Wiggs, RaeAnne tells the story of the Porter sisters, Cami and Violet, who come together to mourn the death of Violet’s twin, Lily. Over the course of the summer, the sisters must make peace with each other and also individually with their free-spirited, outspoken, activist mother who left their father two decades earlier.
As the older sister to identical twins Violet and Lily, Cami Porter had always been the odd sister out. The breach became even stronger when her parents split up—while the twins stayed in Cape Sanctuary with their free-spirited activist mother, Rosemary, fourteen-year-old Cami moved to L.A. with her by-the-book attorney father, Ted. Nearly twenty years later, when Cami gets the tragic news that Lily has drowned saving a child, Cami returns to her childhood home—her mother and Violet need her.
Lily had spent her entire life looking for something to be passionate about, and in leasing a property from neighbor Franklin Rafferty and setting up Coastal Pines Glamping, she was about to see her dream realized. Following her death, the sadness and grief Rosemary, Violet and Cami feel is compounded by Jon Rafferty, son of the neighbor whose land Lily had leased. Jon, who hadn’t seen his father in years, is stunned to learn that his father is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s Disease, and he worries that the Porter women took advantage of him. But Jon can see that the Porter family is in mourning, and agrees they can keep the land through the summer, and then they’ll need to shut the glamping site down.
Then there’s Violet—the child Lily saved, Ariana Mendoza, is the daughter of Violet’s former high school sweetheart, Alex Mendoza. She could never forgive him way back when for cheating on her, but she is so grateful that his adorable little girl is okay. Alex still has feelings for Violet, but he is overcome with grief and gratitude at the same time for the loss of Lily, who died saving his child.
An excerpt:
2
VIOLET
WILD, FRENZIED BARKING RANG OUT WHEN Violet Porter let herself into the back door of her mother’s comfortable kitchen at Moongate Farm.
Rosemary was nowhere in sight. Instead, a cranky-faced schnauzer–toy poodle mix planted himself in front of the door, telling her in no uncertain terms that she was an intruder who wasn’t welcome here.
“Hi, Baxter,” she said, mouth stretched thin in what she knew was an insincere smile. “How are you, buddy?”
Lily’s dog only growled at her, baring his teeth with his hack-les raised as if he wanted to rip her throat out.
The dog hated her. Violet wasn’t exactly sure why.
She might have thought he would look more fondly toward her, considering she was the identical twin to his late owner. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe the fact that she looked so much like Lily but clearly wasn’t her sister confused the dog and made him view her as a threat.
He had never really warmed to her, even when he lived in her condo with Lily. Since Lily’s death, he had become down-right hostile.
“Stop that. What’s gotten into you? I could hear you clear back in my bedroom.”
Her mother’s voice trailed out from down the hall, becoming louder as she approached the kitchen, still fastening an earring.
She stopped dead when she spotted Violet.
“Oh! Violet! You scared me! What are you doing here?”
“You invited me. Remember? You’ve known for months I was coming to help you out during my summer break.”
“You were coming tomorrow. Not today!”
Okay. That wasn’t exactly the warm welcome she might have expected, Violet thought wryly. Instead, her mother was staring at her with an expression that seemed a curious mix of chagrin and dismay.
She shrugged as Baxter continued to growl. Wasn’t anybody happy to see her?
“I finished cleaning out my classroom and calculating final grades this morning. Since all my things were already packed and loaded into my car, I couldn’t see any reason to wait until the morning to drive up. Is there a problem?”
Rosemary, usually so even-tempered, looked at her, then at the giant wrought iron clock on the wall of the Moongate Farm kitchen with a hint of panic in her eyes.
“No. It’s only…this is, er, a bit of a complication. I’m expecting dinner guests any moment.”
“That must be why it smells so good in here.”
It smelled like roasting vegetables mixed with garlic and cheese. Violet’s stomach rumbled loud enough she was certain her mother had to hear, but Rosemary didn’t seem to notice, looking at the clock again.
Why was she so nervous? Who was coming? If she didn’t know better, Violet might have suspected her mother was expecting a date.
Not impossible, she supposed. Her mother was still a beautiful woman, with high cheekbones, a wide smile and the deep blue eyes she had handed down to Violet and her identical twin.
Rosemary didn’t date much, though she’d had a few relationships since her divorce from Violet’s father.
As far as Violet knew, she had broken up with the most re-cent man she had dated more than a year earlier and Rosemary hadn’t mentioned anyone else.
Then again, just as Violet didn’t tell her mother everything that went on in her life in Sacramento, Rosemary likely had secrets of her own here in Cape Sanctuary.
