Rutabaga's Reads 2021: Part 7

Surprisingly, I did have enough adult fiction (AF) novels for a second compilation post for 2021. I may surprise myself further and wind up with a third AF post.

Big Little Lies (July 29, 2014) by Liane Moriarty.

*This is a standalone novel.*

Welcome to Pirriwee Public School, home of the Blond Bobs (they’re like “mum prefects”) and a colorful cast of characters. There’s Madeline Martha Mackenzie; she’s funny and acerbic and is fond of holding grudges. There’s Celeste Wright; she’s hurtfully beautiful but holds close the secret that her perfect life is all an illusion. And there’s Jane “no-middle-name” Chapman; she’s a single mom struggling with insecurity and is young enough that she’s mistaken as an au pair. Jane initially meets Madeline and Celeste six months prior to Pirriwee Public’s Trivia Night. At the trivia night, costumed parents have become tipsy and beyond when one of those adults falls off a balcony and dies. Back to the months before, when Kindergarten gets underway. Alliances and rivalries are formed. Madeline is married to Ed, but was previously married to Nathan Carlson, who’s now married to Bonnie, and Bonnie is “impossible to hate. I’m very good at hating people, and even I find it difficult.” Nathan and Bonnie have a daughter (Skye) in Kindergarten, too. Celeste and her husband, Perry, have twin boys (Josh and Max) in the class. Jane’s son is Ziggy; he’s incredibly sweet, loves to eat pumpkin and has been accused of bullying a classmate. Three women. Three crossroads. All on a beeline to intersect at a shocking trivia night. Oh, calamity.

            My first story from Aussie author Moriarty, and I’m floored. My grandma read this book prior to me and thought the first half of the book was slow, but I never felt that. The author expertly crafts a novel focusing on a scandalous suburbia. It’s a tale from the other-side-of-the-tracks, except that other side is the seedy underbelly of one character’s “perfect” family. I love the wit of the prose and the fluid way the story flowed. This adult fiction novel contains darkness and violence, but it’s also compassionate, funny and insightful. Women’s fiction should all be this sharp and engaging.

            I do sincerely hope that none of you have had to tell any “Big Little Lies” in order to survive any sort of harassment or abuse. And if you have, please speak up. Talk to trusted family and/or friends and a professional (who can be objective).

            Favorite lines, coming from dramatic, sarcasm-wielding Madeline when another mother explains that she lashes out when she’s frightened: “Really? How terrible for you. I have a very placid personality myself.” (p. 434)

Chosen Ones (Apr. 7, 2020) by Veronica Roth.

*This is a standalone novel, as far as I can tell.*

15 years ago, five teenagers were plucked from their homes, singled out by a prophecy and given an education in magical destruction to defeat the Dark One. They did defeat him five years later. It’s now 10 years after that, and the year is 2020, but it is a 2020 on Earth that knows some magic. Not everyone can wield it; it is not a commonplace ability. For most, life has returned to normal without the Dark One and his Drains (“infamous catastrophic events that could not be explained” in which watching people get swept up by one would be to see “their skin pulling away from bone while they were still alive to feel it, blood bursting from them like swatted mosquitoes”), but there is no normal for those five teens who are now adults closer to 30 years old. The Chosen Ones: Sloane Andrews, Matthew Weekes, Albert (Albie) Summers, Esther Park and Ines Mejia. Life is hardest on Sloane, who’s not handling her PTSD well. Talking to her isn’t so much a conversation but a game of Minesweeper. Or life seems the hardest on her, until another Chosen One dies.

            It’s when they gather for the funeral that things really turn topsy-turvy. Chicago is also Cordus, a primarily magic-infused Chicago where the inhabitants wear extravagant fashion that emphasize their siphons (they channel magical energy, but look like tech and jewelry) and contradict with some of the city’s non-magical aspects such as gas-powered lamps. Magic is the norm. Haven cities, like St. Louis, exist for those who don’t want to rely on magic. Their planet is not called Earth, but Genetrix. It is a parallel dimension, but it does not directly coincide with Earth. For example, the Thompson Center in Earth’s Chicago is the Cordus Center for Advanced Magical Innovation and Learning (or Camel) in Genetrix’s Cordus. Three are summoned to Genetrix because of their Drains and a Dark One called the Resurrectionist. But is the Resurrectionist the cause of the Drains? Or does the use of magic make the worlds unstable? Perhaps Mox will be of assistance. At any rate, it looks as though a different Dark One needs to be fought. Will the Chosen Ones be able to win again?

            Veronica Roth’s first foray into adult fiction (previously she’s been a YA author) is propulsive. I do not think the fairly regular inclusion of top secret documents and news articles moved the story forward. The diverse cast (I especially love that Esther is Korean), layered world-building and remarkable plot of magic and action are more than enough. And if that isn’t enough, Roth weaves into the magic weighty topics such as mental health and surviving trauma, while also dealing with celebrity status in a social media world. Sloane is a dark, sarcastic heroine in a novel that needles one to evoke multiple emotions* and find the humor within (“I’ve always wanted to be an emotionally distant father.” –Sloane to Albie, p. 47). It’s quite the multi-verse. Step aside, Teen Heroes, for these Adult Heroes will make their mark!

            *Who knew saying goodbye to anyone undead could be emotional?

The Storyteller (Nov. 5, 2013) by Jodi Picoult.

*This is a standalone novel.*

Being reclusive suits 25-year-old Sage Singer. She is a tremendous baker and bakes bread through the night when many others are sleeping. This suits Sage, too. The scars of a traumatic accident live on her face, which Sage is overly aware of, and the memories of her mother’s death prevent her from connecting with her sisters, swirling her into a pile of dough which won’t rise to its full potential. She has been attending the same grief group for three years. Josef Weber attends this same group and is a customer at the bakery Sage works at in a small New Hampshire town. He’s a 95-year-old who brings his dog, Eva, to share his treat. Josef is well-known in the community as an upstanding man; he taught German at the local school for decades and was a Little League umpire. But he harbors an awful secret and asks Sage to kill him. Sage, who does not identify as being Jewish, while both sisters had bat mitzvahs and their parents were devout, is prompted to think about his request as a moral dilemma and a potentially legal one, too.

            Sage brings into the picture Leo Stein. He’s an attorney working in the Department of Justice’s Human Rights and Special Prosecutions office. He is part of the division “that prosecutes cases against people who have committed human rights violations – genocides, torture, war crimes.” His key historian is a woman named Genevra; she speaks seven languages. He doubts Sage initially until he doesn’t and makes the drive to New Hampshire. Where Sage appears to war with morality, Leo seems more decisive. Sage’s grandmother, Minka, plays a vital role in the story, too. She’s a Holocaust survivor and has a knack for writing, which helped her to survive, though what she wrote wasn’t the story of being a survivor.

            The little that I’ve read from Picoult has been enough to show me that she doesn’t shy away from tackling tough issues. While I felt Minka’s recounting of her time during the Holocaust was verbose, it was written skillfully and with compassion for the subject matter. Multiple narrators can easily muddle a story, but Picoult manages to write them distinctively; the characters are easily identifiable when purviews change. What grasped me most was Sage’s moral conflict. It’s not as simple as good guy vs. bad guy and to forgive or not to forgive is not black-and-white. I do not normally read stories like these, but I cannot deny that the story is as horrifying as it is powerful with prose that manages to be graceful.