“No problem,” she said, trying for a cheerful tone. “You don’t have to worry about feeding me. If I get hungry later, I’ll make a sandwich or something. I’ll get out of your way.”
“You’re not in the way,” Rosemary protested. “It’s just, well…” She didn’t have time to finish before a knock sounded at the back door. Baxter, annoying little beast, gave one sharp bark, sniffed at the door, then plopped down expectantly.
Violet thought she heard a man’s deep voice say something on the other side of the door and then a child’s laughter in response.
Something about that voice rang a chord. She frowned, suddenly unsettled. “Mom. Who are you expecting?”
“Just some…some friends from town,” Rosemary said vaguely. She heard the man’s voice again and her disquiet turned into full-fledged dismay.
No. Rosemary wouldn’t have. Would she?
“Mom. Who’s here?” Her voice sounded shrill and she was quite sure Rosemary could pick up on it.
“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” her mom said defensively. “You told me you were coming tomorrow, so I…I invited Alexandro and his daughter for dinner. He’s been such a help to me with Wild Hearts. I could never have set up all those tents or moved in the furniture without him. I’ve been meaning to have him and his daughter over for dinner but the time got away from me, until here we are. I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow and I didn’t think it would be a problem.”
The news hit her like a hatchet to the chest. Alex was here, on the other side of the door. Alex, who had once been her best friend, the man she thought would be her forever.
Alex, who had betrayed her.
She had seen him exactly twice since they broke up a decade ago.
One previous encounter had been a few years after he married Claudia Crane, when she had bumped into him at the grocery store while home from college for a brief visit.
The second time had been four months earlier at Lily’s memorial service.
That was two times too many, really. Three encounters was asking far too much of her.
She wanted to jump back into her car and head back to Sacramento.
No. This was silly. She had known she would see him this summer. How could she avoid it? Cape Sanctuary was a small town. Not only that, but his house and boat charter business were both just down the road from Moongate Farm.
The concept had seemed fine in the abstract. Like algebra and the periodic table.
It had been nearly a decade, after all. She was a completely different person from that besotted girl she had once been.
He meant nothing to her anymore. She should be able to blithely chat with him about what he had been up to the past decade.
Yeah. Not happening.
Maybe she could turn around, climb back into her car and go hang out at The Sea Shanty until he was gone.
No. That was just kicking the can down the road. She had to face him eventually. Why not now?
She could come up with a dozen reasons, but none of them seemed compelling enough for her to flee without at least saying hello.
“I’m sorry,” Rosemary said again, her hand on the doorknob. “It’s fine, Mom. Don’t worry about it. Don’t leave them standing outside. I’ll just say hello and then head over to the bunk-house to settle in. You won’t even know I’m here. It will be fine.”
She didn’t believe that for a minute, but she forced herself to put on a pleasant smile as her mother opened the door.
And there he was.
As gorgeous as ever, with those thick dark eyelashes, strong features, full mouth that could kiss like no one else she had ever met…
Her toes curled at the unwelcome memories and she forced her attention away from Alex to the young girl standing beside him. She had dark hair that swung to her shoulders, bright brown eyes and dimples like her father.
Right now she was staring at Violet like she had just grown a second head.
“Miss Lily?” she whispered, big brown eyes wide and mouth ajar.
Of course. Ariana thought Violet was her sister. It was a natural mistake, as they were identical twins, though as an adult, Vi had mostly seen the differences between them.
She approached the girl with the same patient, reassuring mile she used in her classroom when one of her students was upset about something.
“Hi there,” she said calmly, doing her best to ignore Alex’s intense gaze for now. “You must be Ariana. I’m Violet. Lily was my twin sister.”
“You look just like her,” the girl said breathlessly. Her gaze narrowed. “Except I think maybe your hair is a little shorter than hers was. And she had a tattoo of flowers on her wrist and you don’t.”
When they were in college, Lily had insisted on getting a tiny bouquet of flowers, intertwined lilies and violets and camellias to represent the three Porter sisters.
She had begged Violet and Cami to both get one, too. Cami, older by two years and always far more mature than either Vi or Lily, had politely explained that she didn’t want any tattoos because of the serious nature of the law career she was pursuing. Violet had promised she would but then kept putting it off.
She still could go get a tattoo. After Lily’s death, she had thought more seriously about it, but the loss of her sister was always with her. She didn’t need a mark on her skin to remind her Lily wasn’t here.
She forced a smile for the girl. “Right. No tattoo. That’s one sure way of telling us apart.”
Plus, she was alive and Lily wasn’t. But she wasn’t cruel enough to say that out loud, especially not to this child.
Lily had drowned after rescuing Ariana and a visiting friend when a rogue wave from an offshore winter storm dragged the girls out to sea. Lily had somehow managed to get both girls back to safety, but the Pacific had been relentless that day, and before Lily could climb out herself, another wave had pulled her under.
Violet certainly couldn’t blame this child for a cruel act of nature.
The illustrations in this book are simply gorgeous. They are colorful, detailed and give a wonderful sense of the joys that a park can offer. The inclusiveness of the people pictured perfectly aligns with the book’s message which is that parks are for all of us.
This is a lovely book. Read it with a young child that you know and observe the many details in the pictures.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Owlkids Books for this title. All opinions are my own.
I very much enjoyed Perry’s Thomas and Charlotte Pitt series and have read all the titles. Thomas and Charlotte also feature, though to a lesser extent, in this newer series about their son, Daniel. Daniel works in a British law firm where he is a barrister. His latest case has been brought to him by Ian Frobisher who is in the police force and whom Daniel knows from Cambridge University. The case involves an assault made by a Modern History professor who lost his temper when accused of plagiarism.
At the same time, there is a killer on the streets of London. The killer has a distinct way of marking his victims and people are in fear of this “Rainy Day Killer.” Frobisher is working to solve this case.
His work brings Frobisher into contact with Miriam Fforde Croft. She is…
Many people in the U.S. are familiar with Robin Roberts as she is the face of a popular morning TV show. I don’t usually watch morning TV but was aware of some of Roberts’ story and the challenges she has faced in the past.
In this book, Ms. Roberts is looking forward to each day with hope and optimism. She shares her beliefs and ways of approaching daily life in these pages; she was encouraged to do so by those with whom she was in daily touch during Covid.
The book is divided into sections including The Joy Mindset. Positive on Purpose and, Stronger than You Know. Some of the chapters within these sections include Happiness vs Joy; Give Thanks for the Glass; When Fear Knocks, Let Joy Answer; and Vulnerability is Strength.
Looking for some wisdom with spirituality? If yes, pick this one up. I have enjoyed the timespent…
I am very excited to be part of this book tour for Mrs. England. I had initially heard of this title as one that was available in England. I was delighted to find out that we North Americans would be able to read it as well.
Many thanks to Justine Sha and the publisher for this opportunity.
Stacey Halls grew up in Rossendale, Lancashire. She studied journalism at the University of Central Lancashire and has written for publications including the Guardian, Stylist, Psychologies, the Independent, the Sun and Fabulous. Both of her first two novels, The Familiars and The Lost Orphan, were Sunday Times bestsellers, Mrs England is her third novel.
Book Summary:
Simmering with slow-burning menace, Mrs. England is a portrait of an Edwardian marriage, an enthralling tale of men and women, power and control, courage, truth and the very darkest deception.
West Yorkshire, 1904. When recently graduated Ruby May takes a nanny position looking after the children of Charles and Lilian England, a wealthy couple from a powerful dynasty of mill owners, she hopes it will be the fresh start she needs. But as she adapts to life at the isolated Hardcastle House, it becomes clear something is not quite right about the beautiful, mysterious Mrs. England.
Distant and withdrawn, Lilian shows little interest in her children or charming husband and is far from the angel of the house Ruby was expecting.
As the warm, vivacious Charles welcomes Ruby into the family, a series of strange events forces her to question everything she thought she knew. Ostracized by the servants and increasingly uneasy, Ruby must face her own demons in order to prevent history from repeating itself. After all, there’s no such thing as the perfect family—she should know.
This captivating new feminist novel from Sunday Times bestselling author Stacey Halls is her third work of fiction and proves her one of the most exciting and compelling new storytellers of our time.
A Sunday Times bestseller!
Here is an excerpt to get you interested:
London, 1904
I took Georgina the usual way home, east through Kensington Gardens toward Hyde Park. She had fallen asleep with a fistful of daisies, and I pushed the pram along the bridleway, nodding at the other nurses. Her shoes nudged the end of the cushioned carriage; she would soon outgrow it, and I felt a distant stab of mourning for the baby she had been. She could sit up herself now, which she did on fine days with the hood folded down; she loved to see the Household Cavalry with their piped uniforms and plumed hats, and ladies would put down their parasols to admire her.
I crouched to retrieve a woolen bear lying on the sand beside a pram. The baby’s nurse sat on a bench reading a novel and had not noticed. Behind her a tangle of small boys tore about the grass, bashing one another with sticks.
“Oh, thank you,” the nurse said as I passed her the bear. She took in my uniform, distinct from the other nurses’, designed to set Norlanders apart from the rest: beneath a smart brown cloak I wore a fawn drill dress with a white cambric apron edged with lace. At my throat a frothy cream tie completed the summer uniform. In winter we wore light blue serge, and all year round we did our heavy work in pink galatea, cleaning the nursery and making up fires.
“I wish she went off like that,” said the nurse. She nodded at the occupant of her pram: a slim, serious-looking child a little older than Georgina, who glared at me from beneath a white sun hat. “How old?”
“She’s seventeen months,” I replied.
“And look at her lovely curls. It’s a shame this one’s hair’s so straight. She pulls out her rags when I put them in.”
“You could try setting them when she’s asleep. If you wet the rags first, it’ll dry like that.”
The nurse brightened. “That’s an idea.”
I said goodbye and she returned to her book. We passed through Albert Gate, where black stags stood guard on the park railings, and I smiled at the old woman who sold windmills and toy balloons. The windmills waited rigidly in their crates for a breeze to stir them that August afternoon, and the woman spun one half-heartedly. She never smiled back, but I supposed I looked much the same to her as all the other nurses. We flocked to the park after lunch with our charges, occupying the lawns and benches, spreading blankets on the grass, feeding the ducks and pushing prams through the rose gardens. An hour or two later we’d pass her again, heading home for naps and paste sandwiches before taking the children downstairs to see their parents.
Georgina was the only child of Audrey and Dennis Radlett, though Mrs. Radlett was expecting again. I’d laundered Georgina’s linens in readiness and circled cots in catalogues to show Mrs. Radlett; Georgina would still be in hers when the baby came. The new arrival excited me, though I was yet to find a monthly nurse for feeding, and the prospect of sharing my nursery even for a few weeks caused a distant flutter of anxiety. For the top floor of number six Perivale Gardens was my kingdom, my domain: my office, schoolroom and workshop. Sometimes it was a tearoom, if Georgina wished to give her toys refreshment; occasionally it was a jungle, and the two of us would crawl on our knees on the carpet, hunting for lions and tigers.
Georgina’s hand opened, causing the daisies to scatter over her blanket, and deftly I swept them up and put them in my pocket. On the nursery windowsill I’d arranged in jars the f lowers we’d picked in the park, and I was teaching Georgina their names. Georgina already had an impressive vocabulary, quietly absorbing as I pointed at plates and spoons and toys and stamps. “Tag!” she’d declared one afternoon a few weeks ago, straining out of her pram to point at the Albert Gate stags. I’d felt a rush of pride and love for this cheerful, confident little girl, who everybody adored when they met, and who reflected adoration back at them.
On Knightsbridge, motorcars growled past carriages and choked the road with fumes. I glanced about at the redbrick apartment buildings, the hot potato man, the green Bayswater omnibus and the Chinese laundryman unloading fresh linen from his cart. Crossing sweepers stepped aside for ladies in wide hats on their way home from department stores, tailed by their maids laden with boxes. Perivale Gardens was a large, quiet square a few minutes from the busy thoroughfare. A score of houses stood around an oblong lawn, guarded by black iron railings and planted with cedars and rhododendrons. The Radlett home was tall and stuccoed, with smooth white columns flanking a glossy black door. At the top was the nursery, which overlooked the long and sunny garden, and the neighbors’ gardens either side. The Bowlers next door kept hens, and sometimes let Georgina collect the eggs.
The hall was empty and silent, and I carried Georgina upstairs, where she allowed me to remove her cream leather shoes and settled in her cot with a sigh. I closed the blinds and pulled the curtains, glancing into the street for a moment and seeing the butcher’s boy on his rounds with his basket. He went down some steps and a kitchen maid examined its contents at the door, piling packets into the crook of her elbow. My father did his rounds with Damson, our docile pony, A. May, High Class Fruiterer & Greengrocer painted in large white letters on the side of his cart. My brothers and I would fight over who sat at the reins with him as he steered us through the streets, waving at people. “You take the reins, Rhubarb,” he would say, putting them in my hands.
I closed the curtains.
At half past three, Ellen brought me a ham roll and a pot of tea, and I gave her a copy of Young Woman I’d read and a penny dreadful I hadn’t. I took a seat at the table beneath the window to eat, looking about to see what needed dusting; in summer, within hours of my morning clean, a thin layer of grime drifted in through the window and coated everything. On the bookshelf, the golden letters of my testimonial book winked from the black spine. On graduation day, the Norland Institute principal, Miss Simpson—who we fondly called Sim— handed them out from a gleaming stack. The books contained everything we would need for our fledgling careers, from uniform materials to blank pages for references. My photograph was pasted in the front, larger than I would have liked; I appeared stern and unsmiling, one hand resting nervously on the table beside me. At the end of my three-month probation, Mrs. Radlett had marked my needlework very good, punctuality excellent, neatness excellent, cleanliness excellent, order excellent, temper excellent, tact with visitors very good, tact with children excellent, tact with servants very good, power of amusing children excellent, power of managing children excellent and general capability excellent. I was awarded my certificate in the autumn and kept it inside my trunk. Some nurses had sent theirs home for their parents to frame, but I imagined handing it to my mother, could picture her bemusement that there was such a thing as a certificate for caring for children.
I’d finished my roll and begun tidying when there was a light knock at the door. “Come in, Ellen,” I called, moving the miniature globe an inch to the right and setting its equator. There was no reply.
“Mrs. Radlett!” I straightened at once. She was a young mistress, only a few years older than me at twenty-three or-four, and so gentle and feminine. A wide smile was the natural shape her mouth took, and pretty gowns and gleaming brooches showed her plump figure and creamy skin to its advantage. Her hair was the color of toffee cooling on the stove, and she wore it in all the latest styles copied from magazines. My own hair was thin and dark and would not be coaxed to any height. My skin turned brown easily, and since the Norland hat offered no shade, I took care to keep out of the sun.
“Good afternoon, Nurse May,” said Mrs. Radlett. She was good-natured and liked to tease; one of her favorite games was playacting at being grand and proper, though the joke was slightly lost on me. “Would you join me in the parlor when you have a moment?”
“Of course, ma’am, I’ll come now. Miss Georgina’s having her nap.”
I followed her into the house. The downstairs was far removed from my own quiet story, with its own rules and codes and timings, from which I was happily exempt. Nurses were not servants, existing in that tricky place between domestic and family, belonging to neither. Sim warned us it could be a lonely profession: friendless, she had called it. But I’d been friendless most of my life, and found only joy in the busy hours, and peace in the quiet ones. Every morning I took Georgina to the dining room, every evening to the drawing room, where Mr. and Mrs. Radlett devoted an hour to entertaining her before supper. Mr. Radlett played the piano while Mrs. Radlett danced with her daughter, lifting her into the air and guiding her fat feet around the carpet. They were as delighted to see her as if they’d been away a week, and sometimes Georgina sobbed as I carried her back to her nursery, reaching backward for her mama. “Up the wooden hill and down Sheet Lane,” I would murmur as we climbed the stairs, and by the time the nursery door was closed she had often forgotten her anguish. She sucked her thumb when she was tired, and I always removed it from her sleep-soaked mouth when Mrs. Radlett came to kiss her good-night.
The parlor was at the front of the house, seldom used and stuffy in summer, with the windows fastened to keep out the dust from the street. The blinds were closed against the heat, and the lace curtain hung flat against them. The Radletts’ house was tastefully decorated and filled with antiques; the mistress even had her own library. As a couple they were intellectual and political. They entertained often and friends called frequently at the house, filling it with cigar smoke and leaving sticky rings of sherry on the sideboards, decorating the hat stand with feathers and ribbons, like a strange tree of exotic birds. In the eaves of the building there was little to disturb me, but occasionally Mrs. Radlett asked me to bring Georgina down to kiss and pass around before bed. She always deferred to me, and was politely inquisitive about her daughter’s diet and routine; there was no doubt whatsoever who was in charge.
“Do sit down,” she said now. I took a seat in a stuffed armchair beside a potted fern.
“I have some thrilling news.” Mrs. Radlett placed a hand on her rounded stomach. She had recently begun to show beneath her waistband, and Ellen had let out her skirts. “I’ve been longing to tell you for weeks, but Mr. Radlett forbade me until it was all agreed and finalized, which it was last night, so now I can share it with you.”
I felt a glimmer of excitement and straightened my apron.
Fiona Davis sets her novels in iconic New York City locations. She has told stories set at the Barbizon Hotel for Women, The Dakota, Grand Central Station and now at the Chelsea Hotel. In each of her three prior novels, the narrative took place during two eras; in this book, the author follows two characters in the same time period. They are actress Maxine and would be actress and playwright, Hazel.
The novel opens with Hazel joining a USO troop in Italy during WWII. These scenes were so evocative, both in terms of the war and the emotions raised for the performers. This beginning left me feeling very excited about the rest of the book except…for a while, I then found the narrative less engaging. However, round about chapter 18 there was a twist and I again became very involved in the story and the…
![The Chelsea Girls: A Novel by [Fiona Davis]](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51-yfEcmQ1L._SY346_.jpg)
Joyce's mystery and fiction book reviews with some non-fiction too! 